Chapter 12

With some trepidation I exited the Pereire family limousine. Only Consuela's sly grin and her enthusiastic embrace lessened it, at least enough to put on a better game face. My wife chuckled beside me and pronounced my Spanish lover a slut.

The Helen clone didn't disagree. She giggled and winked instead and pulled me into motion with her hand in mine. My other hand pulled Helena behind me.

Entering the basement studio didn't help my nerves. Bob sat in the raised platform that served as the place for a small audience, the place where four generations of Jewesses had watched with him the morning before. And one of them, the youngest, sat beside him, looking intimate with him and well fucked. On the other side sat Michiko, looking dazed and confused. "Fuck," I thought.

I pulled up a smile and approached her. "Hi," I said, pulling her to her feet for an embrace. She relaxed in my arms. "Do you want to talk?" I asked her in a whisper into her ear. I felt her nod. "Excuse us," I said to Bob who nodded distractedly.

Meanwhile, Eva and Lindy revealed no concern, instead excitedly extracting Sheila from her seat and bringing her to the middle of the studio floor. "Just a second," Lindy said to the Scots Amazon, and scooted into a neighboring space where the Helen clones hid their instruments. A second later, she emerged with Consuela who carried her viola in one hand and a sheet of music in the other.

I led Michiko to the farthest corner of the studio from anyone else and we sat on the hard wooden floor. "You okay?" I asked her.

She shrugged. She cried, sniffling. It wasn't sobbing. Just a gentle flow dripping from her pretty brown eyes, like a mild summer rain. "I guess not," she chuckled through her tears.

"Can you talk about it?"

She nodded and shrugged again. "I can but I can't. I don't really understand it. Last night was ... very confusing emotionally. At first I felt intimidated by this grand place. And then the women here relaxed me. Very charming women. Except the old one. I could hardly look at her, her eyes were so piercing, and yet I couldn't not. And then ... her old husband arrived with his cold eyes and still handsome face despite being at least in his eighties. He looked disturbingly familiar, and his voice..."

"Ssh," I breathed, my thoughts debating truth over the utterly unbelievable and probably inadvisable results of speaking that truth.

"It chilled me, like some weird sensory experience where a song or a scent brings forth an emotion from something that must have happened sometime in the past but has been completely forgotten except for some sort of trauma it must have brought me. It made me chug down the red wine most unladylike," she chuckled. "Embarrassed, I looked at Bob and at the beautiful woman sitting beside him, her," she gestured towards the twenty year old, statuesque and gorgeous Jewess. "He gave me a slightly embarrassed grin, but not a resentful one. More he empathized I guess, which, as is his way, was sweet. Her reaction actually made me feel better. She giggled. 'Thirsty, ' she said in her sexy accent. I suddenly found myself very attracted to it and her. And we chatted, the three of us, Bob and her and me, throughout the dinner. The more we talked, the hornier I became for her. I noticed Bob's attention as well, and it didn't even bother me. In fact it excited me more. The thought of Bob and I sharing her excited me.

"When dessert was announced, almost rudely in that most elegant of dinners, Seraphine, pronounced we would have it later and she practically ordered us to follow her. 'Come, ' she said, and I somehow knew the double entendre within that word and almost came right there.

"And cum we did, many times, with Bob filling Seraphine's pussy twice, and mine once, but at the end so it was a rather lengthy and wonderful fuck. Rarely did my fingers or tongue separate from Seraphine's pussy and nipples, nor did hers leave mine very often. I loved her deep, throaty moans, her French swear words, her climactic, ecstatic shouts. And in between, when we needed to raise up Bob's cock again, intimate conversations and that sexy voice just kept things at a continuous level of excitement and even the stirrings of love. We even had a most intimate dessert in bed with the male servant getting an eyeful of naked female flesh, though he seemed more interested in the damp male appendage at the center.

"But in the morning, too early of course, that voice and that face reappeared to haunt me. And I looked for comfort in the arms of Bob, and saw his interest ... in her. I wanted to scream. I wanted to slap him. I wanted to gouge her all too elegant face. Instead I grabbed her arm, the hand at the end having enclosed Bob's morning wood, and rather too forcefully perhaps, pulled it away. My excuse? We had to get dressed and go down here."

We looked at Bob and Seraphine and the intimacy couldn't have been more obvious, especially when they kissed, lightly but warmly, and Seraphine giggled, seductive in its femininity, in its softening of her regality.

"Talk to him," I said. "Open his eyes to her seduction."

"But she seduced me as well."

"All the better. More empathy and less jealousy. It will prove her manipulations."

"But how could she ... How come I ... so lost ... but now..."

"The wine," I said.

"Drugs?"

"Probably."

"What do you know of these women?"

"I think they're very dangerous."

"I think you're right," she said. "I think I knew that from the start. But Bob..."

"I think he would agree with you. I think it fascinates him."

"I think you're right." She climbed into my lap, straddling it, and hugged and kissed me.

"Trying to make Bob jealous?" I asked her afterwards.

"I doubt he noticed. Call it a spur of the moment necessity. I told you before I feel so wonderfully comfortable with you, and just now, just this little conversation, makes me realize how much I appreciate you in my life. Not only did you bring my clueless love to me, but your presence as well in my life and in Christa's. I think I'm a teensy bit in love with you Joe, and it has nothing to do with drugs."

"I love you too, Michiko. I'm glad I was the catalyst for Bob to meet you. You make for a sweet couple, two truly good people together."

A throat clearing made me look up from Michiko's adorable face. My wife, looking a tad concerned, told me, "Lindy wants you."

"Sorry," said Michiko, letting Helena help her to her feet.

My wife pulled her into an embrace. "Nothing whatsoever to be sorry about. Do you still need to talk, or..."

"I'm ... fine."

"Good. Joe's pretty special, hunh?"

"Yeah. You're lucky."

"I know."

"Hey, I'm the lucky one," I objected.

"Of course," both spoke and giggled.

"Did you give her the poem?" I asked Helena.

"Unh-hunh," she responded. Remarkably, she had composed it earlier in the morning, having slept little and Miwa waking her to tell her of Lindy's request for the pas de deux. In fact she finished it during the trip in the limousine, reading it over finally while I helped out Michiko. "She'll look at it later. Now go," she ended with a slap on my butt and another giggle, in duet with Michiko's. The cute and happy noise from the adorable Japanese woman cheered me.

Though distracted, I had noticed the notes played by Consuela on her viola. It sounded like a sort of disrupted tango, the two or four beats per measure becoming five or six. It turned out to be actually, according to Angelique, one very long measure, abundantly quirky, repeated several times, it's complexity, and the way Consuela played with the timing and intensity of each note, made the repetition subtle, almost unrecognizable.

"I wrote it ages ago," Angelique explained to me as she gathered with Eva, Vance, Sheila, Lindy and I. "It is titled 'La Femme qui marche' or 'Woman Walking'."

"Eva and I worked on the choreography together," Lindy told me. "I danced it with Vance, but something was missing. Actually two somethings. It needed another male, a stronger, bigger male, and a woman with a more powerful presence physically and sexually."

"Meaning me," Sheila grinned, obviously excited to dance Modern. "The movements are brilliant," she gushed.

Lindy bowed her head humbly while Eva smiled and winked at me. I think she communicated how silly that humbleness was, how undeserved. I nodded my agreement.

Looking at the thinner and shorter Vance, whose presence definitely powered over mine, but whose stature certainly didn't, I sighed. "Meaning me as well."

Eva slugged my shoulder just like Helena would with just as much force. "You know you love it. Admit it."

"It's exhilarating when it doesn't scare me to death," I admitted.

"What's scary?" asked Lindy.

"That you'll kill me when I fuck up your brilliant choreography."

"Would you stop worrying about that?"

"Nope."

"And have you fucked up, I mean when it matters, when there's an audience?"

I paused. "Nope," I responded, surprised.

"Joe, you are remarkably devoid of stage fright. In fact it seems to intensify your performances several fold, including your acting. And it's like everything comes together for you like the missing ingredient had been the audience. It's powerful, your presence on stage, in the lights, with the audience."

"And sexy," Eva added.

"Maybe its stage fright that drives me to being in the moment as much as possible, a defense."

"Whatever," Lindy smirked. "Anyway..."

The choreography began, led by Lindy, but Eva added things, usually sexier moves. The piece revolved around temptation. Like my play, "The Perfect Drug," a man seduces a woman from another man, resulting in a sort of fight for her. Her original lover, me, acts submissive towards her powerful presence and sexuality. Vance pulls her away with his dominance. I have to find mine to win her back. Unfortunately, being much bigger makes me seem like a bully. I have to somehow let him win, using his manipulative cleverness to reveal his character. And I have to sustain dominance to keep her interest. In the end, dominance and submission gets switched back and forth between me and Sheila. And at the very end, Vance appears, and their eyes meet unbeknownst to me.

The dance lasted for ten minutes. Each scene happened for the length of the long measure. Sheila walked slowly and incredibly sexily across the stage in a single direction during each measure, reversing the direction with the next, Vance and I interacting with her and each other appropriately. Between each measure would be a moment of darkness of varying though always brief duration, between one and two beats. Blackouts like in Burlesque.

After working a couple hours on it, we worked on Cloudburst, Lindy adding Sheila to the mix of tumbling and embracing and cringing, and added herself as well, seeing her place better with Sheila in it, and her addition actually pulled it together. Her presence brought focus, towards her, but spreading to the rest of us like the way an abstract painting pulls you in and sends your eye in a whirl throughout the piece. I saw this because a Pereire servant recorded our rehearsals.

Between rehearsals, the Jewesses provided sandwiches and drinks. I noticed Bob having a more balanced attentiveness towards his two women. Michiko shrugged at me, not quite happy, but getting there.

When we finished, I couldn't have been more pleased to see Michiko occupying Bob's lap, and his affection for her, with fond glances and light kisses at her neck, made the transition obvious. Seraphine remained beside him, and the conversation seemed friendly, even intimate, with moments of comfortable laughter shared.

However, comfort in her company did not translate into comfort in staying at the chateau, and Michiko refused the invitation to remain there. She had her day bag with her, ready to leave. Bob seemed to have emerged from whatever spell Seraphine had used on him, whether a robust combination of beauty, elegance and charm or a bit of Simon impelling I couldn't say, and refocused on his absolute interest in Michiko and the desire to spend time with her exclusively.

I ended up escorting my two old high school friends and their newly found lovers to the Pereire limo, watching the large car drive away, leaving me in the company of a very horny Consuela.

"Come," the Spanish beauty insisted, pulling me by hand to the grand entrance of the chateau.

Curiosity overruled apprehension in my agreement to have Consuela show me the place. I had no illusion of course that her expectations had much to do with the tour. Not that I minded her obsessive need for sex, and she told me I tended to stir her up even more than usual. I in fact enjoyed her enthusiasm as much as I enjoyed her perfect body and face, the body and face of a Helen clone. But having three lovers whom I actually truly loved, the inevitable ending had more to do with doing her a favor, sating her need, than any need of mine. And, well, I was curious about the grand manse.

"Go," my wife had insisted, chuckling. "Lindy wants to work with the poem with Angelique, and Eva and Miwa as Barnaby and Sam substitutes. Go explore. Go have fun."

"You know you're crazy," I told her. "You know what Consuela wants, what she expects, and you're practically kicking me into the seductress's arms."

"I'm not worried, and I can tell she's fun," Helena grinned. "Are you worried?"

"About what?"

"That I'm not jealous?"

"Of course not."

"Then go," she said, and kissed me, her arms hugging me, her groin pressing against me.

"Whoa," I said as soon as our bodies separated, actually staggered by the moment.

Eva followed with her own embrace and kiss, only less staggering in comparison to Helena's. Lindy's had several degrees less heat to it, her being only mortal, but it added to the overwhelming moment from the receptiveness the other two had given me.

Consuela giggled throughout the profound displays of love. "Thanks," she beamed, kissing each of my ladies on their mouths. She pinched the lump in my pants. "I will use this present well."

The entrance hall impressed me. It had vastness yet warmth. Stone had been tamed by softness, by a huge Persian rug and very old, probably priceless tapestries on the wall. The chandelier, while broad, had a simplicity to it: three levels of large, crystal shaped glass; and it had the soft curve of Art Nouveau. Any attempt at stopping to admire the tapestries became immediately thwarted. "Later," Consuela giggled, pulling me up the curving staircase.

Though small, her room had a welcoming air, even homey. The rich burgundy hue of the bedspread and the rug, with the maple chest of drawers and vanity, kept it dark. Even when she opened the burgundy drapes to let in the day, since the room faced the shadowed side of the chateau, the illumination remained dim.

"Close the door," she said, removing her blouse and skirt. Once I did, she beckoned me to her, and knelt at my feet.

A few quick tugs, and my cock became free. I stepped out of my pants and underpants puddled at my feet as her lips enveloped my glans. "Ooh," I moaned. Her eyes smiled at mine.

Reaching down, I unclasped her satin and lace bra, matching her panties, and immediately took hold of her perfect handful tits. Her hum of pleasure increased mine.

After removing my shirt, making us both naked, I pulled her to her feet and into my arms for a steamy kiss. Her pussy slid wetly against my thigh as my cock pressed its bottom surface against her tummy. We gave friction to these opposite genitalia, subtle but effective, as our tongues played in each other's mouths.

I knew she needed more, so I backed up against the edge of the bed, no more than twin-sized, and let myself fall onto it. I had plans. For one, I wanted to taste her sweet pussy and steer her into a sixty-nine, but her plans took over.

Somehow, instead of lying on my back, she guided me enough so I ended up sitting. Grabbing my cock, she held it steady and lowered her hot pussy onto it. "Yes," she gasped. "Fuck," she added after sending my glans to the farthest place within her, tapping her cervix.

"Can you lift up?" she asked me. "Just a little?"

When I did, I had to steady us as she unbalanced us by reaching down and taking hold of the bed cover and pulling it off. "One more second," she murmured, and pulled the blanket to the foot of the bed. "The sheets feel heavenly," she explained.

"Wrap yourself around me," I requested, and when she clung to me with arms and legs, I steered her onto her back.

"Such a sweetheart," she murmured, pulling my head down so our lips met.

As horny as she was, I knew she would have had no objection to me pounding unmercifully into her. Somehow, probably the depth of the kisses we shared, suggested she preferred the more delicate and measured and focused choice of being gentle and slow, of making love. "Yes," she murmured, affirming my choice as I pulled back and penetrated slowly. Though slow, I did it with intensity, like penetrating slowly with a knife to bring forth the most pain, but of course having the exact opposite result.

I felt every nuance of flesh I slid across, and I think she felt it too. Perhaps neither of us had that sort of sensitivity, but it seemed so. I pushed across her clit and pulled against her g-spot. Her interior muscles fluttered and pulsed around my shaft and glans, adding to the already amazing friction I felt.

And somehow, even as we kissed and my mouth and tongue had only hers to stimulate, and even with just my fingers playing with her nipples, and even with my other hand just squeezing her sweet butt flesh and not even entering her smaller hole or adding in any way to the friction my cock provided her pussy and clit, she became completely overwhelmed by orgasm.

The kiss ended abruptly, and I watched her eyes go wide and her face go taut. Her mouth opened to let out a scream, but nothing came out, not even breath. Then her body trembled as if shocked, and the shock moved through her from center outwards. At the same time, I felt a similar trembling surround my cock, directional undulations that moved inwardly. I stopped my retreat and kept my cock deep so I could feel these muscular vibrations, although I moved inside her, just in fractions of an inch, mostly just pressing in and relaxing, enough to help sustain this remarkable orgasm.

"Fuck," she gasped finally, immediately relaxing beneath me. Little aftershocks occurred, more around my cock than affecting her body, but I saw and felt her body tremble two or three times.

"That was amazing," I told her.

She giggled breathlessly. "So sweet," she said, pulling me into a kiss again, her lips several degrees warmer than the last time, and much more relaxed.

I began fucking her again. It started slow again. Soon, her hand on my ass encouraged more speed. She lifted into my thrusts encouraging even more. "Fuck me harder," she encouraged me. "Harder! Yes!" exploding with pleasure as soon as I reached maximum speed and effort.

I gave her a moment to calm down before I pulled out and helped her turn over onto her hands and knees. "Yes!" she exclaimed when I immediately impaled her and accelerated the fuck. I held her up by her pussy, my hand grasping it at its crown, stimulating her clit. The fingers of my other hand pulled on her nipples. I had become extremely aggressive. She loved every second of it. She became inundated with wave after wave of orgasms, each cresting sooner than the last.

Within one or between them, I couldn't even tell anymore, I finally came. "Oh God," her voice trembled. "At last."

We both laughed, hers breathless and mine a bit tremulous. We had collapsed into sideways spoons.

"Incredible," she said. "You did not cum for so long. Am I not ... tight or something?"

"You feel incredible. You smell incredible. You are incredible and so exciting, Consuela."

"Not to complain, but how... ?"

"Practice?" I shrugged, which she felt rather than saw.

"You learn to hold back?"

"I didn't ... hold back. With your amazing and surprising first cum, I knew you had gotten relief for your needs." She giggled at that. "And I even felt on the edge that second one before I stopped and turned you over. Maybe that delayed things. I don't know. But I felt like I hovered at the precipice, ready for release but not releasing, hanging by a thread or the sheerest and most delicate of fabrics that, pressing against it, filled me with ecstasy in and of itself. And when I finally tore through, with that final surge of pleasure that couldn't really exceed that ecstasy but maybe just adding a new dimension to it, and maybe that proved too much, because I lost all senses and entered a void, most peaceful and relaxing."

"Ah yes," she replied. "Me too. We were nowhere together."

"Mmm," I murmured in agreement, kissing the back of her neck.

I felt a presence in the small bedroom, somehow knowing it had been there for a while. "Seraphine," I said. "Didn't my friend's seed take?" I felt my Spanish lover tighten, and kissed her ear. "Ssh," I breathed and she relaxed.

"Vas-tu faire foutre, " the Jewess Princess cursed, exiting the room. Maybe I projected, but I heard unsteadiness in that proud voice.

My lover must have heard it as well. "She is jealous," Consuela muttered, the surprise embedded. "She know I am but a woman to stud, and yet she see you and me make love. She need ... force to get Bob and to get Michiko."

"First," I said, "You are a friend whom I love as a friend and as a lover. Second, Michiko needed swaying but I don't think Bob did. I think she fascinates him."

"Fascinate enough to be sexy for him?"

"Definitely. In so many ways she's unattainable for the likes of Bob, some middle class Jew from the middle of America. She's clever and charming and beautiful and proud and profoundly aristocratic. She's way out of his class. And yet she is attainable. She finds him charming, disarming, attractive, sexy, and even loving. Class walls dissolve, and a woman he desires desires him right back, and even better, desires his girlfriend as well. Not just a dream come true, but a fantasy come to life. No, she needed no magic or drug to persuade him, and she never will."

"Even with Michiko mistrust her?"

"That has more to do with this ... place than with Seraphine. Michiko likes women. And if nothing else, Seraphine is quite a woman."

"Not another one," Consuela muttered.

"I sincerely hope not," I told her in all honesty. "She may charm Bob, but she kind of gives me the creeps."

Consuela giggled. "Me too. Let's get dressed. I have a chateau to show you."

We didn't even wash. "I want to feel you dripping out of me," Consuela explained.

The chateau impressed me. It had a thickness to it in the sense that every room we looked into expressed decades and even centuries in remarkable synthesis. State of the art shared the space with the 19^th or early 20^th century with an ease and even a beauty that I had never thought possible. And despite that beauty, both in the interior design and the actual masterpieces of art that lined walls, it felt like a home. And even with the presence of the Jewesses, whom I felt to be inherently dangerous women at least in their influences on politics and history, and even more the presence of Simon to whom this place had probably been established and dedicated, I felt comfortable.