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Erato and Morpheus

Patrick gives the sumptuous gift of four lovers at her service.
Erato and Morpheus

“Oh, Patrick, my feet!”

I groan as I collapse onto an armchair near the kitchen entrance. The gathering at our favorite hotel’s conference center was, I am sure, a success: the hors d’oeuvres were delicious, the conversation was as sparkling as the champagne, the speeches each investor gave about their projects were smart, insightful, and, most importantly, brief. Patrick’s was especially witty, a call to arms to take app privacy and safety seriously with a coy nod to how a well-designed product can open untold vistas of pleasure. I’m sure that more than a few eyes turned to me, in my new red cocktail dress, when Patrick took the stage; I wonder how many noticed the flash of the silver vixen anklet above my heels, and how many of them heard the message it was sending.

But my feet ache from hours standing in heels. I kick my shoes off and flex my toes, sending a jolt of sharp pain and then relief through my feet and up my calves. All I want right now is a foot massage, a hot bath, and a soft bed.

Patrick picks up a champagne flute from an abandoned waiters’ tray near the door and hands it to me. I smile at him and take a sip, though honestly a decaf with cream and sugar would be my preferred drink right now. He sits on the floor beside me and takes one of my feet in his hands, gently working his thumb between my toes and then pressing into the balls of my feet. I moan and lean back in the chair, almost spilling the champagne; his touch is magical, wherever he applies it.

“You were wonderful tonight,” he purrs.

“Me? All I did was stand around and try to look pretty.”

“You looked stunning; and you’re the inspiration that makes all of this possible. You are my muse.” He lifts my foot to his lips for a gentle kiss.

“Mmmm.” I sigh and lean back. If I am a muse, then I suppose I must take my own inspiration from Erato, the muse who sat on Sappho’s knee when she wrote her odes to love. But right now I would prefer a visit from Morpheus, let his sweet kiss deliver me to the tender arms of sleep!

“I have a surprise for you,” Patrick whispers. He takes my smallest toe between his lips and gives it a gentle suck; despite my exhaustion it sends a tingle to my core, and I squirm in the chair.

“Oh, Patrick,” I sigh, “no surprises tonight! I want to go home and go to bed.”

“We’re not going home tonight.” He takes the next toe in his mouth and tickles the end with the tip of his tongue. I squirm some more, smiling in spite of myself.

“My own bed,” I sigh, “that’s all I want, a hot bath, a warm tea, my own bed …”

“A bath for sure,” he says, moving to the next toe. He knows what will make my toes curl, and that’s what he does – his tongue circles the toe while both of his thumbs kneed the ball of my foot, and I groan.

“I want my favorite bubble bath and a long soak, and then sleep, sweet, sweet, sleep …”

“Wouldn’t you know,” he says, “that I packed your favorite bubble bath?” He has the next toe between his lips now, and he gives it a playful nip with his teeth.

“My robe …”

“Also packed,” he says, giving my big toe a soft kiss, “along with your softest pajamas and your favorite chamomile tea. In fact, they’re also unpacked now, even as we speak, in the suite upstairs. A cup of tea may even be steeping at this very moment.”

“But sleep,” I whimper. “Not surprises, sleep …”

He has moved down along the ball of my foot with soft kisses, working toward my heel, lifting my leg and stroking my calf as he goes. My wicked body is betraying me, refusing to resist his charms, yielding to his touch when I was sure it desired to yield to sleep.

“You’re cruel,” I whisper, “cruel and heartless. You are a wicked, wicked man who tortures me constantly for your own pleasure.”

“I am cruelly focused on your pleasure, my love,” he whispers. “I wish to torture you with ecstasy and torment you with joy.”

My groans when he pressed his thumbs hard into my foot are equal parts exhaustion and desire; Patrick knows all of the spots to press to take command of my body, and suddenly my weariness has been supplanted by hunger. I was right to call him cruel, and right to surrender to his caress.

“I need to attend to some business,” Patrick says, “but I’ll join you shortly in our suite. Until then I leave you in capable hands.”

He kisses me hard, biting my lower lip as he pulls away, and waves toward the kitchen as he turns back to the conference room. The door swings open, and one of the waiters from tonight – a tall, broad-shouldered, dark-haired, handsome young man – steps through and kneels in front of me. He takes my other foot into his hand and massages it, gently but firmly, almost as well as Patrick massaged my first foot. I lean back in my chair and swoon in a blissful reverie, enjoying the tingle that rises through my entire body from those fingers on my foot.

I become aware of someone standing behind me; I open my eyes and look up into the face of another of the waiters from tonight, one I had noticed during the event for his curly ringlets and tight buttocks. He smiles down at me, and then begins to massage my shoulders, digging deep into muscles that have grown tense and sore from standing all night. His fingers find all of the places stiffness has descended, and his insistent pressure is drawing that stiffness out. His fingers drift gently over my collar bone, down my sides, then back up to my shoulders, gently brushing the front of my gown and causing my nipples to respond with stiffness. I turn my face up to him and he descends for a long, slow, deep kiss that makes my stomach tense.

Meanwhile the young man at my feet has moved to my ankles, then my calves, and is working his fingers above my knee and under my dress. I let my other leg fall to open myself to him, inviting him to explore, and he accepts, his fingers walking up my thighs to find the tingling warmth between my legs. He flits across the crotch of my panties, grazing just firmly enough to elicit a moan from me, and teases along the waistband. I lift my hips to encourage him to work his fingers a little closer to the seat of my pleasure, but he doesn’t take the bate; instead he walks his fingers down the front of my panties and then back down to my knee and out from under my dress. I lift my hips and sigh in frustration.

The man who was kissing me steps around beside me and gives me his hand, urging me to stand. Reluctantly I put my feet, still aching despite the wonderful attention they’ve received from Patrick and the waiter, and groan as my knees pop and my calves burn with the simplest of efforts. The man helping me stand has a gentle smile on his lips, and he takes me in his arms, urging me to fall back into him.

The man who was rubbing my feet suddenly stands, grasps both of my calves in his hands, and pulls me off my feet, lifting me so I’m suspended horizontally between the two of them. I gasp, then giggle, as they carry me through the swinging door into the kitchen, past the shelves of pots and colanders, and into a waiting service elevator.

The man at my head spends the ride up the lift kissing me, gently licking my lips with his tongue and stroking my hair with his hands. The man at my feet runs his hands along my calf under my hanging gown, up my thigh to my ass, and gently massages me; those muscles, too, are tense from standing all night, and his strong hands are deftly untangling the knots. I feel myself beginning to drift into a state somewhere on the edge of sleep, relaxing into these strong bodies, suspended in air; I am reminded suddenly of my strange and wonderfully dark ride on my boathouse swing a few weeks ago, and my heart races with anticipation.

When we reach the floor of our suite, the men resume the more prosaic task of carrying me down the empty hall. Our suite door is open, and a golden yellow light escapes into the shadowy hallway. I can hear water running, and I smell the warm lemony scent of my favorite bubble bath – oh, Patrick, I do love you so!

There are two other men already in the suite. I don’t recognize them as waiters from the event, though perhaps I’m thrown off because they’re out of uniform. Indeed, they’re out of clothes entirely, standing on either side of the bathroom door – tall, muscular, and smiling, with thick cocks dangling half hard beneath clean shaven bellies. I am reminded of Doryphoros, the Spear Bearer, a Greek sculpture meant to illustrate the most perfectly balanced male body; perfection indeed, and I have two of them at my disposal!

The wife bearers set me down on my feet, and the men waiting at the door take over the task of undressing me. They go about it slowly and careful, lifting my dress by the hem an inch at a time and carefully inspecting the exposed skin with fingers and tongues. I giggle when one tongue flicks across my black-panty-covered ass while the other traces a line across the front of the waist band, and I sigh when the dress finally comes over my head and I’m pressed between them, both of their mouths seeking mine, finding mine, finding each others’, hands roaming on my body.

The two men who carried me return, now freed of their clothing as well, and I’m pleased to see that they, too, are specimens of balance and proportion. One of them is already fully erect, the purple glans of his cock dark against his pale skin, and I bite my lip in anticipation of tasting it. They set to work removing the rest of my coverings while the two kissing and caressing me continue to lavish attention on me.

When I am fully nude and gently ravished, the men guide me to the raised tub in the corner of the grand bathroom. The tub is filled to overflowing with frothy, lemon-scented bubbles; they lift me and lower me gently into it. I tense when my ass first touches the water – it’s a little warmer than I would normally run it at home, steam rising from the tub and fogging the mirror – but I quickly adjust and find the heat soothing. I close my eyes and lie back, and feel the water displaced around me as two of my lovers climb into the tub with me. I hear water splash on the floor and smile to myself – did they not read their Archimedes, and miscalculate how much displacement the three of us would cause?

All thoughts of physics flee my mind, though, as soon as I feel the rough texture of loofah sponges on my flesh. The rub gently along my arms, shoulders, feet, calves, I can feel the dry and tired skin sloughing away with their gentle touch. The sponges find my breasts and belly, caress my waist and thighs, work gently over my mons pubis and graze the tender lips below before making their way back up to my hips.

Meanwhile hands have joined the sponges to caress my face. I open my eyes and tilt my head back to see that I have a lover sitting behind me outside the tub, and he is gently rubbing a mint-scented cream into my tired jaw and cheeks, exhausted from giving broad smiles and making small talk all night. Another lover kneels beside him combing my hair, the teeth scraping my scalp deliciously and tugging my hair gently straight, unfurling the cares and tangles of the evening.

I am pulled away from the edge of the tub and suspended between my loofah bearers over the deepest point, hands on my back and ass. The lover combing my hair climbs into the tub and kneels behind me to wash my hair, his fingers massaging my scalp as he lathers a lemongrass-scented shampoo. The lover who was applying the cream to my face is in the tub now, too, and is rubbing a cream into my shoulders, my breasts, down my belly and between my legs. I feel a tingly warmth penetrate my muscles with each pull of his fingers, and I close my eyes, afloat in bliss.

The lover behind me rinses my hair, gently pouring cascades of water with cupped hands. The lover massaging me moves around the kneel between my legs, and suddenly his lips are on my belly, kissing gently, working their way down, down, until his mouth and chin are submerged in the water and I let out a surprised gasp when his lips find and gently suckle my clitoris. I want to wrap my legs around his neck and pull him in closer, but the lovers holding me aloft each place a hand on my thighs to keep my legs apart.

My shampooing lover has finished rinsing my hair and he bends down to kiss me; I groan into his mouth while the lover between my legs sends his tongue in a long, searching line from the bottom of my pussy lips to the tip of my clit. This must be a signal in what appears to be a highly choreographed dance, because my wife bearers suddenly heave me up to a gentle seat on the edge of the tub. The air feels cool on my skin when I rise out of the hot water, and my nipples harden immediately. Luckily my two bearers are there to apply warm mouths and gentle tongues to my breasts.

My shampooing lover wraps a soft white towel around my head, gently squeezing my hair in its folds, while the lover who had been working his tongue between my legs climbs out of the tub to retrieve more towels; his cock is erect now, too, bobbing almost as high as his belly when he returns to the tub with a stack of towels and a robe draped over his arm. I’m gently brought to standing, and all four of my lovers surround me with towels and gentle fondling. I meet their mouths with mine when they seek my lips, but when I reach out to find cocks with my hands I am dodged and rebuffed; they laugh at my frustrated sighs.

When I am sufficiently dry they slip a plush white robe over my shoulders and lift me up again and gently carry me from the tub to the sitting area of the suite. This is one of my favorite suites in our favorite hotel, with a spacious lounging area adjoining the bathroom and double doors that separate the bedroom into its own space. The doors are open, and I peek through as they carry me to see the spacious bed with the sheets turned down, lights dim, and soft pillows strewn about it. I am pleased to see so much preparation, though it appears that we are not yet at the stage for the bed.

They deposit me on the end of a chaise and lean me against a soft pillow. From here I can look out the large windows and see the lights of the city all around me, sparkling like earthbound stars. One of my lovers hurries away and returns with a porcelain cup and a silver carafe. He pours a steaming cup of mint and camomile tea and places it gently in my hands. I savor the grassy, flowery scent, and take a sip; it’s my favorite bedtime blend, and I feel drowsiness displacing my arousal so conditioned am I by its aroma.

One of my lovers sits at my feet and resumes the massage he was delivering downstairs, before I was transported to Patrick’s blissful surprise. He is joined by another lover at my other foot, and between them they return me to that state of quietly aroused reverie. They have a cool, white cream that they are rubbing into my toes, my heels, the balls of my feet, and I breathe deeply as all tension leaves my body.

My robe has fallen open, and the lover who was standing behind me takes advantage of the access to my breasts to take them in his hands. My nipples poke into his palms. With his hands full he can’t defend his erect penis, and I cradle my cup of tea with one hand while reaching with the other to his thick, smooth shaft. I am pleased when he doesn’t rebuke me – he smiles benignly at me as I gently stroke his cock in time with the circles he’s drawing with his fingers around my nipples, and I feel the blood pulsing beneath his velvety skin.

Three lovers are accounted for – two at my feet, one in my hand – and I look around to find the fourth standing at the foot of the chaise, lazily stroking his own cock while watching me minister to his partner. I smile and beckon him forward with my eyes. He kneels between the lovers at my feet and begins to kiss his way up my thighs to my pussy, gently working his tongue into the folds. I moan, almost spilling my tea, and stroke the cock in my hand a little faster.

Some silent signal must have passed between my lovers, because suddenly I lifted again, legs dangling as two men take hold of my thighs and ass and I lean back into the arms of the man whose cock I was stroking. The lover who was licking me retrieves my teacup before I can drop it and follows us into the bedroom.

They lay me gently in the middle of the bed, my robe spread out beneath me, and encircle me on their knees. They smile down at me, all four cocks now pointing skyward, and begin to gently stroke my body. I am a naked tangle of burning nerves and I respond to each touch with a moan or a gasp. I reach out for cocks, and I find them – hot and stiff, filling my hands. My lovers moan, too, when I stroke their shafts.

Fingers find my pussy lips and pull them apart; it’s not a difficult task, I am open and wet and longing to be filled. There are at least two hands between my legs, one attending to my swollen clit while the other works two fingers into my channel. I gasp and buck my hips against the hands, wanting more pressure, more contact, more inside me. A cock brushes my cheek, and I draw it quickly into my mouth, sucking with the desperation I feel in my cunt.

I feel a warm moisture against my pussy, and look down to see that one of my lovers is holding a stoneware bowl and is pulling long, viscous strands of a warm, clear jelly from it with his fingers and gently spreading it all over my lower parts. One of his fingers briefly invades my puckered anus, and he smiles at my flinch and gasp. Confident that he knows what he’s doing down there, I return my attention to the cock that was in my mouth.

The first cock to slide into my pussy meets no resistance, riding as it does on a well-lubricated highway into my tunnel. I take the cock out of my mouth so I can cry out in pleasure, and then resume my sucking. There are hands all over me – on my tits, my belly, my face, my thighs – while my lover fucks me with long, deliberate strokes. I am afloat on a warm and sensuous cloud, enfolded in attention from my lovers.

I am just on the edge of orgasm when the cock leaves my pussy and I feel the men shifting around me. My protesting groan quickly turns to one of pleasure when my pussy is filled again by a different cock; I reach out and find the cock that was just fucking me, slick with the warm lubricant and my juices, and pump it in time with my next lover’s thrusts. There’s a new cock in my mouth now, musky and lush, and another in my other hand; I am be-cocked, and adored.

They proceed in this circle until all of my lovers have had a chance to slide into my pussy; and while it is glorious to be so thoroughly fucked, they have the uncanny ability to withdraw just as I’m about to climax. I whimper in frustration as the fourth lover interrupts my orgasm by pulling his slippery cock free, and they all look down on me with wicked smiles.

One of them takes up the bowl of lubricant – it has a wonderful vanilla flavor when I lick it off their cocks as they make their rounds – and applies a fresh coating all over my pussy and ass. I see movement out of the corner of my eye, and turn my head to see one of my lovers briefly leave the bed and then return carrying the cutest pink butt plug, glistening in the warm light with its own fresh coating. I sigh in anticipation and lick my lips, and his smile becomes even more wicked.

My lover with the plug kneels between my legs and rubs my pussy and ass with his free hand while holding the plug aloft so I can see it. I recognize it as one that Patrick and I have used from time to time. It’s one of the smaller ones in our collection, with a gentle taper and smooth hips that slide easily into my anus when my lover presses it against the hole and slowly slides it in. He turns it once it’s fully seated, giving me a pleasant tingle of pleasure and pain, and then takes his cock in hand and slides into my pussy.

The plug makes me feel completely filled, and puts pressure on the back wall of my vagina, tightening the channel. My lover’s cock moves more slowly now, somehow deeper, and I can feel my climax building again. I bite my lip and stare up into his face.

“Please let me come,” I whisper, “I really want you to make me come.”

He presses a finger to my lips to shush me, and begins to pump faster. I look around and see that my other lovers are kneeling around me, stroking their cocks in time with my lover’s fucking, just tantalizingly out of reach of my hands. My lover’s thrusts get faster, faster, I’m just on the edge and –

Over I go into a toe-curling orgasm that makes my legs shake and I scream with pleasure. My lover pauses briefly and then groans himself, and I feel the warm flood of his cum fill my pussy. He leans down to kiss my lips, and then steps aside so another lover can take his place.

My lovers proceed to fill me with cocks and cum, and to drive me from climax to climax until I am constantly shaking with pleasure. Warm froth coats my pussy lips as they churn my filled cunt with their cocks, and the musky smell is overpowering – my juices, their jizz, the rich vanilla scent of the lube is overwhelming and intoxicating.

“Did you enjoy your surprise?” says a voice from the foot of the bed.

“Oh, Patrick!” I moan, opening my eyes to see my husband standing over me, naked, cock in hand, as my last lover empties his load into me and withdraws with a smile. Patrick is grinning at the flood of jizz pouring out of my cunt and onto my sopping wet robe.

“I suppose you must be exhausted,” he says. “Shall I tuck you in so you can sleep?”

“No!” I cry. “Oh Patrick, please fuck me into oblivion!”

He laughs and climbs up onto the bed. I glance around the room to see that my four lovers are standing by the bed still, cocks shiny and relaxed, all wearing broad smiles. They watch with obvious adoration as Patrick lies on top of me, kissing my lips and fondling my breasts, and then slips easily into my open, cream-filled pussy. He reaches between us to give my butt plug a turn, making me moan. I wrap my legs around his waist and pull him tightly to me as he thrusts, his pubic bone grinding against my clit and sending me spiraling into another climax.

“Oh Patrick,” I moan, “you are so cruel to have kept your cock away from me all this time!”

“You didn’t enjoy my stand ins?” He nips playfully at my breast with his teeth.

“They were wonderful,” I gasp, “but they’re not you. Yours is the cock I need to send me into the realm of dreams.”

“Then I wish you the most pleasant of dreams, my love,” he whispers, nibbling at my ear. “Lie back in the arms of Morpheus, darling, you’ve earned your rest tonight.”


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