their eager 'periscopes', each taking a turn at this new slippery orifice, each humping his ass until the hot liquid gushed into him, pulling out limp to make way for another stiff intruder.
He might have screamed and fought, wriggling that ass and unwittingly giving more pleasure to his assailants. Or he might have moaned at the exquisitely tight pressure, at the rough hands that could have reached around to pull on his over-stimulated organ, an avocado smeared ham-fist giving him the release he'd so desperately craved.
Did Xavion crave that release? Or was he disgusted by what was being done to him?
Dee didn't know which thought excited her more. She was panting erratically with pre-orgasmic excitement, her eyes locked on Xavion.
'Stop,' Armande commanded, and with heroic control she withdrew her fingers, shuddering as she straightened on the chair. So close.
She raised the hand to her lips and sucked the fingers, the taste her own warm juices heightening her arousal as she watched Lariat pushing Xavion down onto his knees, just the way she'd wanted to.
'Mmm,' she murmured, slurping softly as her tongue worked its way up and down each slippery finger, sliding into the spaces between.
'Still.'
Dee dropped the hand to her side and calmed her body, managing to keep the external still. But inside she was an orgasm waiting to happen.
'Can you date the makeup style?' Armande asked, and she was thankful for the distraction. Lariat had freed his thin penis and was rubbing it against the coy pink satin of Xavion's cape, the tip brushing curls at the nape of Xavion's neck.
And still Xavion stared at his reflection.
'Sixties?' she guessed from the Priscilla Presley eyeliner and pale lipstick.
'Correct,' Armande rumbled. 'Thus the teenage Lariat was prepared.'
'For what?' she asked, intrigued.
'To satisfy the perverted desires of his father's staff,' Armande replied, shifting his attention away from the present scenario to explain its past. 'Because there were no women on the Sinclair Estate — '
'Surely there was a Lady Sinclair,' Dee interrupted. 'Lariat must have had a mother.'
'Once,' Armande agreed. 'But while he was still an infant, she was found in bed with her maid. Shortly afterwards, both were committed to an insane asylum.'
'Were they insane?' Dee asked, glancing back at Lariat who was grunting softly, poking his penis into the dark curls at the back of Xavion's head.
'Not then,' Armande replied, and both fell silent as they watched Lariat loop the pearls around his penis, squeezing it until his eyes watered. 'Poor boy,' Armande said softly. 'So young and pretty. That was his undoing. His prettiness.'
Not much of it left, Dee thought. She asked, 'But weren't there other women?' imagining a castle with servants on tap. 'Cooks? Other maids?'
'Hmmm?' Armande drew his attention back to Dee. 'No. Lariat's father, Lord Sinclair, was shattered when he discovered his young wife was femme. He sent every woman off the estate, employed only men, then took to whoring and staying away a lot. Proving his manhood, was Lariat's guess.'
'Poor boy,' she echoed, glancing back at Lariat who was still trying to strangle his penis with the pearls. 'Who cared for him?'
'The head butler,' Armande explained, 'an outwardly prudish man who bootlicked the shaken Lord Sinclair in his presence, and fucked his son mercilessly in his absence.'
'My God,' Dee whispered. 'Did he make him wear…' she gestured at Xavion's ensemble.
'Lariat was dressed as a woman from the moment his father walked out the door until the time his car came back in the main gate. Even when his father was at home he was forced to wear women's underwear.'
'He never told his father?'
'Sadly, no.' Armande fell silent, but Dee wanted to know more.
'Was it only the butler?' she asked, fascinated by this glimpse into Lariat's past.
Armande sighed. 'Almost from the first the others knew what was happening,' he said. 'It started with the Gamekeeper fondling him in the hen house and soon he was being taken by everyone from stable-hands to kitchen staff. They were all sexually frustrated, you see. Some would give him pleasure, most would simply grab him and take what they wanted. It was not an easy life.'
Armande returned his attention to Lariat but it took Dee a moment longer, her mind still dwelling on the vision of a young man in women's clothing being pushed over hay bales and kitchen benches and car bonnets, his buttocks parted roughly by the intrusion of a saliva-slickened penis. The grunting, the strange pleasure she herself had felt on many occasions, and then that last hard lunge that filled the tingling cavity with hot, thick fluid. She knew that feeling too.
'This is his therapy,' Armande observed and Dee raised her eyes in time to see Lariat pulling Xavion to his feet with a hand in his hair. Despite his air of command there was a lost look to Lariat's eyes that made her feel close to him — made her wonder how much of her own 'play' had been therapy.
'Back on the bed. Back, back,' Lariat was crooning, his voice flat through the speakers that brought it into the viewing room.
Dee watched him pull Xavion backwards over a low bed, his bound arms beneath him, his buttocks on the edge, spread legs giving her a good view of his straining penis confined beneath that lurid pink miniskirt.
'Pretty, pretty,' Lariat crooned as he stroked over the bulge and up under the cape, caressing Xavion's smooth chest. 'Pretty little nipples.' He lifted the cape, obscuring Xavion's face as he bent to lick and suck them.
The bulge seemed to grow impossibly larger.
'Come, my dear,' Armande said, and pushed himself up off the lounge with a grunt. 'Let us leave them to it.'
Dee dragged her gaze away. 'Can't we watch?'
'No.' Armande walked to the door and opened it, stood waiting for her to precede him.
She frowned. There might be another time. 'All right,' she said as she rose, but couldn't resist a last glance over her shoulder.
'Big boy,' Lariat was saying as he stroked Xavion's released penis. The skirt lay open on the bed, the pale candy-pink stockings and their lace suspender belt incongruous now against the hard muscles of Xavion's thighs. His pubic area, like the rest of his body, had been shaved smooth.
' Wendee!'
Dee knew that tone. She turned quickly and exited the room, walking ahead of Armande down the narrow companionway towards his study where she would lay on his desk and tell him what she wanted to do to Xavion — what she would do if she were Lariat.
Despite her frustration, she could understand why Armande had not let her see more. He wanted her imagination. Reality could be unexpectedly limp or awkward. Fantasy was always satisfying.
She smiled to herself, licking her lips.
Then to Armande, said, 'Did the butler wear a tuxedo? Is that why Lariat wears one?'
There was silence for a moment, then, 'I don't know.' Armande appeared to be considering the idea for the first time. 'Quite possibly.'
'Then I should like to wear one too when I see Xavion.'
She reached his door and opened it herself, walking straight to the desk.
'You will not see Xavion,' Armande informed her coldly. 'While he remains here he is for Lariat.'
Dee paused, frowned again, then sprawled over the warm timber surface, knocking papers and pens to the floor. 'How long is Xavion here?' she asked, wondering if Armande's answer would reflect on her own captivity.
'That, my dear…' Armande said as he angled the light over her belly and settled out of its range on his chair — a creak in the darkness, '…is entirely dependant on my brother. I will make him choose between Xavion and yourself. He will not have both.'
'If he chooses Xavion?'
'Then I will be happy and Lariat will be disappointed.'
