The Pleasure Chateau: The Omnibus (13 page)

Nina busied herself with paintin
g her toenails. Midnight Sapphire. She belonged to the Marquis's private, sodomitical harem, a race of sex-slaves conditioned to obey his every sexual request. She had no way of telling when Donatien would demand her bottom, and so she had constantly to look attractive, should his spontaneous desire demand her favours.

Nina heard his footsteps before Marciana. Her ears were alert to his impatiently assertive step, and sometimes she would hear him all night long pacing from room to room of the dormant château.

When he came into the room, he looked like he had ingested drugs, and he was concentrated on Marciana's bottom to a degree that eliminated all incidentals. His eyes were spaced into sexual trance. He placed the lit torch he was carrying into a holder beside the bed, and began slowly to undress.

He was indomitably erect, and Nina kissed the head of his cock, before applying a star-glitter gel to the prepuce. As a preliminary to entry, and Nina's rolling on one of the Sadean-crested condoms especially manufactured for his use, Donatien would like to tease Marciana by placing his cock along her cleft. He would position it like a guitar-neck on her similarly lubricated crack, and pick out frets of pleasure along the soft lining of her vault. It was Donatien's tuning process, a prelude that would excite Marciana to the point of screaming.

Donatien's penis was jutting out from a pair of Marciana's black silk panties. It was part of the ritual that Nina should tease these off his bottom, after having gelled the tip of his cock. He submitted to Nina's provocative manner of undressing him with an air of passive resignation. It was only with his sister that Donatien gave voice to the excitement that would rage through his body. With any other partner, male or female, he would adopt a role of autocratic diffidence, and appear to be fucking them from the remove of his aristocratic hauteur.

Marciana was lying face down, her chin resting on silk cushions, her hands tied, and her bottom raised by the support of cushions beneath her stomach. Her buttocks were angled to ensure maximum provocation. Nina extinguished the cove lights and the room was lit by the single torch that Donatien had placed by the bed. The frescoes on the cobalt walls jumped alive, their sensual morphologies suggesting a correspondingly shaved pubis on the other side of foregrounded buttocks.

Donatien, who derived pleasure from anticipation, withdrew from his foreplay with Marciana, and motioned to Nina that at some stage of the activities, Jacques was to be introduced to the room in the role of dual-fucker. Donatien liked to receive what he was giving his sister, and through being active and passive at the same time, his arousal was intensified. The chain had been known to extend to triple, quadruple and quintuple fuckers, all of whom in their remorseless fucking communicated with the sex trigger in Donatien's brain.

Marciana's bedroom was soundproofed, for her brother fed on silence as a stimulus to his clandestine sexual vocabulary. He would gorge on Marciana's bottom like a snake, knowing that no scream of protest would ever find its way to the château's other inhabitants.

According to a preconceived ritual Nina rolled the special Sadean sheath on to Donatien's tugging cock. The eight gold stars were grouped round the teat, and Nina ran a viperine tongue over the shark-headed prepuce. Donatien tilted for deep throat, as though he wanted to fill an impossible constriction with maximum input.

Jacques burst into the room with the pretence that the Marquis was under arrest. It was his pre-rehearsed role to enter on an authoritative note of law, and to bullwhip Donatien if he showed any least sign of weakness in his resolve to fuck Marciana.

Donatien entered Marciana's lubricated rosette with the expertise of a man who over the centuries had accustomed himself to no other form of sex than sodomy. The blind eye in his penis began to open as it penetrated Marciana, and found its pivot in her abyss. From there he could view his past sexual history as a series of insightful footage. He saw himself convulsively flicking a red-haired adolescent in the 18th century in a small house in Paris, while two glowering negro pimps bullwhipped the Madame for some minor act of impoliteness to himself. There had been something about the autumnal streets which led to the closed house that had alerted him to the awareness that one day he would be criminalised for his actions. He experienced it all over again, as his deepening thrusts provoked extended moans from Marciana.

He had known on that afternoon with the redhead that the secret contents of his mind had grown transparent. The big chestnut trees umbrellaed above the house appeared raffishly conspiratorial in bringing his sexual misdemeanours to light. There was a feeling in him that the street had something on him too.

He had reached a brief resting-point in Marciana. He eased his weight off her back, but still kept her impaled on his indomitable erection. She wriggled, making circular motions from her hips as a signal that he was not to withdraw. Donatien felt an excruciating tension in his balls. He felt like he was being tickled by a testicular nest of ants. He knew from the anticipation that when he finally came his ejaculation would be like a solid column of scalding sperm.

But he was still back in a grape-coloured 18th century day. This time it was at La Coste. He had insisted on taking girls and youths from the local village back to the castle. Something about the atmospherics of the place hooked them, the funereal corridors lit with torches, the heavy red drapes and erotic statues, the permanent smell of night that invaded the rooms, and of course his own obsessive, but magnetizing charisma.

That afternoon, three naked men wearing rhinestone crowns had dragged the youths there in a handcart. The men had been whipped up the slope to the château by one of his personal slaves. Donatien savoured the memory of having had the room in which sex took place sealed up during the time of the activities. Molten lead had been poured into the locks of the fortified door, so that there was no way in or out.

He saw himself again, dressed in purple leather thigh-boots, a purple rinse in his hair, knouting a whip
-handle studded with sapphires. He had left supplicant bottoms ridged like tyre-treads. He had waded into the willing in an orgiastic rite in which he had poured bottle after bottle of Chanel No 5 over used flesh. The dungeon had smelt like a bonfire of scent. Increasingly overcome by a volatile satyriasis, he had carried on whipping until his instruments broke under the strain. The broken handles served as dildos in the ensuing geometry of bodies driven to exacerbation by aphrodisiacs.

As Donatien recalled the brutality of that afternoon, so he reactivated his member in Marciana's subterranean orifice. He dug in deeper. He felt he was releasing stars in her depths that in turn would swim into her eyes. Marciana was the mystic receptacle that gave him life, and he began swimming in rippling undulations along her back. He asserted himself with a lord of the underworld's authority. Marciana moaned as she entered an ecstatic spasm. Donatien pointed in deeper, as Jacques laid a single hot lash across his buttocks. He went deeper still, raiding the vaults of her inner sanctum.

It was Jacques's task to make a liturgical recital of certain passages from
The 120 Days Of Sodom
as the fucking entered continuous deep motion. Donatien was still a long way from generating the eight-pointed star that burst into Marciana's vision at the moment of orgasm. This Sadean manifestation of a supernova was the miraculous sign engendered by their incestuous pact. It brought the three magi back to the château, and so often he found himself the recipient of their presents: a gold Cadillac, a consignment of perfume, or three thousand scarlet roses left in a drift by the main door.

Donatien thrust furiously into Marciana's cleft for a number of tormenting minutes, and then let up for another period of respite. He felt that contained within him was a ferocity in the sexual act that could lead to psychosis. He sensed that if he let himself go he would end up mad at the point of orgasm. He would, like Jim Morrison, break on through to the other side, but Marciana would never survive the ordeal. She would be left dead on the black silk cushions, and he would be faced with having to bury her under a tall oak in the château's grounds.

Excited by the morbid prospect of necrophilic love, Donatien crawled like a grappling combat-creature over the blind side of his sister's body. He wanted to impress on her the inexorability of their union. Nothing could ever break that occult bond. Marciana lived to be punished by his sexual dynamic, and to undergo the vision of an eight-pointed star as she screamed her way to hysterical orgasm.

Donatien worked himself deeper and deeper into his sister's backside, but he was still haunted by flashbacks that had him backtrack to past conquests. His mind was suddenly invaded by Marguerite Coste and Marianne Laverne, two of the women who had brought legal complaints against him for the administration of aphrodisiacs, and deviant sexual practises. It had been pastilles of Cantharides flies that got him into trouble. He had insisted that the women ate a quantity that had resulted in vesical lesions. The trouble that had visited him as a consequence was as big as
Africa. He had never succeeded in clearing himself of the charges of poisoning and sodomy. He had been busy at the time supervising rehearsals of
Adélaïde du Guesclin
and
L'Amant Auteur
for performance at La Coste. He freeze-framed his distress in those weeks. It had been the first serious opposition he had known to his despotic ego, and he had flamed with vengeance for the women who had dared obstruct his libertine propensities.

He saw himself again in headlong flight for
Venice in the company of his valet Latour. His romantic interlude with his pretty sister-in-law Anne Prospère had been calculated to incinerate any last vestige of remaining tolerance extended to him by his mother-in-law.

As he thought of the outrages he had perpetrated on Anne Prospère, so he deepened his hold on Marciana. Nina intercepted Donatien's wishes by fitting a pair of silk stockings over her fingers and drawing them up her arms. With the expertise of her silk fingers she now began tickling Donatien's balls and the crack of his bottom with her cushioned fingertips. At a sign from him she would have to be ready to pump him with a leopard-spotted dildo, while Jacques in turn sodomized her as part of a deviant triumvirate of fuckers.

Donatien was starting to burn on a slow orgasmic fuse. He imagined angels setting fire to the building, and the ceiling dropping on the sexual participants. He fantasized how they would continue their orgiastic excesses on a flaming pyre. Nothing could ever liberate him from Marciana's bottom. The fascination it had asserted over him for three centuries was inexorable. And each time he entered it he discovered still another concealed passage leading to the big room in which kings and queens sat reading a book of wonders. He fucked harder in the hope of penetrating this mystery. As he did so he felt Nina enter him with a dildo, and knew from her short exclamatory cry that Jacques had correspondingly penetrated her sphincter. The momentum communicated by Jacques to Nina and from Nina to himself inspired him to accommodate Marciana with the vigorous activity for which she was pleading. Marciana had contrived to raise herself on her haunches, so that her brother could view the lugubrious animality of her rotating cheeks. His speed now was vicious as Donatien animated his pelvic thrusts to that of an attacking snake. Nina moved in rhythm with Donatien's salient lead, and Jacques drew cries of pleasure from Nina as he inserted a finger into her vulva.

Donatien fed on the power of dominating the collective sexual thrust. If he stopped abruptly, transfixing Marciana on his bloated need, then he denied Nina the orgasm that Jacques seemed about to activate. It was something he would do with vicious spite. He would have Nina burst into tears with frustration, as he held off from opening still another door to Marciana's interior. Jacques too would be prevented imminent ejaculation by Donatien's bringing his own ascendant to a peremptory halt.

Donatien was beginning to invoke the gypsies of Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer, who had brought a star with eight golden rays from the East. He called on the princes of Les Baux, and on Balthasar, one of the three magi, commanding that they should be present in his sperm when he came. He hammered hard at Marciana's bottom, who in turn was hoarsely enunciating the extremes of her pleasure.

Donatien could feel the incandescent premonitions of orgasm. It seemed impossible that the pressure in his scrotum would ever find release through the constrictive eye of his penis, And sometimes in the act of coming his pleasure had been indefinitely intensified by what had seemed the impossibility of ever ejaculating his load. Marciana was beginning to communicate the ecstatic trance-state in which she would receive visions. She told Donatien through her exclamatory moans that the first of the eight rays of the golden star were lighting up, and now a second had appeared, and then a third. Donatien coaxed his deep inner penetration to maximum sensitisation. To protract the cataclysmic mutual orgasm that they would soon undergo, he tickled Marciana internally with both his finger and his penis. A fourth and fifth ray had come into Marciana's vision. Donatien was so concentrated now on sexual apocalypse that he was detached from the singularly carnal aspirations that were being lived out by Jacques and Nina as they arrived at renewed orgasm.