A Madness Most Discreet Page 18

  “Shall we their fond pageant see? Lord, what fools these mortals be!” Liam recited.

  “A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” I said, recognizing the line. “That must be the theme.”

  We were crowned almost immediately with wreaths of flowers and ushered inside where I was confronted yet again with Arden’s nude marble clone, now festooned with a sash of flowers and wearing a crown similar to our own.

  “Is that—”

  “Yes,” I answered.

  “Michael,” Arden sang, rushing to greet us. He hugged Franco and Liam, then kissed me lightly. He wore a peasant blouse, unlaced nearly to his navel and brown, suede pants, snug enough to mimic deerskin. I could just make out two tiny horns protruding from his crown of leaves and bric-a-brac from the natural world.

  “Puck,” I guessed, and he laughed in a spritely way.

  “Yes, I’m very horny, you see?” He gave a cheeky grin, then spread his arms at our surroundings. “What do you think?”

  The interior was lush and verdant with fresh flowers of every kind spilling out of doorways and hanging precariously from sconces. Living vines had been woven in the iron stair railings, rendering it unrecognizable. The interior looked very much like an English garden.

  “Enchanting. I can’t believe you did all this.”

  “Josie and her people helped.”

  “Who’s Josie?”

  “Josefina. Our flower lady.” He punched me lightly on the shoulder. “But wait until you see this.”

  He dragged me by my arm to a large, gallery-sized room I’d not seen before. In the center was what appeared to be a ribboned May pole spanning from ceiling to floor, and who should be coiled around it like a striking cobra, but Marquis himself.

  “I recruited some of Carousel’s talent. I hope you don’t mind,” he said to Franco. “I was so inspired by their performance.”

  The music was of the baroque variety performed by a string quartet, all of them in formal attire. Colorful hammocks were anchored to the high ceilings and scattered around the room. On each of those harnesses, nude acrobats rippled and swelled to a gathering company of admirers. Their movements reminded me of synchronized swimming, only suspended in air.

  “Aerial yoga,” Arden explained to the three of us.

  “They are very flexible,” Franco remarked.

  The party had the feeling of just getting started, with the dying sunlight still casting long shadows across the room, but I predicted soon enough, the lights would dim, and patrons might take advantage of the many secluded alcoves that had been formed by both shrubbery and delicate-looking screens.

  “Drinks,” Arden said and led us to one of several bars where the bartenders wore leaf garlands and not much else.

  “This is fantastico,” Franco said. His attention swung from the flesh on display to his lover’s erotic undulations, and I wondered if he might be regretting his vow of monogamy.

  “Thank you. I invested myself pretty heavily in this one.”

  “He’s outdone himself,” Matteo said, joining our little party. He wore a wine-colored suit, cut to fit his form perfectly. A crown of grape leaves encircled his head. Dionysus, I presumed. True to the god’s gluttonous character, Matteo held a waifish, pale-skinned red-head on one arm and a well-built man of Latin descent on the other. Arden made introductions. I could see the questions burning behind my friends’ eyes, and I only hoped they might show some restraint.

  “Please, indulge yourselves,” Mateo said magnanimously. “Drink, eat, and be merry. There are rooms upstairs for anyone wanting a little more privacy.” His canny look riled me. I didn’t need his invitation to be affectionate with my lover.

  Matteo departed to mingle. I noticed then, the disparity between his guests and those who I assumed had been hired as “entertainment,” in age, status, and their state of dress. The entertainment wore far fewer clothes, mostly of sheer and gauzy materials. Their physiques and ethnicities varied, but they all shared a similar allure, one that I recognized in Arden—young, hungry, and beautiful.

  “They’re paid to attend,” Arden said, probably reading something on my face that I was trying hard not to show. “Anything beyond that is up to the individual.”

  “The Ruspanti,” I mused. I’d looked up the word. It was the name for a cadre of attractive men and some women, mostly peasants, who’d entertained the Medici duke Gian Gastone in his Tuscan court. Ruspi was the low-value coin they were paid for their services. Nowadays, ruspi meant prostitute.

  “He has something of an obsession with the Medici,” Arden said.

  Franco and Liam had drifted closer to where Marquis was making love to the pole, his body a flesh ribbon wrapping itself languorously around the metal. Franco wore a rapt expression, nodding absently to whatever Liam was nattering on about.

  “I like the theme,” I told him. “Shakespeare would approve, I think.”

  “Poor Mr. Horne had to take the week off. The flowers were too much for his allergies.”

  “Must have cost a fortune.”

  “Matteo can afford it.”

  That was certainly true.

  Men were congregating at the far end of the room, and we moved closer to see what had captured their attention. It was a life-sized bronze sculpture of a Grecian athlete in repose. The only thing upright on the figure was his well-endowed and fully erect phallus. It appeared to have been coated in some viscous fluid, which was good because a young man was attempting to mount the tarnished metal amidst a rabble of enthusiastic encouragement. I watched with incredulity as the thick dowel of burnished bronze disappeared inside the man’s nubile body. The crowd quieted as he sat fully in his steed, then slowly, began to rock. His noises were obscene as he pitched and swayed to a growing, feverish mob. Despite being raised in a big city, I suppose I’d been rather sheltered, because I’d never seen anything like it.

  “He’s going to be popular tonight,” Franco said, suddenly at my side. Liam’s mouth was gaping, and his normally pale cheeks were flush with color.

  “I don’t know who I envy more,” Liam said.

  “Do you think he’ll be able to climax like that?” I asked. He was certainly making his best attempt.

  “It’s not much different from using a dildo,” Franco mused as though he had some experience with fucking anatomically correct sculptures.

  Soon enough, the young man grabbed hold of his plump, juicy cock and started jerking it ferociously. He came a few titillating moments later, splashing ejaculate on the pant leg of a well-dressed, older gentleman. Some in the crowd applauded while the gentleman offered his hand to the younger, as though assisting him out of a limousine. The exhibitionist, now red-faced and bashful, accepted his gallantry. He gingerly dismounted and followed the older man to a nearby couch to be coddled. I couldn’t tell if they were lovers or if they’d only just met.

  “I feel bad for the statue,” Liam said. His tie was now absent. He must have stuffed it in his pocket. “Trapped in a state of perpetual arousal with a thirst that will never be slaked.”

  I sensed Liam was speaking to his own situation.

  “You should write a poem about it,” Franco suggested. He made a motion to his tented pants. “I am also feeling inspired.”

  I’d fallen into something of a lustful stupor. It was in the air. Sex mingled with sweet cocktails and the scent of overripe blooms. So much young, naked flesh on display, their scant clothing like flower petals hardly concealing the treasures within. Marquis twirled languidly above us, an exotic bird fluttering about its perch. Men coupled in the waning light while the shadows of their movement elongated on the marble floor, arousing and grotesque.

  “Would you like to see Matteo’s orchid collection?” Arden asked.

  We refreshed our drinks and followed Arden to the West Terrace where I’d met Matteo previously. The sun had set, and the fountain, lit from below, cast an ethereal glow on those nearby. Arden looked lovely in moonlight, as I’d observed him on several occasions, tang
led in my bedsheets.

  The four of us strolled past groupings lounging on patio furniture or fondling each other amidst the backdrop of the glittering city. The greenhouse was unoccupied save for us. We took a tour of the flowers with Arden pointing out some of the rarer ones. They were artistically showcased with track lighting, and I wondered if that was Arden’s doing as well.

  “I’ve never been to this kind of party,” Liam suddenly exclaimed.

  “What do you think so far?” Arden asked with a curious tilt to his head.

  “I think,” Liam started, then cut himself short before restarting like a sputtering engine. “I think I need to come.” He glanced around at the three of us. The admission was monumental for him.

  “Why don’t you take it out?” Arden suggested and slid his own pants down to the tops of his thighs as if that was how they were properly worn. His pretty, pink cock popped out, mostly hard and already glistening at the tip.

  “You too, Michael,” he said, and I followed suit. Franco didn’t need any instruction. We were all under Arden’s spell.

  “Touch it,” Arden said to Liam while stroking himself. Liam’s eyes were riveted on my lover with determination, as if looking away might break his tenacious hold on his passions. Liam gave a tentative tug on his cock, then cupped the head and drew his hand down to the root.

  “Feels good, doesn’t it?” Arden encouraged, working himself over as he sometimes did in our bedroom, when he wanted to give me a show. I’d been touching myself without realizing it, aroused by what was quickly becoming some kind of gentlemanly circle jerk.

  “Suck Michael’s cock,” Franco said to Arden roughly, never one to shy away from leadership opportunity. “Down on your knees.”

  Without a word, Arden sunk elegantly to the gravel ground in front of me, a position he favored. He peeled back the folds of my trousers like flower petals and dragged them down far enough to expose me completely. It didn’t even occur to me to protest.

  “You’re bigger than I thought,” Liam said, never having had the pleasure of meeting my dick before.

  Franco, enterprising as he was, had already nicked some supplies and tossed Liam a packet of lube before taking one for himself.

  “Heat Wave,” Liam said, reading the name of his package. “Better not burn.”

  Arden was nuzzling my scrotum while my dick bobbed freely. It was an ugly, veined, rapacious thing next to Arden’s elegant beauty.

  “Yes, tease him,” Franco said. “Make him beg for it, Arden. Where is Marquis? I want him here right now.”

  I reached down to grab hold of Arden’s silky hair, and Franco ordered me to put my hands behind my head.

  “Don’t move,” Franco said. “You’re a statue, and Arden has to make you come.” He carefully removed Arden’s crown and placed it on a nearby table, then ran his own long fingers through Arden’s hair, petting him softly. “That’s it, catch the drips. Michael has a messy cock.”

  Arden lapped at my dribbles fastidiously while awaiting his next instruction.

  “The head now,” Franco said, pumping his own greased-up member. “Not a lot of pressure.”

  Arden’s wet heat enveloped my cockhead, and my hips bucked forward involuntarily. He opened wider to accommodate me. Franco smacked my ass. “Quit cheating.”

  By now Liam had come closer to watch Franco’s tutorial. Three hunched, horny men and my lover on his knees between us. My crude, demanding cock pacified by his pretty mouth. With his fingers still nested in Arden’s tousled hair, Franco eased him down so that his mouth encased my flared head and a good portion of my shaft. It wasn’t easy, given the circumference, but Arden did an admirable job.

  “Christ, that’s hot,” Franco said, backing off a little to give Arden room to maneuver. Arden glanced up at me, the obvious adoration causing my heart to seize momentarily. I jutted forward again, and Arden took me all the way down, gagging a little but refusing to pull all the way out. We found a depth that worked, and I rolled my hips slowly. Like waves cresting and breaking in the shallows, it was a rhythmic pleasure spiked with knee-weakening euphoria. Arden moaned encouragements while Franco whispered filthy things, and Liam stroked himself impatiently. Arden liked the attention. Maybe I did too.

  And that was how I fucked my lover’s mouth. With an audience of my best friends in a greenhouse of clitoral blooms owned by my millionaire rival who’d invited me into his home for perhaps this very purpose. Surreal didn’t begin to describe it.

  But those thoughts skittered away as I focused on the stretch of Arden’s reddened lips, the wet heat that cradled me, the tears of piety forming at the corners of his eyes. He looked like one of Bernini’s statues, exquisitely rendered.

  “Yes, Arden. Please. That feels fantastic.” I shivered like an adolescent as a rush of endorphins overtook me. My orgasm fled my body like a startled garden snake, and I emptied into his mouth in long, warm pulses. He held onto it dutifully, patiently waiting for the last tremor to race through me. He absorbed my final orgasmic shudders before I withdrew from his parted lips. Then he spat my semen into the gravel, because he didn’t like to swallow, and with me, at least, he did whatever he wanted.

  I leaned my bare ass against a potting table while Franco and Liam fired off their loads, aiming at the floor, because somehow, they knew I wouldn’t want them marking my lover’s skin.

  “And you?” I helped Arden to his feet, not unlike the elder gentleman and his precocious equestrian.

  “Too late,” Arden said with a shy smile. There was his offering, a glistening string of pearls, at my feet. I kissed him, tasting my own bitterness in his mouth. I wanted more. I wanted everything. He must know that in the way I held him to me.

  Arden turned to Franco and Liam, as opposite as the sun and moon, though perhaps more similar now in this effervescent afterglow.

  “Feeling better?” Arden asked.

  “A bit,” Liam conceded.

  “Excellent,” Arden said. “Now, who’s ready to have some fun?”

  16

  the afterparty

  I protested but only a little when Arden suggested that medicinal supplements might increase my stamina for the nights’ events. Despite Arden’s prelude in the greenhouse, I spent the first few hours unbearably horny with a kind of crazed sexual energy flowing through my veins. The cocktails grew increasingly cloying to the palate as the night wore on, the food rich to the point of excess and altogether appropriate for the bacchanalian nature of this celebration.

  Men greeted Arden in a steady parade, but none of them made any sexual overtures. It probably didn’t hurt that my hands were on him the entire time. Of course, I wanted to ask questions, but I held my tongue. Did I really want to know how many of Matteo’s guests had been intimate with my lover?

  The entertainments were sensuous and indecent, which only served to heighten my appetite. Arden teased me relentlessly. At one point he was sitting on my lap while we faced the spectacle of two men fucking. The bottom was suspended in one of the colorful yoga harnesses, his ass displayed like a ripened peach. The top took advantage, mounting him without much preamble and fucking into him with long, steady strokes. The bottom had no leverage, being suspended like that, and was completely at the top’s mercy. Truly an act of faith.

  “Stamen, stigma, pistil,” I chanted because their performance somehow reminded me of plant pollination. “That’s how you get fruit.”

  Arden laughed at my silliness and rubbed his round ass against my cock. I contemplated how much longer I’d have to wait until I was giving Arden a similar treatment.

  The culmination of this particular entertainment was predictable but no less thrilling. I expected a cornucopia of ripened fruit to result from their efforts, but it was only my drink-addled imagination.

  Arden rounded up our party soon after, which now included Liam’s Vulcan boyfriend who must have been summoned last minute, and Marquis, relieved of his official duties. Arden led us to a room upstairs where I hoped we mig
ht consummate our lust.

  The room was large and richly decorated but didn’t offer much in the way of privacy. Arden had brought with him a couple bottles of champagne, and we drained whatever was in our glasses so that he could refill them. Liam, who tended to prattle when he was nervous, was giving an oral history on the parallels between A Midsummer Night’s Dream and the ruling politics of the time, which somehow segued into a discussion with Franco on the pros and cons of present-day capitalism, a topic on which I didn’t care to keep up. I wanted them to leave, so that I could have my lover all to myself.

  I made an earnest attempt to undress myself and Arden as well. His shirt came off easily enough, but his pants were tight, and my hands were clumsy.

  “I want you.” I kissed the curve of his neck and the knob of his bare shoulder. I was prepared to beg. “I want you always.”

  “You have me.”

  “Make them leave,” I said impatiently.

  “I don’t mind if they stay.”

  I was riled up enough that I no longer cared. They’d leave or stay according to their wishes. Arden peeled off his skin-tight pants and positioned himself on all fours in front of me on the bed. There was a dainty silicone plug already in place, and I imagined him hours ago, preparing himself for this very moment. I manipulated the toy with my thumb and forefinger, admiring the way it fit so snugly in his pretty, pink hole.

  “You’ve had to sit with that for hours,” I said, liking the idea of it immensely.

  He cast me a rakish smile over one shoulder. “I wanted to be ready for you.”

  For me. I ran my hand along the slope of his back and squeezed one hamstring, then carefully removed the plug. His sphincter tightened at the loss, grasping for something else to clench. I slipped two lubed fingers inside to pet his prostate. Arden bayed like a wolf. I was a little light-headed as I positioned myself, inured to the conversation still happening around us and focused only on gratifying the man beneath me.