I batted my eyes to say I did too.
Paser latched onto the sinew of my neck like he might take a bite. He did a little, enough to make indents and elicit a gasp from me. Then he licked and kissed up to my ear, urging me to drop my head back, baring my neck to him and nearly resting my head on his shoulder.
He tugged me down again, so I repeated the tease, the dip, the brush of his cock between my cheeks, the denial as I swiveled upright. His grunting was more a growl now as he ran his hands up my stomach, beneath the line of my azure top. He squeezed my chest and thumbed my nipples with equal possessiveness as he had grasped my hips.
Dancing closer, Nakht mimicked the general more than me now, at first grasping his own hips, and then slithering his hands up his stomach and further beneath his crimson top. The pertness of his nipples after he brushed them made little tents of the fabric.
Just as my cock tented the fabric over it.
I wanted to squeeze it, stroke it, or better, have Nakht do so, but he hadn’t been invited to join us, and I dared not do so myself without permission. I shifted instead so that my next grind down and brush against Paser’s cock also brushed my cock against his knee.
He husked rougher than before, “Such an amorous beauty. I like that.” He moved his hand back, lower, slowly down my stomach, and found the spring of my arousal. He stroked it like I needed, and as the motion moved aside the fabric covering it and Nakht’s eyes drifted down to watch, the front of his lower fabric tented too.
Nakht slowed the motion of his body even further, and I matched his tempo, thrusting into the general’s hand at Nakht’s speed, as though he were the one touching me. It was always Nakht in my mind. Him and me. Dawn and dusk. Because of that, I had never thought of us as slaves, even though we had both been born into our chains.
“Also amorous, I see.” The general peered at Nakht over my shoulder. “You may touch yourself, but do not stop dancing.”
We had practiced that often, as well as dancing while also touching each other.
Watching Nakht slip a hand beneath the fall of red fabric, but only seeing his strokes as shadow and motion, plumped me harder in the general’s grasp.
I lowered myself again, thighs quaking from how many times I had. I could do so for hours, but that didn’t mean I never ached. I ached for so much. To be fondled. To be filled. The sight of my beloved touching himself while dancing nourished me to my core, but I neededmore.
Nakht slowed again—his dance, his hand—so I did the same, gliding along the general’s length so it bounced up between my cheeks more insistently. I hovered like that, teasing him, thighs trembling, and feeling just how wet I had become in his palm.
He pushed me up and forward so suddenly, I feared I would pitch toward the floor, but he held firm to my hips as he tore my belt from me and plunged his tongue inside my entrance.
I moaned, loud enough to echo, but I was not the only one adding to the music. The great hall had been sectioned into many alcoves, for larger or smaller dalliances like ours. Moans and gasps and pleasured cries were the chorus amid the songs. Some might have stolen away to bedrooms, perhaps even Pharaoh was with one of his wives by now, or more likely a concubine or dancer of his own.
We had been in Pharaoh’s bed, but tonight, we were Paser’s.
He licked inside me, and I quaked more from desire than muscle strain. My cock throbbed, hanging thick and heavy for Nakht’s eyes to devour. He licked his lips, and in the measured pace of his dance, he undid his own belt and let it fall to the floor like a shimmer of spilled wine.
He was so beautiful, as swollen as I was and growing harder from his caresses.
“Wait,” Paser growled, and I obediently peered back at him to watch him lie flat without moving up the bed. “To me. I will continue to wet you, while the one in red wets me to enter you.”
Yes. I was grateful Nakht wasn’t doomed to only spectate.
I moved so that I straddled the daybed up by Paser’s face, lowering myself within reach of his tongue. My thighs would begin burning again quickly, but now, I had a better view to distract me.
Nakht swept toward us, dropping to his knees between the general’s thighs, and began to swallow him and hum around his length as only those of us trained in pleasure could. I loved leisurely playing with myself while watching Nakht deep-throat another, just as much as he enjoyed watching the general wet my entrance.
We could look but not touch each other.
We could feel but only imagine it was us committing and receiving the acts.
There was an odd intensity to it, even a certain intimacy, knowing this was an act for our masters, a defiant performance, and when alone, we were each other’s only.
Paser moaned from Nakht’s talented tonguing, stuttering the thrusts of his own probing tongue. My thighs quaked worse than ever, and I was soaking my own palm, needing to slow and squeeze almost too tightly to stave off my end.
“Enough,” the general rasped. “Sit upon me and suck the red one’s cock while I have you.”
Gladly. It was the greatest blessing when ordered to perform as we would in private.
My legs shook so much when I pushed upright that Nakht offered a hand to steady my return to the front of the bed. He released me once I joined him but watched heatedly as I first pushed aside the fall of the general’s tunic and then sat upon his ready prick. It was my turn to take what my beloved had swallowed, but I would get the pleasure of swallowing him.
The general swelled within me as I took him deeper, sitting up behind me, and feeling beneath my dancer’s top like before. In tandem, Nakht came closer, holding his cock in preparation for me to take it. The final seating upon the general burst another moan from my lips, and he wasted no time before bouncing me on his lap, thrusting deeper and deeper inside me. It caused moan after plaintive moan to leave me, until our rhythm was stable enough for me to tip forward.
