While we are contemplating this fate, Lloyd returns to the room, bearing a vast platter of soft fruits and a pitcher of double cream.
Without stopping for any kind of explanation, he tips the fruit in a chilly avalanche all over my body then pours the cream on top.
I yelp and shiver and try to elude the thick stream, but all that happens is I crush a number of berries into the tablecloth, which will probably never recover.
‘Dig in,’ says Lloyd, discarding the jug with a flourish.
Giggling, Rachael kneels up on her chair and snags a strawberry from my stomach. I watch her eat, her nose dotted with cream. She looks luscious and sexy. O, ever decorous, uses her fingers to pick up a raspberry, which she then places delicately on one nipple and licks off with her tongue.
Lloyd joins in, looming over me, elbows on the table, burying his face deep into the delta of my thighs, forcing them apart. Fruits tumble in, cream drips down between my lips and coats my clit. Lloyd feeds avidly and greedily while the female diners are more delicate, hovering around my breasts and belly, careful not to smear cream on their lovely dresses.
He pushes fruits up inside me with his fingers then retrieves them with his tongue. Melon and mango combine with my own taste of honey, giving Lloyd the ultimate in dining experiences.
Daintier lips and teeth tackle my nipples, licking puréed passion fruit and cream off them. For a long time, I can hear nothing but laboured breathing, low ‘mmm’s of orgiastic delight, the smacking of lips while the three of them partake of me.
Lloyd drizzles my cunt with a raspberry coulis, licks it off but doesn’t stop when it’s all gone, his tongue continuing to work my clit with long, slow strokes.
O and Rachael stand back, all the fruit having gone now.
‘If I come …’ I manage to blurt.
‘Hmm?’ Lloyd speaks into my spread split lips.
‘Would that be …?’
‘Don’t worry about that,’ he mutters. ‘We’ll call tonight one fail.’
I let go of my tension, forget about incurring the third and final fail, and hook my ankles around his neck. In a welter of mess and cream and fruit stains, I allow a ragged orgasm to take hold of me.
It turns out to be only the second of many.
Over the course of the evening, O and Rachael fuck me with candles and vibrators while Lloyd watches, cock in hand, mixing his seed with the remnants of dessert that cover my breasts.
When they finally leave and we stagger to bed, leaving the clearing up until morning, I can barely keep my eyes open or my legs upright.
‘So, Sophie,’ he whispers, cradling me in the darkness while the kitchen staff haul barrels and crates about in the yard below. ‘Two fails now.’
‘That wasn’t fair. Nobody could have succeeded with that one.’
‘It was perfectly fair. And I was very kind to only count the first orgasm. If I’d decided to carry on, you’d be packing your bags tomorrow morning.’
‘Why do you want that so much?’
‘Oh, Sophie, why do you think?’
But I’m too tired to formulate thoughts and I slide into dreamland, sideways, away from the questions that won’t stop asking themselves.
Chapter Nine
‘So, let’s talk about this,’ says Lloyd over breakfast the next morning. ‘Let’s get some things straight.’
I don’t like the sound of this. I gnaw on my croissant, suddenly finding its texture too bulky for actual mastication.
‘That tablecloth is beyond hope,’
I say, looking at the orgy of different purple shades. ‘Unless you want to recycle it as a masterwork of abstract art.’
‘Never mind the tablecloth. I’ll take it down to the laundry later. I want you to tell me what’s the worst that could happen.’