The Than-You Gift

I just adore a summer Sunday morning lie-in. It's a heavenly experience.

I love lounging on my bed naked, half way between sleeping and waking, while the morning light tries to squeeze past the curtains to touch my body. I especially love it because Marcus always brings me breakfast in bed. And I usually contrive to allow a few crumbs of croissant to fall on me so that I can get Marcus to lick them off.

I hadn't been aware of Marcus slipping downstairs but I was vaguely conscious of some noises drifting up from below. At one point, I thought I heard the front door open and close but I assumed that Marcus was just taking something out to the garbage.

I must have dozed off for a moment because the next thing I was aware of was Marcus standing in the bedroom door, grinning like the Cheshire Cat and clutching two glasses of champagne.

"Ooh! Bubbly! Yum! What's the celebration?" I asked, reaching for a glass.

"Well, my darling, Beth," Marcus replied, "it's a little 'thank-you gift' for that wonderful secret surprise present you gave me the other day."

"Oh, honey! There's no need. Your appreciation was all too evident at the time... and afterwards. But, I suppose if you want to show your gratitude one more time, who am I to refuse?" I looked meaningfully at the bulge in his boxers. "Oh, by the way, did you ever write that account of our little adventure you were thinking of submitting to

Literotica

?"

Marcus slapped his head with his free hand. "You know what, I did... and I completely forgot to send you the link when it was published."

"Oh, don't worry," I said, grabbing my phone, "I can find it under our username. I'd like to read it. Did you include all the juicy details?"

"Actually, I left a few out for brevity. But I did add in that little fictional twist I talked about," he replied.

"Oh, the one where I refuse to tell you who the people were?" I recalled. "I liked that -- mysterious and manipulative -- but I'm not sure how realistic it was. Even with my stupendous organisational abilities, I'm not sure I could manage to arrange for four complete strangers to come and pleasure you and then slip away silently. Think of all the briefing and rehearsal needed to ensure they acted in unison on my silent signals. Much more practical to corral some existing friends to take part. That was one of the reasons for the no-movement injunction -- I knew you would be able to recognise some of them by touch alone and I wanted to keep the sense of uncertainty for as long as possible."

While I was talking I was searching for the story on my phone. "Oh, here it is. Two point nine stars? That's disappointingly mediocre! But seven favourites."

"Yes, I think it split the audience. Erotic marmite -- you either love it or hate it." Marcus cringed at his own joke. "You should see the comments. Apparently, I should instantly divorce you."

I clicked to the appropriate page. "Oh, yes. I'm a 'conniving bitch of a wife'."

"Indeed you are!" Marcus confirmed. "And I wouldn't have you any other way."

I saw another comment. "Oh, what's this 'wrong category'? Where did you post it?

Romance

? Oh no,

Loving Wives

. How sweet! Hang on, what are they talking about? The description of

Loving Wives

reads 'Married extra-marital fun: swinging, sharing & more' not 'Conventional, narrow-minded, possessive and insecure'. I mean, if you don't like it, stop reading it and move on. Why feel the need to pour your hate into a comment and try to spoil other people's fun. And what's this about handcuffs? Is that one of your embellishments?"

"No. I don't mention handcuffs once or say anything about being held captive. In fact, I say a couple of times that it's me choosing to obey you because I trust you completely," he protested.

"Aw! You old romantic, you!" I cooed.

I tried to imagine what it would be like to go through life with such constant suspicion and insecurity. They would never know the glorious freedom of having so much faith in another person that you could put yourself completely in their hands. Or the vicarious pleasure of giving someone you love the freedom to to fulfil all their needs and explore their fantasies, knowing that the trust you placed in them just made them love you even more. I started to feel sad for them and their fragile masculinity and limited concept of faithfulness.

"They weren't too keen on the guy-guy stuff either," Marcus added.

"Big surprise!" I laughed. "Well, we all know what they say about over-protesting homophobes... they're neck deep in a North African river."

"Huh?"

"In de Nile, silly," I grinned cheekily. "Oh, this one's nice! 'I would give just about anything for this to happen to me!' Did they leave contact details? Perhaps I could offer my services."

"Only if I get to observe this time, my darling," Marcus insisted. "The blindfold was fun but you know how much I enjoy watching -- which makes all the comments about your supposed infidelity somewhat ironic. Yes, I

would

be upset if you were fucking them behind my back... instead of in front of my face." He paused meaningfully. "Talking of watching... that reminds me. You seem to have diverted me from giving you your thank-you gift."

"Oh, I thought the bubbles and maybe some special attention from you..."

"My love, some special attention is definitely on the menu," he interrupted, "but I have something more spiritual in mind."

I frowned at him in confusion. Ignoring my perplexity, Marcus took me by the hand and began leading me, still naked, out of the bedroom and down the stairs.

"No blindfold?" I asked.

"Not for this," Marcus replied, pausing outside the living room door. "You will remain all seeing, just as you were on the occasion of my divine gift from you. It was a blessing from a goddess, and I wish you to receive the adoration due such a generous and awe-inspiring deity."

He pushed open the door with a flourish. "Oh mighty and perverted goddess! May it please you to enter your temple," he intoned as he took the empty champagne glass from my hand.

The room was dark, lit only by a number of candles arrayed around the walls. The air was heavy with the smell of incense, musky and sweet. The eerie sound of quiet devotional chanting echoed from several hidden speakers. Shimmering golden fabric had been draped over various items of furniture. In the dim light, it looked like mounds of gold -- tribute offerings from devoted followers.

However, it was only gradually that I became aware of these things because what drew my attention immediately was in the centre of the room. In the same place where I had made Marcus lie down spreadeagled to receive his present, stood an enormous...

throne

! It rested on a small golden platform, was upholstered in gold and had ornately carved dark woodwork on its legs, arms and high back.

"Oh my god!" I exclaimed. "Where did you get that... and can we keep it?" I turned to look at him in excitement and saw that the boxers had gone and that, somehow, he had donned a golden, half-face masquerade mask and a golden metal bondage collar.

"You are my goddess," he replied solemnly. "I am your high priest. It is my highest purpose to serve your will and to please you." He paused, his eyes behind the mask expectantly glancing into the room. I looked again at the scene and it was only then that I saw them, having been so distracted by the magnificent throne.

Lying prostrate and unmoving either side of the platform were two bodies -- a man and a woman -- totally naked apart from similar golden masks and collars. I gazed appreciatively at their toned backs and firm buttocks. I was pretty sure I didn't recognise them.

"For me?" I asked.

"I hope that my glorious queen of dark desire is not displeased by these, her unworthy servants."

I felt like giggling with excitement but I decided that this was not appropriate behaviour for a goddess. I attempted to adopt a suitably imperious, divine manner.

"That depends on how well they... and you... serve me," I sneered. I strode slowly to my throne and lowered myself onto it. "Well, high priest, are you to keep your goddess waiting?"

Marcus clapped his hands twice and commanded his acolytes. "The goddess has travelled far to bless us with her presence. Wash her feet!"

The two naked worshippers raised themselves slightly and crawled towards me. They began licking my feet. To begin with they could only access the tops of my feet but, after a while, I moved so that they could slide their tongues along the soles and insert them between my toes. I started to squirm but then I remembered I was a goddess. Goddesses don't squirm.

Marcus clapped again and the acolytes stopped their licking. "Anoint your goddess!" he ordered.

They knelt up allowing me my first view of their fronts. The man had a strong hairless chest, a reasonable six-pack and a cock that, while currently flaccid, possessed a girth which hinted at delights yet to come. The woman had smallish breasts boasting dark, puffy nipples and a shaved pussy with protruding labia.

They reached behind the throne and brought forth bowls of fragrant oil which they began to massage into my feet. It was warm, almost hot, and the sensation was intensely sensual. They continued spreading the warm oil, with gentle strokes, on to my ankles, my calves, my shins, my knees, my thighs. Goddess or no, I found it hard to resist moaning with pleasure.

I lifted myself from the throne so that they could reach my bottom and more easily access my vulva, which they proceeded to lavish with attention. I briefly worried about what the oil might do to the fabric covering the throne if I sat down again. Then, I decided that goddesses don't worry about such things. I lost myself in the feeling of those four hands gliding over my abdomen, my back, my breasts, my shoulders, my arms, my neck and my face. Every inch of my skin was warm and tingling.

I was tempted to ask -- no -- demand that the acolytes start again but, at that precise moment, my tummy rumbled. How un-goddess-like, I thought. I remembered that I still hadn't had any breakfast, just a glass of bubbly. Almost before I could finish the though, Marcus clapped his hands again. "The goddess is hungry. Feed her!"

My attendants stood and returned the bowls of oil to the area behind the throne. With a gesture of his hand, the high priest invited me to retake my seat on the throne, obviously unconcerned about the upholstery.

The two servants returned to stand in front of me bearing two larger bowls, both containing various items of food -- strawberries, grapes, chunks of melon, small pastries and exquisite petit-fours. I began reaching for a tiny square cake but was halted by a cough from Marcus.

"Do you dare allow the goddess to serve herself, you wretches?" he pronounced sternly. "My supreme majesty, please forgive your incompetent vassals or, at least, forbear from punishing them for now. Merely indicate your desire and allow these undeserving worms to fulfil it for you."

I experienced a thrill at the prospect of being able to 'punish' my servants at some later juncture. For now, I just pointed at the cake I wanted. One of the servants picked it up and popped it, delicately, into my open mouth. They must have wiped their hands while retrieving the food because their fingers were no longer oily.

They proceeded to feed me whatever tasty morsels I chose until I waved my hand dismissively to indicate that I was satisfied.

Another order from the high priest and the woman brought a chalice, holding it to my lips so that I could sip the contents -- more champagne. Meanwhile, the man crouched in front of the throne, offering himself to me as a footstool. After several more mouthfuls of bubbly, I was feeling a little light-headed and turned my head away when another sip was offered.

"Does my goddess require an alternative libation?" enquired the high priest. I gave a haughty nod. My attendant moved behind the throne and reappeared with another chalice, this time filled with delicious freshly-squeezed orange juice. "Ah, nectar!" I sighed.

When I had had enough, my high priest once again addressed me. "And now, my eternal one, do you wish for these, your humble servants, to pay you homage through the service of their undeserving bodies?"

I breathed deeply, attempting to calm myself. "It pleases me to allow them to worship me in a manner appropriate to my divine nature. Although, I'd quite like to keep the footstool for the moment."

"You are gracious, my queen. Merely indicate your desires and these poor creatures will attempt to translate them into actions." He paused. "But first, it may be necessary to purify them from their sins. Acolyte, bring forth the instrument of purification!" The female minion once again disappeared behind the throne to return with a slim leather riding crop with feathers attached to the handle. She held it out to me. When I took it from her, she immediately turned and bent over, taking a wide stance which exposed her anus and vulva.

Momentarily uncertain about what I might be allowed to do, I glanced at Marcus.

"Whatever is your will, my goddess," he confirmed, "your humble servants freely submit to it. They beg only that you hear their cry of 'mercy' if they utter it." His inflection made it clear that he was providing a safe word. Confidence restored, I grasped the instrument of purification firmly.

I began by lightly tapping the crop on the woman's buttocks and then gradually increased the force until it was making a satisfying smacking sound and leaving red patches on her skin. She was good. She barely made a sound, occasionally emitting a sharp breath through her nose and flinching slightly. I gave similar attention to my footstool and he received it with equivalent aplomb.

I began striking them, in turn, harder and harder until their reactions became less controlled. Their suppressed yelps and grunts got louder and their wincing more violent. Yet they refused to beg for mercy. I felt powerful, not because I was inflicting pain but because I knew I was giving these people something they obviously enjoyed immensely.

I turned the instrument around and began tickling the woman's cunt and upper thighs with the feathers. I could see her glutes and hamstrings clenching as she fought to prevent herself from writhing away. Her breathing was becoming erratic and so was mine.

Eventually, I had had enough. I threw the crop aside.

"Serve me!" I commanded. I lifted my feet from the man and, when he raised himself up, I opened my legs wide and pushed my hips forward. He immediately understood and lowered his head in veneration towards my wet, gaping cunt. I finally realised why Marcus had chosen half-masks as his tongue began lapping me.

I looked at the woman and pushed out my chest. She took the unsubtle hint and began sucking my engorged nipples, while I fingered her beautiful pussy hungrily. I revelled in the sensations, occasionally casting glances towards Marcus to see him smiling beatifically from beneath his mask, stroking his own erect penis as he watched us.

After a few minutes, I indicated for them to swap roles so that I could play with the man's cock instead. It responded, gratifyingly, to my stroking and was soon very hard. It wasn't particularly long but it was satisfyingly thick, filling my hand. I took it in my mouth briefly just to feel it stretching my lips and pushing against my tongue.

I was ready. I looked meaningfully at Marcus who nodded eagerly. He removed his hand from his cock long enough to clap three times. The woman stopped licking my pussy and backed away slightly. The man released himself from my grasp and, once more, disappeared briefly behind the throne. When he emerged, he had a golden condom sheathing his impressive member. I laughed out loud in appreciation at Marcus' eye for detail. Then I stood, turned around and bent over the throne, holding the high back for support. My loyal servant positioned himself behind me. With tantalisingly slowness, he eased his magnificent golden sceptre, reverently, inside me, stretching me and filling me -- making me quiver with every inch.

The woman wriggled herself onto the throne beneath me and resumed sucking my nipples, as well as gently massaging my clit with her fingers as the man's cock began a steady rhythmic thrusting.

I could hear Marcus moaning in excitement behind me but I could tell he was controlling himself, not striving for climax. I realised that I would soon receive the sacred attentions of my beloved high priest. The thought aroused me even more and I could feel an orgasm building. My two servants sensed the change in my movements and began to increase the tempo of their thrusting and stroking. My body began to arch frenziedly and I threw my head back in silent scream.

"Fuck!" I cried as the orgasm finally ripped through me, rendering me incapable of coming up with a more godlike expression of ecstasy.

Eventually, I collapsed shuddering onto the woman, who encircled me in her arms and began kissing my face and neck. The man also began kissing my back and buttocks, extending and enhancing the orgasm's quivering aftershocks.

Two more claps. My faithful attendants gently eased me to my feet until I could just about stand on my shaking legs.

I turned to look at Marcus. "You have served me well, my faithful high priest," I declared, hoarsely. "Your goddess is pleased. Take your reward."

Marcus strode to the throne in front of me and sat down, tilting his hips so that his swollen penis pointed defiantly up to the heavens. I straddled him and sank down onto it. Through the holes in his golden mask, his eyes burned with an almost fanatical devotion. Although his cock was not as eye-wateringly thick as the golden sceptre, its familiar feel and heat reignited my desire with the memory of all the times it had given me pleasure. I rode him hard, gripping the back of the throne in order to drive myself onto him and force his cock deeper inside me.

We achieved rapture together and I delighted in the offering of his hot cum. Once again, I collapsed, drained, unable to move. I was vaguely aware of the two acolytes sinking to all fours, bowing their heads to the ground and crawling backwards to the door. I suspected, correctly, that they would grab their clothes from wherever they had hidden them and slip away in a similar manner to the four who had attended on Marcus at my command.

After an eternity of just holding each other, feeling the warmth of skin on skin, the gradually cooling slickness of our sweat and the rise and fall of each others' breathing, I stirred.

"I'm wondering how often this temple holds its services," I whispered.

"I'm sure we can organise a regular calendar of devotional activities, my goddess," Marcus responded.

"You know, I may have to write this one up for the site too," I said. "Does

Literotica

have a

Loving Husbands

section?"

"I don't think so."

"How uncharacteristically sexist," I complained.