The Courts Of Pleasure
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The Courts Of Pleasure Ch. 09 free porn video
A bird called from somewhere in the palms. It was one of the macaws Orcutt decided as he sought for its shape amongst the fronds. High above the trees the steel ribs of the herbarium arched into the evening sky carrying the transparent skin of glass over the tropical garden below. He pushed his way through the giant ferns spreading over the walk a banana tree pedant with fruit swayed before him, and below him the stream from the waterfall wound though the rockery.
Ahead he could see the curtain of water plunging in a broad white sheet of foam from the precipice a full story above, hearing its roar now in the basin a story below as he emerged onto the ledge from the forest behind him. The mist from the falling water rose in fragrant wetness lifting the voices of the bathers to his ears. The girls frolicked in the pool and lounged in their nakedness upon the ledges and rocks in an idyllic display.
Orcutt studied the scene with the concentration of a connoisseur. They were a choice bouquet to be sure, a nice mixture of yellows, reds, blacks and whites, of brunettes and blondes and auburns, all the shapes delectable of course in their variety and perfection. A sigh escaped him. All one could really do was procure the best the market had to offer and let the Patron exercise his taste.
Yes, he reflected, tableau management was not only an art, but a science, an industry. Few suspected the skill and ingenuity he exercised in procuring the variety and numbers of girls, bringing them to perfection, and keeping them useful. With a final self-satisfied glance at The Waterfall he resumed his tour.
Sighing, Orcutt turned his mind from the contemplation of the sublime to the nuisance of Trapnell’s last communication. The dolt had procured the ‘possibles’, but the promising one, the Sarah Moore, the one that could prove most interesting to The Patron, had eluded them. He cared little for the details of Trapnell’s pursuit he simply wanted the woman and his fingers texted the terse order to Trapnell on his communicator. He touched the finger-print-reader by the elevator door, it opened to him and he entered, lifting his body and mind into the next level of entertainment in Bountiful Towers.
Silently the lift slid to stop the door opening into the lobby of the Grotto Theater. He studied the miniature Roman Amphitheater before him and the way it brought the audience close to the stage with its wings of rockery and tangled greenery.
He was sure the Patron would be delighted with the presentation of Katia’s Vyrobrovna’s new ballet. In this setting it would be perfect. From what he had seen at The Court her mounting of ‘Daphnis and Chloe’ would be a sensation. The tempting costumes, or lack of them, and the seductive effectiveness of the dancers in enhancing the inherent eroticism of the ballet should be a total turn-on.
The dancers themselves were a treasure in these times, so beautiful and so well trained. Katia was a gem herself, a perfect Chloe. A tone, melodious and insistent, roused him from his musings. Instantly he touched his pager and the Patron’s voice filled the space about him.
‘Orcutt, where are you?’
‘In the Grotto Theater, sir’
‘Would you come up to the gallery?’ It wasn’t a question of course it was a summons.
‘I’m on my way, sir.’ Orcutt registered the undertone of impatience in the Patron’s voice, the familiar discontent, and the summons to the gallery raised an apprehension in him. The Patron was fixating on his art collection, and most particularly on his current curious dissatisfaction with the paintings he had acquired in the past.
Orcutt carried this disconcerting apprehension all the way up to the Patron’s suite atop Bountiful Towers trying to prepare himself for the interview. He stepped from the elevator directly into the expanse of The Gallery, which served as an anteroom to the Patron’s suite in The Penthouse.
The Gallery was an enormous maze divided and subdivided by partitions displaying the paintings, furnished with divans and coffee tables. It was a gathering place for the elite of Cornucopian society, and a repository for the great art of the past that had celebrated the nude human figure and vanished from the outer world.
He threaded his way through the glorious maze of naked gods and goddesses, of nymphs and satyrs, of voluptuous Venus’s, Diana’s and everyday beauties highlighted upon the walls. There was such a plethora of erotic nakedness here that it overwhelmed the senses and dulled the sensibilities. Little wonder that the Patron was jaded Orcutt mused in making his way to The Studio.
The door was open and within he could see the Patron seated before an easel that held a painting. Propped against it were two others on the floor. The man sat beneath the floodlight in his usual immaculate contemplation. Orcutt had never seen his master in anything but a dark jacket, gray trousers, and tie. The man was trim and fit and ageless in his stylish perfection.
‘May I be of assistance?’ Orcutt announced.
‘Whose work is this?’ The voice was crisp, incisive.
Orcutt moved to examine the paintings. An abstraction rested on the easel and the two flower pieces were propped below. The work was unfamiliar to him, the artist’s initials , ‘S.M.’ no help.
‘No one I recognize’, Orcutt admitted.
‘Man or woman?’
‘Impossible to tell for sure, Sir. The work is bold, vigorous, sensual, erotic actually. The flower pieces remind me of O’Keeffe at her most daring, but the drawing is firmer, more resilient. As for the abstraction it’s quite gorgeous, juicy with color and its hints of sensual organic shapes. Perfectly balanced in surface tension. I sense somehow that the artist is a woman, but…’
Orcutt’s voice trailed away in a realization flooding into his consciousness. He had just recently seen a painting in The Court so similar in style and meaning that it had to be the same artist. In fact he had left Eva Valiente with an open commission for more work by this painter, but his inquiries about the artist had been refused. Suddenly the coincidence of the erotic artist’s initials, ‘S.M.’, with the sensual ‘Sarah Murdock’ of the shoe-store video merged with the photo in Trapnell’s file, and the memory of the woman he had collided with that morning as he was leaving The Court leaped into his consciousness.
‘May I ask how this work came to your attention Sir?’ he asked.
The Patron swiveled about in his chair and faced Orcutt. ‘It was culled from one of the underground galleries.’ The intensity of the eyes in that placid face always startled Orcutt and relieved him when the gaze was directed elsewhere. ‘I want to find this artist, this woman, who paints like that. That’s your specialty isn’t it? Finding promising candidates?’
Orcutt inclined his head. ‘To be sure. The eroticism of these canvases would certainly offend the keepers of public morals. But the art world is a small one. Work such as this will be easily recognized and someone will tell us who ‘S.M.’ is. In fact I have a hunch that ‘S.M.’ will soon be in our hands. If I may take one of the canvases to aid our search?’
The Patron shrugged, rose from the chair and paused at the door, ‘Take them all but bring me S.M.’
In the silence that followed the Patron’s departure Orcutt chose the flower piece, an orchid that pulsed with the sexual intensity of the organ for which it was the metaphor. He knew full well what Bountiful Towers wanted with the sensual Sarah Murdock, but what he wondered did the Patron want with the artist S.M.’? Of course one never concerned oneself with such matters where the Patron was concerned, one simply did his bidding.
Orcutt studied the canvas in his hands as the elevator carried him down to his suite. Any woman who painted like this must inevitably end up in The Court. Remarkable work really, with any luck he would keep it for himself.
*****
An hour later The C
ourt bloomed luxuriantly around him in the late afternoon sun. He parked his car before the Tower House, alighted, shook hands with Arron Coverly and ascended the steps into the atrium where Eva awaited him. A quarter of an hour later he emerged in utter satisfaction. He had run his unsuspecting quarry to ground and if his memory and Trapnell’s photo were any indication she was a handsome specimen indeed.
His stroll to the Rose Cottage was a leisurely one. The Patron would be exceedingly pleased with this artist whatever his intentions for her were. It remained only for him to deliver her. Approaching the Rose Cottage he observed the lovely little Vivienne Valiente beckoning him to the side entrance. Beyond and within stood his quarry.
‘Good afternoon, Vivienne. What a pleasure to see you again. Eva indicated that we might discuss the commission.’
‘Yes Sir, come in and meet the artist we’ve chosen for this project,’ Vi gestured at Sarah who turned to face the man she had encountered in the laurel arbor on the day they had moved to The Court. She recognized him immediately but he gave no sign of knowing her. They shook hands and Vivienne made the introductions.
‘Come into my studio and we can discuss this work,’ Sarah offered over her shoulder. ‘Unfortunately my only canvas here at The Court is ‘The Passion Flower’, which you have apparently already seen at the Tower House.’
‘Indeed’ Orcutt responded, ‘it is precisely on the strength of that work that we are offering this commission and I am wondering if you have had any thoughts on where we might go from here?’
‘As a matter of fact I have.’ Sarah’s gaze moved past him to touch Vivienne’s curious eyes and came back to his. ‘There on the easel is the first of a series of works that promise to become more and more interesting as my conception of this undertaking matures. I see this not as one painting but a whole series of paintings that in their totality become one. I anticipate that your Patron will, shall we say be intrigued.’
Orcutt moved to examine Sarah’s canvas so fresh that the scent of oil and turp filled his nose. For the moment his connoisseur’s instincts triumphed over his mission and he regarded the painting with some fascination. ‘This is something more than a blossom I take it. It would appear to be charged with a certain sensuality such as one might find about the person of another woman perhaps.’
‘I always say it’s what the viewer brings to the painting not what the artist puts into it that gives it meaning, but in this case we happen to see in the same way.’
Orcutt stroked his chin and blinked hawkishly in considering his next move. ‘Yes, yes, to be sure. Intriguing. I am sure the Patron will be impressed as you reveal more and more of you model’s persona. He would of course be delighted to meet you and discuss this work with you in more detail. I would be most happy to accompany you to Bountiful Towers and make your introductions.’
The offer intrigued Sarah but when her eyes sought Vivienne’s she caught the unmistakable shake of denial from her. ‘Thank you but that’s not possible. I have nothing to add to the explanation I’ve given you. You may take the canvas. It speaks for itself. If this is not satisfactory we may perhaps settle on something else.’
Her refusal surprised Orcutt. He had expected her to jump at the opportunity to penetrate to the very top of Cornucopian society. But he was immediately wary of pushing his options too far. Indeed the painting might suffice for the moment. Orcutt lifted the canvas gingerly by the edges keeping his fingers free of the wet paint and after brief and polite good-byes bore it before him like an offering in departing for his car.
Two hours later the floodlight in the gallery of Bountiful Towers washed brilliantly over Sarah’s painting and an oppressive silence filled the room. The Patron studied the substitute for the artist herself while Orcutt hovered nervously in the background. ‘So, tell me about this Sarah Moore or Murdock or whatever her name is.’
‘I have her vitals here Sir. Twenty-five. Married. Sterilized.’ Orcutt extended her file picture to The Patron. ‘As you can see she is quite handsome. In addition I also have this video, which is currently circulating in the underground. It appears Sarah Moore has more than merely artistic talent and it would appear that the Slavers are as interested in her as we may be.’
‘I’ll take your word for her sexual charms, Orcutt.’ The Patron muttered with a glance at the proffered photo and then surveyed Sarah’s painting again. ‘What do you think she’s up to with the commission?’
‘Well, Sir, it’s clear that she has a deeply sensual nature and the talent to give it expression. It would appear that she has the capability of raising erotica to the level of fine art. Perhaps exceedingly fine art. We certainly have nothing to lose by indulging her instincts.’
‘I want to meet her, Orcutt. Get a sense of her persona. What can you suggest?’
‘There’s the ballet tonight, sir. Vyrobrovna is bringing her dancers from The Court. We could broaden the invitation list to include Sarah Murdock and others from The Court, and there could be a reception in the gallery afterwards where you might familiarize yourself with her.’
‘And if I don’t want to be recognized?’ the Patron intoned.
‘Costumes, Sir. Everyone could come in costume with masks for the men.’
‘Capital, Orcutt. See to it. Issue the invitations personally. Invite her husband, and Vivienne Valiente and her companion. What’s his name?’
‘Yes Sir. Zack Herman, sir.’ There was a palpable note of relief in Orcutt’s reply.
The Patron nodded judiciously, picked up Symes’ video of Sarah’s performance in the shoe-store and left the room. Orcutt glanced with satisfaction at Sarah’s photo in the open file in his hand and prepared to issue the invitations to the Murdocks and Vivienne.
****
From the porch of her cottage Katia Vyrobrovna watched Vivienne and Sarah Murdock approaching her. The morning sun washed over them highlighting their shapes and Vivienne’s dark youthful beauty beside Sarah’s fair charms. A bouquet she decided as she watched them two lovely blossoms to mingle with her own bloom. After Vivienne’s phone call had alerted her to the invitations and the reception masquerade tonight she had mused not only over the preparations but her own loneliness for Vi.
‘Katia,’ the girl exclaimed as they came up onto the porch., ‘I know this is a burden at the last minute when you have so much on your mind, but Sarah and I need costumes for tonight.
‘I have an idea,’ Katia smiled. ‘Don’t you think it would be perfect if we could have our Daphnis and Chloe witnessed in the Grotto Theater at Bountiful Towers by the gods and goddesses of Olympus itself? Vi you can go as Persephone the goddess of spring, and Sarah you can be Aphrodite the creative woman and lover? Cliff can go as your consort, Ares, the warrior, and Zack can go as Hermes the messenger. We can do your costumes now and I’ll do Cliff and Zack before we leave for the Towers.
Vivienne clapped her hands in delight. ‘I knew you would have it solved Katia. You’re absolutely marvelous. Wait till you see the ballet Sarah, Katia’s production is stunning. And the reception afterwards in Bountiful Towers will be stunning as well. It’s too much,’ Vi exclaimed hugging Katia and rolling her eyes meaningfully at Sarah.
‘Sounds wonderful, I’m in your hands.’ Sarah responded with a glance at Katia’s face, studying her over Vivienne’s shoulder. They hadn’t met since the dinner at the Tower House on the night of their arrival and Sarah experienced again the happy spontaneity in Katia, the warm impulsiveness of her nature. She could see in that instant how that episode with Cliff in the pond, and whatever it was that passed between them, could have happened. Also, she had to reconcile the knowledge that Vi and Katia had been lovers, perhaps still were, and now she w
as in the equation too with all her passions for Vi.
Vivienne turned in Katia’s embrace and held out her hand to Sarah. She took it and let them lead her into the cottage. Minutes later they were rummaging through Katia’s closets and chests uncovering the regalia of past performances.
‘Let’s do Sarah first?’ Katia announced coming up with a light simple sleeveless and voluminous dress. ‘This is the ‘peplos’. It was worn by women in ancient Greece,’ she added, holding the garment up by the shoulder straps and glancing at Sarah with a knowing smile. ‘Of course as Aphrodite you should be going nearly naked.’
‘C’mon Sarah’ Vi announced. ‘You will have to strip.’
‘Everything?’
‘Everything!.’ Katia affirmed.
With a little shrug Sarah slipped out of her garments and turned to face her lover, and her lover’s lover.
‘Isn’t she lovely,’ she heard Vi murmur.
‘She’s gorgeous,’ Katia nodded with appreciation.
‘Doesn’t she look delicious,? Wouldn’t you like to suck her clit Katie?’
‘Do you think she would like me to?’ Katia whispered looking into Sarah’s eyes. ‘Have you been sucking her clit. Vi?’
‘Oh yes, by the hour. She loves it too, don’t you Sarah?’
Sarah nodded helplessly. It was true she did love it but being offered like this was so utterly weird that she began to giggle, ‘What are you girls doing?’ she sputtered.
‘We’re thinking about raping you,’ Vi answered. ‘I told Katia what a wonderful lover you are, and now she has a terrible case of the hots for you too, just like I do.’
Katia stroked Sarah’s cheek tenderly, her hand moving to follow a lock of her hair draping over her breast to settle on her nipple and tease it into erection.
Sarah stared down at her reaction, her mouth gaping in surprise at how sudden and satisfying the sensations were. She glanced at Vi reading the readiness of her lover for a ménage-a-trios with Katia when the girl moved to them kissing them each on the mouth in turn. Suddenly the erotic sensuousness of the situation was incredibly overpowering, and with a moan of surrender Sarah rolled her cheek up against Katia’s face, her nipple in the woman’s fingers aching with need.
‘I think you will do very well at the reception tonight,’ Katia whispered with soft kiss on Sarah’s mouth.
‘The reception?’ Sarah queried in confusion.
Katia nodded. ‘Yes, you see a masquerade at Bountiful Towers is more than wearing a costume. We just wanted to make sure that you are up to the part.’
Sarah glanced at Vi, ‘Is that what this was all about?’
‘We didn’t want you to get into something you couldn’t handle,’ Vi laughed.
‘Like what?’ Sarah gasped nervously as Katia smiling knowingly released her nipple with a comforting little pat on her breast.
‘Most likely nothing at all,’ she smiled reassuringly, but don’t be surprised if you find yourself in an orgy with strangers. Now let’s see what you look like in a ‘peplos’.’
Shortly Sarah found herself draped in a sleeveless filmy voluminous dress that if it hadn’t been for the endless pleats would have revealed more than it concealed. The bodice held at each shoulder by narrow straps molded to her breasts and draped from her nipples to fall loosely about her hips where it was folded up and held by a hidden girdle. In front the bodice curved above her loins, in the back it curled below her buttocks. The skirt fell from a girdle beneath the bodice in a cascade of concealing pleats to her ankles but whenever she took a step the skirt molded enticingly to her legs. Any movements at all were accompanied by a constant tease, a fluid peepshow of breasts, nipples, buttocks, thighs, and the more or less hidden mysteries of her loins.
Sarah gulped. ‘I’m going out in public in this…?’ she gasped.
‘You are going out, dear, but not in public. Wait till you see Katia’s costume for the ballet,’ Vi added meaningfully.
Actually the dress was very exciting and when she saw Vi draped in hers it was more than exciting, it was rousing. For the next hour they fussed with hairstyles and ribbons to hold their locks, with bracelets, chains, and broaches for jewelry, and low shoes laced to show their feet.
Maddie
- 30.04.2022
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