With firm hands working smooth, lightly scented hempseed oil into her back and a drink to indulge in, Letalya was in paradise, or as near an approximation of it as the small apartment she kept in the city could hope to be. Abel was a talented masseuse, his fingers finding all the right places of tension and easing the stiffness out in a way that all but melted her in his hands. She raised her head from the pillow and brought her spiced rum to her lips, sipping at the fragrant mixture, letting it wash over her tongue. It was her favourite, straight from the South Seas, sweet and fiery with notes of cinnamon, cloves and ginger competing for her attention. After letting it sit for a long moment, she swallowed and set the glass down again, warmth spreading through her chest.
Abel was one of the many men and women who had boasted their willingness to do anything, anything at all, for a chance to occupy her bed. He was one of the few who didn't drop their bravado and run when she named her price for the privilege. She'd found him instead eager to take on the role, and he had yet to disappoint. Casually, almost lazily, she reached over with her hand to cup his cock, smiling to herself when her fingers met the steel of the small, tight cage she'd ordered him to wear as proof of his devotion. It was warm with the heat of his body, and it kept his balls exposed and vulnerable, his cock limp until she decided otherwise. It thrilled her to know he wore it daily, not merely on his visits - that she owned him so completely that the root of so much of his male pride was literally under her lock and key. Her touch was rewarded with a small sigh, and a redoubling of Abel's efforts.
Withdrawing her hand with a smirk of satisfaction, she looked back over her shoulder and nodded, granting her slave the much-sought permission to move lower. To Abel's credit, he didn't move to it straight away - he worked thoroughly down until she was ready to purr again. Only when he'd reached it naturally did he start on her thick, luscious ass, and she set her head back down on the silk pillow that lay on the bed, arching lightly up into his touch. This, she was quite certain, was how her luxuriously padded body deserved to be treated - worshipped adoringly, caressed and stroked and kneaded until she was loose and soft all over. There was no shortage of volunteers, and though she had at first worried as age began to creep in - as the silver streak appeared at her temple, as her great enormous chest began to sag, as wrinkles grew in the corners of her eyes - that they might dry up, they had only increased.
There was of course the slight shift in their nature, but even that had fit her changing appetites. Once, when she was young and slimmer - never particularly slim, she knew, not since she was a little girl, but nonetheless with a fine hourglass that had disappeared over the years in favour of a soft belly that lacked the dramatic flare into her hips - her suitors had been almost all virile men and sumptuous women. They had desperate cocks they wanted her to please, needy cunts, greedy asses. Their desires had been so... So very primal. They had been unsophisticated, but not without charm, and far more to her taste than the older men and women who wanted her as a bauble for her beauty. More than a few of her suitors still belonged to that class of eager studs and sluts, but as that silver had come, as her body had turned from that of a maiden into that of a mother, her range had opened up.
Now there were more like her masseuse - eager young men and women still, but with very different wants. Abel was a prime example in his own right. He was not an ugly man, nor especially handsome, or even remarkable to look on in any particular way. Neither fat nor thin, powerful or a weakling. He had a fine head of brown hair and a handsome mustache, but it too was not exceptional. His cock, when it wasn't trapped in a cage not more than a hair longer than two inches, was perfectly ordinary and adequate. All that really differentiated him from the rest were his tastes. His desire to worship, to serve, was something that she had only rarely seen directed at herself in her youth. Now many of her suitors and would-be paramours had it. She chalked it up to unresolved mother issues.
It was ideal. As she'd grown older and heavier, her own appetites had shifted as well. She still enjoyed a virile stud with no thought other than to fuck and fuck well - how could she not? - or an eager young dyke with a breast obsession, but now, she craved the sense of power, of control, that these eager young submissives offered her. The thrill of the cage, the riding crop, the slap. She sighed softly at the thought, crossing her arms in front of her head, and banished it from her mind to focus on the raw sensual pleasure of her massage.
Abel's hands firmly squeezed and kneaded at her voluptuous backside, re-oiling as they began to run dry, and Letalya sighed again with pleasure. She let him linger there for long minutes, his hands covering every inch of the skin, dipping between the cleft of her buttocks and even cheekily rubbing over her asshole. It was no great ordeal, and when she finally spread her legs apart to tell him to move down it was with no small reluctance. Abel was an ass man, but he knew how to disguise it with the sweetest massages. To his credit, though, his attention to her thick, soft thighs was nearly as devout, and by the time he reached her feet she was positively purring, smile fixed on her lips. Between the rum and his worshipful attentions, she found herself drifting into that pleasant state between sleep and wakefulness, mind wandering freely but not dwelling on any particular matter.
With a slight clearing of his throat, Abel drew her back to awareness as he finished with her feet, and she luxuriated in a wiggle of her toes. It was astonishing how a good massage could take out tension and tightness she wasn't even aware of, her toes included. It was a queer thing, the way the sensations were only really made noticeable by their absence - like the way that there was no tense in her calves with the flex of her toes. Smiling, she propped herself up on her elbows and refilled her glass of rum before turning over. Her great, milk-laden breasts spilled to either side of her chest as she moved onto her back, and she laughed softly, one hand coming in to adjust them more comfortably. They were too heavy, really, for comfort in such a position for long, but the massage was more than pleasurable enough to make up for it. Glancing down between them at Abel, she nodded for him to begin, and he began making his way up her legs again.
"Good boy..." She crooned softly, raising her glass for a sip. "We have quite an evening ahead of us, you know. Jacob, Liam and Noah are coming to visit."
Her smile widened when she saw Abel flush at the thought. Oh yes - it was quite an evening. The three men she'd selected were all quite openly bisexual, well-endowed, and more than a little excited by the presence of a slave like Abel. It brought out their most eager sexual performances, and all three at once with Abel there would be a new, delightful experience.
"That's right. You're going to have to sit and watch me fuck all three of them. I hope that's alright?"
"Yes, Mistress." There was no waver in Abel's voice - only a slight throatiness, a nervous excitement slipping into the tone with it.
"Good. And of course, you know I'll expect you to perform?"
Abel was quiet for a moment, then spoke again. "Yes, Mistress." There - the flush deepened, and Letalya felt a wash of pleasure, the first dampenings of her pussy, her areolae tightening in. The sensation of power was magnificent, the knowledge she could make her poor little slaveboy - as straight as they came - suck cock for her amusement and pleasure as powerful an aphrodisiac as any that nature or chemical ingenuity could provide.
"Do a good job, Abel, and I may just fuck that slutty little hole of yours with my favourite dick until you spurt."
