"Christopher Priest - The Discharge" - читать интересную книгу автора (Priest Christopher)

Even so, I stepped back from them, still nervous because of my inexperience, but by this time in such a
state of excitement that I wondered how much longer I might contain it. I felt the edge of something soft
pressing against the back of my lower leg. When I glanced behind me I saw in the pale light that a large
bed was there, a bare mattress of some kind, an expanse of yielding material ready for use.

The three naked women were beside me now, their lustful scents rising around me. With gentle pressure
of their hands they indicated I should lower myself to the bed. I sat down, but then one of them pushed
lightly on my shoulders and I leaned back compliantly. The mattress, the palliasse, whatever was there,
was soft beneath my weight. One of the women bent down and lifted my legs around so that I might lie
flat.

When I was prone they began to unbutton and remove my uniform, working deftly and quickly, letting me
feel the light tattoo of their fingertips. Nothing happened by accident: they were deliberately provoking
and teasing my physical response. I was straining with the effort of controlling myself, so close was I to
letting go. The girl closest to my head was staring down into my eyes as her fingers worked to slide my
shirt from my chest and down my arms. Whenever she leaned across me, or stretched to free my hand
from the cuff of a sleeve, she did so in such a way that she lowered one of her bare breasts towards me
and brushed the hard little nipple lightly against my lips.

I was naked in a few seconds, in a state of full and agonizing arousal, yearning for release. The women
slid my clothes out from underneath me, piled them up on the further side of the mattress. The one beside
my face rested her soft fingertips on my chest. She leaned closer to me.

"You choose?" she said, whispering into my ear.

"Choose what?"

"You like me? You like my friends?"

"All of you!" I said without thinking. "I want you all!"
Nothing more was said or, as far as I could see, signalled between them. They moved into position
smoothly and as if in a formation they had rehearsed many times.

I was made to remain lying on my back but one of them lifted my knee that was closest to the edge of the
mattress, making a small triangular aperture. She lay down on her back across the mattress so that her
shoulders rested on my horizontal leg, while her head went beneath my raised knee. She turned her face
towards the space between my legs. I could feel her breath on my naked buttocks. She took hold of my
erect penis with her hand, holding it perpendicular to my body.

In the same moment the second woman was astride me with a knee on each side of my chest, her legs
wide apart, lowering herself so that her sex touched lightly against, but did not enfold, the tip of my
member, which was being held in position by the other woman.

The third one also straddled me but placed herself above my face, lowering herself towards, but not
actually against, my eager lips.

Breathing the woman's delicious bodily scents, I remembered Acizzone.

I thought about the most explicit of his paintings hidden away in the gallery cellar. It was called (another