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“Watch,” the swan said, and her whole face went soft behind the feathers. “Yes. We’d like that. That’s a lovely thing to ask for.”
She walked me to the velvet armchair and sat me in it like a king. The wolf poured me a whisky from a decanter without a word and put it in my hand. Then they turned to each other.
I’d never watched anything like it from three feet away. She undressed him slowly, button by button, kissing every inch she uncovered, until he stood bare and thick and hard, the silver wolf mask still on his face. She sank down in front of him. Her red mouth closed round his cock, and he put one big hand in her hair and groaned.
Then he lifted her onto the bed. He pushed her thighs apart, and she looked straight at me over the curve of her own belly as he lowered his head. She was loud. She said his name, then remembered, and said, “Wolf, oh God, Wolf, there,” and I laughed out loud, and so did she, and then she was gasping again.
My cock was aching against my trousers. I palmed it through the cloth, and she saw.
“Highwayman,” she panted, one hand knotted in her husband’s hair. “Do you want to stay in that chair? Because you’re welcome to stay in that chair. There’s no wrong answer.”