“What?” And Kors laughed. He lay under his Nik, shuddering with laughter, shading his eyes with his bent elbow, then slightly removed it, looking at Nik from under his arm, and Nik, unable to resist, began to laugh too.
He stopped, without removing the cock from Kors, but not continuing:
“Vitor, stop laughing, I can't stand that!”
“Do I really think so when I'm fucking you?”
“Yes.”
They laughed again.
“Well, no, I just can't come,” said Nik, “you make me laugh.”
“It's strange that you don’t laugh under me when you hear that,” Kors smiled.
“Arel, shut him up at last,” said Nik, and Arel, who had been lying next to him all this time and watching what they were doing, immediately leaned on Kors, sitting down on his face.
“Arel… no, no… um…”
They continued, no longer being distracted, and Nik and Arel, without much imagination, bluntly pounded Kors from different sides, periodically switching places. Kors gave himself up to his young lovers and allowed everything and did for them what they wanted, forgetting about dinner and about a room with marble benches and warm steam. Forgetting everything.
23
Friendly holiday
Karina didn’t understand how to dress and what to wear. The slaves brought a mountain of clothes: underwear, a bunch of fluffy petticoats, corsets, dresses and embroidered capes. But she didn’t want to wear a cape at the ball, especially since this holiday was more for her own people. But at the same time, Karina understood that reds supporting the policy of Lis would still be present there, his father, Igmer, would be there, and she didn’t want to somehow compromise her husband, disgrace him with her inappropriate appearance. And the traditions of the reds towards women were too strict, and Karina was depressed. How should she dress so as not to embarrass herself? The cape, of course, was the simplest and most correct solution, but Karina couldn’t stand it, although now she clearly understood that in this city she would have to wear it, if only just so that they would not stare at her like a black sheep. She turned to the three slaves. Faceless, immovable sacks, they stood at the entrance, waiting for the order of the mistress.
“Can any of you speak?” Asked Karina. “Or have all your tongues cut off?”
“I can, lady,” said one of the slaves.