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Alexander William Mauritious Morrison the III

Master Liz



I’d imagined a scenario like this many times, but not with my gay best friend. "I promise I’ll be delightful," he said, though he rarely is—he’s worse than I am when I’m in full domination mode. "So, let me get this straight," I began, swirling my wine. "You want me to be your plus-one for a three-day wedding?" He nodded, looking hopeful. I took another sip, realizing that wine and champagne have become staples lately—I'd better watch myself or I'll end up like my mother’s friends at the country club.


"I’ll buy you outfits, custom-made," he offered, sensing my hesitation. I arched an eyebrow. "Why do you need your four-decade-old friend to play this role? Take your boyfriend." He shook his head, a flicker of vulnerability showing through his usually flawless facade.


"It’s family, and I’m not... open with them." I nearly choked, my manners going out the window, wine sputtering across the table onto the pristine garden of the restaurant. "Am I playing ‘fake girlfriend’?” I asked, incredulous.


He laughed, his eyes twinkling. "Yes, and stop exaggerating your age. You look divine—I’d date you if I were straight." I rolled my eyes, but the deal was sealed.


We flew on his private jet, champagne flowing as effortlessly as our laughter. Alexander William Mauritious Morrison III—the name as grand as his lifestyle—is my oldest friend, an absolute Adonis with impeccable style. The man is always perfectly put together, and frankly, I have no idea how his family hasn’t figured out he’s gay. A former ballet dancer turned fashion designer, Alex is the quintessential gentleman, while I... well, let’s just say I got kicked out of ballet school at eight.


Fast forward to the wedding—an obscene display of opulence on an Amalfi beach, where our deception plays out amid a sea of well-dressed relatives and glistening decor. Picture silk drapes billowing in the breeze, a quartet playing something unspeakably expensive, and florists who’ve single-handedly diminished Europe’s rose supply. Every surface drips with white orchids; even the air smells of wealth. I hold a monogrammed silk fan, trying to look as if I belong while holding a bottle of perfume labeled with my initials as part of an over-the-top "welcome gift."


It was precisely as ludicrous as you’d imagine. But that night, as I fumbled for my room key at the front desk, a man even more striking than Alex approached, his voice smooth and rich, "La española de Alejandro?" I grinned, striking a playful flamenco pose and murmuring, "Olé, tío."


He laughed, offering his hand. "I’m Rodrigo, Alex’s cousin." His green eyes were captivating, and I realized I was staring. "I speak Italian," I managed, trying to keep my composure.


"And I, Spanish," he replied, his smile widening. "Perhaps French as well?" he teased, eyes twinkling as he took my hand. "I hear you were an international spy in a past life?" He kissed my hand, lingering just enough for me to forget all about the key I was searching for.


We ended up in a suite with beach access, courtesy of Rodrigo’s suggestion to join him and a few others for "a taste of local wine and hors d'oeuvres." I glanced at Alex, questioning with my eyes, but he simply nodded, leaving me adrift in intrigue.


The suite was extravagant, a vision of opulence. I settled onto a sofa facing the ocean, feeling out of place yet utterly enthralled. Rodrigo poured me a glass of wine, and Alex sat across from me, looking uncharacteristically mysterious. Conversation flowed until Rodrigo turned to me, a playful glint in his eye.


"So, I’ve heard you’re an excellent kisser."


I arched a brow, feigning nonchalance, but Alex chimed in, "She’s more than excellent." I rolled my eyes, but when I made a move to stand, Rodrigo gently took my hand, his gaze both soft and commanding.


"Not so fast," Alex remarked, with a sip of his wine. "Although Master Liz could use a little taming now and then." I blushed, and Rodrigo's curiosity deepened.


"Master Liz?" he asked, intrigued.


I smirked, bold from the wine. "Your worst nightmare," I replied, in perfect Italian. Rodrigo, towering over me even in my high heels, fell gracefully to his knees, his eyes locked with mine.


"Your humble servant, my Queen," he murmured, pressing his lips to my navel, his touch reverent. Alex chuckled. "She loves the ‘Majesty’ act more than any ‘Mommy’ games." I silenced him with a glance, fingers tangled in Rodrigo's golden hair, savoring his warm, eager presence.


“Kiss my feet,” I whispered, a command and a caress. Rodrigo leaned forward, his lips grazing the exposed skin of my feet, his devotion palpable. He looked up, emerald eyes glinting with reverence. “We can’t do this in front of Alex,” I murmured.


They shared a glance, both smiling wickedly. "Why not?" they echoed, mischief dancing between them.


I felt a thrill of anticipation ripple through me, bound to this game, exhilarated, daring. "Kiss him," I commanded, the air thick with tension.


Rodrigo nodded, crawling across the room to Alex, their lips meeting in a smoldering kiss that sent a spark through me. My arousal deepened, the heat between us palpable. "My lady," Rodrigo murmured, his gaze smoldering, "we request your presence."


I leaned back, savoring their attention, exuding every ounce of control. "Crawl back to me, kiss my feet, and then," I purred, "we’ll see what requests you’re worthy of."


My gaze flicked to Alex, and with an unspoken understanding, he moved closer, slipping his hand to the back of Rodrigo’s neck, guiding him in for a kiss. Their lips met, and I watched, captivated, as their passion unfolded—a sinuous dance of connection and heat, each movement deliberate, controlled, yet bursting with energy. The air felt electrified, every touch sending waves of desire through me.


But I wanted more. I wanted both of them, and I wanted to command every moment.

“Come here, both of you,” I murmured, my voice carrying a sultry authority. Rodrigo crawled back to me, his eyes dark with longing, while Alex settled beside me, his hand warm on my thigh. The two of them surrounded me, their bodies pressed close, a perfect frame of beauty and desire on either side.


I leaned into Alex, letting his hands roam along my shoulders, down my back, his lips grazing the sensitive skin of my neck. Rodrigo, not missing a beat, took my hand, guiding it to his chest, letting me feel the rapid thrum of his heart beneath his shirt. He kissed each knuckle reverently, his lips soft and inviting as he looked up at me with reverence, awaiting my command.


“Undress for me,” I ordered, voice low but firm. I watched as they moved in tandem, peeling away layers of clothing, their bare skin glinting in the warm candlelight, their bodies perfect, sculpted, entirely mine to enjoy. Rodrigo knelt again, his mouth tracing a line along my leg, kissing every inch as if he were tasting forbidden fruit, while Alex’s hands worked magic, molding to every curve, every pulse point that left me breathless.


Finally, I settled back, savoring the sight of them before me, their willingness to please, their mutual devotion radiating in every glance, every touch. "Tonight," I whispered, my voice a breathless promise, "you’re both mine, to do as I please.”


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Copyright © 2024 by Master Liz

All rights reserved. No part of the publications, both photography and writings, created by Master Liz may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address provided by Master Liz.

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