Vivienne Mercier Ep 01│Visual Novel

 Vivienne harbored no notion of tainting her cherished Eliot, her vision unclouded by the moralizing fog of the world’s censure. Her boy—astute, delicate, ever-observant—carried a quiet vigilance in his gaze, a sentinel’s watchfulness that betrayed his tender depths. She had glimpsed the furtive glances he cast when he believed himself unseen, his eyes lingering on forbidden horizons with a hunger he scarcely understood. Far from condemnation, Vivienne met his secrets with a knowing empathy, her heart attuned to the unspoken cadence of his desires. To guide him—delicately, with a tenderness bordering on reverence—could never be a transgression. It would be a bulwark, a safeguarded odyssey into the uncharted realms of his soul. It would be love, distilled to its most visceral essence, a communion unmarred by shame, woven from the threads of protection and discovery.

 In the shadowed tapestry of their entwined existence, Vivienne and Eliot wove a bond not of whispered scandal but of celestial fidelity, where one soul, luminous and steadfast, pirouetted about the other in an eternal dance of proximity. She had cradled his nascent spirit, sculpted his essence with a tender hand, and shielded him from the world's jagged edges. Over the years, without design or artifice, he had blossomed into a rarity—a youth whose trust in her was absolute, an unspoken covenant rooted in the marrow of his being, though its genesis eluded even his own understanding.

 Dorian, by contrast, was a creature of voracious elegance, gliding through existence with a predator’s poise and a poet’s heart. From their first encounter, he had unfurled his past before her, a lurid tapestry of dalliances with boys, of games where pleasure and dominion blurred into a heady, intoxicating haze. Vivienne, a woman annealed by life’s sharper truths, listened with the avid curiosity of one who no longer recoiled from the abyss. His candor did not repel her; it kindled a fire in her veins, a lascivious spark that danced in the recesses of her mind. Now, as she observed Eliot’s silent peregrinations through the house—his form taut with a quiet, coiled potency—she mused on the boundaries she might press. Not to shatter him, no, but to unfurl him, to coax forth the latent desires that slumbered beneath his guileless exterior. Perhaps with Dorian’s complicity, his presence a catalyst in this alchemy of flesh and will. Or perhaps merely his shadow, looming in the periphery. The decision lingered, a tantalizing phantom yet to take form. But she would choose, in time, as the mistress of her own designs.

 Within Eliot’s silent exterior hums a mind that races faster than his words ever could, weaving tapestries of fantasy he dares not utter. His desires, tangled in shame and yearning, flicker in the recesses of his soul—visions of surrender, not to force but to guidance, to the steady hand of someone who sees him wholly. He is no mere boy, but a young man of twenty, his introspection a labyrinth where anger wrestles with confusion, where desire battles the dread of rejection. To be known, to be shaped, to be validated by Vivienne’s presence—this is the ache that defines him, not merely carnal but existential, a longing to discover the contours of his own identity under her tutelage. Yet, in his quiet, he guards a fierce loyalty to the self he has crafted, a delicate balance between the man he presents and the one who dreams in secret, fearing that to speak his truths aloud might unravel the fragile thread that tethers him to her world.

 Dorian strides into the room, a colossus of masculine grace, his broad frame clad in tailored leather that clings to his sculpted form like a second skin, whispering tales of battles won and desires sated. At fifty-five, his presence is a tapestry of experience—every line on his weathered face, every sinew of his imposing physique, a testament to a life fiercely lived. His dark eyes, smoldering with a poet’s audacity, hold a gaze that pierces the air, commanding attention with the ease of a predator surveying his domain. His hair, streaked with silver, is swept back with careless precision, and his movements—deliberate, almost languid—carry the weight of a man who knows the power of his own body as both weapon and lure. There is no mistaking the raw virility that pulses beneath his polished exterior, a primal force tempered by an intellect as sharp as the blade of his wit.

 Beneath this veneer of confidence lies a soul that thrives on provocation, not through cruelty but through the artful dance of suggestion. Dorian speaks sparingly, but when he does, his words land like sparks on dry tinder, each syllable laced with a brazen certainty that unsettles and entices. He delights in the ripples his presence creates, savoring the subtle chaos of a well-placed glance or a single, loaded phrase that slices through decorum. His past—a mosaic of trysts with younger men, confessed with unflinching candor to Vivienne—has honed his understanding of power’s delicate interplay, not in dominance but in the invitation to explore boundaries. Yet, for all his swagger, Dorian harbors a quiet fear: that vulnerability might erode the edifice of strength he has built. He is the provocateur, the mirror reflecting desires others dare not name, and in Vivienne’s orbit, he plays the catalyst—teasing, challenging, and amplifying the tensions that bind their trio, all while guarding the fragile core of his own unyielding persona.

In the amber glow of the study, Vivienne and Dorian recline upon the plush sofa, a tableau of poised seduction framed by the towering bookshelves that whisper of intellect and secrets. Their union ignited with a fervor that shook the very foundations of her carefully curated world— a collision of wills where Dorian’s primal vigor first claimed her, his thrusts a symphony of raw power that left her breathless, her body yielding to the relentless rhythm of his seasoned prowess. At forty, she finds herself ensnared by his magnetic allure, her gaze tracing the chiseled contours of his bare torso, the silver-streaked hair a crown to his rugged majesty. He fucks her with a masterful intensity, each movement a testament to his storied past with younger lovers, and she revels in the exquisite dominance he wields, her own power amplified by the surrender she grants him.

Her mind, a labyrinth of desire, spins with the specters of Dorian and Eliot in equal measure. Dorian’s presence is a flame that consumes, his every touch a reminder of the control she cedes and reclaims, a dance of mutual conquest that binds them in a tacit alliance. Yet, Eliot’s shadow lingers—her ward, her creation—his sapphire eyes haunting her thoughts with a tender vulnerability she yearns to unravel. Could such a convergence ever transpire? She imagines a delicate orchestration: Dorian’s bold initiation, his body a mirror to Eliot’s nascent curiosity, guiding the younger man into the fold with a patience that belies his ferocity. Her role would be the architect, weaving consent and care into the fabric of their exploration, a trinity born not of chaos but of her strategic design—where Dorian’s carnal mastery and Eliot’s eager submission might meld under her watchful, lustful gaze, a possibility as intoxicating as it is perilous.

It’s 2:15 PM on Monday, in the opulent bedroom of Vivienne’s estate, where the air hums with raw lust. Dorian pins her against the silk sheets, his thick cock slamming into her dripping cunt with a brutal rhythm, her moans echoing off the ornate walls. Her pink satin robe hangs open, tits bouncing with every thrust, sweat glistening on her skin as she claws at his back. He grunts, driving deeper, his shaft rock-hard as he fucks her senseless, the leather scent of his grip on her hips mingling with her musk. Mid-stroke, her name escapes his lips—“What about Eliot. What is he comes home...”—and his dick pulses even harder, veins bulging as the thought of the boy fuels his frenzy. Vivienne’s lips curl into a wicked smile, no trace of awkwardness, only a hungry glint in her eyes as she urges him on, her pussy clenching around him.

Dorian’s thrusts grow savage as he growls, “Better if he walks in—let the kid hear his mama getting fucked the way she deserves. Maybe he’ll learn a thing or two.” Vivienne’s smile widens, her arousal spiking, her cunt tightening around his throbbing cock as she rides the wave of his dirty words. With a guttural groan, he pulls out, unloading thick ropes of cum across her heaving tits, the hot mess splattering her skin as she gasps in delight. Moments later, the front door creaks open downstairs, the sound slicing through the haze. Dorian’s lips twist into a challenge, “Throw on something quick—let’s greet him like this, sweaty and you still dripping with my load.”

She slips into a sheer robe, the fabric clinging to her sweat-slick body, cum glistening on her chest as they descend. Vivienne, eager to stoke Dorian’s fire, leans into Eliot’s stunned presence and plants a bold kiss on Dorian’s lips in welcome. The musky tang and slick texture of his seed linger between them, a provocative offering that hangs in the air as Eliot’s eyes widen.

Dorian’s thrusts grow savage as he growls, “Better if he walks in—let the kid hear his mama getting fucked the way she deserves. Maybe he’ll learn a thing or two.” Vivienne’s smile widens, her arousal spiking, her cunt tightening around his throbbing cock as she rides the wave of his dirty words. With a guttural groan, he pulls out, unloading thick ropes of cum across her heaving tits, the hot mess splattering her skin as she gasps in delight. Moments later, the front door creaks open downstairs, the sound slicing through the haze. Dorian’s lips twist into a challenge, “Throw on something quick—let’s greet him like this, sweaty and you still dripping with my load.”

She slips into a sheer robe, the fabric clinging to her sweat-slick body, cum glistening on her chest as they descend. Vivienne, eager to stoke Dorian’s fire, leans into Eliot’s stunned presence and plants a bold kiss on Dorian’s lips in welcome. The musky tang and slick texture of his seed linger between them, a provocative offering that hangs in the air as Eliot’s eyes widen.

Vivienne stands by the bed, her voluptuous figure draped in a sheer purple robe that clings to her curves, the fabric barely concealing her heaving tits and the damp heat between her thighs. Dorian lounges on the velvet chaise, his eyes raking over her as he sips his whiskey. “You’ve been wrestling with it, haven’t you?” he drawls, voice low and commanding. “Eliot’s curiosity—it’s a fire waiting to be stoked. Why don't we...just...let him catch us? He needs to see how a real man fucks you, how you command every thrust. It’ll break him open, teach him what he’s been too shy to chase.”

Vivienne’s breath hitches, her mind churning with reservations—morality, control, and the fragile bond with her ward. Yet the heat pooling in her core betrays her, her nipples hardening against the silk as Dorian’s words paint a vivid, filthy picture. “It’s risky,” she murmurs, her tone steady but laced with desire. “What if he can’t handle it?” Dorian leans forward, a smirk playing on his lips. “He’ll handle it because you’ll guide him through it. Imagine his wide eyes on us, his cock twitching as he watches me pound your sweet cunt. You know you want it—let your hunger win.” Her resolve crumbles, the lust surging through her veins, and she nods, a hungry gleam in her eyes as she succumbs to the raw thrill of the plan.

Vivienne rises from the chaise, her purple robe swaying with each deliberate step, the fabric teasing her curves as she moves toward the door. Her pulse quickens with a mix of authority and desire as she seeks out Eliot, finding him in the study, his sapphire eyes lost in thought. “Come with me,” she commands, her voice a velvet whip, leading him back to the bedroom where Dorian waits, shirtless and leaning against the bedpost, his gaze predatory.

The trio settles into an electric silence, broken only by Vivienne’s measured tone. “Eliot, we’ve coddled you too long with society’s chains—those prudish taboos about sex that choke your curiosity. I want to shatter them. Pleasure isn’t a sin, love; it’s a language, and we’re here to teach you.” She turns to Dorian, her hand grazing his chest, fingers tracing the hard lines of his muscles. “Look at him—raw power, a cock that knows how to claim. Touch him, feel that strength.” Eliot hesitates, his breath shallow, but Vivienne’s eyes lock onto his. “Go on, tell him what you see.”Eliot’s voice trembles at first. “I… I see confidence. The way he moves, it’s like he owns everything.” Dorian chuckles, a deep rumble. “Good start, boy. What else?” 

Vivienne nods encouragingly. “He’s got a stamina that could fuck all night,” Eliot ventures, a flush creeping up his neck. Vivienne smiles, her arousal flaring. “Exactly. And that thick shaft—perfect for breaking barriers. Dorian, tell him.” Dorian grins, stepping closer. “Your mama’s right—my cock’s a beast, built to pound her till she screams. You could learn to wield one like it.” The air thickens as they trade compliments, Eliot’s shyness melting into awe. “His chest… it’s like steel,” he murmurs, while Vivienne purrs, “And that ass—tight enough to drive me wild.” The tension builds, their words a prelude to the raw heat about to unfold.

The room pulses with the dim glow of afternoon light filtering through heavy curtains, casting a golden sheen over the tangled silk sheets and the sweat-slicked bodies of the trio. Vivienne kneels before Dorian, her purple robe slipping off her shoulders to reveal the full, glistening swell of her tits, nipples hard as pebbles. She locks eyes with him, a wicked smile curling her lips, before lowering her mouth to his thick, veined cock. Her lips part, enveloping the swollen head, and she takes him deep, her throat constricting with a guttural gag that reverberates through the room. Saliva drips from the corners of her mouth, slicking his shaft as she bobs her head with practiced artistry, her tongue swirling around the sensitive underside, coaxing a low groan from Dorian’s chest. 

Dorian’s hand tangles in her hair, guiding her rhythm as he turns his gaze to Eliot, who stands frozen, his sapphire eyes wide with a mix of shock and arousal. “Look at her, boy,” Dorian growls, his voice thick with dominance. “See how she worships this cock? You’re feeling it, aren’t you—that weird twist in your gut? It’s hunger. Sit back, get comfortable, and stroke yourself. She loves watching that shit—it drives her wild.” Eliot hesitates, his breath ragged, but the heat in Vivienne’s glance urges him on. He sinks into the armchair, his slim fingers trembling as they undo his trousers, freeing his hardening dick. He wraps his hand around it, stroking slowly at first, the sight of Vivienne’s lips stretched around Dorian’s girth fueling his growing erection.

Vivienne’s performance intensifies, her eyes flicking to Eliot as she deep-throats Dorian with renewed fervor. Her gags grow louder, wet and primal, saliva spilling down her chin to pool on her heaving cleavage. She pulls back briefly, a string of drool connecting her lips to his glistening cock, and flashes Eliot a sultry smile, her gaze dripping with encouragement. Then she dives back in, taking him to the hilt, her throat bulging as she chokes on his length, the obscene sounds filling the room—slurps, gurgles, and Dorian’s grunts of pleasure. Her hands grip his thighs, nails digging in as she works him with relentless skill, her cheeks hollowing with each suck. Eliot’s hand moves faster now, his cock throbbing in his grip, pre-cum beading at the tip as he watches, transfixed by the sight of Vivienne’s masterful blowjob, her every move a testament to her unapologetic lust, driving the scene into a fever pitch of raw, unfiltered desire.. 

Her head bobs with fervor, saliva dripping down her chin as she gags, the wet, sloppy sounds filling the room, her tongue swirling around his shaft with every plunge. Her eyes water, turning a fiery red from the pressure, yet she steals a glance at Eliot, who lingers in the doorway, transfixed. A wicked smile curves her lips, and with a subtle wink, she invites him into the raw spectacle, her throat tightening around Dorian’s dick as she revels in the boy’s shocked, aroused gaze. 

 Dorian’s grip tightens in Vivienne’s hair, his cock throbbing deep in her throat as he locks eyes with Eliot, standing frozen in the doorway. “Watch closely, boy,” he growls, voice thick with lust, “I’m gonna unload in your mama’s mouth—fill her up with every drop.” He smirks, a dark challenge in his gaze. “Stroke yourself, sync your cum with mine—do it, because it’ll make her fucking ecstatic to see her boy join in.” Vivienne’s eyes flicker with delight, her red-rimmed gaze darting to Eliot as she sucks harder, her lips sealed tight around Dorian’s shaft, the wet slurping intensifying. Eliot’s hand hesitates, then moves, his breath ragged as he obeys, the taboo thrill pushing him closer to the edge.

Dorian’s muscles tense, a guttural roar escaping him as he erupts, hot cum surging into Vivienne’s mouth, the force so intense that it overflows, spilling past her lips in thick, creamy streams. She gags slightly, pulling back just enough for the excess to splatter across her chin and drip onto her heaving tits, the sight a lewd masterpiece. Eliot groans, his own release hitting in sync, his load streaking the air as he watches, transfixed by the depraved display. Vivienne swallows what she can, a triumphant moan vibrating from her throat, her smile smeared with Dorian’s seed as she savors the dual climax, her body trembling with perverse satisfaction.

Vivienne beckons Eliot closer, her voice a sultry command as she lets Dorian’s cum trickle from her lips, sliding down her chin to pool on her glistening tits, the sticky mess a provocative invitation. “Come here, love,” she purrs, her eyes glinting with mischief as he hesitates, then leans in, drawn by the raw scent. Just as his face nears, she shifts with a sly move, pressing his cheek against the warm, slick cum on her chest. He freezes, startled, but her tone turns teasing. “Since you’ve come this far, you might as well taste it… I hear it’s nutritious, you know.”

She grins, tilting her head as she guides him further, her fingers threading through his hair. “Now, lick my nipple—suckle it like you did as a boy, but this time with my lover’s cum coating it.” Eliot’s breath hitches, his face flushing with a mix of shame and arousal, yet he obeys, his tongue tentatively lapping at her hardened nipple, the salty tang of Dorian’s seed mixing with her skin. As he sucks, a tremor runs through him—part humiliation, part exhilaration—his mind reeling from the forbidden act, a strange liberation blooming amid the degradation, his cock twitching as he surrenders to her command.