In Too Deep

by Roxane Beaufort

  Chapter 8

  The pace was hotting up. Marty's collection was to be shown at Mayfair's prestigious Majestic Hotel in a week's time. Tickets were on sale, the proceeds to go to charity.

  Julia spent most of her days and much of her evenings rehearsing in Gabor's penthouse. Roberta was at a high pitch of tension that transferred itself to the models. He and Kevin were always getting at each other, two bitchy queens who were jealous as hell. If Blake gave one too much attention, the other threw a tantrum.

  'It's fun, but exhausting,' Julia said to Arlene over coffee in a corner café where they had paused for a rest between browsing in boutiques and charity shops. It was Saturday and they were catching up on themselves, doing the mundane chores like food shopping, washing and cleaning house.

  'Have you seen anything that looks like my work?' Arlene asked anxiously, her hair coiled up and kept in place by fancy plastic clips.

  Julia knew her friend's anger wouldn't be appeased until justice had been done. She'd lived with her long enough to be aware of the paranoia that existed amongst designers. Terms like copying, templates and ripping off, underpinned Arlene's conversations. 'Not yet, but I'm not called to be in every session,' she said. 'I know Blake's planning something special, which is strictly under wraps.

  'I know what you're thinking,' Arlene said, scowling through a haze of cigarette smoke, so strung out that any attempt at giving up on nicotine had gone to the wall. 'For every designer having a successful season, there's a rival convinced that his or her idea, style or whatever, has been hi-jacked. But I don't care. This isn't the case with me, and Marty Blake won't get away with it, the bastard.'

  Julia looked longingly at the counter where, under little glass domes, a selection of iced cakes, gateaux piped with cream and crumbly pastries beckoned. She had to refuse their seduction. At this stage in the preparations Roberta would go berserk if any of the girls put on as much as an ounce.

  'I'm doing my best to trap him, but it's not easy,' she told her friend. 'He has his special people about him and no one can get through if they're not meant to.'

  'I hope you are doing your best, darling. I'm not talking counterfeit T-shirts here; those items that were stolen from me were my babies, my hope for the future. He had no right - no right at all to take them.' Arlene glared balefully at her coffee. 'And if I ever catch him out, then he won't know what's hit him.'

  'You'll report him to the police?'

  'Oh, no,' Arlene mused slowly. 'I have my own way of dealing with Mr Marty Blake. Leave that part of it to me. But first I need proof. Can't you get close to him?'

  'It's difficult, Arlene. I am doing my best, but he's so aloof.'

  'I know, I know,' Arlene said quickly, knowing it was unfair to badger her friend, who was doing her best, she knew. 'Come on, we've still got the crush at the supermarket to negotiate,' and she finished off her coffee and stubbed out her cigarette in the foil ashtray that had been grudgingly provided by a waiter.

  Julia was saddened by the bleak look in her friend's eyes and, having now met and experienced Marty Blake, could understand how much he had upset her. He was too handsome for his own good, and despite his unscrupulous tendencies, Arlene had admitted to fancying him something rotten.

  And so Julia set about attempting to capture his attention again when she next paced the catwalk. He arrived late, the rehearsal halfway through before he put in an appearance. Kevin was with him, carrying a briefcase and wearing an air of importance, as well as a loose jacket and baggy shorts that had come from Blake's workshop. His shaven head glistened with a light patina of sweat.

  Roberta huffed and tossed his beaded mane, glaring disdainfully at Kevin, but restraining his cutting comments concerning tardy timekeeping. Blake was top dog, and could only be reprimanded by Gabor.

  Gina had swung through her routine, wearing one of next spring's ensembles, a saucy little number, brief and made of easy-care cotton. It exemplified youthful insouciance, and undoubtedly chain store buyers would purchase it. Blake catered for these as well as for the shiny set; those rich women who appeared at every event that involved fashion.

  Vesta was ready to go as Gina reached the head of the catwalk. She was modelling a suave and elegant cream linen day-dress, with a wide-brimmed hat. When she returned to the stage Julia took her place, sashaying towards Blake who stood at the end of the walk, looking up at her. She knew that her youth and vibrancy contributed to the success of the beach outfit she was modelling. It consisted of a short, fringed sarong in a jungle print, and a low-cut vest finishing just above her navel. She had sunbathed all day Sunday and deepened her tan, adding zest to the spicy tones of the fabric, which were repeated in the bold, chunky necklace and pendant earrings.

  When she reached the end she paused, legs parted, feet balanced on mules with high soles. She guessed that from this angle Blake could look straight up her skirt, even catch a glimpse of the red lycra G-string that cupped her mound. She was angry with Vincent; he played hot and cold, only speaking to her when he felt like it. He hadn't made love to her since taking her virginity. He was hardly ever there, didn't attend rehearsals and was always jetting off on mysterious trips, to do with business, so Grace said.

  Blake, on the other hand, was very much in evidence. This was his show and he was obsessed with success. Now would be a good time to get closer to him, and what could be closer than having sex with him? She still didn't like the man, but it would help her undercover work, and she hoped Vincent would get to hear about it and be hurt.

  Blake was observing her closely, a slight smile curving his finely chiselled lips, and so she decided to put her plan into action. The sarong was loosely fastened, one end tucked into the waistband, so it was a second's work to unhitch the loop, accidentally on purpose, and the skirt unwrapped itself and slithered down round her ankles.

  'Oh, I'm so sorry, Mr Blake,' she squealed. 'I hope this doesn't happen on the night!' She adopted a demure pose, her knees pressed together, a hand with fingers spread wide as if seeking to protect her modesty, covering the little red triangle that barely hid her mound. She turned away from him, knowing that her bottom still bore the marks of punishment, and wanting to remind him.

  'We'll have to see that it doesn't, won't we, Julia?' Blake said, his grey eyes gleaming like steel 'Safety pins are a great asset to any model who isn't too sure of the security of her clothing. You would do well to remember that.'

  'Yes, Mr Blake,' Julia said, pouting innocently and, while bending to retrieve her sarong, gave him a tantalising flash of the delicate strip of red fabric nestled tightly between her thighs that stood between her and his devouring gaze. 'Thank you, Mr Blake.'

  'Get into your own clothes and we'll go for lunch,' he said, decisively.

  'But Marty, we've only just got here,' Kevin protested, shooting bitchy daggers at Julia.

  'What about the other girls?' Roberta put in, standing theatrically in all his magnificent glory of form and height, a petulant scowl on his heavily made-up face. 'Don't you want to see which ones are wearing what? Your opinion is of the essence, as you know.'

  'You just hold the fort,' Blake said, in a tone that no one cared to dispute. 'I'll be two hours, tops.'

  A taxi took them to an ultra-smart redbrick building fronted by a quay, beyond which the River Thames flowed. It was one of several that had been converted into offices and much sought after apartments. Half a million pounds would not be enough to buy one of these. But despite the money that had been spent and the planning that had gone into improvements, to Julia the frowning structures would never be anything other than factories in dockland.

  'You live here?' she asked, seeking a topic of conversation. All the way there Blake had done nothing but stare at her, silent as the grave.

  'Yes, and I have my atelier on the floor below.'

  'How convenient,' she observed, thinking of Arlene's shabby little workroom above a shop, whereas he could afford a well-equipped studio on hand. He wouldn't even have
to go out of the building in order to get there.

  They reached his door and he pressed a series of computerised buttons to admit them. Once inside, Julia forgot the original use of the place. It had been cleverly renovated, and she wondered if he could be persuaded into letting her view that hive of industry where his machinists and pattern cutters would be working non-stop in order to bring his collection together on time.

  She would ask him in a while, she decided, when they'd had lunch and done whatever he'd brought her there to do. Her chest tightened and her nipples crimped. She might be falling under the spell of Vincent Gabor, but Marty Blake was undeniably attractive too, and she couldn't forget the feel of his cock in her mouth and the shameful delights she experienced when he plundered her virgin bottom.

  'Do you want a drink?' he asked, crossing the terracotta-tiled floor to a Peruvian style cabinet. Made of roughly carved wood, with blackened and deliberately rusted hinges, this piece and the chairs and table that went with it, looked as if they should be gracing a dining room/kitchen in a hacienda.

  'Orange juice, please,' she said.

  He fetched it from the large American-style fridge and carried it to the table. Then he took out a salad, a dish of tuna and pasta, garlic bread and yellow butter and a cheese board. 'My housekeeper prepared this earlier,' he said. 'A useful Tai boy, a wonderful cook and a wizard when it comes to ironing my clothes and generally looking after me. He's pretty, too, and sometimes models my menswear.'

  'I see,' she said, nervous of him, disliking him, yet secretly aching to feel his avaricious touch again.

  'Do you, Julia?' he said, and sat close to her at the octagonal table. Hewn from a solid block of wood, it stood on a central pedestal and was spread with an embroidered cloth. 'And what do you see, I wonder, with those wide blue eyes?'

  This was an ideal opportunity and she knew she mustn't blow it, so she put on her best look of doting innocence and smiled sweetly. 'I see a very clever and successful man who is letting me model some of his clothes, and I'm more than just grateful,' she said.

  'You intrigue me,' he answered, serving the tuna salad and a tangy mayonnaise. 'You came along at just the right moment; I needed a fresh face.'

  'Do you ever think of anything except your clothes?' she asked, idly touching the rim of her chilled glass with the tip of a dainty finger.

  'Hardly ever. I'm like any creative person, one-pointed and egocentric. I live and breathe my designs. When everyone has gone home at night, I pop down to my workroom and spend hours adjusting the toiles draping the dummies. I'm rarely satisfied, and putting on a collection is a monumental strain. I brought you here to help me relax. Don't let's talk about work. Tell me about yourself, Julia Jones. Are you attracted towards Mr Gabor?'

  She nearly choked - was she that transparent? - dabbed her lips with a paper napkin, looked at him quizzically, and said, 'What makes you think that?'

  He chuckled, moved behind her to top up her glass, then suddenly eased down her shoulder straps and the bodice of her dress shimmered down a little, almost exposing her nipples. 'He excites you, doesn't he?' he said smoothly. 'He's so masterful, so cruel. I'll bet you never dreamed you could be so submissive.'

  'I don't think I want to talk about it,' she said, trying to readjust her dress.

  'No, sit there like that,' he insisted. 'I wish the public were ready to accept some of my more advanced ideas for women's designs. There's nothing more beautiful than the dishevelled look, almost - but not quite - allowing the observer to glimpse the perfection of a beautiful pair of naked breasts. It looks so sluttish - so wanton. It is absolutely enticing.'

  His intensity made Julia begin to wonder if he was slightly eccentric, if not mad, but there was nothing she could do if she wanted her plan to succeed. 'No more, thank you,' she said, when he offered the salad bowl.

  When they had eaten he removed the dishes to the kitchen area and came back with a large bowl of strawberries. 'These early fruits are always the sweetest,' he purred, put down the bowl, closed his hands round Julia's waist, and guided her up to sit on the edge of the table.

  Without resistance he parted her smooth thighs, reached between them and beneath the skirt of her dress, and plucked the gusset of her panties between finger and thumb, his eyes staring deep into hers the whole time. He pulled. The delicate material resisted, so he picked up a dinner knife and, as Julia froze and watched it with alarm in her wide blue eyes, nicked easily through the fragile, slightly damp panties. They fell apart, exposing the full, luscious petals of her labia, and she gasped as he explored her sex lips, holding them open, his fingers sliding on the clear moisture wetting her vulva, and spreading it over the swollen sliver of flesh that crowned her delta.

  'How beautiful you are,' he complimented. 'So soft and succulent and fragrant.' His fingers worked with more intent between her thighs, and through her turmoil of conflicting emotions, she sensed he was referring to that secret area that was responding so traitorously to his touch. 'You make me want to eat you... fruit and cream... mmm, a delicious combination.' His voice was low, almost hypnotic, his breath ruffling the soft hair on her lightly perspiring brow.

  Her mouth opened in surprise as he picked a plump red strawberry from the dish and inserted it into her vagina. It was icy cold, straight from the fridge, and she gave a quick gasp. He pushed the succulent chilled fruit deeper inside her, and rested his thumb on her clitoris, which thrummed in response to the exciting sensations: cold and hot, soft and firm. She longed to come.

  He grinned knowingly, and applied a further strawberry to one of her nipples, which bunched delightfully at the sudden cold. He sucked the fruit between his lips and munched slowly, then leant down to lick the red-stained flesh of her aureole.

  Below, in the dark confines of her channel, she could feel the fruit warming in her heat, but this was suddenly chilled again when he inserted more until she was filled with a delectable summer harvest. He suckled at her breasts again, and a tingling feeling emanated from her clit. It spread to her groin, her womb, the base of her spine, the intense excitement making her moan and arch her neck, staring at the ceiling through misty blue eyes.

  Blake sat on a chair between her legs, leaned closer, his cheek resting on her thigh as he watched her labia turning the colour of the berries, her clitoris a shining pearl at its crest. He tickled it, circled it, manipulated it until Julia felt herself rushing towards completion, and then she gave a low-pitched sob and shuddered on the table, fingers clawing his hair as she climaxed. Her fruit-filled sex convulsed, pulping the softened contents. A trickle of crimson juice ran from her like blood, and Blake caught it on his tongue.

  He lapped at her, drinking the delectable nectar of fruit and pussy juice. His tongue entered her vagina and curled around a strawberry. He sucked it out, swallowed it, and then probed avidly for the rest of the sweet harvest. Feeling drained Julia lay back on the table and let him do as he willed with her. She was still quivering from the mighty orgasm, relaxed and utterly replete, her sex lips glowing with the warmth of his tongue and soothed by the slippery sweetness of his spittle.

  He stood, loomed over and kissed her, and she could taste strawberries and her own fragrant juices on his lips. With an arm around her, he led her into the lounge, a place with modern art on the walls, a hi-fi console, a forty-inch television screen, white carpets and white leather armchairs and a deeply cushioned white leather couch. The French windows opened onto a conservatory and rooftop garden. It all simply reeked of money.

  Blake discarded his shirt. He was staggeringly beautiful and well muscled, the planes of his chest leading down to the hard, washboard ridges of his belly. He slipped out of his designer toe-post sandals, and then took off his trousers. Julia had already experienced his handsome penis, but couldn't quite recall it being so big, and as he walked to where she sat spellbound on the couch, it bobbed in time with his stride, and his balls swung beneath it in their scrotal sac.

  He stopped in front of her, his cock
pointing threateningly straight at her face. 'Touch me,' he said.

  She hesitated a moment, but then lifted a hand and closed her fingers around the impressive erection, marvelling at its smoothness. He narrowed his eyes and watched her efforts closely, and drew in a sharp breath of pleasure. Emboldened by this, she rubbed with more confidence, working the foreskin up and over his glistening helm.

  And then his hand clamped around hers and he whispered, 'I can't take much more. I want to fuck you now.'

  He lay with her amidst the leather and his thumb skilfully found her clit. She came quickly, consumed by pleasure so intense that she had to clamp her mouth to his shoulder to smother the scream that threatened to wrench itself from her lungs. As if this was his cue he positioned himself between her thighs and filled her with one decisive stroke. Her legs lifted around his hips and locked there, drawing him in. She wanted to pull him closer, glorying in the smell of him; the scent of his hair, aftershave and body lotion that barely masked fresh sweat and the stronger odour of aroused male.

  But he wasn't Vincent Gabor, and no matter how she tried, it was he who held her in thrall. Even as Marty Blake ground deeply into her and used her harshly, intent on his own satisfaction, so she remembered each and every detail of the time when Vincent Gabor took her virginity.

  When it was over Blake left her abruptly, and she wondered what would happen next. She heard the shower, and soon he returned, drying himself in a large towel.

  'Time to go,' he said matter-of-factly. 'I told Roberta I'd only be a couple of hours. He'll have my guts for garters if I let him down.'

  That was it then. His attitude was almost rude, and certainly dismissive. That was how he had treated Arlene at the Cloth Show. Such arrogance matched Vincent Gabor's and Julia's heart went cold. She pulled down her skirt and adjusted her top. 'May I use the bathroom?' she asked, trying to appear unruffled and not to show her hurt at being dismissed so casually.