'Beautiful, beautiful,' he murmured, a distinguished man with silvery wings of hair sweeping back from his temples. His manicured hands fluttered around her, adjusting the veil that drifted to the floor like a gossamer cloud.
She wondered uneasily what she would have to do at the late night gathering Vincent Gabor had planned, and if she would wind up with him when it was over. Longing welled up in her, sex-juice dampening the gusset of her white panties.
'Are you ready, darlings?' Roberta carolled and, as the fanfare began, Julia walked up the stairs leading to the stage.
She was aware of little, concentrating on managing the trailing bouquet whilst lifting her skirt so that she didn't trip over it. Two models were dressed as bridesmaids and, as she reached the top and came out into the blaze of spotlights, Lee was there, his arm extended so she could take it and pace down the narrow walk with him. Blinded by the flashing of cameras, it took a second for her eyes to focus, but then she saw Will, and with him was Eugene and a dowdy looking, fair-haired person wearing an unbecoming hat and horn-rimmed glasses, who she knew to be Arlene in disguise.
At last the ordeal was over and Julia gratefully retired from the limelight, almost catching her heel in the billowing gown's hem in her haste to reach the dressing room and get into her own clothes. She passed Gina on the way, and Vesta, Katie and several other girls, lining up for the parade. She could hear the deafening applause as each one took a bow, then the cheers as Cressida stalked on in her Queen of the Night attire.
Marty Blake was with her, and the storm of clapping increased. He took the microphone from the commentator and addressed the audience.
'Thank you so very much,' he said clearly and loudly. 'I'm quite overwhelmed. You've received my collection so kindly and I thank you again from the bottom of my heart. Of course, such an event could not have taken place without the untiring work and support of my team. And none of it would have been possible had I not had such beautiful and accomplished models.
'And last but by no means least, I'd like to thank my advertising wizard and general factotum, Kevin Dean, and my sponsor, Vincent Gabor. I hope very much to be speaking with you personally at the cocktail party in the ballroom to which you are all invited.'
More cheers. More speeches, this time from Gabor and a representative from a fashion magazine, and by the time it was all over the wedding gown had been replaced on its hanger and Julia was wearing her new dress, a black sequinned number.
The slinky skirt reached her ankles, and bootlace straps held up the low bodice. She fluffed out her hair and decided to keep on the make-up, which had been applied more generously than usual. Beneath the dress she wore nothing but a pair of hold-up stockings, and this lack of underwear showed. Her nipples raised the spangled chiffon, and the fabric clung to her posterior making any viewer aware of an absence of knicker-line. She slipped her feet into strappy black sandals with high, pointed heels. She felt wanton and confident and brazen, now wanting to do the show all over again. Had Vincent been watching her with special interest? She rather thought he had, and her excitement mounted in anticipation of the evening to come. It was filled with promise, and she had high hopes of ending up in his bed.
Lost in a daydream in which he was at first masterful, binding and whipping her, and then tender, using his considerable skill as a lover, she was rudely awakened by a rumpus in the corridor outside. The door crashed inwards and Cressida came flying through, pursued by Arlene.
'Take if off!' Arlene was screaming. 'Give me back my dress, you bitch!'
'Hey!' Roberta shouted, standing foursquare between the two women. 'What's going on? No unauthorised persons are allowed in here.'
'I'll bet they're bloody not!' Arlene screeched. 'That cheating piece of lowlife wouldn't want anyone knowing he's stolen my designs. Marty Blake's a fraud and a liar!'
'Who the fuck are you?' Marty Blake snapped, striding into the melée.
Arlene dragged off the hat, wig and glasses, her own gypsy ringlets tumbling down. 'Now d'you recognise me, bastard?' Her voice was ice pick sharp, and Julia shuddered, sure that if Arlene had one in her hand Blake would be a dead man.
The colour drained from his face, but he managed to keep his calm admirably. 'I think I've seen you around somewhere,' he said condescendingly, lifting his nose with arrogance.
'Bloody right you have, you snake!' Arlene continued to fume. 'At the Cloth Show, remember? And before that you'd seen my designs on display - not these perhaps, but others. What's the matter, Marty? Are you running out of inspiration? Have to steal my work, do you, and pretend it's yours?'
He had recovered swiftly, backed up by the formidable Roberta, Grace and the mannequins, all of whom would support him even if they suspected that Arlene was telling the truth. It was more than their jobs were worth to question his professional integrity.
Julia froze, and Will, right behind Arlene, gave her a silent signal of warning. If she wanted to remain on the investigation she must hold her peace and pretend she didn't know them. She was glad to see Eugene edging forward, and that he was alert enough to have fallen into a fighter's stance, fists bunched.
'What's going on?' Vincent Gabor demanded as he pushed his way in amongst the seething throng. 'Marty, who is this woman?'
'A nobody,' Blake replied dismissively. 'An unsuccessful designer who's jealous of my fame.'
'We can't afford any trouble,' Gabor said. 'Get her out of here. Marty, you've to put in an appearance at the party. Now, Marty, they're waiting for you.'
He signalled to one of the many hired security men. He was built like a tank, and he nodded and advanced on Arlene. 'Her badge says she's press,' he grunted.
'It must be a forgery,' Blake insisted.
'Come on, miss, time you were going,' the security man said, and gripped her arm in his massive paw. But Arlene kicked his shins smartly and launched into a karate move, winding a leg around his and chopping at the hand that held her. He crashed to the floor. Julia wanted to jump on him and finish the job, but Will's eyes told her not to interfere - not yet, at any rate. Time enough for action later, when they had the evidence they wanted.
'Call the hotel's security,' Gabor ordered grimly.
Arlene straightened up, filled with righteous indignation. 'Don't worry, Mr Gabor,' she said. 'I'm going. But this isn't the end of it, not by a long chalk. You'll be hearing from my solicitors.'
'Tch! And what good will that do you?' Marty Blake sneered, then leaned closer and lowered his voice. 'You haven't any proof. There's not a damn thing you can do about it. But stir up trouble for me and I'll make sure you never work again. A designer? Forget it.'
'You can't scare me off, and you'll live to regret this,' Arlene promised with conviction, and then turned on her heel and marched from the dressing room. Eugene glared around belligerently, and then followed her.
'And you?' Vincent Gabor said to Will. 'Are you a part of this?'
'Not at all,' he answered promptly, camera bag over one shoulder. 'I'm here on behalf of Hi Life. My editor briefed me to take pictures of the show. It's quite an event in the social calendar. One of our writers is out there reporting on it.'
Gabor gave him a steady stare. 'Okay,' he said carefully, 'you'd better come along and do the party. There's plenty of celebrities who can't get enough of seeing themselves in print.'
Shaking off the restrictions imposed on them by the gathering in the ballroom, Vincent Gabor's select seraglio gave vent to hilarity and exuberance when they reached the building which housed so many of his business ventures and his apartment. Even Julia was still caught up in the excitement, though fretting about Arlene. The scene in the dressing room had reinforced her belief in her friend and refuelled her desire to help her. Marty Blake had behaved like a monster, and she was now fully convinced of his guilt. As for Vincent? She could no longer blind herself to the fact that he may have had a hand in it, too. She had managed a word with Will during the celebration, where women with shrill voices and too much
money monopolised and idolised Blake.
'What now?' she murmured, pretending an interest in posing for the camera.
'We dig deeper; the ball's in your court tonight,' was all he said. 'I don't see any way I can worm my way into his private bash.'
Duty done, having entertained the media, the aristocracy, the English thespians and Hollywood starlets, the girls bundled into cabs and cars and headed for Abbey Reach. The tower block gleamed, a constellation in the darkness, every window lit. Julia was sharing a cab with Gina. It drew up near the entrance to the huge parking complex, which yawned like a cave mouth and, as on other occasions when she had parked her own car there, Julia was impressed by its activity. No matter how late the hour, there were always men loading or unloading the long-distance lorries that regularly arrived or departed. She hadn't been able to get to the bottom of Vincent's commercial enterprises, but gathered that they were legion and mostly run from the nerve centre at Abbey Reach. But no one in his employ seemed willing to talk about it.
'What's this party in aid of?' she asked, once they were in the elevator travelling heavenwards. 'More charities?'
Gina and Vesta exchanged a sly glance with Katie, and then Gina rested back against the lift's mahogany walls and slid her hands down to her crotch, wrinkling up her skirt and exposing her denuded pussy. The others smiled and relaxed, Vesta pinching her own nipples and Katie aping Gina's action and touching her clit.
'It won't be like that dull thing we've just survived, all those people going gaga over the clothes. No, Julia, this is held for Vincent's other crowd. You know, the ones that were there the first night you joined us... big boys in big business who play for high stakes. They'll be bringing along their tarts or rent boys, but they'll want us, too. We don't ask questions. Get it?' Gina moaned softly and rubbed herself briskly, adding to no one in particular, 'I wonder if I can come before the lift stops.'
'The only bright spot at the other do was Theona Blue and her band,' Vesta chipped in. 'Who had the bright idea of hiring her? I bought one of her CDs. They were on sale in the foyer.'
'No Theona Blue tonight, I fear,' Katie said, as they stepped out of the elevator. 'We may get some eastern flutes and bongos and belly-dancers, but I guess we'll be too busy to notice.'
'Oh... oh... bugger it! I didn't quite make it,' Gina grumbled, and then brightened. 'Never mind. There'll be plenty of good sex for all concerned when the party gets going.'
At first nothing much happened. People took their drinks outside and strolled on the terrace, where a kidney-shaped swimming pool and an abundance of exotic potted plants made one forget that the opulent location was way above the city. Several of the more daring guests were skinny-dipping.
Though quietly drinking and talking, the majority were wearing what Julia took to be fancy dress, until she scrutinised the guests more closely. Some of the men were in monks' habits, the hoods pulled over their heads, the fronts opened to show naked chests and bellies and cocks, some drooping, some stiff. A few women were dressed as nuns, complete with black robes and wimples, this demure attire rendered immodest by the slits in the bodices where nipples poked through, and the skirts that were hitched high, displaying luscious bottoms and cunts. Others wore leather or satin tightly laced corsets, and split-crotch panties, pussies exposed, clits and nipples rouged and sometimes pierced, with thin chains linking them. Their make-up was theatrical, their hair tousled or slicked back, and their footwear was extreme, always high of heel.
Julia recognised the strapping dominatrix, Kay, and her partner. They strode among the crowd, wielding whips and meting out punishment to the submissive waiters and waitresses. Vincent's two meek servant girls had been stripped and chained to pillars, heads drooping, long hair concealing their breasts, but nothing could hide the floss at their forks, and anyone could touch them, dive a hand between their thighs and stroke them to orgasm. Reluctant they might be, but they couldn't prevent themselves from coming.
Gina had been right about the music. The sounds of flute and tambour came from judiciously placed stereo speakers. Two dusky-skinned, buxom women were dancing, their hips gyrating, their large bottoms shaking, their breasts wobbling, the tassels attached to their jutting nipples swinging from side to side. A regal looking man in a striped kaffiyeh had ordered his bodyguards to position his chair so that he would miss nothing of their performance. As he watched through lowered lids, a young male slave in chains and leather straps bent over and presented his naked posterior, and the hawk-faced man poked his fingers into the proffered anal hole.
Julia found herself isolated from Gina and the rest, wandering that large room. A buffet had been set up. Professional caterers provided caviar, smoked salmon, a range of delectable gourmet dishes, along with pyramids of fruit and a generous selection of puddings, mostly served with cream and apricot brandy sauce. There were ices, chocolate and various, and a seemingly endless supply of champagne.
As she went further the wailing music was drowned out by the sounds issuing from the massive television screen at the far end; groans, cries of pleasure, the noise of bucking and grinding. Guests lounged on divans watching a pornographic movie where couples strained in ecstasy, their antics blown up and exaggerated as they performed the sex act in a variety of ways. The male actors were handsome and muscular, their penises large and their balls impressive. Some of the women had perfect figures, while others had obviously had breast enlargements. They rubbed their obese tits, making the nipples stand out. Winding their legs round their screen lovers, they squealed and grimaced, impaled on those spear-hard cocks.
The audience watched in silence, sipping champagne and groping their genitals, or those of the person closest to them. Soon the movements of the actors were being reproduced in Vincent Gabor's reception room as more were drawn towards the television screen. Like the actors, they started to explore every desire. Julia saw one woman whip up her nun's habit and lay on the floor with four men. One stuck his cock in her sex, another pushed his erection into her mouth and the remaining two knelt either side of her so she could take their rearing erections in her hands and masturbate them.
Julia shrank back against the wall, though her newly discovered self wanted to join in. She saw women licking one another's breasts, clits and forbidden holes and men buggering other men. Restraint had gone to the winds, the visual stimulation, the strong drink, the licentious atmosphere combining to encourage the participants to yield to their basest desires and most erotic fantasies.
'Don't you want to do what they're doing?' said a husky voice in her ear, and arms wrapped around her. She was pulled back against a rearing cock, while hands lifted her skirt and delved between her thighs.
'Mr Gabor,' she gasped, sighing and relaxing in his arms. 'I want you...'
He chuckled throatily and bent at the knee, his naked cock pressing into her bottom crease. 'I know you do,' he crooned into her ear. 'The succulent wetness I've discovered between your thighs tells me so. Hush now and be patient. If you're very good and do exactly as I say, then later you can have me all to yourself.'
'What do I have to do?' She was willing to agree to anything, buoyed up by his promise.
He let her skirt slither down, tucked his penis away and zipped himself up. 'There's a gentleman here who has expressed an interest in you. He saw you the first night you performed and also watched you this afternoon. Please him, and you please me.'
He turned Julia to face him, and was looking extremely distinguished in tight white breeches, riding boots and a red jacket, a frilled jabot at his throat. He carried a riding whip with a silver stock. He was a ringmaster, or leader of the hunt. She could deny him nothing, unable to stop staring at the bulge that strained against his flies. He took her by the hand and they weaved through the throng to where a man of Latin appearance sat; a fat oily individual, and her heart plummeted.
She clung to Vincent's hand, but he merely gave her a little shove forward. 'Senor Lopez, this is Julia,' he said, ignoring the look of utter
disgust freezing her expression. 'You requested that I introduce her to you.'
The South American didn't rise, as a gentleman would. Two pebble eyes stared up at her, the epitome of evil. He stripped her with that glance, making the outspoken lust of normal men seem pure in contrast. Julia came out in goosepimples. She was sickened at the thought of his hands touching her, by his wet lips and tongue slobbering on her, by his aura of power and ruthlessness.
'Come closer, senorita,' he said in a thickly accented, guttural voice.
'Do as he says,' Vincent urged, and moved back.
Julia stood in front of Lopez, confusion swamping her, as he reached behind her and cupped and mauled her buttocks. What was expected of her? Despite the revulsion she felt towards the ox of a man, should she, in her efforts to please Vincent Gabor, suggest she and the Latin go somewhere more private?
But she was given no choice in matters, as Lopez's face split into a lecherous leer, he nodded at Vincent and smacked her bottom with unnecessary harshness.
'Take her to the bed!' barked Vincent.
Curtains were drawn back to reveal an alcove with a large divan in the centre. It was covered in a quilt of matched jaguar pelts, and heaped with cushions in ecclesiastical hues. Despite their absorption in sexual pursuits, the nearest guests stopped what they were doing and stared. Julia stared too, fear and excitement warring within her.
Kay guided her across the floor, sat her down and snapped the bootlace straps. The bodice slid to Julia's waist and she tried to cover her breasts, but the bizarre woman wrenched them away. 'Lie down,' she ordered.
Julia couldn't prevent her from seizing her wrists and chaining them to the bedhead. Her legs were spread and fastened by the ankles with ropes attached to the barley-sugar twist posts at the foot. Kay hiked up the black sequinned skirt, exposing Julia's fluffy fair bush, then smiling triumphantly, she feasted her eyes on that damp, fragrant area, and parted the plump wings with a knowing finger.
Julia squirmed in pleasure and shame, but was helpless to prevent Kay from tickling the sensitive head of her clit till it swelled and rose from its cowl. Kay then left her, and Julia moaned with trepidation and need. A heap of pillows were thrust beneath her buttocks, raising her pelvis so that her hungry pussy was fully visible. Kay searched under another pillow and drew out a vibrator. It buzzed as she switched it on. Julia waited breathlessly, familiar with the bliss such an instrument could bring. Kay wetted the tip in Julia's dew and let it play on her bud, and the feeling was even more exquisite than Julia remembered.
In Too Deep Page 15
