by Nicole Dere
‘Who’s the other fellow?’ his lordship asked.
‘That’s the boyfriend - sorry - fiance,’ Stella answered. ‘He’s been promoted to officialdom, apparently. They plan to marry soon.’
‘Living together?’
‘No, not as far as I know. I don’t even know if they’re sleeping together. She’s a funny little thing. Very hard to read sometimes. Sometimes I think she’s been around, other times I wonder if she’s even lost her virginity yet.’
‘How intriguing,’ Lord Burnopside muttered, one crooked finger rubbing thoughtfully against his moustache. My God, Stella mocked inwardly, all he needed was an opera cloak and silver-topped cane. ‘We must have her down to the Han,’ Lord Burnopside continued. ‘And her cousin, too. Delightful, perfectly delightful. ‘
‘Which one do you fancy the most?’ Stella teased. ‘He’s very pretty too, isn’t he? And not much use to me, I fancy.’
Felicity could see that Michael, in town from north of the border for the weekend, was finding it hard to take the amount of attention she was getting. Just as he had found it hard to take her dress when she first appeared in it back at the flat. That was why she had insisted that John be there. She and her cousin were closer now than they had been, even as kids. The pleasantly teasing, unfulfilled attraction he had aroused in her during their adolescent years was something she had missed when she went off to drama school, and then to a series of lowly acting jobs up and down the country, while he loafed at university. Meeting up again in London, after an absence of well over a year, had been a great bonus. Then the other night, disturbed by the sudden vast changes taking over her life, and stirred by the dreaded weed, which she had discovered to be a powerful sexual stimulant, she had revived that childish, half innocent sensuality they had shared. When she invited him into her bath she’d had no idea other than that vague naughtiness of former days, enhanced a little by the unconfirmed rumour from a mutual friend that John was involved with the gay fraternity at college.
Even when, spurred by a sudden devilment, she had begun the sexual stimulation, she had thought to go no further than masturbating him. And he’d seemed even more shattered by the experience, so that she’d savoured even more the feeling of power over him.
She had curled up naked with him under the sheets and fallen asleep. Next morning she succeeded in taking the initiative once more, capturing his squishy prick before he was awake. She manipulated it to a pulsing hardness, pushed him onto his back, spread her hair over his warm belly and thighs, and licked and nibbled at his seeping prick until it was purple and ready to burst. He lay there, stirring and whimpering like an overwhelmed virgin, his helplessness thrilling her, until his body spasmed and he gave a shrill cry and came, fearfully, excitingly, all over her fist and his palpitating belly, while she stared in fascination at the pumping seed.
‘We can’t do this,’ he said, when, after they had shared another bath, they were sitting still naked at the worktop in her tiny kitchen, with coffee and toast.
‘Don’t be daft,’ she answered, her mouth full. She picked off a crumb from between her breasts with a finger pad. ‘We could marry if we wanted.’
‘Do you want to?’
‘Eh?’ She gazed at him blankly. ‘Marry me?’
‘Don’t be daft,’ she said again. She grinned at him, her cheeks pouched as she bit into another piece of toast. She reached out and put her palm over his limp prick, and gave it a friendly shake. ‘I’m glad I’ve done you, though. Just think what we’ve been missing all these years.’ She hesitated just a fraction. ‘Come on, John. You can tell me now. Are you really gay?’
‘You just want my body,’ he said, and slid off his stool to kneel between her knees, which he pushed gently apart.
He let his fingers pluck at her dark pubic curls, teasing them out, lifting the white skin beneath. One finger found the uppermost folds of her labia and stirred lightly. Her thighs moved. He saw the long muscles bunch, and her legs came together, holding his forearm.
‘Don’t,’ she sighed, squirming on the plastic stool. His fingers moved more boldly, pushing against the plastic, opening her up until he could feel the dampness. He dragged her forward by the hips until she was straddling the stool, her legs stretched out wither side of him, her toes touching the floor. Her vulva was more exposed now, hanging over the rounded edge of the stool. He bent forward very slowly, puckered his lips, and kissed her, drinking in the delicious tang of her aroused body.
‘Jesus!’ she gasped. ‘Don’t, please!’ She shivered, not sure whether she meant it or not.
‘I’m just answering your question, coz,’ he murmured, his breath warm against her most secret flesh. He lapped steadily, his fingernails pushing aside the sticky tissue, revealing the raw redness of the inner surface, and her hands cupped his head, stroking his short hair, holding him in to her.
‘Don’t!’ She was begging genuinely now, squirming, wet, unable to keep still. ‘You’re not... you can’t...’
He raised his wet face, grinning up at her from between her thighs. ‘I like it like this.’
Felicity was overwhelmed by her own drumming need. ‘Moo - make it happen,’ she panted.
He lifted her, once more surprising her with his strength, seizing her about the middle, and planting her roughly on the edge of the worktop among the debris of their scratch meal. She sat blatantly, her genital area thrust at him over the hard edge, her thighs gaping, and he worked his tongue up and down again, then slid two working fingers deep inside her, feeling the slippery walls grip them in welcome.
The plates rattled softly as she began to jounce, her buttocks clenching and unclenching while she sobbed. Just as she felt the approach of the climax the fingers and mouth were snatched away, and she gave a sharp cry of torment. But then he was upright, his arms clamped about her thighs, holding them to his hips, and his penis, straight as a ramrod, thrust at the base of her belly. With startling skill he nuzzled it at the wet entrance of her spasming vulva, his buttocks clenched deeply, and he slid home into the tightly gripping funnel of her vagina. She gasped with shock, and the pure physical joy of his driving deeply home into her.
‘Christ! I’m coming - coo - coming!’ Her feet kicked out madly and she convulsed, pressing her face into his shoulder, clutching him while the climax ripped through her.
In the days that followed she was shattered by the sexual appetite he had aroused in her. She felt like she had when they were kids, except with this wonderful, frightening advancement.
‘I don’t love you,’ she said wonderingly, when they met in the flat again after an interval of several days.
‘Thank God,’ he grinned.
‘Since the other day I’ve done nothing but play with myself,’ she said, in the same hesitant tone. ‘What have you done to me, you bastard?’
‘Never mind. Mike will be back in a few days. You’ll just have to make sure he fucks you more often.’
‘You won’t ever tell him?’ she pleaded, her eyes wide. ‘He wouldn’t understand.’
‘Do you?’ Again, that grin. She shook her head, still looking vaguely scared.
But it didn’t stop them going to bed. This time they undressed slowly, watching each other all the while. She came to him nervously, reaching out tentatively. Their embrace was gentle, as though uncertain of the other’s reaction, but then they were straining together, mouths devouring, tongues probing, bellies and thighs bumping, and he was on top of her as they stretched out.
‘You want it like this?’ he asked, sliding down her body, parting her, to kiss at her lower belly.
‘For a while,’ she moaned, lifting her knees high, spreading herself wide. When she wanted him inside her and clawed at his shoulders desperately, she found his prick, though soaking wet, was soft, the foreskin covering the helm in a wrinkled pucker. Her fingers slid in the coating fluid as she struggled to rouse him. He shru
gged her off, knelt, and jerked fiercely at himself, towering over her lifting, beseeching belly, and he was hard in seconds. He fell on her, thrust deeply home, and they rotted, banging their bodies together, and came within seconds of each other.
‘It’s never been like this. Never,’ she wept afterwards, clinging to him, feeling him sliding out of her, and holding him tightly.
‘I bet you say that to all the boys,’ he chuckled.
She was thinking of that now, as she stood in her sexily outrageous dress, thinking with that instinctive inner sense of shock about being fucked by these two men, as she had been in the past few days, ashamed of her comparison yet helpless to stop it. Her cousin, God damn him, won hands down. How could that be, when she didn’t love him and was crazy about Michael?
She loved the tall, dark blond man, looking so troubled. She felt a warm affection, recalling the look of astonishment, then horror, when he’d first seen her dress. ‘You can’t wear that!’ he’d gaped.
‘I have to, darling,’ she said, going to him, putting both hands on his arm, while he stared pop-eyed at the spectacle of her rounded breasts and little areolae peeping saucily through the misty cloth at him. ‘It’s expected of me now. I told you, everything’s going to have to change for me with A Woman’s Touch. I’ve got to become a screen sex symbol. They insist on it. ‘
‘From the back it looks as though you’ve got no knickers on,’ John piped up. ‘Your arse looks entirely bare.’
She glowered at his insufferable grin, and wound her hands firmly through Michael’s arm. ‘Thank you very much,’ she said tightly.
Chapter Three
Felicity shivered at the sensation of Stella’s long fingernails scratching lightly at her midriff, then her belly. She lay back amongst the soft cushions of the couch, her right leg slightly raised at the knee, the other straight, her foot pressing against the upholstered arm of the sofa. ‘Please, Stella... don’t. I’m scared... I’ve never—’
‘Shhh, my angel. You’ll love it, I promise. Just lie still.
Leave it all to me.’ Those full breasts, the large areolae and erect nipples darkened by the cosmetic, standing out against the creamy paleness, hung over her until she could feel their soft warmth brushing against her own, lesser, rising rounds. The fingers slid beneath the elastic at Felicity’s hips, slowly pulled down the black satin briefs, determinedly easing them past the restriction of hips and buttocks against the cushions. Felicity was aware as never before of her nudity when those hands slipped the tiny garment down and off her feet. Even though she closed her eyes, she could see vividly the dramatically highlighted slopes and angles of her frame, the carefully trimmed triangle of her pubis, shadowed against the pallid hollow of belly and thighs, bathed in the warmth of the light spilling over them.
Stella’s moist lips covered hers again and held her mouth softly, possessively, until Felicity was ready to fight for her breath. She gulped as the mouth moved, fastened instead on her right nipple, suckling it into the warm wetness, the rolling tongue, and her shoulders lifted, arched upwards as she lost the control she had been fighting to cling onto through these last endless minutes. ‘Jesus, Stella,’ she cried urgently, squirming under the pinning weight. ‘Christ, I can’t... don’t...’ Her cry rose sharply as a hand touched the inside of her knee, swept up over the smoothness of her thigh to its confluence with her belly and the moist centre of her desire. The fingers touched the folds of damp tissue and her hips jerked, lifted, shocked and roused beyond measure.
‘And cut!’ Ally’s voice rang out crisply, just as Felicity’s thighs and scrabbling hand clamped over Stella’s wrist. The fingers fluttered, caressed her again, and again Felicity yelped. She suddenly found herself sobbing, unable to stop herself, and her naked partner leaned over her tenderly, holding her.
Felicity tried to wriggle free. She was agonisingly aware again of the lights and the crew, and that all seeing lens. ‘You - you touched me up!’ she gasped, in genuine horror. ‘You assaulted me!’
She managed to sit up at last and drew her legs up to her chest, her shoulders bent forward as she crossed her arms over her breasts. She was trapped by Stella, still sitting by her side on the edge of the couch. She squinted up against the bright lamps, the tears channelling through the thick make-up. ‘Can I have my robe, please?’
She felt as though she was burning up, striving to cling to the shattered threads of her dignity. Viv came forward swiftly and handed her the towelling robe. ‘Do you mind?’ she fumed at Stella, who smiled easily and, at last, moved so that Felicity could swing her feet down to the floor and pull the robe on. Stella was standing over her, superbly unselfconscious about her nudity. The sandy fleece of her pubis was inches from Felicity’s hot face, and she averted her eyes hastily. Stella’s dresser appeared and held a robe out while the blonde shrugged into it with a casual ease of movement.
‘That was magnificent, ladies!’ Ally crowed, reaching out to pat them simultaneously on their shoulders. ‘We’ll break there. Have an early lunch. You’ve earned it.’
Felicity made a great effort to stop her tears. She wiped at her face with the back of her hand. ‘You can’t print that,’ she said, hating the shocked, adolescent squeak she could not keep from her voice.
‘We might have to edit a little,’ the director said breezily. ‘But it was superb. Exactly what I wanted. Bless you, my children.’
‘She - she practically raped me! She actually...’ her choked words faded away. Felicity felt the tears spring to life again, felt both ridiculous and degraded by the whole business. ‘I didn’t realise we were making a porno movie!’
‘Baby...!’ Ally’s cry was a drawn out protest. ‘It was beautiful. It was sheer magic. You wait till you see it. It was art, darling. Poetry. There won’t be a dry eye in the house.’
‘Or a dry crotch!’ one of the crew called, to guffaws from the outer darkness. Ally shuddered dramatically and rolled his eyes heavenwards in that characteristic gesture which denounced them all as Philistines.
Felicity walked off to her dressing room, trying hard not to flounce. Her mind was a whirl of conflict. What a jerk they would all think her, losing it like that. Like some bloody little Julie Andrews getting her wimple in a twist. But really! Stella had no right to feel her up like that. Right there, on set, in full view of... God, it could be sixteen million viewers. Not that they would ever let it go out like that. Of course not. It wasn’t a hard core blue, after all. But she still did it. It was there, in the can for plenty of people to lech over, even if it did end up on the cutting room floor. And that bunch of pervs that called themselves a crew. They’d never stop talking about it now. She’d heard them before, going on and on.
She sat in front of the long mirror and smeared cream thickly over her face. Viv came in and pulled a sympathetically rueful face. ‘Did I make a fool of myself?’ Felicity asked abruptly, and Viv shook her head at once.
‘Not at all. It was all highly charged stuff out there. I don’t know how you do it, honest to God. Not even for a fortune.’
‘I’m not making all that much,’ Felicity quipped gamely.
The door opened with no preceding knock, and Stella stood there, looking contrite. ‘Sorry, sweetheart. I couldn’t tell you before.’
‘What? That you were going to grope me for real for the benefit of the ratings? You realise you blew the whole thing? My lines, the rehearsal- the whole thing just went out of my head! The lot! We’ll have to do it all again.’
‘No, sugar, we won’t. Ally says it was great. It was just what he wanted. He says we can dub out the odd word, if need be.’
A deep suspicion entered Felicity’s mind. She wiped her face with a tissue, turned, and stared at the blonde woman with dawning accusation. ‘Did you... you knew, didn’t you? And so did Ally. You planned it! Touching me up like that! Didn’t you?’
The question came out as a harsh screech. S
tella gazed coolly back at her. ‘Viv, would you get me a sandwich, please? One of those chicken salad things. There’s a good girt’
Viv knew she was being dismissed, and hurried out. Felicity felt that childish surge of petulant anger again. ‘I didn’t know Viv was your dresser.’
‘Oh, for Christ’s sake, Felicity. Come on, let’s cut the crap. We can’t go on like this. Pussyfooting around, pretending to have the hots in front of the cameras. You’re gorgeous, baby, and you know it. Let’s give it a real try, eh? You can be Kathy. You are Kathy. And I’m Stella.’ She laughed softly. ‘It’s neat how they picked my real name, eh, Kath? Give it a go, kiddo. I swear you’ll love every minute.’
As she spoke she came close, caught Felicity by the lapels of her gown and pulled her to her feet. The hands moved, pushed the cloth aside, baring Felicity’s shoulders and breasts. She pulled the cord at Felicity’s waist and the robe fell open to reveal the nakedness beneath. Felicity was suddenly incapable of movement. The hands moved again, pushed the robe free altogether, and it fell to curl about Felicity’s feet.
Stella was smiling, tenderly, triumphantly, as she put her arms around the slender figure and drew her closer. Felicity felt the rough material of Stella’s gown against her flesh. Tardily, she began to struggle, half-heartedly, not even turning her head to avoid the kiss Stella planted on her mouth. Their tongues wound together. Stella held her until Felicity thought she would faint. Her entire body shook and her insides felt hollow. She was panting and quivering when Stella finally released her, and she gulped in great sobbing draughts of air. She stared at the smiling figure, her dark eyes brilliant with tears, helpless in their naked appeal.
