by Nicole Dere
‘As long as Michael doesn’t find out,’ she’d temporised urgently.
‘No, just for the crew, angel,’ Stella had crooned. ‘Any rumours get around outside and we’ll swear it’s just PA trying to gain some kudos. But it’ll be one in the eye for Tosser Ted and his merry band.’
So, that day they had both appeared on set without their robes, arms linked in a manner that went beyond the suggestive. ‘Felicity’s decided at last,’ Stella announced, with a dazzling smile. ‘If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.’
And that would appear to be that. Felicity still worried a great deal about Michael, though. As circumspectly as she could, she had tried to prepare him for the explosive release on screen in the coming November.
‘It’s pretty searing stuff,’ she’d told him, choosing her moment as auspiciously as she could, as they lay in post-coital tranquillity in his bed. ‘They’ve even got me having an orgasm on screen, God help me.’
He did his best to take it in his stride, but she could see how uneasy he was about the whole thing.
‘You won’t let it make any difference to us, will you?’ she pouted, winsomely. ‘It’s only acting, darling. This is the real me. Nobody in the whole world’s ever seen me except you.’ As she spoke, she reached under the blankets and captured his penis, which stirred at once from its limp reclining across his thigh. Her dark head dipped lower, disappeared beneath the sheet, and she felt the satiny touch of his helm leap to meet her kiss. However unquiet his brain might feel about her bodily exposure in public, his prick had not seemed in the least bit reluctant to show its admiration...
Felicity’s gaze encountered the coolly amused stare of her cousin, part of the group they had joined. That was another surprise, finding that he was included in the invitation to Burnopside Hall.
‘I didn’t know you even knew Lord B,’ Felicity had marvelled when, two days after Michael had once more vanished into the northern wilds on business for the week, his place in her bed and between her thighs had been taken by John once more.
He’d lifted his head from her flat stomach, and grinned. ‘I don’t. Apart from meeting him at that launching do for your porno flic. And on the set that time. Perhaps he just wants to keep it in the family.’
‘Keep what?’ she’d wondered, then gasped as her cousin’s skilful hand sought out the sticky folds of her labia and prised them open to insert a wickedly knowledgeable finger into her ready crevice...
She gasped again as Magda’s large hand slid over her hip to stroke the contours of her taut bottom within her white jeans. They had been worn as a last minute gesture of independence when, making arrangements over the phone for her and John to be collected by car, Lord B had chuckled, ‘And be sure to wear that outrageous little frock you wore at the launch, my dear.’
Too many people seemed to be running her life at the moment, Felicity thought mutinously. She was still inwardly smarting at the way Stella had taken total control since they’d become lovers. She was showing all the tendencies of a bossy paramour, even down to selecting Felicity’s underwear for her. However, the frock in question was in her suitcase upstairs and she would put it on for dinner later. Just now that hand casually resting on her backside and steering her across the room was causing her far more concern.
‘Let’s go and powder our noses, sweetheart,’ Magda whispered. ‘Away from all these panting men folk. You’ll give them a coronary if you’re not careful. We’ll let them cool off a little.’
In spite of her embarrassment and uncertainty, Felicity giggled in complicity.
Upstairs, in a large and splendidly appointed bathroom, the tall figure astonished her even further by saying, with an uncharacteristic and enchantingly demure look, ‘I say, honey, would you mind just turning away for a moment? I’m full of hang-ups, and I just can’t pee if someone’s watching. Just for a sec.’
Felicity blushed and obligingly turned away, trying not to look at the blurred reflection which showed up in the comer of her eye from one of the long mirrors. She heard the soft rasp of silk sliding over skin, then the startlingly loud sound of rushing liquid hitting the pan. Another rustle of adjusting clothing, then the flush of the lavatory.
‘There!’ Magda gave a throaty little laugh. ‘You can look again, sugar.’ She was respectably covered in the black dress. She stood at the washbasin and nodded at the toilet pedestal. ‘Your turn. I won’t peek either, I promise.’
‘Oh, don’t worry, it won’t bother me,’ Felicity answered, far more breezily than she felt. ‘I’ve shared too many cramped dressing rooms in various flea pit theatres up and down the country to retain any false modesty.’ Nevertheless, she could feel herself pinking as she unbuttoned her jeans and wriggled as she lowered them to her thighs, before sitting on the still warm seat.
She finished and remained seated while she reached down between her thighs and carefully wiped herself with a wad of the quilted toilet tissue. Suddenly Magda was standing directly in front of her, so close that their toes touched and Felicity could not stand up.
‘I’m glad about that,’ Magda said, her stirring voice deeper than ever. She reached down and took hold of Felicity’s hands.
The trapped girl stared up helplessly. ‘I’m not gay,’ she said, her voice trembling. ‘Despite what you might have heard. They’re only rumours—’
‘That’s not what Stella Priest says,’ Magda interrupted, and Felicity crimsoned. Tears filled her eyes at her betrayal. ‘It’s nothing to be ashamed of, sugar,’ continued Magda. ‘I’m delighted to hear it.’
‘I’m not - I’ve never...’
‘Oh yes, you have,’ purred Magda, with that treacle laugh. ‘And you enjoyed it. But I can give it like you’ve never had it before. I’ll make that blonde tit sucker look like a girl scout who’s just found out there’s another hole besides the one you piss out of!’
Tears dripped from Felicity’s chin onto her T-shirt, where they spread as though soaking through blotting paper. ‘Let me go,’ she said weakly.
Magda pulled her to her feet, and Felicity felt her jeans and tiny knickers tangled about her knees. Her T-shirt came down to her tummy button only.
‘Don’t fight it, sugar,’ Magda urged. ‘Just relax and revel in it.’
Any strength or will to resist drained from Felicity.
Magda took her in her arms and gently laid her down on the cold tiles. She lifted her limp legs and eased the jeans and briefs clear. The thong sandals fell off as she did so.
‘Don’t... please...’ Felicity whispered, gazing up, the tears shining in her eyes. ‘I can’t fight you. You’re too strong.’
‘Relax, baby,’ the seductive tones murmured. ‘Magda won’t hurt you. Magda will show you heaven.’ She reached behind, drew down the zip of her tight dress, then stood and wriggled to ease it down over her hips and thighs.
Felicity stared up, captivated by the statuesque beauty exposed to her. The long thighs were full, rounded with muscle, yet tapering in perfect harmony with the shapeliness of the splendid limbs. The breasts jutted proudly over her, held in the satin confines of a black bra, the lace edged cups of which plunged deeply to show the pale contours of the upper halves of the gorgeous mounds. The long expanse of midriff led to a small triangle of black briefs which hugged the promising swell of a generous mound.
‘I want you, sugar,’ Magda breathed, the smoky voice thrumming with powerful emotion. Then the figure swooped and smothered Felicity, who surrendered her mouth to the searing kiss that claimed her. A hand delved and pushed up the flimsy cotton shirt, baring the breasts that had no other cover. The large warm palm cupped them. The thumb and forefinger plucked and rolled at the throbbing nipple, while another hand slid between their warm bellies and embraced the whole curve of her vulva. The heel of the palm pressed against the moaning girl, deliciously thrilling her with its pressure, so that her thighs parted in blind obedience t
o the needs of her flesh.
The rich dark hair fell over Felicity’s belly and thighs as Magda bent, lowered her head in triumph and in homage to the fluid centre of Felicity’s blazing hunger, where, timeless ages later, the lapping tongue, the nipping teeth, and those conquering fingers, brought her to a climax that made her body stiffen, then thresh, her heels hammering on the floor in an ecstasy which engulfed her.
Chapter Six
John Keynes eyed the privileged gathering expectantly. There was a hidden tension, despite the relaxed appearance of those around the long dining table littered with the remnants of the excellent meal. On the surface it was simply an assemblage of rich and interesting people, a modem day equivalent of the country house parties of long ago. Their host was charming, the surroundings the height of luxury, the urbane conversation sparkling, the girls lovely.
The girls. That was enough to arouse his suspicion. They were all prick-raisingly beautiful. And all so unlike the thrusting girl power aggressive types which abounded these days. They did nothing, except to exhibit their beauty. They were watchful, as he was, knowing when to smile and when to murmur a suitable rejoinder. And that was it. If they hadn’t been so restrained he would have guessed they were high class tarts or girls from some exclusive escort agency, ready to go along with, and as far as, this bunch of influential rich dogs wanted them to go.
There must be something in the atmosphere. Even his coz had been transformed; as quiet as any of them now, sitting there showing off those sexy little tits of hers through that muslin-like dress, and looking as though butter wouldn’t melt in that mouth which she knew how to put to such deadly uses. Clearly, she had gone overboard on this lesbian kick of hers. She had been gone so long with that giant Magda bird - the most fascinating female of all, he acknowledged - that everyone had noticed.
Ever since then she’d been as quiet as a mouse. And he could guess why. He could recognise that slightly bemused air, since they’d so spectacularly been getting it together. The vaguely unfocused quality of those dark eyes. Yes, he’d be prepared to bet that, in some secluded comer of this venerable pile, she’d had a good seeing to at the hands and other things of the exotic Magda.
Lucky little her, he thought with a voluptuous quiver as his imagination worked feverishly. The mystical figure was certainly something to get worked up about, on a literally monumental scale. She was not butch; the vulgarity of that word had nothing to do with her unique brand of sexuality. Yet he could not envisage her in any other role than that of dom. And how he would love to play sub to her, he acknowledged, his senses running riot He couldn’t wait for the orgy to begin, if that’s what they were there for. But was it? Or were they presently undergoing some kind of test, to see if they were fit for the fleshly delights which might await them? He had a feeling that his coz had already passed hers, whether the sweet thing realised it or not.
In the drawing room, where coffee and drinks were served, he found himself standing near the drinks trolley with their host. Lord B was half a head at least taller than John. He slipped his arm easily around his shoulder. ‘And how are you enjoying yourself, young fellow?’ he said. ‘I can’t get over how alike you and Felicity are. I took you for twins when I first saw you.’
John laughed. He felt the heaviness of the man’s arm resting across him, claiming him. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘apparently people used to think that of our fathers. Though in fact daddy is almost two years older than Uncle Charles.’ He glanced around again; very aware of the magnetism of the man next to him, the sensation of power he exuded like a subtle perfume. John felt both weakened and thrilled by it. ‘The ladies are all so stunning,’ he observed, revealing something of the wonder in his voice.
‘And none more so than your own charming cousin,’ his lordship answered at once.
John shrugged slightly, as though in demurral. ‘Who’s the coloured girl over there?’ he asked. ‘She’s lovely.’
‘Debbie? Yes. She’s only just joined us - a matter of days ago.’
Joined us? John wondered. He waited for further explanation, but there was none.
‘You like girls?’ the gravelly voice went on, with a knowing smile that made John’s face burn.
‘But of course,’ he stammered hastily. ‘Why on earth shouldn’t I?’
‘No reason,’ his lordship said easily. ‘But tastes can be extremely catholic these days, can’t they, my boy?’ He laughed richly, and squeezed John’s narrow shoulders heartily, briefly pulling him into his side. ‘You like that one in particular?’ he went on. ‘I admire your taste. I’ll see what I can arrange for you. Excuse me a moment.’
Minutes later, the coloured girl approached him. ‘Hi,’ she said. ‘I’m Debbie. You’re Felicity’s cousin, aren’t you? John?’ She smiled unaffectedly at him. ‘Would you like to have a look round the house? I’m still learning my way around myself. There’re supposed to be some priceless portraits up in the gallery.’ She reached out and took his hand in an oddly innocent gesture, and together they left the room.
A little while later she stood facing him, smiling much more explicitly as she leaned back against the closed and locked door, upon which one foot rested. ‘Would you like to fuck around a little, John?’ she said. ‘You look drop dead gorgeous, you know that?’
‘S-so do you!’ His pulse was racing.
She continued to smile as she advanced towards him and turned seductively. ‘Undo me, please,’ she whispered.
His fingers were unsteady as he located the zip fastener of her simple flowered dress and drew it down her velvety back. Her shoulders moved, the garment dropped to her hips, then with one more swift movement it fell around her feet, and she stepped out of it. She wasn’t wearing any underclothes. She left her sandals inside the rumpled pool of the dress.
She pulled him towards a solid four-poster bed, the heavy crimson drapes of which were drawn around it. He noticed a thin crisscross of dark lines running over her buttocks. ‘Who did that?’ he asked.
Her delicate shoulders shrugged. ‘I was a naughty girl,’ she replied, and did not elucidate. She reached up to pull aside the bed curtains, and he stared with deep appreciation at the play of light and shadow on her rippling muscles. Those hollowed buttocks drew his gaze, the pale tan scratched across by those fading lines. Her hips were narrow, the cleft of her behind tightly inviting. From the back, with her slender figure and her close-cropped hair, she looked both boyish and excitingly arousing at the same time.
Hastily he shrugged off his clothing and left it scattered beside her discarded dress. She was sitting on the high bed with her legs crossed, grinning mischievously.
‘My, you are a pretty boy, aren’t you?’ she said. ‘So slim and sexy.’
He didn’t know if she was mocking him, though her grin looked innocently childlike.
He growled at her, seized her by her upper arms and dragged her over. ‘I’ll give you pretty boy.’
They wrestled. She fought with just enough wiry strength to make the tussle exciting before he pinned her down on her stomach. Her feet kicked up and down rapidly, drumming on the counterpane, those tempting cheeks of her bottom flexing and dimpling. He slapped it, feeling his open palm bounce on the resilient globes, and she gave a small shriek.
‘Ow! Please don’t, Johnny! My bum’s still sore.’
He hit her again and she yelped, pleaded with him to stop. ‘Who did it?’ he said, his tone suggesting that if she didn’t tell him he’d continue to spank her.
‘My boyfriend!’ she gasped, pouting exaggeratedly. ‘Or rather, my ex. That’s why I’m staying down here for a while. Magda fixed it.’
‘What’s her story?’
He released her and she rolled over, lying on one hip and massaging her buttocks with a rueful grimace. ‘You’re a bully,’ she muttered childishly.
‘Magda?’ she eventually went on. ‘I dunno. I’ve only just met her s
ince I’ve been here. She seems to know all these big wheels.’ He could hear the awe in her voice and feel her little quiver of sensuality. ‘She’s really something, isn’t she? She’s wonderful!’
‘Is she a dyke?’
Her head lifted challengingly. ‘Are you a gay?’
He growled and grabbed her wrists again, and she lay back and gave a squeal of mock alarm. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘It’s just a rumour I heard, that’s all.’ She stared at his thickening penis. ‘I guess not, eh?’ She grinned placatingly.
‘I’ll give you gay!’ he growled again, seizing her in earnest and rolling her over once more, and again she squealed.
‘Don’t hurt me too much,’ she pleaded, her voice carrying a hint of real alarm this time. He noted the ‘too much’ , as though sexual games with pain were not new to her. Which they clearly weren’t, judging by the stripes across her bottom. He felt his prick rear and stiffen to full erection.
He slipped his arms around her slim waist and dragged her off the edge of the bed, then turned her so she was doubled over it, face down, her feet trailing on the floor. He fitted himself into her from behind, slotted his penis along the deep cleft of her behind and felt himself throb mightily at the contact. He guided the tip of his helm, pushing into the crack, and felt the exotic cling of it against his glans. He felt her tense and heard the muffled gasp as he stabbed at the entrance to her anal passage. She thought he was going to bugger her, and for an instant he felt a savage urge to do so, revelling in the boy-like slimness, warm and squirming against him. Then he let his prick slide down, felt the tightness ease a little, and the rasp of wiry pubic hair against him as he located the moist and easier slit of her vagina, into which he ploughed deeply. She gasped, perhaps in relief, and those buttocks tightened against him once more. They lifted, spearing her onto him more firmly with jouncing eagerness.
‘Yes, lover... yes, yes!’ she panted, urging him on until they were bouncing together, white on brown, lunging in unison until he came fiercely, racked by a spasm which made him cry out in an excess of rapture.
