by Nicole Dere
There was a collective sigh, and a ripple of approbation from the unseen audience above.
In the luxurious communal bathroom in the quarters adjacent to the Chamber, the girls were themselves again, beautiful individuals bound by the close ties of love and friendship. Marie-Angele was lying face down on a massage table, a white towel spread beneath her. Her body was still shaken now and then by the convulsive aftermath of her weeping, and the traces of tears still clung to her long eyelashes, but she managed to smile at the heartfelt sympathy expressed by her comrades. Her bottom was marked by the thin red weals, some of which were raised. One of her friends was dabbing at them gingerly, putting on yet more cooling solution with a piece of cotton wool. Even her lightest touch caused Marie-Angele’s cheeks to tighten and quiver, while she hissed with the sting of it.
‘You buggers. You really whip my arse, hey?’ Her French accent was attractively thick. There was a chorus of penitent apologies. Most of the girls were still in the communal showers, turning this way and that under the soothing jets of hot water, washing the remains of their exertions from them. Several were swiftly bringing to a passionate conclusion the sensations that had been aroused by the coupling in the Chamber, their mouths glued together, fingers working, thighs entwined, bellies thrusting.
‘Don’t worry, Angel,’ Joanne smiled, bending to kiss the prone figure on the shoulder. ‘You’ll get your chance for revenge. We all get our turn on the grill.’
They all turned as the door opened and Magda entered, still in her scarlet robe. ‘That was magnificent as usual, girls,’ she said warmly. ‘Pretty yourselves up, but don’t be too long. The masters are waiting in the supper room.’
Within ten minutes the girls had restored make-up and hairstyles, dabbed on perfume, and moved out for the next stage in the evening’s entertainment. All except Marie-Angele, who lay, still nude, on the table, where Magda gazed at her in anticipation. ‘Now for your reward, my dear,’ she growled, and the French girl shivered with pleasure.
She easily picked the figure up in her arms and carried her out into the discreetly lit corridor, and to a small room next door. In it was a single bed and a few pieces of smartly functional furniture. A dim lamp at the bedside cast a subtle glow, leaving the edges of the small room in deep shadow. Carefully, Magda deposited the trembling girl on the bed. Marie-Angele winced at the touch of the covers on her bottom, but she paid no heed. Her body was aflame with the anticipation of joy she knew would be hers.
She drew up her knees and opened her legs wide, while the tall figure knelt between them, looming like a great vampire as that massive cloak spread its richness, blotting out the ceiling, blotting out everything as the wonderful body descended and claimed her. And she was lost, yielding herself up to that resplendent body, while at her loins she felt the live flesh which bridged their thrusting bellies and made them one.
‘I sometimes wish I could stay here for ever,’ Felicity confessed shyly, her glowing features turned to Lord Burnopside. She felt the sturdy movement of the mare beneath her, and shamefully acknowledged the secret dampness the bouncing canter had induced. She had developed her riding skills considerably since that momentous day of the accident. Her confidence had grown. Sometimes she went out with the groom, sometimes on her own. Occasionally Lord B or one of his guests would accompany her. None of the other girls rode.
She had been glad when she arrived at the Hall yesterday evening to find that no guests were to join them; the first not expected until later this afternoon. It meant a relaxed evening spent with the girls and his lordship, and a taxingly amorous night in the arms of her beloved Magda, who fulfilled for her the combined roles of mother, sister, mistress, and lover, with spectacular success.
It all made the morning ride in the damp grey December air even more enjoyable. She was already looking forward to a hot bath, a good lunch, and the afternoon sleep that would ensure she would be at her sparkling best for the social evening ahead.
She had expected to eat a solitary breakfast. Magda always left her in the early hours, insisting that she must retire to her own bed for at least a couple of hours. Neither she nor the others would appear before nine at the earliest, and were far more likely to have a tray taken up to their rooms. They might well have passed a night as strenuous as she herself had done, for they paired up regularly, she had learned, though always with Magda’s foreknowledge.
Felicity was also quite sure that, when she was absent, Magda made use of her girls. She had not plucked up the courage to ask directly, either of the tall figure herself or one of the others, but it seemed so natural. The way she addressed them and embraced them, with long sensual kisses and embraces, made it obvious what her relationship with each of them was. It no longer made Felicity jealous; the only envy she felt nowadays was that they had this wonderful creature to themselves every day.
When his lordship came into the breakfast room in his riding togs, she had been glad to see him. He was, in some ways, the male equivalent of Magda for her, though in the intervening weeks he hadn’t made love to her again since that time on the conference table. But the knowledge that they had fucked brought its own intimacy between them, a knowledge that clearly stamped their relationship.
Now, they threaded their way at a slow walk along a woodland path. The smell of mould and wet leaves hung heavily, and there were traces of mist in the distance between the widely spaced trees. Clouds of vapour snorted from their horses’ nostrils, their own breath steamed in the chill air, and Felicity was thankful she had wrapped up warmly. Lord B edged his horse alongside her, let it gently bump her mount to one side, off the path onto the leaf mould and clumps of grass.
‘Let’s pause here awhile,’ he said. ‘Stretch our legs a bit. It’s quiet here.’
At once she felt her heart flutter a little with nervous excitement, sensing some veiled meaning in his tone. Surely, though, he wouldn’t want to try anything out here, in this weather?
Obediently, she swung her leg over and dismounted, and he tethered their animals to a stout tree. She noticed there was a wire fence and a heavy five-barred gate, which was padlocked, and beyond it an open meadow.
‘How are things going now?’ he asked conversationally. ‘What are your plans?’
She shrugged, and smiled uncertainly. ‘Well, first of all, I want a good long rest. Yvonne, my agent, has promised me some time off. It’s been quite hectic since the summer.’ He chuckled appreciatively. ‘I’ll say! And what about your private life? Is that settled now?’
She felt the blush rising, and glanced down at her polished boots. ‘Not really,’ she murmured. ‘Since all that business with Stella, Michael and I - we’re seeing each other again, but it’s made a big difference. He’s having second thoughts, I think.’
‘Foolish boy,’ Lord B said. ‘I’ve been hearing a bit about your young man. Apparently the city boys think he’s a bit of a whiz kid in his trade.’
‘Oh, he is,’ Felicity concurred enthusiastically. ‘He’s brilliant. He’s the youngest executive his company’s ever had.’
‘Do you still want him?’
Felicity blinked at the bluntness of his question. She reddened once more and shrugged again. ‘I think so,’ she said honestly. Then she gave a little jerk of impatience. ‘Oh, I don’t know any more. I hardly seem to know what I want.’ She paused, and added shyly, ‘That’s why I like coming down here so much. I can’t tell you how much it means to me. I love it -love you all. You make things only feel right when I’m here.’
Impulsively, she reached up and kissed him at the side of his moustache, like a daughter kissing her father. She was startled when he grabbed her, crushed her to him, and planted a searching kiss on her parted lips. They were both panting when he released her.
‘We’re always delighted to have you,’ he said thickly, his blue eyes boring into her. She felt dizzy, as though that look was trying to tell her somet
hing, and she could not understand. ‘Are you in love with Magda?’ he asked harshly.
Her face felt steeped in permanent heat as she nodded. ‘Everyone is,’ she whispered faintly.
‘I know all about her lessons of obedience.’ His open face, too, was even ruddier than its normal colour, his eyes blazing with desire. ‘Do you truly want to be one of us?’
She stared at him, unable to speak, but she managed to nod dumbly.
‘I have my own test of obedience,’ he said huskily. ‘I want you to take it now.’
She glanced around her at the misty scene. ‘Here?’ she said incredulously. It was his turn to nod. ‘Very well,’ she managed, her heart pounding.
‘Good girl,’ he grunted. ‘Now get up on the gate.’ He lifted her around the waist and she put out her feet, resting them on the third bar, her back to him. He thrust her down and she bent over the top bar, her legs apart, her behind thrust up in the air. She was expecting him to claw at her breeches and haul them down, so she was surprised when she felt him merely lift the flap of her jacket.
‘Keep still!’ he ordered.
There was a sharp whistling disturbance of air, then a loud crack, and a fiery line burned her backside through the thick material of her jodhpurs and the knickers she wore underneath. The gate shook and her belly squashed against the wood as she jerked and clung on, forcing herself to stay doubled over. She yelped at the next cutting blow and squirmed again, spreading her arms, digging her fingers into the wet wood to maintain her perilous balance. She squealed at the third blow and began to cry. ‘Please,’ she wept pathetically. She hung there, her hard hat falling over her eyes, the tears streaming down her cold face, her bottom on fire. No further blows came, and he lifted her down. The pain throbbed abominably and she couldn’t stop herself from massaging her poor bottom.
She saw his penis hanging free of his breeches. It was long and thick, though not yet erect. She felt his heavy hands on her shoulders, implacably pressing downward, and she sank to her knees in the soggy mould, his prick bobbing mere inches from her face. He removed her hat, dropped it to the ground, and then his fingers entwined in her lustrous hair. Without being told she fumbled off her leather gloves and took his prick in her fingers. It felt alive with pulsing need. She leaned forward and kissed the shining helm softly, fearfully, deeply thrilled by the potent smell of him. Then she seized the root of the stiffening shaft, lifted it, and enveloped the dome with her mouth. It thrust into her, filling her completely, and she slobbered at him avidly, pushing as far down the surging column as she could go. At the last second she instinctively pulled her mouth free as he discharged over her face. Then penitently, she touched her lips to him and absorbed the still pumping fluid into her convulsing throat.
Chapter Fifteen
Michael gaped in bleary, drunken amazement. He could not believe what he was seeing. Felicity had told him just two days before that she’d not be there. She was supposed to be miles away, buried in the country at Lord Burnopside’s place with a whole bunch of aristocratic chinless wonders. He had bickered and snapped, and finally they’d had a blazing row, which happened all too easily these days, and she had walked out after telling him he’d not see her at all over the holiday period, and maybe, not after that.
He wasn’t going to go to the studio party on Christmas Eve. Certainly not on his own. That show-biz crowd weren’t his scene at all. He had only been dragged into it all through Felicity. Trouble was, most of his associates from the financial world were older than he was and therefore tucked up in the bosom of their families, and that wasn’t his scene either.
When he rang her flat, just on the off chance that she might not have left for the country yet, he was ready to be suitably abject. Perhaps she would agree to meet him for dinner, or for a drink before she left. When John had answered the phone he’d felt himself blushing, felt that quiver of emotion he didn’t even want to classify. Fear, shame - excitement?
‘Look, come along to the do tomorrow night,’ her cousin had said, his voice warm with persuasion in Michael’s ear. ‘I’m going to be on my own, too. We can keep each other company. I’d like to see you again, on your own. It’ll be good for a laugh.’ There was a pause, then the tone dropped and there was a hint of seductiveness. ‘You’re not still mad at me, are you? I thought we’d sorted that out.’
Michael’s face burned. ‘Of course I’m not,’ he said stiffly, and then laughed awkwardly. ‘We were pissed out of our heads, that’s all.’ He writhed on an internal spit of guilt every time he thought of that weird night - and the morning that followed. He’d felt soiled. He should have thrashed John for taking such disgusting liberties. He should have done something to retrieve his manhood, for God’s sake. Instead of shuffling off, unable even to look him in the face, mumbling like a hopeless kid. For an awful second, in the doorway, he’d thought John was going to kiss him again. He’d put his arm around him and hugged him. Not the sort of thing lads did to one another at all. He still woke up sweating about it occasionally. And it festered like a boil whenever he thought about it.
But now, Christmas Eve and not a soul to turn to, unless he caught the train and turned up at home, which would be the biggest humiliation of all, a yearning weakness overwhelmed him. Somehow he found himself agreeing to attend the party.
‘I’ll see you there then,’ John said. ‘I’m looking forward to it.’
To the last minute he remained undecided. Everyone there would know all about it - about the split between Felicity and him, about the shakiness of their present relationship. Damn it, that blonde pervert herself would be there, laughing at him with her deviant friends. But loneliness had driven him on. That, and the drinks he’d imbibed which, increasingly of late, he’d found to be an aid to comfort and relaxation.
Stella Priest was there. Glittering, beautiful, defiantly feminine, and with a girl in tow whose spiky haircut and waif-like thinness, together with her drab costume of black T-shirt, black jeans, and ugly black bovver boots, could not have contrasted more drearily with her partner. And yet her youthful, sharp-angled features had their own appeal, one which Michael strongly preferred, and which reminded him quite forcibly of Felicity’s vulnerable beauty.
To cap it all there was no sign of John, and with a sense of desperation Michael headed for the bar and hung there on the fringes of umpteen conversations, listening to the riotous laughter and false bonhomie. He was well drunk when he heard and saw a commotion across the crowded room, and there, large as life, was Felicity, swamped at once by a buzzing crowd, making it impossible for him to get anywhere near.
He saw her long black hair as she pushed against the crowd. They were cheering and hooting with laughter, and he stared perplexed. What was wrong with them?
She was pushing hard through the throng towards the golden head of Stella Priest, who seemed to be for once caught off guard, her mouth open, her face tense. Then suddenly they were together and Felicity flung her arms about the woman, pulled her close and gave her a smacking kiss full on the lips. Stella flinched, pulled back, there was an instant tension, and then she was staring, clearly overcome with amazement. She burst out laughing - everyone around them did - and then they embraced again, to thunderous applause.
Sick and furious at that kiss, Michael watched them part again and the dark head glance around, searching for someone.
Him, he realised, as he saw fingers pointed in his direction. Felicity nodded, her face lighting up in recognition. She was making her way through the crowd, who were reaching for her, laughing, touching her slim bare arms, her slender shoulders, so creamy against the severity of the clinging black cocktail dress.
He felt his body tense. He felt trapped, unable to move or breathe in the age it took for her to reach him. Was she going to do the same to him, deliver the same kiss with those lips which had just been plastered against those of her other lover - her lesbian lover? The lover she had assured
him she wanted nothing more to do with, whom she could not stand, whom she had never truly loved?
Paralysed, he watched her approach, his drunken thoughts still confused by those grins, the hoots of laughter. Was that why he’d been lured to the party, to be made the fool at the centre of some cruel prank? The dark eyes met his, dancing with that familiar mischief, the lovely face lit by that gamine grin. And yet, what was different about her? His brain reeled, his senses powered by the waft of her perfume as she reached him at last and the luscious mouth closed in, the glistening lips pursed, to meet his... and at the very instant they touched, he knew.
Michael jerked back as though burned, and heard John’s husky and mocking voice proclaim, ‘Hi. Sorry I’m late, darling. Have you missed me?’
‘Fuck off!’ Swept by a surge of rage and shame he wrenched away, pushed aggressively against the press of bodies, and fled, the roars of laughter like flails across his back as, tears stinging his eyes, he headed for the distant door.
He managed to get into a tiny cubicle of a lavatory, and dabbed at his wet cheeks in its locked privacy. He was trembling with anger and humiliation, tortured by his sense of ridicule. And, strangest of all, he felt a deep sense of hurt, and betrayal, at the cruel prank played upon him by John. He was shocked by this, just as he was shocked by the secret acknowledgement that what had happened between them in Felicity’s bed gave them an intimacy as private as that of lovers.
He was in despair when he re-emerged into the heaving crowd, wanting only to escape so he could surrender to his loneliness and misery. But, to add to his suffering, Stella Priest collared him. She had been waiting for him and grabbed his arm, pressing her breasts against him so he could only stare at that superb cleavage all but spilling from her lacy red dress. ‘Come on, darling,’ she purred. ‘Don’t run off and hide. Don’t be so stuffy. That bastard cousin of hers had me fooled, too. Don’t let it get to you. Come and have another drink. It’s Christmas, for God’s sake. And she’s chucked both of us, hasn’t she? What the hell!’
