Anything Goes

by Cathryn Cooper

  Someone answering was a slow process. He would have turned and gone, but in-built stubbornness took a tight hold. He wanted to find Shirley Anne. He also wanted to find a bed for the night and some food to fill the gap in his guts.

  Vaguely aware of a soft footfall, he pressed his ear closer to the door then, just before it opened, he stood up real straight and prepared to ask questions of some offhand butler or maid.

  The door slid smoothly open and a smell of camellias seemed to tumble out into the hot smell of day's end.

  'Do come in, sir.'

  Errol had come to expect servants in positions of authority, such as butlers and housekeepers, to be getting on in years, their status achieved over a period of time.

  But this butler was around his own age, shiny of face and bright of eye, his nose straight, and a tilt of chin that hinted at arrogance. He was also around six feet tall, roughly the same as Errol was himself.

  'I think you've got this wrong. I was only going to ask—'

  'My mistress will answer anything you care to ask.'

  The servant's face remained almost expressionless, yet Errol fancied he saw an excited sparkle in his eyes.

  Errol found himself walking on black and white tiles through a reception hall with yellow painted walls. Vaudeville posters hung in ebony frames from the walls. He'd never heard of anyone doing that before.

  A thick clutch of pampas grass sprouted from a blue and white vase that must have been at least four feet high. There was a lightness, a brightness about the place that Errol felt he should have expected judging from its outside appearance, and yet it still came as something of a surprise; like a present. Or new shoes.

  'This way.'

  The voice of the servant interrupted his thoughts.

  'Nice place.' Errol smiled in an over-friendly way at the butler, or whatever he was.

  The man did not comment. He just smiled serenely and directed Errol through a door into a spacious room where French doors opened out onto a bountiful garden.

  Errol swore softly. The doors seemed to form one complete side of the room. Bright foliage formed a background to white door frames and mint-green walls.

  'I need another man to help Pierre. My demands on him are quite... phenomenal.'

  The woman's voice took Errol by surprise. He looked to the door, but it had closed and the servant had gone.

  'Please. Come through into the conservatory.'

  Errol turned his face back to where the smell of camellias and rich vegetation hung like a thick curtain.

  Ferns tickled his face as he went to where the voice was coming from.

  He stopped in his tracks when he saw her.

  Her hair was very red and fell in a luxuriant mane over her snowy-white shoulders.

  She was lying on a lounger that was full of cushions and stood on cast-iron legs.

  She smiled when she saw him and her eyes sparkled in the same way Shirley Anne's had sparkled. On top of that, they were exactly the same colour.

  A silky kimono-type garment decorated with brightly coloured birds and huge flowers was all she appeared to be wearing. It barely covered her body and slid easily down from her shoulders.

  One breast, one nipple peeped out from over the cluster of silk that she held to herself.

  He could have left then and there, but he didn't. Suddenly, finding Shirley Anne didn't seem quite so important. Besides, this woman might know something. Apart from the colour of her skin, she even looked a bit like Shirley Anne, although she was a good few years older.

  'Well?' she asked with a raising of her arched eyebrows. 'Do you want a job, or don't you?'

  The questions Errol had meant to ask seemed to melt away like so much crushed ice. He couldn't help that his gaze kept dropping to her nipple, and he also couldn't help the stirring in his loins.

  'I think I do,' he answered, and licked his lips.

  The silk rustled as the red-haired woman rearranged herself. As she did so he saw her snowy, flat belly and a thick bush of bright red hair licking like a flame between her smooth, white thighs.

  He sucked in his breath, aware that his stomach was knotting and the one-eyed snake that lay in his trousers was raising its head and getting ready to strike.

  Would it be so bad if he stayed awhile?

  The woman's eyes widened with her smile as she slowly gathered up the folds of soft silk and eased it back over one rounded hip.

  Errol's eyes widened, his breath coming in short sharp gasps that were almost hurting his throat. But nothing could hurt as much as the pressure of his cock against the buttons of his trousers. There was just no room left in them anymore. It had to come out.

  His fingers went to the buttons.

  'That's it, big boy,' murmured the smiling woman. 'Let Amber see what you've got there.'

  Amber. That was her name. It hardly seemed to matter. She was a woman, and he'd already been getting hard thinking about Shirley Anne. This woman had aided his erection, her flashing her milky white flesh like that. Now, thought Errol, she can abet it getting a bit harder and a lot more satisfied.

  As his cock leapt out from his open trousers Amber raised herself up on one elbow, her eyes gleaming and her fleshy tongue cruising hungrily over her lips.

  'Come closer.'

  She was hot. He could tell she was real hot, because her voice was more husky than it had been.

  Resting his hands on his hips he went to her, his baton waving proudly from side to side as he did so.

  He stopped when its tip was just a few inches from her nose. It amused him to see her go almost cross-eyed as she took in his impressive measurements.

  'Just the sort of tool I could do with around here,' she said. She tapped at the end of his cock and laughed softly as it jerked forcefully and his testicles hugged more closely around its base.

  'Let me try it,' she said as he reached for her breasts. 'Lie down on the floor.'

  Errol had always been used to taking the lead with most women - except Shirley Anne that is, whose appetite for sex was as expansive as his own. Amber, it appeared, was another woman who liked to make demands.

  'OK,' he said smiling, and lay himself down on a red and blue carpet that felt warm and soft against his back.

  'Pull your pants down a bit.'

  Her words were now hard to distinguish from her heavy breathing. Hearing her sound like that made Errol just as horny. He duly obliged and slid his trousers down to his knees. In doing so, his prick stood proudly from his body, its base covered by a forest of unruly blue-black hair.

  'Lovely,' he heard Amber breathe. 'Just what I'm looking for. Exactly what I'm looking for. Now,' she added, 'turn over. Let me look at your ass.' Her demand surprised him. So did the word she used.

  Wanton she might be, but in his experience even wanton women of her social class did not use common expressions. Vive la difference, he thought, and duly turned over.

  He heard the rustle of silk as she slid off the lounger. He saw her feet disappear and heard the silk rustle again as she bent to examine his behind.

  Earlier his penis had pained him because it was hardening against his trousers. Now it was paining him even more as it hardened against the carpet and the floor. Just the thought of her gazing on his nakedness was enlarging his erection.

  If he thought that was painful, what she did next sent shivers of mixed pain and delight through his body.

  A soft hand and caressing fingers swept over each buttock in turn. Then she lay her hand flat upon both and slid it down until her fingers were touching the rear of his scrotum.

  He groaned and closed his eyes tightly. This was too much. Only the discomfort of his penis being trapped between him and the floor stopped him from ejaculating. If she continued like this her red and blue carpet would have an added splash of white on it.

  'A firm bottom, yet such skin. Soft. Like satin.'

  Just when he thought he could stand it no more, the door opened. The man who had shown him in glanced briefly a
t him before setting a silver tray of drinks down on a small table.

  'Thank you, Pierre. Leave us. For now.'

  Errol did not see any look pass between them, yet he sensed the servant had paused and, in that moment, some sort of understanding had flashed between him and his mistress.

  'Come. Get to your feet and sit here beside me. You're hot. You smell of sweat. Like a horse, and like a horse you probably need to drink.'

  Clutching at his trousers and embarrassed to see his member had not declined in size, Errol struggled to his feet.

  Amber tossed her red mane over her shoulder and smiled. 'Don't be shy. Come on. Sit here.' She patted the place beside her. 'And take off your shirt. It's sticking to you. Your trousers first.'

  Wide-eyed, she stared as she sipped her drink, her mouth smiling appreciatively as he removed his trousers, socks and shoes. The urge to cover his privates was strong, yet he sensed she would not like that. Better to flaunt it, he decided. As if it had acquired a mind of its own, his member flaunted itself. Head glistening, it peered out from beneath the cotton of his shirt. Somehow he felt even more vulnerable wearing just a shirt than he would have if he'd been completely naked.

  'Come on,' she said again, sensing his hesitation. 'You're beautiful. Desirable. Why shouldn't a red-blooded woman like me enjoy looking at a specimen like you?'

  She reached for the glass that remained on the tray. 'Come on. Take it off. Relax. And you can have this.' She held out the drink.

  Suddenly, it all seemed so perfectly natural. Pride replaced Errol's bashfulness as he peeled his sticky shirt away from his body.

  He stretched his lean torso as he did so, knowing his stomach muscles would flatten and make his chest seem more muscled, his cock more noticeable.

  'My!' Amber exclaimed as his prick jerked upwards. 'Just like I said. A beautiful tool. Real useful I bet too.' Errol took the glass as he sat beside her. The freshness of mint and lemonade ran cool into his throat. His eyes stayed fixed on Amber who smiled as he sipped.

  'Go on,' she urged. 'Drink your fill. Cool yourself down.'

  As he drank, he felt her fingers trace patterns on his thigh.

  'That's nice,' he said. 'And this is real nice you giving me this drink. But I've got to tell you, I'm not really looking for a job.'

  Her smile faded. She raised her eyebrows. 'Are you allergic to work, then, big boy?'

  'No, ma'am,' he said, shaking his head emphatically lest she think him a bum. 'I'm looking for Shirley Anne, my girl. She left early in the morning a month or so ago, and I'm out trying to find her. If I could show you her picture...'

  He slid his hand to his hip as though he were just about to take something from his pocket.

  He laughed at his own stupidity and slapped his thigh. 'I must be going crazy. I forgot I haven't got my pants on.'

  Her smile seemed to widen. She's waiting for me, he told himself. And why shouldn't I give her what she wants? There's my ramrod all ready for action, and there's her fair giving me the signal to fire.

  He smiled broadly and, although he was feeling a little woozy, he gulped back the rest of his drink. Better get on with it. Do it to her then hit the trail again, even if it meant New Orleans.

  Was it his imagination, or was her smile broadening, spreading across her face until all he could see was her mouth, a gigantic thing that seemed to be devouring everything else around it?

  Something hit hard against his face, or at least it felt as though it did, yet it did not hurt. It merely made him fall sideways, despite his attempts to keep his balance. His head sank into a cushion and, although he still had it in his mind to make love to Amber, such desire was overcome by a sudden need to sleep.

  Chapter 8

  Dreams came and went, one dream finishing, then fading into another; a patchwork of odd occurrences and odder sensations.

  Some seemed almost real. Some were too crazy to be real. In his dream he was naked, but that was no big deal. Doesn't everyone have dreams of being naked, walking down a busy street, and no one seemingly aware of their embarrassment?

  And yet, he half suspected it was not a dream. His flesh felt cool and it wasn't unpleasant. Was there actually somewhere in Louisiana that was cool? He'd be a rich man if he could bottle it and sell it on.

  A murmur of voices came and went. Hands touched him.

  Something was around his neck, his wrists and his ankles. Whatever it was felt tight; heavy.

  Reality crept into the dream when he felt his weight hanging on his arms. Something was dragging them upwards until the soles of his feet barely kept contact with the floor.

  Suddenly he was afraid. Sleep was retreating, and yet the dream stayed with him.

  Squinting at first, he opened his eyes, but saw nothing. All was darkness. Complete and utter blackness.

  Panic replaced fear. Had he gone blind whilst asleep? Was that possible?

  The urge to rub at his eyes was incredibly strong. Rubbing the sleep away was a sure way of seeing things straight. But he couldn't do that. Try as he might, he could not drag his arms down.

  Perhaps I am still asleep, he thought. Perhaps this blackness is all part of the dream.

  He struggled, made a huge effort to bring his arms down, but felt the bite of cold metal around his wrists.

  What was happening? The question was the only thing that filled his head, and he badly wanted it answering.

  Perhaps if he could walk away from this dream...

  He tried to move his legs. Nothing happened. The same cold metal that held his wrists also held his ankles.

  Am I still dreaming?

  A dream had become a nightmare. What else would it be if you couldn't walk away from it? This was a nightmare with no setting, no form. So far it had also been silent. He tried to shout, felt himself shaking his head, straining against something that covered his mouth.

  In that awful moment he felt as though he had slipped into a great black void. Was he dead?

  Terror racked his brain, made his body shiver. Realisation, frightening but somehow enlightening, suddenly came to him as his fingers intertwined some way above him. He was restrained, in complete darkness, and something was over his mouth. It was as plain as that.

  But how long had he been here, and what was it all about?

  'Errol. Get a hold of yourself.' It really sounded as if he were saying it, and yet he was sure he could neither hear the words nor move his mouth.

  A trickle of sweat coursed down between his shoulder blades and trickled slowly down his spine.

  His ears strained to hear the faintest of sound. He heard a rustling, thought it might be rats, then realised it was the sound of running water. It figured. These old places were built on land reclaimed from the bayous, the water rerouted to flow away from the foundations. Yet it never went away entirely. That was the glory of this state, especially around the delta. You were never really very far from the Mississippi.

  He heard footsteps, then the grating of a key in a lock. Part of him felt glad to hear something. Another part was fearful.

  He saw the oil lamp first, then the smooth, aquiline features of the silent Pierre, his nostrils looking more flared and much blacker beneath the shadows thrown by the flickering light.

  Amber entered behind him. She was also carrying an oil lamp.

  Errol's heart leapt in his chest. Inwardly, he knew he should be scared, but just seeing someone after being alone in that darkness was enough to make him glad. Nothing she could do to him was comparable to that.

  He attempted to speak to her, but his voice was no more than a muted rumble behind the leather pad that covered his mouth.

  Clenching and unclenching his fists, he attempted to break free of the bonds that held his arms tightly above his head. His body swayed. His flesh glistened with sweat.

  The smiling Amber placed her hand flat on his chest, her fingers playful among his chest hair.

  'There's no point in struggling, my beautiful man.' She raised her eyebrows as s
he smiled and ran her hand down over his ribs.

  He yearned to scratch the ticklish sensation her fingers left in their wake. From her eyes, he realised she knew that. Pleasure, he understood, could be tortuous if used in a certain way.

  Amber was no longer looking him in the face. She was studying his body, her eyes and her hands exploring him as though he were no more than a bolt of cloth, or a piece of furniture.

  Pierre stood behind her, the light from the lamp he was holding throwing her shadow over Errol's body.

  At first, Errol assumed Pierre's eyes too were exploring his flesh. But then he realised it was Amber that Pierre was watching. There was passion in his eyes, an oscillating flame that hinted at unhealthy obsession.

  Errol trembled as Amber's long, white fingers burrowed into his pubic hair and fastened around the base of his stem.

  Despite his apprehension, a rush of blood made his balls pulse and his length harden.

  He rolled his eyes as he groaned, willing himself not to respond to her, but unable to help it.

  'What a beautiful boy you are,' cooed Amber, her fingers tickling the underside of his cock. 'What's it. Come out of your lair. Stand up and see what I have for you.'

  Such was the allure in her voice, and such was Errol's own curiosity, that a second rush of blood sent a fresh stiffness rushing down his stem.

  'Even better,' Amber breathed, her eyes widening as Errol's cock leapt into her hand. 'Pierre!' Her order was sudden.

  Pierre handed her something with his free hand.

  Errol attempted to look down and see what Amber was doing. It wasn't easy. All he could see were some bits of loose leather.

  But what he felt was enough to tell him exactly what she was doing.

  Treacherous as it was, his penis swelled fit to burst as strips of leather were fastened along its length.

  Panic would have taken him over, but the sensations emanating from his cock overwhelmed it. His body shook. Sweat trickled down his naked flesh as Amber gathered his balls in some kind of leather pouch.