Anything Goes

by Cathryn Cooper

  A thin strap was passed between his buttocks. Another from the front of the harness. Both were buckled to a belt that Pierre fastened around his waist.

  A smiling Amber stood upright and brought her face close to his.

  'You're wearing a cock harness,' she said, her teeth hardly parting as she said it.

  Errol stared at her as he fought to take in what she'd just said.

  Amber raised her fine, plucked eyebrows.

  'Aren't you going to thank me for it? No? Perhaps it's because it is not tight enough. You would like it tighter wouldn't you? Yes. I can see from your eyes you would like it tighter.'

  Errol winced. He groaned, and his body stretched like a string on a bow as Amber tightened the front buckle and Pierre did the one at the back.

  'There', she purred, her hand running over his right buttock as she surveyed her handiwork. 'I do so like to see a cock enslaved to me.'

  She raised her eyes to his.

  'This,' she murmured, her fingers tapping on his still erect penis, 'is how I like to control the men who work for me.'

  Sweat pouring down his face, Errol watched as Amber attached a red leather dog leash to the harness that held his cock.

  Perennial smile still fixed on her face, she gave a sharp tug on the leash.

  Errol's cry was muffled by the leather gag across his mouth. His hips were so far forward that he had no choice except to stand on tiptoe.

  'This,' growled Amber in a crueller voice than before, 'is how it is done. So easy don't you think?'

  Errol did not and could not answer. But he knew that she was right. Whatever she wanted him to do, he would have to do until such time as he could escape.

  How he wished he had gone straight to New Orleans. If he had, he might have found Shirley Anne by now.

  His penis, so tightly confined in the leather harness, pulsed both with pleasure and with pain. Amber laughed each time she tugged on it. Each time she let it go, she caressed the stretched muscles of his chest, his arched back, or his glistening buttocks.

  He was in her power, totally subservient to whatever demands she made on him. Helpless, but not entirely unhappy.

  However long it took, he would escape once the opportunity arose. To do that he realised he must gain her trust; make her think he was as besotted with her as Pierre undoubtedly was. In order to fool her into thinking that, he must appear to enjoy whatever she did to him.

  Think of Shirley Anne. Think of her every time she touches you.

  Thinking of his wayward love sent his cock pulsing just as Amber yanked at it yet again.

  He heard her cry with delight, saw her eyes widen with joy. He also saw the jealousy in the eyes of the silent Pierre and knew he had made an enemy.

  Chapter 9

  There was a party going on at the Catnip Club. A gay young thing was celebrating her twenty-first birthday and was out with all her friends, but none of the older members of her family.

  She was dressed in a pretty pink dress with a large sash bound around her slim hips and a similar arrangement around her head.

  Like her, her friends were dressed in light fabrics and bright colours, their faces aglow with all the energy and enthusiasm of youth. Fluttering and colourful, they flitted among their male companions, each movement of limb, each flickering of eyelid intended to entice.

  'Give us more Ragtime, Maxie boy!' shouted a male member of her entourage. For some reason, this was the only man in her party who was not wearing a tuxedo, but white baggies, striped blazer, and a straw boater that sat too low over his eyes to be called natty.

  Max, who hated being called Maxie, leaned low from the bandstand, put his lips to his horn, the end of the trumpet just inches from straw boater's face.

  The trumpet screamed like a rogue bull elephant, the blast sending straw boater a step backwards. By the time 'Jungle Jaunt Jam' was thudding through the club, all the young people were up and dancing, cheeks together, hand gripping partner's hand, and legs flying.

  The music was taking them, making them dance like wooden marionettes, and it was Max making them do it.

  Max himself was flying with the music. Once that aching, raunchy sound came out of his horn he was no longer in the Catnip Club, but going with it as he would a train or a bus; like travelling, though not really going anywhere.

  As he soared with the music, he thought of Emmeline and wondered how she was getting on without him. It was only when he played his horn that he was really with her again. Of course, he could go there for real if he liked, but Rene had hold of his contract, and Stacey kept hold of something else in order to make him stay.

  Rene and Stacey knew as much about playing people as he did about playing horn. Of course, he and Emmeline had both known they were getting in deep with their sexual games, but life was for living wasn't it?

  Neither had guessed that Rene had literally sold Emmeline's contract on to the guy from New York. That had been a year ago, and the contract was for a year. At least, that was what he had told Max.

  He'd protested at first, but Stacey had promised to keep him sweet whilst his darling Emmeline was away. So far, she'd kept her promise.

  He and Emmeline used to enjoy going out to the beach huts after the club was closed. As he pursed his lips and closed his eyes, his trumpet screamed and he remembered how the air blowing in from the sea had felt on their naked flesh. And how sleek and sexy Emmeline had looked with nothing but the light of the moon and the reflection from the water dancing over her body.

  And she had danced there just for him, long legs kicking high above her head so that her sex thrust forward, the pinkness of her flesh glistening from between her dark-haired lips.

  Stacey did her best to emanate what he and Emmeline used to do, but only what they did in the hut. She couldn't possibly try and be her entirely. For a start she couldn't dance, and secondly her flesh was too pale, her eyes blue, and her hair yellow as straw.

  Little moonlight filtered into the crumbling beach hut, and if he narrowed his eyes he could almost believe it was Emmeline he was with.

  Stacey's breasts were as full and firm as Emmeline's, and her waist was just as narrow. She even had a belly that swelled just a little above her navel. Only when his fingers tangled into her pubic hair was the pretence slightly muted. Emmeline's pubic hair had a certain kind of wiry strength in it even though it felt silky. But Stacey's blonde, pubic curls were very soft. Very fine. Like the down on a dandelion, and fragile enough to be blown away.

  He closed his eyes as the last strains of Sheree's number hit the high notes, then fell away to something like the growling purr of a mountain lion.

  It was late by the time he blew the last blast on his horn. He saw Stacey over at the bar and could tell just by the way she was standing that she was expecting some action tonight. Well she wouldn't be getting it from him. He patted his breast pocket and heard the telegram rustle reassuringly. The year was almost up, and neither Rene or Stacey seemed unduly aware of it. So what? Who cares? As long as he knew she was coming back. Just occasionally, he wondered if they'd been entirely truthful. Was the contract really for a year? Or was it longer? He put the doubts from his mind. They were too difficult to live with.

  After wiping the sweat from his brow, he made a big production of putting his horn away and accompanying Ted, one of his boys, a gangling type who played the trombone. He could almost feel Stacey's eyes boring into his back as he made his way out of the club.

  'I'll be saying goodnight,' he said to Ted.

  Ted stopped, his expression open and friendly. 'You're welcome to join me and a few of the boys for a party. We've even got some broads joining us - sisters or relatives of Chas I think.'

  Max raised his eyebrows. 'More sisters? That mother of Chas must have had a daughter for every year of her life - including the year Chas was born!'

  Ted laughed, his white teeth flashing in the darkness. 'Can't say Chas ever mentioned being a twin.'

  'Can't say Chas ever mentioned
having a sister before!'

  Keeping to the shadows, Max made his way to an alley entrance that would take him home. Normally he would take a taxi, but the stars were out and the air was warm. Besides, he was feeling good. Emmeline was coming home.

  Checking that the coast was clear, he glanced along to where Rene and Stacey usually parked their car. Stacey was already in the car waiting.

  Max was just about to turn into the alley, when he heard the sound of the stage door closing. It was quickly followed by the recurrent click of a woman's shoes walking quickly along the sidewalk.

  He stopped, turned, and immediately recognised the sleek figure of the new chanteuse, Sheree.

  She started, then smiled when she saw it was him. He noticed her face was flushed and her eyes shining. Her smile made him feel almost as good as the telegram in his pocket.

  'You walking tonight?' he asked.

  She nodded.

  'Yes. Stacey and Rene offered me a lift, but I told them I had a yearning to walk home tonight.'

  Max nodded sagely as she fell in alongside him.

  'It's a lovely night. A good night to walk home.' He took a deep breath.

  'Is that magnolia I can smell, or is it your perfume?'

  She laughed. 'I don't think any mere perfume can outshine the scent of magnolia. Do you?'

  'Sometimes,' he answered, and smiled sadly.

  Sheree, aware she had touched a raw nerve, looked down at her feet as she walked. She could feel that Max was missing someone. Probably because she was missing someone too.

  Three months had gone since she had left home and, although she was still smitten with city life, there was an odd tickle under her heart that wouldn't go away.

  Max stared straight ahead. He was feeling very aware of Sheree's presence. Although she might not know it, she definitely had something in common with his Emmeline. He made a great effort to keep things under control.

  'I understand you've got the apartment in the Brabonne building.'

  He said it as nonchalantly as he could, but it was hard not to infer some sense of misgiving.

  Sheree did not answer straightaway. That in itself was enough to make Max hold his breath as he waited for her to speak. Of course he already knew she lived there. He just wanted to hear her say so. Wanted to know if she had found out Rene and Stacey's true natures.

  'Yes. I do.'

  'It's a nice place.'

  'A lovely place. I've never lived in a place like it before.'

  I bet you haven't, Max thought to himself.

  Emmeline came into his thoughts again. Not that she often left them. But he knew what had happened there and perceived from Sheree's voice that something similar might have happened to her too. Suddenly, perhaps because Emmeline was on her way home, he felt excited, and feeling like that made him want to know more.

  'Look...' he began, then hesitated. He sensed her looking at him as they walked, but only glanced at her then turned away, stunned by the green sparkle in her eyes, the gleaming black hair that framed her face like a tight-fitting hat, and the pink opulence of her lips.

  'I wondered whether you've got time for a nightcap. I could walk you back to your place afterwards. No problem.'

  He looked at her then. Saw her nod.

  'Sure.' She smiled. 'Why not?'

  He kept bourbon on a regular basis in the blue painted cupboard that had once graced the dispensing room of a long gone drug store. Emmeline had painted large treble clefts in gold paint on the front of it. 'To make it look as though you keep your horn in there,' she'd told him. Sure enough he did keep his trumpet in there. He kept the bourbon in there too plus a bottle of Emmeline's favourite wine.

  'Bourbon?' he asked hopefully, unwilling to open the bottle he'd bought specially for Emmeline's homecoming.

  Sheree nodded.

  'A small one.'

  Max raised his eyebrows as he threw her a questioning look.

  Taking his meaning, Sheree smiled. 'OK. A large one. Hell, I've earned it.'

  Max indicated a fat leather settee he'd rescued from some other place. It was old-fashioned but a helluva lot more comfortable than some of the mean bits of furniture being made nowadays.

  Their fingers touched as the glass changed hands and Max's big heart leapt a beat when he heard the rasp of stocking against stocking as she crossed one slim leg over the other.

  Nice legs, he thought to himself after the briefest of glances. He took a large swig of the bourbon, then another. Enough of the liquid was gone to warrant another.

  'So,' he began once the burn of the liquid had eased in his throat. 'What made you come to New Orleans?'

  Sheree took a decent slug from her glass. Then she leaned forward, slim elbows resting on one exposed knee.

  'I wanted excitement. I wanted to taste the kind of life that I'd remember when my body and my stockings get wrinkled.'

  Max laughed. 'I can never imagine you that way.'

  Perhaps it was the whisky, or perhaps it was just her laugh and his excitement that Emmeline was coming home, but he was fast warming to her.

  'Oh, I will be one day.' Sheree's eyes sparkled. 'But just once in my life I wanted to taste some glamour. Something different.'

  Max nodded slowly. His glass was empty again and he was beginning to feel light-headed. Her glass still had some liquid in it, but little enough to constitute him asking if she wanted more.

  She nodded and he filled both her glass and his.

  They talked about where she came from, and where he came from. He talked about Emmeline. She talked about Errol.

  'So why did she leave?'

  Max was expecting the question, but did not welcome it.

  'Well...' He took another slug of bourbon. It wasn't easy to think of what had happened, let alone talk about it. But his mind was floating and the bourbon had loosened his tongue.

  'She had that same apartment you've got.' He paused again. This wasn't easy. 'It's a beautiful apartment. It's also a kind of...' It was hard to put it into words. He was also very aware that Sheree was staring quizzically at him, her brow furrowed. 'It's a kind of showcase,' he finished.

  Sheree's frown deepened. 'Showcase? What does that mean?'

  Suddenly Max wished he hadn't said anything, but judging by the determination in her eyes, he wasn't going to get away with it now.

  Max sighed. 'Rene tends to discover acts. Nurture them, you know, bring them on a bit. Once he thinks they're ready, he sells them on.'

  'Sells them?'

  Sheree's mouth had dropped open. Her lips were wet, partly because of the whisky.

  Max shook his head. 'Not like that. Not like slaves. Pray God that doesn't happen anymore around here. No. He gets them to sign their contract for a further year, then sells the contract on. Emmeline's in New York. At the Cotton Club.'

  'Hey, you're not kidding!'

  Sheree's eyes were suddenly bright with increased interest.

  'Is he likely to do the same for me?'

  Max eyed her finely chiselled face, the smooth skin and indescribable features. He judged that she wasn't quite as worldly wise as his beloved Emmeline, and if that was the case, he couldn't possibly tell her everything.

  'Oh sure. He'll do it for you alright.'

  'Wow!'

  Max had been going to tell her about what went on at the place she was living, and also what went on at the old Brabonne mansion. But her brightness and the drink was affecting him. Suddenly, it all seemed of no consequence. Besides, the things that went on at both of those places only served to strengthen the desire he was feeling in his loins.

  Sheree's expression was one of breathless anticipation. Her eyes were fixed on his and, because her mouth was open slightly, her moist lips seemed to be inviting his own.

  He didn't quite know how he came to be lying on the settee beside her. All he knew was she smelt good and was now only dressed in a soft silk camisole top and lace-edged French knickers. There was a lovely expanse of naked flesh between her
knickers and her stocking tops. Exposure, he thought, was a funny thing. Just that bit of flesh showing made her seem more naked than if she were wearing nothing at all.

  He'd taken off his jacket. His tie was gone. His shirt undone. Hell, I don't remember doing that, he thought.

  'Should we be doing this?' Her voice and her breath was soft and warm against his ear.

  'It's part of our nature.' He kissed her. 'It's part of our artistic nature.'

  She murmured and arched herself closer to him as his hands ran down over her back and curved over her behind. Firm, he thought to himself. And such a lovely shape. Round, and the two halves segregated by a deep cleft that gave them a sort of individuality.

  As he kissed her, he pulled the silk of her French knickers up over her behind, then gathered it into her cleft so that only the sisterly orbs were left exposed.

  Max closed his eyes as his fingers kneaded the firm flesh. He brought one hand over her hips and let it slide down between them. Again, he slid the silk of her knickers to one side. His fingers met the silky luxuriance of her pubic hair, and the feel of it made him sigh and forget himself.

  'Emmeline,' he whispered.

  'Emmeline?'

  'I'm sorry.'

  They paused. She looked into his eyes, her fingers caressing the nape of his neck.

  'It doesn't matter. In fact, I think it's a very good idea. I can be Emmeline until she gets back. You can be Errol.'

  Max nodded silently. 'Yes,' he murmured before his lips again sought hers.

  Max felt the surge of blood pulse into his penis as he slid his hands up under the pretty peach camisole. Her ribcage was smooth and lean enough, but the feel of her breasts beneath his hands occasioned the biggest erection he'd ever had. It throbbed against his trouser buttons and his sighs of passion almost turned to a sigh of relief as Sheree began unbuttoning his trousers.

  Her breasts seemed to thrust against his hands and the firm prettiness of them was almost enough to take his breath away.

  He groaned as his thumb flicked over her hard, tight nipples. A delicious feeling of triumph seemed to curl down his spine and make his pelvis thrust forward as her nipples grew.