Obsession

by Cathryn Cooper

  The woman with the big breasts stared at him but continued to bounce up and down on Gareth’s mouth. ‘Are you mad? Why should I interrupt such a lovely moment for the likes of you?’

  Maude seemed to wilt as her orgasm at last ebbed, flowed, then faded away.

  Carew trembled.

  Katie, now looking up at him, wondered whether his trembling was due to rage or desire. For once, she was not sure and her earlier amusement faded away.

  She quaked inside and wondered what would happen next, who would break out and tell him who had encouraged them to come hither and be part of his living sculpture. But strangely enough, no one spoke, and no one moved.

  Tess, the woman with the big breasts who lived in Pursington, was the first to get to her feet. Her hips were as big as her breasts, her thighs as thick as hams. Clustered like an uncut shrub between her thighs, her pubic hair burst forth in unkempt disarray.

  Bending the twin orbs of her momentous backside towards them, she picked up her clothes, the lips of her sex unseen from behind by virtue of her copious forest of pubic hair.

  ‘Well, I suppose I’d better be going. My friend’s car’s waiting for me,’ she said as she looked down at Gareth’s now flaccid appendage. ‘I must say I haven’t enjoyed myself so much for a very long time. Didn’t even mind sharing. You should try it sometime.’ She beamed at both Carew and Katie in turn. ‘Especially you, young man.’ She winked and, strangely enough, Katie found herself blushing.

  Once Tess was gone, Lady Maude dressed slowly as though her business and actions were nothing to do with her nephew.

  Gareth merely struggled to his feet, and stood with his clothes bundled against his private parts. In a sudden moment of remembered respect, he touched his forelock.

  Carew was speechless and immobile, his mouth hanging open.

  Her heart in her mouth, Katie looked to and from each of them in turn.

  Carew found his voice.

  ‘Rawlings. I have no objection to a man satisfying his primal urges, but not in my stable, not in my time, and not with my aunt! Get your things and get out of here.’

  Gareth winced at first and, for a moment, Katie thought he was going to give her away.

  But his slapped expression suddenly gave way to smiles.

  ‘It was worth it, sir. I enjoyed myself, and doubtless I’ll get a job elsewhere with no trouble - perhaps with a widow lady who would appreciate my services.’

  He winked salaciously and purposely let his clothes fall to the floor as he dressed.

  Now it was Carew’s turn to wince. Gareth’s appendage, which should have been well spent by now, began to stir and stand proud from his body.

  As it rose, a new light of lust appeared in Maude’s eyes.

  ‘You can’t let him go,’ she said to Carew. ‘He’s so useful around here; anyway, I want him to stay.’

  Carew’s look was thunderous. ‘Then get your own place, Aunt Maude and take Uncle Charles with you.’

  Maude looked as though she’d had her face slapped hard, but she was quick to recover. ‘I will. I most certainly will! And Mister Rawlings will come too. I... we shall employ him. It wasn’t him that instigated this. It was him,’ she said, pointing her finger. ‘He was the instigator!’ She jabbed Oliver’s shoulder with her finger. She turned to Gareth. ‘Come on, Mister Rawlings.’

  Eyes shining with a new admiration, Gareth followed the upright figure of his new benefactress. He threw a smile in Katie’s direction before he disappeared. He added a wink. Gareth, Katie decided, would not betray her secret.

  Carew did not smile. Instead, he looked down at her, his brows knitted, his eyes as cold as ice. Even his mouth looked as hard as his words.

  ‘You have not been entirely a gentleman, young man. Is this true?’

  Oliver stared down at the ground and suitably mumbled his assent.

  His throat notoriously dry, Carew glared down at the dark head of hair that fitted the pretty head like a cap.

  He had an urge to touch it, but he couldn’t. He mustn’t. Instead, he must administer what the young man deserved. Regardless of his own sexual activities, he did have a certain respect for the family name and for those members of the family of the generation before his own. If only to regain his respect for his aunt, he had to carry out what he had in mind.

  ‘You will be punished in my study in ten minutes. And don’t be late, or you will be punished for that too. Is that clear?’

  Oliver’ nodded.

  Katie felt her face growing redder. Uncle Charles and Aunt Maude had birched her bare bottom. Would Carew be doing the same?

  ‘Be there!’

  He turned his back on her quickly. His fingers dug into his palm and, much as he tried to tell himself otherwise, he was looking forward to what was to come.

  In his study, he rang the bell for his servant.

  Imran bowed as he closed the door behind him.

  ‘Sir?’

  Carew shuffled some papers around on his desk. ‘Fetch me the birch. The one my father used to use on me.’

  Imran raised his eyebrows. Carew caught his look. ‘It’s for Oliver.’ As if, he thought, he should have to explain himself to a servant. But there, Imran had been with him a long time. Imran had taught him a lot about life - and sex.

  Stoically, Imran crossed his hands in front of him and tossed his head. ‘Ah yes, sir. I did hear that the young man did have something to do with a case of mistaken identity.’

  Carew raised one eyebrow and became still. Imran sometimes made him feel ineffectual, unobservant. He also had a way of explaining what should be obvious.

  ‘Mistaken identity? What do you mean by that?’

  Imran bowed stiffly from the waist.

  ‘Am I right in thinking that both the memsahib and the groom were expecting someone other than each other? And is it not also true that in the darkness, each was expecting there to be two women present and only one man?’

  ‘It might seem that way.’

  ‘It is that way, sir - if I may be so bold.’

  Carew nodded. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Assuming the other woman expected the same, that is, she would be sharing one man with another woman,• is it not true that, by definition, if not convenience, Rawlings would be that man. And is it not also true, that there should be two women?’

  Carew frowned. What Imran was saying seemed unnecessarily convoluted and didn’t appear to be going anywhere.

  ‘I don’t see what you’re getting at.’

  Imran smiled in that slow, serene way of his, the whiteness of his teeth bridging the darkness of his face and matching his turban.

  ‘I mean, sir, that Rawlings has told me he was cheated. He expected two women alright, but not those two. He was promised, and it was master Oliver who promised him. There is more to this than meets the eye and Mister Rawlings seemed unwilling to tell me everything. Might I suggest that the young master Oliver, rather than being birched, should be questioned.’

  Carew studied the dark face and the darker eyes of his Indian servant.

  Imran was a man inherited from his father who had brought him back from India when he had retired from the army. He did not know all there was to know about the man, but then, that was hardly surprising. How can one man know all there is to know about another? But what he did know was that Imran was a shrewd judge of people. What he did not know was that Imran enjoyed watching sex rather than indulging in it.

  ‘I don’t want to frighten the boy. Tell him I only wish to speak to him.’

  Imran went back across the stable yard but, before he had even got to the door that led to the stairs and the room at the top of them, he heard the sound of a car start up and drive away.

  In the darkness, it was almost impossible to see who had been in it s
o, as already intended, he went up the stairs to the room.

  In the dim haze of the gaslight, he saw only empty beds and the gaping drawers of the chest. Obviously, Rawlings was gone - probably with Lady Maude - and so was Oliver, the young man whom he knew just by scent was a young woman.

  Chapter 17

  Imran did not tell his master of the truth that he knew. He judged that in her own good time, the young woman would make herself known. That way, his master would not feel a fool.

  In that regard, Imran was right. Katie had her own plans about how she would make herself and her sex known.

  For his part, Carew felt a certain relief that the cause of his suffering was removed. The stories the boy had told him did run through his mind in the moments before he fell asleep, and caused his rod to stiffen and his blood to rush through his veins.

  But he endured such piquant torture and told himself that his old vitality, his old charisma had returned. Indeed, he would give it full vent at his forthcoming party when he would orchestrate a cabaret for his guests, the like of which had never been seen anywhere else. In fact, he told himself, he was getting quite famous - or rather, infamous - about his little scenes.

  Now what shall I use as a theme for my party? he mused as he drew on his cigar.

  As Imran was bending to take his empty glass to the sideboard for a refill, the whiteness of his turban and the darkness of his face brought an idea to Carew’s busy mind. Unbidden, the voice of Oliver telling one of his stories came also.

  A temple. He would have a mock temple erected complete with a likeness of the loathsome goddess who coveted sacrifice, yet embodied life.

  ‘Yes,’ he said out loud. ‘That is what I shall do. My mind is made up.’

  Imran passed him his refilled glass, but did not ask any questions. In time, his master would tell him exactly what he wanted.

  The addendum to his initial invitations, signed and sent out by his secretary, must have arrived at Katie Fisher’s house at around the same time it had at the home of her friend, Phoebe.

  Katie only guessed at this because the telephone began to ring not long after.

  ‘Katie, darling. It’s a fancy dress! Carew’s party is to be a fancy dress! How exciting. I wonder why he suddenly decided on that. I mean, it wasn’t going to be fancy dress originally.’

  ‘No. It wasn’t,’ said Katie as she fingered the card, then tapped it against her mouth. ‘Obviously something quite memorable happened to influence his decision. What will you wear?’

  For once, Phoebe paused. ‘I don’t know. What do people usually wear in an Indian temple?’

  ‘A couple of old sheets, draped Indian style?’

  ‘Don’t be facetious. Now come on. You need an outfit just as much as I do. What say you we go up to town and have a look round for something?’

  Katie eyed the gold-edged invitation card as she answered. ‘I think I’d enjoy that, Phoebe dear. Perhaps we could have lunch there, even take in the theatre, stay overnight.’

  Phoebe willingly agreed.

  As Katie replaced the telephone she smiled and read the card again.

  FANCY DRESS THEME - THE TEMPLE OF THE HINDU GODDESS KALI.

  Her hair had grown since running from Thompson Towers and fragile wisps of it now curved around her face. Once she had applied red lipstick to her mouth and darkness to her eyes, her very best features were accentuated and again she was the beautiful. Katie Fisher, not the wide-eyed Oliver Tempest.

  For going up to town, she had chosen to wear a black-and-white-check jacket, matching skirt, and a black hat with matching shoes and handbag.

  The hat framed her face and had a black bird and a white bird clinging to one side.

  Without asking for Phoebe’s opinion, Katie had made a reservation for two separate rooms at the Metropole. She had also, without asking her friend, acquired tickets to see Adele and Fred Astaire who were appearing in Lady Be Good at the Empire.

  When she told her all that she’d organised on the train going up to London, Phoebe threw her arms around her and told her she was clever.

  Phoebe, mused Katie, was easily pleased.

  Lulled by the motion of the carriage, Phoebe fell asleep.

  Katie remained awake and thoughtful, and as the cornfields, fat cows and trees flew past as if they were standing still, Katie, for the very first time, tried to assess exactly what it was she had felt when she had seen Carew that very first time. And what, she asked herself, had she learned from being of the opposite sex? Neither question was easy to answer.

  Firstly, she remembered how bright, how sensuous Carew had appeared, dancing with this woman, then that woman; always the leader of the herd, the one both men and women flocked to.

  As for learning anything at Thompson Towers in her disguise as Oliver, well that was a different matter.

  One thing she had learned was that there is something in each human being that ignites a sexual response in another. Not that she could herself analyse what it was she truly found attractive in Phoebe. Granted, she was easy to manipulate, to have her rub her back, her breasts, and the tenseness of an unsatisfied pussy when needed. But was that all? Was there something else besides that to endear Phoebe to her?

  Musing and thinking were a pleasant enough pastime on the train but, once the city was reached. Phoebe was wide awake and Katie herself felt a new vigour as she viewed the rush of people, the noise of traffic, newspaper sellers, and the lilting sound of Rhapsody in Blue floating from the lounge of the hotel as they signed their names in the ledger.

  ‘Both today and tonight, I am going to enjoy myself.’ Katie spun away from the reception desk as she said it.

  ‘So am I,’ Phoebe added, then wondered why her friend was now stood so still and who she was staring at.

  ‘Imran.’ Phoebe heard what Katie said and knew who she meant.

  Her eyes too followed the form of a dark gentleman dressed in the soft grey of a chauffeur’s uniform. ‘Did he recognise you?’

  Katie shook her head. ‘I don’t think so.’

  But Imran Jaffar had recognised the slim figure and felt his own ardour flood through his body as he once again looked upon a face that, even by the most contrary, would be considered exceptional. From the very first time he had met the boy Oliver Tempest, he had, with one sniff of his very acute sense of small, assessed that the dreary clothes hid a female body rather than a male one.

  Perhaps, he thought, he could help matters along a bit. His master, Carew Bentley Thompson, had come up to town with a determination to enjoy himself and had instructed him to make contact with suitable young ladies who might be willing to join him at dinner and perhaps join him in other diversions later.

  Imran smiled thoughtfully to himself as he considered how the objectives and characters of both his master and the young lady in question were so alike, so exquisitely attuned.

  Once the concierge was free of the demands of other guests Imran approached him and asked him to arrange for flowers and an invitation to join his master at dinner to be sent to each of the young ladies who had just entered the lift.

  After answering the door, taking receipt of the flowers, and examining the card for the name of who had sent them, Katie was not surprised when the door hammered on by an excited fist and was opened to reveal the flushed face of an ecstatic Phoebe.

  ‘It’s Carew. He’s invited me to join him at dinner!’ Her eyes alighted on the blood red roses and, for an instant, Katie wondered whether she saw a hint of jealousy in her friend’s eyes.

  ‘It seems we are both invited to join him for dinner.’ And what, Katie wondered to herself, will he be expecting for supper?

  Phoebe suddenly became animated, and a torrent of questions came from her.

  ‘What will you do? Will you join him for dinner? Will you tell him the truth? W
ill you...?’

  ‘Shush, Phoebe! Yes, I will go to dinner with him and with you. But I will admit nothing. I will watch and wait my time as I always said I would.’

  That afternoon, they went to the fancy dress shop to hire the outfits they required. Both ostensibly kept their individual choice secret from the other, though Katie had no doubt that Phoebe had chosen something floaty and preferably red or pink, regardless of whether it would be regarded as authentic attire for someone invited to an Indian temple.

  Like her friend, Katie too kept her outfit secret, though Phoebe would not know that she had a little more insight as to why Carew had chosen such a theme.

  The deed was done and the clothes were duly hired. Afternoon had changed into evening, and in the luxurious soapiness of her bath Katie contemplated dining with Carew before going to see the singing and dancing .at the Empire.

  Once out of her bath, she embellished her body with perfume. With her finger, she traced circles around her nipples and stroked a line of the same perfume from knee to the warm join between thigh and the lush softness of her sex.

  Naked and glowing, she sat before her mirror and reddened her lips, outlined her eyes, and applied very dark shadow to her eyelids.

  Then she stood and studied the picture she presented. Glossy and nearly black, her hair feathered down over her forehead and onto her cheeks and into the nape of her neck.

  Her face looked full of vitality, of life and irresistible sexuality.

  Her body glowed from her bath and from the apprehension she was feeling inside.

  She stood naked before her mirror, and looked at the body that had been Oliver’s, the body that was most definitely hers, and very, very female.

  Her breasts were not big but they were proud and firm, her areolae dark, and her nipples hard as ripe berries. Her ribs curved into her waist and her hips flared gently, then curved over her thighs.

  Like skeins of unravelled black silk, her pubic hair divided one thigh from the other. What a mix she was. Black silk and white alabaster. She turned to where her dress awaited her.