The Gift

by Portia Da Costa

  ‘Don’t fight it, Sandy. I can tell you’re turned on. Your face is pink and your eyes are like stars. You look exquisite. Tell me how you feel.’

  ‘A bit turned on.’ She squeezed out the words, even as she squeezed down hard on her teat again to punish herself for being so easy, so lascivious and so weak in the face of his barely exerted strength.

  ‘No, no, no. Tell me how you really feel. The sensations.… Give them to me in words.’

  I can’t, I can’t, she cried inside again, even as she licked her lips, preparing to speak. Trying to stop herself, she twisted her nipple, harder this time, and let out a broken groan as her sex-flesh lurched in some kind of minor convulsion, a mini orgasm, sharp yet not quite satisfying.

  ‘Did you come then?’

  Sandy blinked, tried to focus. Had she blacked out or something? Time seemed to be passing strangely here in Jay’s dream machine.

  She wanted to shake her head, say ‘no’, but instead she admitted, ‘Yes, a bit … I think so.’

  ‘Surely you know, Sandy. I usually know when I’ve come.’

  Anger cut through the haze, bringing clarity, and her will again. ‘Well, of course a man knows when he’s come! There’s – there’s stuff, isn’t there? It’s either out or it’s in, and, if it’s out, you’ve come!’

  ‘Stuff?’ Jay chuckled, a strangely young, light sound, almost boyish. ‘Now there’s a poetic turn of phrase if I ever heard one.’

  ‘Well, what the hell do you call it?’

  Astonishingly, Sandy realised she was still cupping her breast. It was as if she couldn’t stop until he gave her leave to. Surreptitiously, she moved her thumb across her nipple again, trying to breathe normally when desire welled again.

  ‘Do you know, I’ve never really thought about it,’ Jay observed almost conversationally. They glided to a halt at traffic lights on the way into the town and, when he glanced across at her, his eyes flickered from her hand at her breast to her blushing face and her reddened bitten lips. ‘Semen, I suppose. Or spunk.’ That wicked tongue of his swept around his lips again and, as he turned his attention back to the lights, he asked, ‘Why, do you like the taste of it?’

  ‘I …’

  Did she? She wasn’t sure. She wasn’t sure it had a great deal of taste. But the thought of its texture on her tongue was so vivid, suddenly, that it made her sex rouse and glow even more. She imagined the texture, and the fugitive taste of Jay’s semen on her tongue. She wanted to taste him, sample him, take him in and imbibe his essence. Which was weird, she’d never particularly been one for giving head. She didn’t object to it. She just didn’t do it of her own volition.

  Except in her silly romantic fantasies where she happily knelt down and sucked the cock of her long-lost Prince Charming in a show of gratitude.

  ‘So?’ her companion prompted, about as far from her fantasy rescuer as it was possible to be. The lights changed, they glided onwards, cocooned in their strange edgy world of sexual jousting.

  ‘Er, yes, I suppose I don’t mind it, really.’

  I want to taste yours.

  As if he’d heard her, Jay smiled wolfishly. ‘Excellent. You like sucking cock. That’s good to know.’

  ‘But that doesn’t necessarily mean I want to suck yours!’ It was a lie. She knew it. And she knew he knew it.

  ‘We’ll see … we’ll see …’ His voice was infuriatingly smug, but just when Sandy was about to fling back some retort at him, she knew not what, he continued, in a completely unsmug voice, ‘I think we’re nearly there, aren’t we?’

  It was true. The traffic lights they’d stopped at were the last set before the centre of town, and now they were cruising into Kissley proper. Sandy snatched her hand away from the front of her dress. There were people around, and the urban lighting was well maintained. Any of the couples and groups of either sex traversing between the pubs, the video store and the pedestrian precinct might glance into the interior of a beautiful car to see who was lucky enough to be riding in it. The glass was tinted, but far from opaque.

  Still, she was disappointed that they were suddenly all business as she directed him to the small parking area in the little yard behind the Teapot. There was a small Datsun parked there and, after a moment’s pondering as to whose it might be, it dawned on her that she’d seen Kat’s Greg driving one like it sometimes.

  ‘Problem?’

  Sandy realised she’d been frowning, and of course eagle-eyes beside her had noticed.

  ‘No, it just seems that Kat and her paramour have returned to the Teapot ahead of us. No guesses as to what they’ll be getting up to.’

  With the lights turned off, Jay’s eyes were almost silvery in the shadows.

  ‘Ah, the kinky couple. Do you think we’ll disturb them?’

  ‘I doubt if category eight on the Richter scale will disturb them when they get going. And even if we did disturb them they’d carry on shagging anyway. Exhibitionism is one of their kinks.’

  ‘Do you like to watch? Does it turn you on?’

  She gave him an old-fashioned stare, knowing he could read her in the darkness.

  ‘Well then, shall we go in and watch the show?’ said Jay softly, reaching for the door handle.

  Chapter 5

  Leading the way, Sandy started up the steps at the rear of the building that led to the kitchen, walking as lightly as she could. Jay followed behind and, when they reached the top of the flight, she felt his breath on the back of her neck.

  When his hand fell on her shoulder, compelling her to look at him, he didn’t say anything, but his eyes were still gleaming, full of roguish anticipation, making him look younger, almost naughty, like a horny boy.

  For a split second, Sandy imagined Prince Charming here on the stairs with her. Would he like to watch too? Had he grown up into a sexy sophisticated man of the world? A man much as she imagined Jay to be, based on the evidence so far.

  Quashing the notion, Sandy bit her lip, then gave the real man behind her a nod to keep quiet. Then, making a surreptitious signal to move forward, she reached down, slipped off her clattering high heels and led the way. Light on his feet, Jay followed behind her, silent as the proverbial cat.

  The back door to the café was open.

  Sandy ground her teeth. Kat was a brilliant cook and an even better friend, but she could be a bit casual about security issues sometimes, especially when she had sex on her mind. Which she so obviously did now, judging by the giggles and moans and other earthy unmistakeable noises that were emanating from the kitchen at the end of the short landing.

  Silently closing the back door behind herself and Jay, Sandy disposed of her bag, shoes and wrap on the coat-stand beside it, and tiptoed towards the source of the evocative sounds, acutely conscious of the dark male presence following her.

  The door was open, a good-sized crack, but the landing was unlit. In deep shadow, there was perfect cover and an unrestricted view of anything happening in the kitchen.

  And there was happening aplenty. Sandy’s jaw dropped. She would have let out a gasp but, before she could, a large warm hand settled lightly but firmly over her mouth. At the same time a strong arm snaked around her waist, supporting her. Without it, her knees might have wobbled and let her down.

  Kat, her dear friend and cheerfully unashamed sex maniac, was standing in the middle of the room stark naked from the waist down. The skin-tight shiny black leggings she’d been wearing were flung across the ladder-back of one of the old kitchen chairs, and her lover, the innocent-faced but lecherously delightful Gregory, was standing behind her, kissing her neck and squeezing her crotch in rude and lazy rhythm.

  ‘Oh God … oh yes … mm … oh yeah.’ Kat gurgled in her throat as her head tipped back to rest on Greg’s shoulder, her black hair fanning out across his shirt.

  Greg’s fingers tensed. He was working her slow and hard. And she was loving it.

  Driven by a heady mix of hormones and instincts, Sandy pressed back against her own
sexy man. Jay tightened his iron-muscled arm around her, drawing her close so she could feel his groin against her bottom. He was getting hard, the warm knot of his erection prodding at her tender anal groove, pressing the fabric of her dress against the little vent there.

  The contact was slight and subtle – Jay wasn’t grinding the way Greg was against Kat – but its effects fizzed in her blood-stream like the Champagne she’d drunk earlier. She wanted to grind, but something in the way Jay held her kept her still. He was containing her in ways other than physical, and she couldn’t remember experiencing a greater excitement, not in the Aston, nor in the Waverley garden before it. The scent of his spicy cologne made her dizzy.

  And all the while the enthusiastic couple in the kitchen seemed intent on putting on a command performance, almost as if they knew they had an audience.

  Maybe they did?

  The Aston Martin wasn’t exactly the quietest of cars and, even though they’d been careful, she and Jay might well have been audible on the stairs.

  ‘Yes, baby, yes,’ encouraged Greg as he squeezed and lifted Kat on the fulcrum of his hand, making her moan and whimper louder and wriggle like a she-cat on heat. Tossing her head, she grabbed at Greg’s hand, urging him on, while with her other hand she cupped her own breast and pinched her teat through her thin silky top.

  ‘You like it, don’t you, you naughty girl?’ Greg grinned, a slow, wicked, joyous little smirk as his fingers moved between Kat’s legs. There was something so happy about the young man’s expression. He seemed Machiavellian, but benign, and this, coupled with his fresh good looks and his wiry body, meant it wasn’t hard to understand why Kat was so besotted with him.

  Sandy craned forward, aching for a better view, and as she did so Jay slid his hand from her waist, across her belly, to cup her mound. When she drew breath, the other hand, across her mouth, tightened its hold.

  Her eyes starting out of her head, she watched an echo of what she was feeling.

  ‘You’re very bad, luring me here and just leaving your friend at the party,’ Greg went on, his mouth next to Kat’s ear as he rummaged about between her legs. ‘That was a terrible thing to do, and you should be punished for such misbehaviour, really you should.’ As he spoke it became plain that Greg was pushing fingers – one, two or even more – into Kat’s sex. Straining to see, Sandy stiffened, rising on her toes, as Jay pressed against her entrance with his fingers, pushing the soft fabric of her skirt into her sticky cleft. He didn’t even bother to raise her skirt, he just squeezed at her, grasping, searching, probing.

  This is the second time tonight. How am I letting this happen? I barely know the man, but he knows my pussy already.

  Strong fingertips pressed her skirt and her dainty underwear into the groove of her sex, parting her pubic floss and quickly reaching the heart of the matter. With a deft twist of his wrist, he curved his fingers, rocking and rubbing at her clit, saturating the fabric and using the cloth itself for friction.

  Sandy writhed, feeling as if the top of her head might pop off from the pressure building and building inside her. But when she tried to twist towards Jay, pleading with her eyes for something, anything, everything, he merely nodded towards the tableau playing out in the kitchen.

  Almost in mirror image, the younger couple were rocking and writhing and jerking against each other, only Kat was free to moan and whimper and curse and encourage. She rode her lover’s hand like a wild pony, bearing down on him, demanding more and more and more.

  ‘Right, that’s it, you horny little bitch. I’ll teach you a lesson,’ Greg growled with the sort of sexual gravitas that Sandy might have expected from a rather older man, a veteran of erotic sophistication. Someone like Jay perhaps? Although he wasn’t exactly ancient himself. Thirties, perhaps, thought Sandy, finding it difficult to concentrate, although with the plastic surgery it was hard to know for certain. Shying away from thoughts of surgery, she wondered who exactly Kat’s frisky boyfriend might be emulating? Probably the patrons of the Waverley, the kinky ones everybody murmured about but nobody actually seemed to know.

  Immolated on the hand of her own sexual sophisticate, she watched in astonishment as Greg manhandled Kat to the kitchen table and laid her face down on the chequered cloth, amongst the condiments and a few plates and cups that had been left out.

  What the hell was he going to do? Punish her or fuck her? And as an aside, how desperately unhygienic was it to have a half-naked woman’s crotch pressed like that against a food-preparation surface?

  ‘So, what’s it to be? Your choice.’

  The young man leaned over his willing victim and whispered something in her ear. Kat squeaked in protest, but her eyes popped with excitement and she began grinding herself against the tablecloth. She muttered an answer, but it was inaudible to Sandy.

  But Greg, arched over Kat’s back and bare bottom, heard, and laughed. ‘You are so dirty, but I really think I love you, Miss Pussy Kat. You really know what I like, don’t you?’

  What is it? What is it?

  And though he was silent as a ninja behind her, Sandy almost imagined she heard Jay echoing her sentiments.

  ‘Mm, you have such a sumptuous arse, sweetheart,’ commented Greg, his hands settling on Kat’s rounded cheeks and pulling them this way and that. ‘And I can’t wait to get my dick inside it.’

  Sandy’s pussy throbbed spontaneously, and without thought or conscious volition she bore down on Jay’s fingers, grinding against him. She could hardly believe what she’d just heard, but anticipating the show ahead made her sex ache and saturate the cloth pressed against it anew.

  The young man moved quickly, making his preparations. Pausing only to fondle his lover’s bottom and crotch now and again, he unzipped his jeans, exposed his penis and then fished in his back pocket and brought out a packet of condoms.

  Greg had a nice cock. A very nice one indeed, and for a moment Sandy wondered what it would be like to sleep with him. She couldn’t deny he had all the goodies a girl could want.

  But then, behind her were other goodies. Better goodies. A man bigger, more dangerous and far more mysterious than the basically fun-loving – and apparently bottom-loving – Greg. As if to restate her allegiances, she rubbed her own bottom against the rock-hard erection behind her, and was rewarded by a slow hard rub at her clit, and a quick kiss on her neck.

  ‘Right, we need something to oil you up, baby,’ announced Greg cheerfully, fondling his rubber-clad penis with one hand and Kat’s nether regions with the other. ‘Any suggestions?’

  ‘There’s some olive oil in the cupboard,’ suggested Kat, squirming.

  Oh no, not the Extra Virgin! Please use the cheaper stuff!

  But Gregg was glancing around the room, and a second later he lit upon the contents of the table and his wicked grin widened. ‘Ah ha! Just the thing! If it’s good enough for Marlon Brando, it’s good enough for me.’

  As if her own pleasure, and her own experience, were compartmentalised somehow, Sandy watching in horrified hilarious astonishment as Greg, the outrageous devil, reached for the butter dish. She wanted to get herself off on Jay’s hand, drag him somewhere and beg him to fuck her. She wanted to grab hold of him and shake him and make him tell her his secrets. But she simply couldn’t stop watching the show unfolding before her.

  To a chorus of giggles and groans from Kat, and his own laughter, Greg lavished the Lurpak Spreadable in his lover’s anal groove, packing the stuff in and making her jerk and grind against him.

  ‘OK, baby, brace yourself!’ he cried cheerfully, positioning himself.

  Kat began to growl like a she-wolf as he slowly pressed inside her.

  It was the hottest thing Sandy had ever seen, the rawest. More outrageous than anything she could even imagine, there was still a sudden beauty in the rude coupling.

  Greg cared. He went steadily. Carefully. Stroking and coaxing Kat and listening to her every moan and breath. He was only doing exactly what she wanted. But after a few c
ircumspect minutes, things got crazy. It was clearly not the first time the couple had done this. They seemed to be old hands. Jammed against the table top, reaching back and grabbing at her paramour’s hips and thighs, Kat’s eyes suddenly popped, widening and starting as she cried, ‘Oh fuck!’ She was coming, and Greg wasn’t far behind her.

  Beneath the hubbub of Kat’s groans and shouts and Greg’s whoop of triumph, Sandy heard the words, ‘Do you want to come?’ She shook her head, but it was more in confusion than negation, and in answer Jay flexed his fingers firmly against her, wickedly playing and taunting her, his grip warm against her clit as he bore down on it through her clothing.

  Tension. Pressure. Heat in her belly. All were almost intolerable, impossible to manage, and still keep quiet. But Sandy contained herself. Just. She wanted to kick, scream, ride Jay’s hand just as Kat had ridden Greg’s not so long ago. She wanted to come, howling and wailing and flailing her legs.

  Yet she didn’t. She simply watched. Her body boiling, her bottom pressed hard against Jay’s cock, she clutched at his sleeve and the folds of her dress, her fingers gouging and crimping, her knuckles white.

  Greg and Kat were chuckling, having the time of their lives. Sandy knew Kat adored her frisky lover, and he adored her right back. There was trust between them, and more, so much more.

  Suddenly, an icicle dropped into the cauldron of her own lust.

  Could she trust Jay? Should she trust him?

  But the shard of doubt only increased her excitement. Jay was unknown, dangerous and complicated. Intrinsically dark with his wounds and a history she sensed was troubled even beyond the monolithic trauma of being smashed near to death in a high-speed car crash.

  He could kill me. He could smash me up in much worse ways than an Aston Martin ever could. He could take control of me. Make me want him. And then just leave.

  Still a squirming slave to pleasure, she felt her mind and memory still working feverishly in a small corner of her consciousness. And for the first time in a long time or perhaps ever, a tiny kernel of resentment against Prince Charming began to fester. He’d left her too. Sowed a dream in her mind that had made every relationship since him come up short. Those few moments they’d spent together had meant nothing to him, but to Sandy they’d been the bedrock of all her girlish and later womanish romantic dreams. And her erotic dreams, oh yes. A thousand fantasy moments in which her prince returned and took her lovingly to bed. A dream that would never happen. But now she had a darker prince, casting a long spell, touching her sex.