Venny stiffened in surprise. His hot male body was pressed up tight against her buttocks. And was that a rolling pin in his pocket, or was he rather more pleased to see her than she had anticipated? He picked up the scraper and showed her how to scrape away the skins from the potatoes. ‘These are Pink Fir Apple,’ said Anton right beside her ear. His breath tickled her lobe almost unbearably. She could smell that he was very clean – no surprises there. The sweet odours of soap and cologne drifted around him.
‘Oh,’ she said, not very intelligently. She was more interested in that rolling pin. She discreetly wriggled her arse back just a little and came to the conclusion that this was not a rolling pin, but a very erect penis.
‘You like that, yes?’ asked Anton, scraping away at the potatoes while his pole-like cock moved against her buttocks. ‘My penis, yes?’
Goodness, thought Venny. Maybe not so anally retentive as she’d thought, after all. ‘Your penis, yes,’ she echoed faintly, swallowing convulsively as the manic desire to laugh gripped her.
‘Good. You try now. Hold it tight.’ He handed her the scraper, lying his large blond-furred hands on her forearms to guide her. Oh, well, thought Venny, and started scraping. She would much rather hold his cock tight, but she was humouring him here.
‘No, no!’ burst out Anton suddenly. ‘You are scraping too deep. Wasting too much potato, yes?’
‘Yes,’ allowed Venny. So what? she thought acidly. Hardly a hanging offence, was it? Hardly a matter for judge and jury.
‘I think you are a very bad girl,’ Anton scolded her in his sexily accented English.
‘Guess so,’ said Venny lightly.
‘Bad girls have to be punished, yes?’ Anton’s warm body drew away from the back of hers. ‘Now you pull down your pants, Venetia, and I will punish you.’
Wow! Not anal retentive at all. By this time she was starting to get quite seriously aroused. She wished he’d put his body back against hers, but she felt very stimulated by his unexpected request and more than happy to play along.
‘I’m not wearing pants,’ said Venny breathlessly.
‘But such behaviour is shameless,’ said Anton, looking genuinely scandalised. ‘You will prove this. Lift your skirt. Show me.’
With a frisson of pleasure Venny complied, lifting her suit skirt very slowly, so that he first appreciated her lace-topped hold-up stockings, and the fine contrast between the tan of the thin nylon mesh and her own much paler, finer skin. Her well-shaped thighs had the translucent sheen of silk pulled tight over a pad of the finest down. She heard Anton catch his breath in appreciation. Then she proceeded until the lower swell of her arse became visible to him. Proceeding further, and leaning forwards against the worktop as she did so, she slowly bared her bumslit to him. At last she held her skirt up around her waist so that the whole of her delectable buttocks were exposed. Feeling extremely turned on at the thought of him watching from right behind her, she gave her naked bottom a little wiggle, teasing him with it.
‘Ach!’ said Anton. ‘Such a very bad girl.’
To Venny’s surprise, a stinging slap was administered to her private parts. She squealed in pain, and the tender skin of her arse throbbed hotly. Venny glanced over her shoulder and saw that Anton had taken up an icing ruler; it was obviously this that had been whacked across her buttocks. She could see the outline of his aroused penis even more clearly now, rearing up underneath his chef’s whites, and he was breathing hard. He looked up at the clock. Venny looked up at it, too, in curiosity, while wincing a little from the stinging pain Anton had inflicted on her. The clock chimed as another minute passed, and out popped the cuckoo with a chirrup.
Smack.
Venny let out a cry as pleasure and pain warred within her. Oh, that icing ruler hurt. It really hurt. And yet at the same time, standing here half-naked before an aroused man while he slapped her backside was wildly exhilarating, hugely exciting. Her nipples were suddenly standing starkly to attention. She craned her head around and saw that he was watching the clock again. The seconds were ticking swiftly by. Venny watched the clock too; and then there came the chime, the cuckoo’s ghastly call, and she was slapped again, whacked right across her tender butt with the icing ruler. She groaned.
‘Ah, that hurts you, yes?’ Anton crowed. ‘And so it should, such a wicked girl you are. No pants – and wasting the potatoes.’
‘I’m sorry,’ gasped Venny, joining in the fun. ‘I’ll try to be good, Anton.’
But he was clock-watching again. Venny’s nerves tingled enjoyably as she too looked at that monstrosity he’d hung on the wall. She wondered vaguely if she was going to be phobic about horology for the rest of her days, after this. Suddenly, another minute was up. The second hand seemed to be whizzing around the dial now, unstoppable. The thing chimed. The cuckoo squeaked. Anton’s arm swung, and Venny let out a shout of pain. Her buttocks seemed so hot that she felt they must almost be glowing. She glanced back, and down. They were very pink, but no welts had been raised. He was perhaps being careful with her. She looked at Anton. He had paused in lambasting her, and while the icing ruler hung in one fist, his other hand rubbed busily against the hard outline of his erection.
And oh, the clock was still ticking, those seconds were racing by like a whirlwind.
Again, the cuckoo cried out.
So did Venny as the ruler hit her backside again.
It was almost too much for her now. Her buttocks felt quite sore. Also, her slit felt very damp. She was sure that he must be able to see the snail-trail of desire that was wetting her thighs with juice now. As if to confirm this, she felt Anton’s hand touching her lust-swollen crotch. He spread his fingers and by so doing pushed the cheeks of her arse open wide. Leaning over the worktop and breathing heavily, Venny imagined the picture she was presenting to her sadistic employee. She could feel her anus clenching, puckering with excitement; her labia were hopelessly soaked and swollen; her clit was leaping and twitching hungrily beneath its concealing hood; and her cunt felt so empty, so juicy, so unbearably open that she felt he must be able to see right up inside her. Of course he couldn’t, but it certainly felt like that.
The cuckoo clamoured again, and she tensed in anticipation of the blow, her hands clenching into fists on the worktop, her nails digging into her palms. Her teeth caught her lower lip almost hard enough to draw blood.
But the blow never came. Instead Anton was moving around the worktops again – no doubt fetching some new instrument of torture to torment her. With a groan of acute arousal, Venny felt the pressure of his body hard against her own once more, his still-clothed cock pressing desperately against her, and then his fingers were delving down between her legs, pushing them wider, inserting something – please, let it be his penis soon! she thought – into the wide-open depths of her wet vagina.
It wasn’t his penis. Venny felt a weird fizzing sensation in her pussy and straightened in alarm. What was he doing to her now? But Anton kept her pinned there against the worktop with his body when she would have squirmed upright. And as the seconds passed, and the damned cuckoo let out its ugly squawk again, she began to feel that the fizzing was in fact very pleasurable. It tickled and teased at her soft inner surfaces; she felt more wetness trickling from her as her body responded to the stimulation.
‘What?’ she gasped out.
‘Alka Seltzer,’ said Anton beside her ear. ‘Feels good, yes?’
‘Yes,’ groaned Venny as Anton’s mobile fingers started making incursions into other more forbidden places. One finger wriggled inside her anus, and then another pushed a tablet up there too. Again, there was that unbearably arousing sensation, like champagne shooting from a bottle after it had been vigorously shaken, like cascades of foam frothing around her most secret parts and tickling them with an intensity that made her wince and cry out. Her heart seemed to be beating its way right out of her chest, and her nipples felt as hard as bottle tops. Moisture flooded her now.
‘Ah, now you are ready,
yes?’ asked Anton.
Too ready, thought Venny, thinking that orgasm was only a heartbeat away. Furiously she pressed herself against the edge of the worktop, seeking relief.
‘Yes, ready,’ Anton noted, and it was as if she were a recipe he had whipped up and was now ready to taste for seasoning. She felt him fumbling with his trousers beneath his chef’s whites, and pushed back with even more desperation than she had just a second ago been pushing forwards.
‘Steady, liebling,’ breathed Anton, and now, at last, the blunt head of his penis was presented at the foaming gate of her cunt. Venny let out an involuntary cry and pushed herself down onto it. Anton slipped easily into her, pressing forwards until his delightfully full organ was lodged deep inside her.
‘Now we thrust, yes?’ he said.
Get on with it! thought Venny desperately. Yes, thrust!
But he paused.
He paused until the cuckoo emerged from its hiding-place and squawked. And then he slipped his penis back out of her, almost until he was dislodged from her but not quite; he paused again, waiting, waiting.
Waiting for the clock.
Venny leaned against the worktop in a groaning heap of hopeless arousal, listening to the unbearable tick-tock of the infernal thing until the cuckoo was catapulted from its nest once again. And at that instant Anton’s penis surged back up into her so suddenly, so violently, that her breath was expelled on a gasp.
‘Bastard,’ she said weakly. ‘Oh, you bastard.’
‘Ha! Such a very bad girl you are.’ Anton was clearly enjoying himself hugely. Huge was a good word for it. His cock was long and full and hot, and Venny wanted more of it, far more, right now.
But again he was watching the clock. Finally, the cuckoo sang its ghastly song. Anton withdrew, almost completely. Then the waiting, the terrible waiting, and the cuckoo singing again, and then the violent, delicious, longed-for thrust of his hips and the glorious feeling of his fullness deep inside her.
‘Ha, now we are cooking on gas, yes, liebling?’ chuckled Anton.
‘Yes,’ choked Venny weakly, barely able to utter over the tumult of her pulse. Every nerve in her body was rioting now, anticipating pleasure upon pleasure until she could stand no more. ‘Ah!’ she squealed as he withdrew. ‘Oh!’ she moaned as he plunged back in up to the hilt, ramming the base of his shaft right up against her so that she felt his crinkly pubic hair and his engorged balls.
Anton was panting now as he laboured behind her, and she sensed that it was taking every ounce of his self-control to carry on with this. She felt him clutching at the stem of his cock to slow himself down. Even so, she knew he could not last much longer. She certainly couldn’t, either, and she was relieved and gratified when at last Anton seemed to lose his rigidly self-imposed rhythm and give in to the animalism of the moment.
Enthusiastically now and without restraint he ignored the clock and fucked her furiously. Fizzing and throbbing and filled with cock, her clit pressed hard up against the worktop, Venny felt her orgasm begin and let out a wild cry just as Anton cried out too. Their cries mingled and echoed in the empty kitchen, and the cuckoo joined in too, as if mocking them.
Anton pumped like a maniac as he emptied his cock of seed. With no hint of his former restraint, he clasped her hips roughly and drove into her with a vengeance while she throbbed and clutched and cried in the throes of her pleasure.
At last, they were still. After a few moments to compose himself, Anton slipped his penis out of her wet depths. It came free with a resounding slurp. Venny turned a little, still breathless and weak in the knees, and saw him drop his apron back over his still upright pink penis. It glistened with her juices. She was quite sorry to see it vanish beneath his apron.
‘You liked that, yes?’ panted Anton, smiling at her.
‘Um, yes.’ Venny put a hand to her hair, then realised her skirt was still up around her waist and that he was eyeing her exposed pubes as if considering another bout. She wasn’t sure her bottom could take the strain. Hurriedly, she pushed her skirt back into place. Her abused buttocks throbbed and burned, and she was still fizzing away like a drunk’s morning-after cure down there. She needed a shower, she thought. She was sweaty and wet and she smelled very strongly of sex.
‘I’m popping back home for an hour or so,’ said Venny, managing to straighten without wincing. Slowly, her heartbeat was getting back to normal. ‘I need a shower after that’
‘I will take care of everything here,’ Anton assured her.
I just bet you will, thought Venny, watching him as he went to readjust the mechanism on the cuckoo clock. His cock was still tenting the front of his apron; he hadn’t yet put it back inside his trousers. She felt her cunt throb briefly at that thought. Now, whoa there, girl, she thought. After all, she thought as she went to get her bag from upstairs, she was going home to shower – to wash the scent of Anton’s sex off her body. And it did occur to her, briefly and annoyingly, that if that had been Micky’s come now leaking out of her and wetting the tops of her stockings, she would have let it dry on her skin, and relished the smell of it throughout the long, hot day.
Chapter Thirteen
It seemed like the worst kind of coincidence – or maybe it was just fate – but when she got back to the apartment by the lock, there was a man stepping into the elevator just in front of her. Venny felt a rush of nervous perspiration spring up on her brow. Her nipples swelled and rose to hardness. Her clit twitched. Oh, God; oh, God. It was him. The spiky dark hair, the slouch suit cut loosely to hang from the broad shoulders and so accentuate them. Micky turned and his eyes swept over her at first without recognition; then his mouth curved up in a swift smile, and the blue eyes twinkled at her just as boldly, as intimately, as they had ever done.
‘Um – what are you doing here?’ she asked him as he pressed the button for her floor and hauled the clanking wrought-iron safety cage closed behind them. Venny leaned back against the wall just as far away from him as she could get. By so doing, she pressed her sore buttocks back against the hard interior surface of the lift, and started forwards in a hurry, only just managing to stifle a yelp of pain.
Micky was watching her curiously. She felt at a distinct disadvantage here. He looked so cool and collected, and she was frankly ruffled, and wet from sex, and his well-trained chef’s nose was so sharp that she was sure he could smell it on her.
‘Just visiting Caspar,’ said Micky casually. ‘My brother, if you remember.’
‘Of course I remember,’ snapped Venny.
‘Actually, I’m glad I’ve run into you,’ said Micky thoughtfully, coming closer.
‘Actually,’ said Venny sarcastically, ‘you did run into me. With your car. If you remember. And you haven’t paid me yet.’
‘I’ll put a cheque through the door today,’ said Micky.
‘Good.’
‘But there was something else I wanted to say to you.’
Why was this damned lift so slow? wondered Venny irritably. Being true to the character and atmosphere of the building was all very well, but would a good modern high-speed lift really have been such a bad thing when they renovated the place?
And it wasn’t only the slowness of the thing. Venny couldn’t help remembering that the last time they had been in this lift alone together, she’d been as good as naked apart from a belt or two and he had been giving her a very enjoyable pussy-licking. And of course he was remembering that too. She could see it in his eyes.
‘Right, go on, then,’ she said, folding her arms and instantly hating herself for the unconscious gesture. It made her look defensive, as if she were under attack. She unfolded them quickly.
‘What I wanted to say was this.’ Micky had walked forwards, hands in trouser pockets, until he stood right in front of her. A whiff of his cologne and the musk scent of his skin teased at her nostrils and she almost moaned aloud with suppressed longing. Micky’s blue eyes had lost their laughter and were deadly serious now. ‘Venny, I shouldn’t
have done what I did. I shouldn’t have got Caspar to help me tap into your private files. I should have realised how offended you’d be by that. All I can say is that I did it because I was desperate to know you better. You are a very self-contained woman, and I found your reserve frustrating, so I cracked and hacked in. It wasn’t done out of any sort of malice. It was just to get closer to you. The irony is, by trying to get closer to you I drove you away, didn’t I? Well, I’m sorry. That’s all.’
‘Is that it?’ asked Venny faintly. He was apologising! Well, miracles would never cease.
‘No. It isn’t.’ Micky drew closer, placing a hand on either side of her head. His breath tickled her face now. And she had retreated to the lift wall again, and her buttocks were smarting horribly. ‘The Blue Ribbon awards, Venny. Beurre Blanc’s doing fine, and I hear you’ve got a good chef now, so Box of Delights is in with a good chance too?’
Venny nodded cautiously.
‘Well, I’m pleased for you. Really.’
He really did look as if he meant it. Venny suddenly felt like a complete heel, because he had sold the hut in Whitstable, his precious hut, to fund his restaurant, and if she hadn’t been so bloody awkward he would still have it, plus a partnership with her. This was a very generous gesture he was making, and she didn’t deserve it, because she hadn’t been generous with him, not at all.
‘I don’t see why this should come between us,’ said Micky, gazing deep into her troubled green eyes. ‘The best man or woman will win, whether we fight or not. Agreed?’
‘I suppose so,’ said Venny guardedly, thinking of Robert Fielding the judge, and the rather special treatment he had received at her hands the other night. Micky, of course, didn’t know about that. And she certainly wasn’t going to tell him. The Blue Ribbon was as good as hers, but if Micky wanted to feel he was in with a chance too, who was she to tell him otherwise? She hoped he’d be runner-up, at least. He deserved that, if he couldn’t be the winner; and he would still get a huge amount of publicity from second place, enough to fill his restaurant for months on end, get him a column in one of the food magazines, perhaps even – who knew? – secure him a television deal. He had the sort of quirky ebullience and self-assurance that television producers seemed to like.
After Hours: Black Lace Classics Page 17
