‘Kiss it,’ said Micky.
Venny bent her head to the smooth red helmet of his penis, keeping her hand upon its stem while she dropped a kiss onto the top.
‘Nice,’ sighed Micky, pushing up against her mouth, his cock’s little slit opening to release a tiny bead of come.
Eager to co-operate, Venny put the tip of her tongue to his slit and lapped the salty droplet away. Then she whirled her tongue around the head of his penis, and into the ultra-sensitive ridge of tissue under his foreskin while she held the foreskin firmly back with her fingers. As Micky pushed with increasing desperation, lifting his hips off the seat and brandishing his rock-hard cock at her, Venny happily took it right into her mouth, controlling the depth of his penetration with her hand gripped around his straining shaft. As she did so, she was sure she felt the car stop and the engine’s steady, powerful note die away, but she was too involved in what she was doing to take much notice. Only when the door opened beside her did she look up in surprise, blushing with shame to be caught in such an intimate act.
‘I just thought I’d check that everything met with your approval,’ said the chauffeur, doffing his uniform cap and climbing into the back to sit on one of the long side banquettes. ‘We’re a little ahead of schedule, so I wondered if there was anything else I could do for you, to kill a little time? After all, you don’t want to arrive too early.’
Venny sat back on her heels, regaining her composure. She glanced at Micky, and he gave her a grin, but made no move to conceal his tongue-reddened erection. Indeed, he seemed to flaunt it in front of the young chauffeur. Micky sat there with his legs sprawled apart and his hips tilted forward, his naked and very erect penis sticking starkly out of his black trousers. Venny thought that for propriety’s sake he really ought to put it away, but if she found the situation embarrassing, she also found it very exciting. Her own sex was throbbing madly with arousal, and her nipples were rigid again under the thin red fabric of her gown. She saw the chauffeur’s dark eyes drop to her breasts and blushed even harder. He was quite a handsome young man, with straight brown hair and a very direct gaze. Although not tall, he was compact and muscular, and there was something very alluring about a man in a chauffeur’s neat grey uniform and black highly polished boots. It was pretty obvious that he’d seen what they were doing in the back of the car, and was keen to join in.
‘Actually there is something you can do,’ said Micky casually. ‘You can fuck her while she blows me.’
Venny looked at Micky. Micky returned her look with a look of his own. It said: well, are you up for it or not? You say you’re so relaxed now, so different from the uptight Venny you were before. So here’s your chance to prove it, once and for all.
Venny looked back at the eager young man on the side seat. A gauntlet had been thrown down, and she was determined to pick it up. ‘Will you do it? I want you to do it,’ she assured him.
‘Well, I’d be pleased to,’ he said huskily.
‘Good.’ Micky leaned back against the seat once more. ‘Come on, get on with it, Venny.’ He glanced at the chauffeur. ‘You join in when you like, pal. Is that all right?’
‘Fine,’ said the young chauffeur, swallowing convulsively as he watched Venny move between Micky’s legs again.
As she once more bent to lick and suck at Micky’s exuberantly upright penis, Venny was very aware of what the young chauffeur must be seeing from behind her – the low seductive back of her gown which revealed nearly the whole of her back, right down to her buttocks. In fact, she knew that he could even see a glimpse of her bumslit, the very top of it – just a teensy, teasing glimpse but a glimpse nevertheless, at the very bottom of the gown’s outrageously cut back. It must be obvious to him that she was not wearing briefs – and a bra was out of the question with a gown like this, and anyway hadn’t he already looked at her nipples? He knew she was naked beneath her gown.
Quivering with excitement and anticipation, Venny tried hard to concentrate on Micky’s hot and horny penis, but she was also thinking about that other penis, tucked into those tight uniform trousers and soon to be released and used upon her cunt. She couldn’t hear him moving yet. Suddenly she was aware that she was hungrily waiting for his movements, waiting for that first hard nudge up between the swollen lips as he strove to locate her with the head of his cock.
‘Concentrate, Venny,’ said Micky with a chuckle, twining the fingers of one hand into her hair to keep her head just where he wanted it.
And now, with his hand holding her head like that, she couldn’t turn, couldn’t look. The chauffeur could be upon her at any moment. But the feeling was good, so good that she moaned as her mouth closed once again upon Micky’s erection.
Micky sighed blissfully and leaned over, fiddling with something out of her line of vision. Now what was he doing? wondered Venny. He kept her head still while he moved, kept her pinioned there with her mouth attending to his cock.
‘Try this,’ said Micky, straightening up and slipping something startlingly cold between her lips.
Venny nearly gulped in surprise, but she controlled it. It was an ice cube! He’d raided the fridge in search of new sensations. Venny smoothed the rapidly melting cube of ice over her tongue, then ran her chilled tongue around her lips to cool them. She repeated the exercise twice more, and then spat the cube into her hand and applied her cold lips to Micky’s prick. She heard his sharp intake of breath and smiled against his shaft as her lips slid up and down it. Micky’s hips came off the seat and she knew that he wanted her to take the head into her mouth now, needed her to do that.
But she held back, teasing him.
She continued to caress his shaft with her lips and tongue, relishing the silky texture of his cock, such a vivid contrast to its total hardness. She inhaled deeply, loving the gamey male scent that arose from his sex. His hand on her hair tightened convulsively as her tongue fluttered deliciously around the indentation beneath his glans – so near and yet so far.
‘Jesus, Venny,’ Micky groaned, and only then did she do as he wanted and close her mouth over his come-covered glans, sucking his salty juices while she pulled at his quivering shaft with her hand.
He was going to come. She felt it in his shaking thighs, his harsh breathing, the unconscious savagery with which he gripped her hair. And now she wanted him to. This, she thought, was absolute power, to have a man helpless with lust while you did this to him. But suddenly she was distracted from her goal. She became aware of the young man behind her lifting the back of her gown. She felt air on her naked buttocks, and an indrawn breath. There was a brush of coarse material between her thighs, and the chauffeur’s thighs were abruptly between hers, pushing them apart. She heard his zip come down, and then a hard, warm cylinder of flesh was pushing between the soaked lips of her sex, pushing up briefly against her clit and making it leap with pleasure before pulling back and nudging into her aching, empty cunt.
The chauffeur came into her in a rush, thrusting up with such heavy desperation that she felt his naked balls slap hard against her buttocks. Still nuzzling Micky’s cock but finding it increasingly hard to lavish attention on his satisfaction when she was suddenly very concerned for her own, Venny eagerly lunged back against the steady encroachment of the hard male organ behind her.
As the chauffeur thrust forwards, she thrust back, and they were soon performing a dance as old as time itself, meeting each other in a frenzy again and again, her hips pushing back, her buttocks slapping against him as his upright cock thrust up and forwards.
And then Micky came, his seed shooting into Venny’s mouth like a series of shots from a pistol, creamy and full of salty savour. Venny groaned in delight and swallowed his rich ejaculation as if it were the finest, the most expensive sea-fresh oyster. Micky moaned her name. Darling Venny, she heard him say, and that was so touching, so sweet.
The chauffeur was enjoying himself too, thrusting so vigorously against Venny now that she was having to brace herself firmly against Mi
cky’s thighs to stop herself from overbalancing. His orgasm was a far more noisy affair than Micky’s. He clutched at her waist and almost lifted her from the floor of the car, emitting a series of sharp cries that would not have disgraced a Tarzan movie. She felt the young man swelling and surging inside her as his seed was spilled, and moved desperately against Micky’s shin like a bitch in heat, rubbing her tingling clitoris against him until she too came, moaning and gasping out her pleasure into the rich cloth on Micky’s thigh.
‘Well, we’d better get on over to the hotel now,’ said Micky, refastening his fly.
Venny was sad to see his lively and lovely prick doing its vanishing act back inside his trousers, but he had a point. She glanced at the little gold wristwatch she wore. It was gone eight now. She turned and gave the chauffeur a grateful smile. He too was tucking his cock away. Suddenly shy, she pulled her gown back down to cover her exposed buttocks.
‘That was wonderful,’ she said, feeling that some sort of thanks should be expressed.
‘Oh, any time,’ returned the chauffeur, reassembling his clothing and stepping back out into the night.
Presently he got back behind the wheel and the engine purred into life once again. The limo started to move back into the flow of the traffic.
Venny cuddled up against Micky to enjoy the ride.
By the time they arrived at the Cranleigh Hotel in Piccadilly, the joint was jumping. Venny was quite staggered by the number of people there, even though she had been prepared for a crowd. There were restaurant critics, restaurateurs, chefs, staff, food suppliers, food writers, and sundry hangers-on and guests swelled the numbers still further.
The big banqueting hall was packed to bursting. There was a crush of people searching, most of them already clutching drinks, for their place markers at the ten-seater circular tables. Venny looked around and thought that Dani had done her usual excellent job in making the whole thing look opulent and eye-filling. She’d gone for yellow, white and green on the table arrangements in the end – yellow flowers at the centre of each table, lime-green tablecloths, white and yellow napery; the whole room looked magnificent. And up on the stage, also decorated with mounds of yellow flowers, was Jamie’s ice sculpture, the centrepiece beside which the awards would be made by a well-known television celebrity.
Venny squinted up at it while Micky was busy chatting to people he knew in the crowd. She’d never been sculpted before, and she was eager to get a good look at it. She looked now, long and hard.
She quickly discovered that the woman in the sculpture wasn’t her.
What the hell? she wondered in bewilderment.
She struggled closer and stared up at the sculpture. The man with whom the woman was linked in an icy kiss was recognisably Micky. It had his porcupine hairstyle, his slender, muscular grace of body. But the ice woman was much smaller than Venny, smaller in every way. Shorter and less curvy. And the hair was different. Shorter, straighter. And the profile, too. The profile, in fact, looked like Dani’s profile.
‘You’ve seen it then.’ It was Dani, bustling up beside her with a tray of glasses in her hand. As always when she was working, Dani looked the very picture of respectability. The ear, nose and eyebrow furniture was all gone, and even her make-up was muted. She wore a dark dress, and a pristine white pinny.
Venny opened her mouth a couple of times but no sound came out. At last she managed: ‘But it was supposed to be me and Micky.’
Dani’s expression was thunderous. ‘That’s what Jamie told everyone,’ she said angrily. ‘This is obviously his twisted idea of a joke. Can you imagine the ribbing I’ve been taking from all the staff I’ve hired? It took them two seconds flat to realise it was me up there, and I haven’t heard the last of it since. I am going to kill that little bastard.’
‘I think it might be my fault,’ admitted Venny with reluctance. ‘I was upset that you and Micky got together when we split up, and I told Jamie about it when I went there to sit for the sculpture.’
Dani stared at her incredulously. ‘For God’s sake, Venny!’ she burst out.
‘I know, I know.’ Venny squirmed. She glanced around. ‘Look, I’ve got to go and get seated; everyone else is already in place. I’m really, really sorry, Dani.’
Dani looked up at the ice sculpture, then back at Venny, and her face softened a little. ‘Oh, forget it. Jamie’s had his fun now. Let’s hope that’s the end of it.’ Venny found Micky among the tables and sat down next to him. The waiting staff were starting to dish up the first course. She didn’t know anyone else on their table, but it was obvious that Micky did. Micky seemed to know everyone in the business – whereas she had only ever thought of her restaurant as just that. A business. She thought about that, and realised abruptly that although it would help her profits to win the award, it would mean very little to her personally. But to Micky, who loved the business, who lived for cooking and food and the whole buzz of owning a restaurant, it meant so much more.
Micky deserved to win.
And she didn’t.
‘Have you seen that sculpture?’ Micky asked her with a grin.
Venny gulped back her bubbly and nodded when a waiter offered her a top-up.
‘That’s Dani up there with me in a clinch, isn’t it?’ Micky eyed her curiously. ‘But I thought Jamie was sketching you for it.’
‘So did Dani,’ said Venny, aware that the other guests at their table were earwigging like mad. ‘She’s hopping mad with Jamie.’
‘Sorry,’ said Micky sympathetically.
‘Oh, I don’t suppose it really matters,’ sighed Venny. ‘Where is Jamie, anyway? I thought he’d be here for at least part of the evening, to see how the thing actually looks up there.’
‘Well, I think it’s a very good likeness of me,’ said Micky, laughing. ‘Particularly the cock.’
Venny glanced over at the sculpture. The male figure had a massive erection. God! Why hadn’t she noticed that earlier?
Because I was in shock, thought Venny, that’s why.
‘Jamie’s up on the stage now,’ Micky pointed out, looking over with interest. ‘I don’t want to be alarmist, but he appears to have a blowtorch in his hand. It’s probably my blowtorch, come to think of it.’
Other people at the table – and at the other tables too – were looking up at the stage, wondering what a man in a kilt was doing up there on the stage wielding a blowtorch.
A kilt? thought Venny. She’d never once seen Jamie in a kilt, so why was he wearing one now, as the Scots did on those ceremonial occasions like Hogmanay and Burns Night?
But maybe that was it. Ceremonial. Maybe Jamie was about to do something he saw as deeply significant to his Scots honour.
‘Someone ought to get him down from there,’ said Venny, glancing around in the hope of catching the eye of some of the bouncers who had earlier been on the door, admitting ticket-holders only. And of course they’d have let Jamie in. Jamie would have a ticket. Dani would have got him one some time ago. Before she had discovered what an all-round mad bastard he was.
Micky too was looking around, searching the room with his eyes for bouncers. There were two standing by the door. One of them was looking over to the stage, where Jamie was now strumming the microphone beside his sculpture.
‘Testing, one, two, three,’ he said in his deep Glasgow burr.
The waiting staff were glancing up at him too, but clearly Dani was ordering them about their duties, telling them to ignore him, to just carry on with serving the first course. The bouncers were just starting to move across the room.
‘Dani,’ boomed out over the speaker system.
Dani, at the far side of the room, looked around as if she’d been goosed.
‘This is for you, Dani,’ Jamie shouted, and set the naked flame from a cigarette lighter to the roaring throat of the blowtorch. A long tongue of yellow flame shot from the end of it. He adjusted the setting. Then the colour dimmed to blue.
‘He isn’t,’ said Venny in
a horrified whisper.
‘He bloody well is,’ said Micky.
And he was. He was melting the sculpture with the blowtorch. As soon as the blue flame touched the female figure, water started to cascade down and drip onto the stage.
Dani looked up in disbelief, and several of the waiting staff, bustling about with fully laden trays, glanced over at her anxiously, wondering if they should continue, or stop what they were doing.
‘Get on with it,’ hissed Dani at them, making urgent shooing motions with her hands.
The waiting staff carried on, skirting the stage. Unfortunately the water from the fast-melting sculpture was now dripping over the edge of the stage and onto the highly-polished floor beneath. One of the waiters slipped, and chilled lobster bisque went shooting up into the air and fell in a huge pink cascade, landing on several of the diners, who leapt up with squeals and shouts of protest.
‘He’s better entertainment value than a circus, that boy,’ laughed Micky.
The bouncers were struggling to cross the huge room against the sudden chaos of people leaving their seats and making for the doors. One collapsed in a flailing heap as he neared the stage, taking three of the diners with him. One of the women who had fallen was so irate she started belabouring the bouncer with a sequinned handbag.
Venny stared, fascinated, as the sculpture quickly lost its shape. Dani was gone now; there was only Micky left, and Jamie was busy attacking the ice-Micky’s erection with the blowtorch.
‘Ouch,’ said Micky, watching.
One of the bouncers reached the stage, and from the wings a uniformed security guard came charging out. The guard went skidding past Jamie to land with a thump on the other side of the stage, but the bouncer grabbed Jamie. The blowtorch fell to the floor and the security guard crawled to his feet, dripping and slithering about, and grabbed Jamie’s ankles. Jamie’s feet flew from under him, and all three of the men went down in a churning mass of flying fists, arms and legs.
‘It’s true then,’ said Venny.
‘What’s true?’ Micky asked her, grinning with enjoyment as he refilled their glasses. Everyone else on the table was gone, thundering towards the doors like wildebeest during summer migration.
After Hours: Black Lace Classics Page 23
