by Various
‘I thought we could put her in the barn, Heidi,’ Helena said to the beautiful blonde servant. ‘She has been making too much noise. She needs to be where she won’t be heard.’
Heidi smiled. ‘You know your mother would not like the barn. Come. We will take her up to the bedroom I have prepared for you.’ To Ingrid she said, ‘You will be comfortable there. I will look after you.’
Ingrid went scarlet with embarrassment and protested that she would be all right on her own, that she did not want to be a nuisance. As she spoke the bag of urine slid to the floor. Ingrid flushed more brightly as Heidi picked it up and laid it on her stomach once more.
‘Someone will need to help you until we can get you free of your shackles,’ she observed.
‘Don’t worry, Heidi. We’ll stay with her,’ Richard said. ‘But maybe you can help us get her up to the room. We’ll use the lift.’
Heidi led them to the lift and opened the doors for them. There was room for only three people inside. When they had manoeuvred Ingrid into the lift and leaned her against the back wall, there was only room for two. Heidi stepped inside.
‘We will meet you on the second floor,’ Helena said.
The doors closed and Ingrid began her journey upwards.
Upstairs they reversed the process, carrying Ingrid to the bedroom and laying her on the bed. She was still scarlet with embarrassment. Heidi bent to kiss her cheek. ‘Do not be embarrassed. Everyone here is accustomed to bondage of one type or another. Look.’ She lifted her skirt to show Ingrid her chastity belt. ‘I wear it all the time, but,’ she said with a smile, ‘Richard managed to get around it on one memorable occasion.’
Ingrid looked less uncomfortable. ‘He manages to get around most things in time.’
‘He even got around Mutti’s iron frame and catheter today,’ Helena remarked.
Ingrid’s blush returned full strength. ‘Helena!’ she scolded.
‘And they spent the whole afternoon fucking,’ Helena went on as if she hadn’t heard. ‘Just look at her. She should be worn out by the non-stop sex, but she was trying to seduce him again on the way over here. Once she is free of the rack, she’ll give him no rest. All I get is what she’s left.’
‘Speaking of racks, do you know if Margaret took the keys for this one?’ Richard asked Heidi.
‘I do not know.’
‘We’ll go have a look.’ Richard beckoned for Helena to follow him. To Ingrid he said, ‘We’re going to look for the keys. Heidi will entertain you until we get back.’ To Heidi he said, ‘She likes to have her clitoris licked and bitten, but be gentle. She’s had a long day.’
Ingrid flushed with renewed embarrassment. ‘Don’t you dare!’ she said to Heidi.
‘Pay no attention,’ Richard said. ‘Once she feels your tongue she’ll change her mind.’
Heidi climbed on to the bed and settled herself between Ingrid’s parted thighs. She wet her lips and bent down to Ingrid’s cunt.
Ingrid thrashed futilely in her irons, unable to move away from the descending mouth. Her protests followed them down the hallway.
ANGEL
Lindsay Gordon
About the Author
Lindsay Gordon is, by the standards of any genre, an excellent writer. Her erotic fiction encompasses just about every fetish in the canon of perversion, always written with a compelling, reflective and ultimately arousing quality. Forum said of The Bond, Lindsay’s third Nexus novel, that it ‘rescues the vampire novel from the lush clutches of Anne Rice’. The following extract is from Angel, a dystopic erotic tale featuring an Orwellian nightmare world in which the privileged exploit the underprivileged for sexual gain, and always press their advantage – until the tables are turned. It’s some of the most original erotic fiction you’re frankly likely to read anywhere.
Also by Lindsay Gordon
RITES OF OBEDIENCE
THE SUBMISSION GALLERY
THE BOND
SEE-THROUGH
A LONE INSIDE the gents’ bathroom, Angel threw water on his face. Straightening up, he adjusted his tie – he could almost complete a Windsor knot now. He smoothed his hair back and took a mint from a small dish beside the white facecloths. Inside the third cubicle, he locked the door behind him, lowered the toilet seat and then climbed up to feel the top of the cistern. His reaching hands touched paper. Carefully, he withdrew the padded envelope from the plumbing. As he brought the weight of it against his chest and stepped down from the toilet seat, he heard the jingle of chains inside the envelope. His stomach turned over. What was the fascination with these strange bindings?
He checked the time: three minutes remained until his appointment was due to commence. Leaving the gents’, he walked down a plushly carpeted hall of red. Still was the air, sombre the atmosphere. It was as if he walked on hallowed ground. The walls on either side of him were wood-panelled. It had been designed to look unlike a medical facility and made him wonder where the operations were carried out. On this floor the powerful surgeons, the transformers and lengtheners of life, gave consultations. Somewhere behind one of the oak doors he passed, a man cleared his throat. And then a drawer was closed on the other side of the corridor. The sounds were incongruously sharp.
On the door of number thirty-eight, a small brass plaque at eye-level was inscribed with the title of Dr M. Sutton. Outside the door, he smelled a trace of perfume. Had she prepared herself for him? The thought made him shiver with excitement. There could be no error this time. One woman, one room, a locked door and closed blinds; there was little risk. And a doctor; an educated woman. Already, he fantasised about other illicit trysts with this woman and her powerful mind. A lover and mentor who could tell him where he fitted into the scheme of things. His ignorance and clumsiness would vanish and he too could stake a claim in her society.
He held the door handle. It was cold in the palm of his hand. For a moment he paused and inhaled the distilled air of power – sharp with brass, tangy with wood – and told himself he could not have found a better occupation in more spectacular surroundings. For the first time as a companion he truly recognised his own love and devotion for the corporate world. He willingly offered himself as a sacrifice.
Sensing a desire for surprise, he never announced himself with a knock. The office was vast. It was big enough and sufficiently grand to be part of a palace with its porcelain, bronzes, aspidistras, oils, chandeliers and fireplace. Besides the heavy desk there was little to suggest that any work took place in here. But he only allowed himself a fraction of a second to take in the opulence, because a greater prize than the furnishings waited for him. Behind the desk, facing the window, was the figure of a woman. Tall with long red hair, she stood with her back to him and smoked a cigarette – a habit that had returned to fashion since synthetic tobaccos had been made beneficial to respiratory health. She never turned around. Besides what he thought to be a tensing of her shoulders at the sound of the door, she never moved. Angel walked to the front of her desk. The envelope in his hands felt heavy, and he with it suddenly ridiculous.
At last, she turned to face him. Though pale and thin-faced, there was something eminently handsome about her, like the woman who watched a polo match from beneath the wide brim of a hat on the label of a vodka brand he had seen on the subway sidings. The crimson of her painted lips was startling, but the way her mouth thinned in response to his welcoming smile made her seem troubled.
She looked away from him and drew on her cigarette. It was fitted into a black holder. ‘So you came,’ she said, after exhaling the smoke she held inside her chest for what seemed a long time. ‘I never doubted you would, but…’ She paused and smiled sadly. ‘But then, don’t you think there is too great a distance between what you dream of and the moment when, supposedly, it arrives?’
He wanted to say something, but the buzzing in his head and the hot wash of self-consciousness kept him mute. The moment was lost. The trace of a melancholy smile remained though, in the creases that deepened at the
side of her mouth. It was as if, through his hesitation and silence, he had actually said something naive.
‘This is it, then,’ she said to herself.
Angel hadn’t expected this. His ideas of what to expect were never clear. How foolish he was to think of some connection. She was older, supremely intelligent, a separate species from those left in the townships.
‘You know …’ she began to say, but then stopped again and filled her lungs with smoke instead. To break the silence and the thickness of the air that seemed to be forever dropping slowly to the floor around them, Angel tore open the envelope. She flinched at the ripping sound. He swallowed. Refusing to look at what he poured, silvery and twisting, on to the desk top, she looked into his eyes. The sound of the chains and the wide cuffs, rattling against the wood, seemed unnecessarily loud, as if this inanimate thing were against them.
‘I really don’t think this can be done,’ she then said, her smile nervous. ‘Maybe if this is done to me. Then something will start that should never be seen. If …’ Her sentences were breaking apart like the thoughts that created them, but abandoned them and then made other thoughts jostle forward in a kind of confused crowd.
He understood her doubts and walked back to the door. She never made a sound. It was as if he had felt her freeze behind his back. He imagined the smoke from the cigarette still moving across that intensity in her eyes. Yes, despite her sudden display of reticence, there was something uncompromising about her face. And it was as if she was afraid of just that – afraid of herself. He reached for the handle and then locked the door. Behind him, he heard a quick inhalation from the doctor. He turned around and walked to the window where she stood, still watching him. He kept his face angled down. If their eyes met, he thought, it would be terrible.
Slowly, he drew the blinds and the room darkened. Only a smoky vanilla light from the desk lamp, with a green scallop shade and a brass stem, gave any shape or definition to the furniture or the occupants. It was beginning to be too much for him: this having to assume the power, to dim the lights and turn a room to a prison cell. Inside himself, he seemed to bend like a sapling stripped of bark and made white. Even when he turned to her, his shoulders seemed to dip of their own accord, as if he were prepared to bow. But she never seemed affected by him being crushed by her pressure. In fact, it was as if the opposite dynamic had occurred. She stubbed out her cigarette, her face still stiff with anxiety, and then moved away from him to stand on the rug before her desk. She gave the impression that she was suddenly following orders. She bowed her head and crossed her hands over her stomach, as if commanded into submission.
Between them, their positions reversed, the cuffs developed a special hue in the umbra; greenish – like treasure glimpsed in the depths, suddenly within reach after a long excavation, but only now to be surrounded by unseen hazards and curses.
Angel followed her to the rug, wondering if her strange reaction to him was part of the scenario she desired – this assumption of his control and her reticent compliance. Their eyes locked once he stood before her and, even in the dark, each of them suffered from the glare of the other’s stare. A frown creased her forehead. A shiver ran up one side of her face and he felt its ripple inside him too. It made her blink the eye on that side of her face.
‘Oh, God,’ she said. The colour of her eye make-up was charcoal and matched the faint soot of rouge on her sharp cheekbones. There were some fine lines on her skin that he could see more clearly now, but the beauty and vulnerability of her expression was stronger for them. He liked this face, so close to him, and wanted to see it stirred.
He reached for her hand. Her fingers were limp and cool but had closed in on the palm. So his touch made but the briefest impression on her softness, he held her wrist between the finger and thumb of his right hand. She closed her eyes. Her breath came in quick gusts from her thin nose and broke against his mouth. He could smell mint.
‘You mustn’t … Mustn’t get into this,’ she whispered, and he never knew whether she said it for herself or for him. ‘Can I have him? Can I do it? Can I have another one?’ she said excitedly, and he felt the question was intended for someone else in the room.
Confused but curious, Angel continued with his assignment, operating on an instinctive level now, unable to think quickly enough. He moved her hand out before her, so her fingertips touched the front of his shirt, by his navel. The hand retained a rigidity inside its delicate bones. He coaxed her left hand out also and placed it against her right hand. Then he grasped them both, suddenly and tightly, by the wrists.
‘Oh, God,’ she said again. Her eyes opened. ‘You must –’ she tried to say, but Angel stopped her by resting his lips against her mouth.
Just to touch the slippery, red cosmetic, more than to kiss her. Closing his eyes, he then drew away from her mouth, but only slightly so she could watch him tentatively touch his lips with the tip of his tongue – to savour her taste, and take it inside.
Then, determined to soften her, he kissed her fully. But still, her mouth did not relent. The lips remained parted and soft, but unresponsive. From her chin, he kissed her cheek, her jaw, and then nuzzled the hair off her ear with the end of his nose.
‘Oh, God,’ she whispered again.
Down her neck, he left the impression of his mouth and then kissed her collarbone. Feeling dizzy and strangely weightless as his arousal was released to flow and then thicken through him, he pushed his face into the angle of her shoulder and throat where it was warm. She could hear his air and feel the rise and fall of his chest against her as he breathed.
It was when he clenched his fist even tighter that he heard her breathing quicken. Immediately, his kisses became harder. Through the angle of her head, falling backwards, and in the tremble of the fine membrane of her eyelids, he could see she had begun to fall into the urgency and insistence of his attentions. With one hand in the small of her back, he squashed her against the pronounced edges of his body. Against her long thighs his longer thighs were firm. Into her breasts went the hard ridge of his chest. Along her flat belly, so soft with a promise of wet depths and a tight, nervous clinch, stretched his thick sex. Feeling the significance of his greater breadth, height and strength, she became utterly precious to him. Fragile, guarded, elegant, civilised – he sensed these qualities slowly surrendering their hold on her.
Down to the floor they went; she under him, protected from the hard boards by his hand and then his elbow. She clung to him, her need for a firm touch plainly revealed the moment his hand ventured inside her flimsy blouse. ‘Oh, yes. Yes. Be hard there,’ she said, her lips lavishing passionate kisses against the side of his face as she spoke.
And after seven days of abstinence he felt imbued with a curious power; his strength seemed to have no limits and she felt weightless in his hands; the hard floor offered no discomfort, and his co-ordination was slick despite the incongruous angles of this new body at his disposal. As his stubbly cheeks writhed in her hair, he pressed his hand against her breasts. Such a pressure against so intimate a place eased the remaining rigidity from out of her porcelain, designer body. When he sought her lips again and kissed her, his hand firmly kneading below, she responded and he felt a stranger’s tongue inside his mouth.
Releasing her wrists, he placed a hand under her buttocks and one behind her coiffured head and then pulled her in tight against him. Blind to everything but his lust, he suddenly wanted to consume her, to devour and digest every scrap of her – the long bones and smooth flesh, the lavender and musk, the shiny hair, the long doctor fingers and the wedding ring. All of her. She let him spread her thighs with his knee, like he’d once done to a girlfriend on a staircase in Binton, and then, with a frown, she eyed the thick lump inside his trousers that he tugged her towards, her bottom slipping along the floor.
Her skirt and slip ruffled under her buttocks and displayed her panties. He felt he might explode at the sight of the little gauzy black triangle over a clipped mound. And when
his face hovered over her dark brown stocking-tops he saw a peppering of freckles on her inner thighs. Lowering his face, he kissed the freckles on the warm skin and all about his head he could hear the rustle of disturbed silk as she relaxed, offering herself. Pushing his face further under her skirt, he inhaled the doctor’s musk. It smelled of soap and hormones. And so rich was her perfume, it made him squint. The salted damp patch at the front of her dark briefs was studied and then placed under the lap of his tongue. Through the thin fabric, he could feel the shape of her lips. Moving her panties to one side, by hooking a finger through the leg, he then plunged his mouth into the heavy sap on her sex. And while he sucked and lapped, he thought of the dark red hole, so close to his face, that he would soon fill and stretch and push through until she wrapped all around him like a pretty anemone in a coral pool. And he stayed between her thighs and ate until his jaw ached, and until she bit her knuckles to stifle her own cries. When finally he sat back to breathe, she moaned and wriggled her buttocks for more.
Driven by this sudden display of her appreciation and this need she possessed to be pleasured during the working day, he was overcome by a need to be free of his tangling, hot clothes. He wanted to writhe naked down there. So off came his jacket, stripped from his arms with the haste of a medic in a roadside emergency. Off came his tie and shirt and trousers and underwear, all of which were thrown aside while she watched, her eyes wide, her fingers busy between her legs until his mouth or cock were ready to continue. Nostrils broad, he dipped his head back between the length of her smooth thighs. Her nylons made slippery sounds against the side of his head, and a full blare of her seasoned sex, peppered and gamey, clouded about his face once more.
His hunger for this rare food made him groan. Under her shiny gusset he lapped, his tongue wide and outstretched again. Screwing up her features, she shielded her eyes with both hands and then uttered a series of quick, feminine sounds, more like whimpers than moans. Pulling her panties across her sex and then stretching them completely out of his way, he uncovered more of her soft down, and all of her wrinkled, dew-plastered lips. Pressing his tongue harder against her teeny red clit-tendon, upon which mere draughts of his breath made her body seize up, he caressed her with a more circular action using the tip of his tongue. Her groans deepened. Pursing his lips, he then pulled this part of her into his mouth and she began to roll her head about on the rug. And, as he sucked so fastidiously, he reached up her body, with his shoulders packed behind her thighs, and seized her breasts.
