Highly Strung

by Justine Elyot

  She twisted her neck to grin knowingly at him when the Linberghs were first to volunteer. Who would have guessed?

  She relaxed her muscles and prepared for a show. The Linberghs, stunning and sexy, wouldn’t be hard to watch, at any rate.

  To applause, they strode into the centre of the room, where a velvet- and silk-covered divan, piled high with cushions, awaited them.

  Mr Linbergh—Ross—took Natasha in his arms and they swooned into a passionate kiss, just like so many of their movie clinches, perfectly photogenic and calculated to arouse.

  On breaking the embrace, Ross turned to the audience and spoke.

  “You know how much Natasha and I love to get down and dirty for you, and we’ve been looking forward to tonight ever since we both wrapped up our latest projects. But tonight we want to add a little something to the show.”

  Lydia’s heart started racing. Why were they looking at Milan?

  “Tash has never forgotten the time she and Milan gave the triple-O performance some of you might remember.”

  Some enthusiastic nodding and muttering broke the fascinated silence.

  “So I’d like Milan to join us,” Natasha said, beckoning a finger. “If that’s okay with you, honey?”

  Lydia held her breath.

  “You’re putting me on the spot,” demurred Milan. “Lydia?”

  Lydia had no idea what to say. She knew she didn’t want to watch Milan fucking Natasha, but, on the other hand, she didn’t want to be the one responsible for dampening the party spirit.

  Ross seemed to pick up on the reason for the hesitation.

  “If you want young Lydia to join in, that’s cool. Lydia, I’d be honoured.”

  His gleaming movie star smile beamed right at her. Ross Linbergh, the Oscar-winner, was inviting her to take part in a foursome. Every woman in the place stared at her with jealous expectancy, along with several of the men.

  “If you don’t want to, it’s okay,” whispered Milan.

  “But then you—”

  “I don’t need to fuck Tash Linbergh. I’ve done it before. We can sit this out, it’s fine.”

  But Ross Linbergh’s piercing blue eyes and his tousled beach-blond hair were just feet away, his vibrations of desire radiating towards her, the vibes joined by the almost tangible waves of Natasha’s need for Milan. When would a chance like this come again?

  “I’m not scared,” said Lydia, half to herself, half to the room. “I can do this.”

  “I’m very proud of you,” murmured Milan, hiding his words in the gale of applause that greeted their rising to their feet.

  Lydia was lightheaded as she crossed the rug to where the golden couple awaited them. Natasha was first to seize her and crush her against her bosom, which felt surgically enhanced inside its Grecian column dress. The scent of priceless crushed flower petals emanating from the movie star dizzied Lydia, who accepted a voluptuous kiss on the lips while the room’s approval buzzed in her ears. Then she was handed over to Ross, who turned her out to face the room, clasping strong arms around her until his fingers found the hem of her tiny dress. Once they’d curled inside, he began to flip it teasingly up and down while his lips dug into the soft flesh of her neck.

  She could see Milan grabbing a fistful of Natasha’s hair and tilting her head back for a fierce kiss. It looked so hot she almost forgot Ross’s manipulations and the eyes of the audience on her, until she noticed Evgeny’s face.

  Thunder.

  Oh, dear.

  She shut her eyes then, willing the sight out of her brain so she could concentrate on letting her nerves dissolve into the sizzling steam of sensuality. Ross brought her around so that her face was pressed into his shoulder, then tipped her chin up to claim a kiss. A movie star kiss, she thought, trying to deconstruct it for signs that it came from no mere mortal. But it was simply a good, workmanlike kiss. It didn’t set off any of the stars or fireworks Milan could charm out of her, but it was perhaps more like one of Evgeny’s kisses—urgent and hard and a bit over-eager.

  His big hands rested on her bottom, pulling at the skirt until Lydia knew that the lower portion of her cheeks must be visible to all. He squeezed them with those movie star hands and delved between her thighs, making her stand with them slightly parted.

  “Very nice,” she heard someone in the room say. “A sweet little pussy made to be fucked, there.”

  “Nice bum too,” remarked a woman. “No cellulite, lucky bitch.”

  With his other hand, Ross pulled aside one of the flimsy triangles of chest-covering fabric, so that one breast with its rosy nipple, tight and stiff, popped out and brushed against his suit jacket.

  When Ross freed her mouth, she couldn’t help but dart a glance over to Milan, who had Natasha on the bed already, hovering over her and covering the exposed parts of her with flicks of his tongue.

  “Hey, a guy could feel hurt,” teased Ross. “You’ve really got it bad for Milan, haven’t you?”

  “He’s the one,” she whispered.

  “But I can make you feel good too, sweet thing. Let’s get that dress off you and show you how.”

  Somebody had put some music on, something primal with a low, thumping bass line. The rhythm worked on Lydia like hypnotism and she followed its lead, swaying as she held up her arms so that Ross could slip the tiny dress over her head.

  She felt fingers dancing down the hollow of her back and she shivered against Ross’s body, craving a firmer touch, which he was happy to give. She ground her hips against him to the music, rubbing against the fabric of his expensive dress trousers.

  Milan and Natasha had both stripped naked and were kissing passionately on the divan, their long, lean limbs sensuously entangled. The way his hair hung down over Natasha’s face sent a stab of intense jealousy to the centre of Lydia’s being. This was how he must look when he was kissing her. Why wasn’t he kissing her now?

  “Okay, okay.” Ross sighed. “Let’s go and ask if we can play too.”

  “I’m sorry,” Lydia whispered.

  “It’s your first time. You’re hung up on this guy.” Ross kissed Lydia’s cheek, took her hand and sat her down on the edge of the divan, inches from Milan’s and Natasha’s flexing feet.

  He took a few minutes to undress, making sure that Lydia enjoyed the full effect of his honed physique and mastery of movement. Oh, yes, he was stunningly good-looking—of that there was no doubt. His skin was a sun-kissed gold and every muscle stood out in clear definition. His chest, when he eased out of the crisp white shirt, was a work of art and the stomach below was flat and hard as steel.

  Then her eye was unavoidably drawn to what lay beneath the jaw-dropping abdominals and she had to stare. It was pierced. Two ends of a silver crescent curved from the glans of Ross’ cock, each tipped with a rounded ball. Didn’t that hurt?

  She only realised that her mouth was hanging open when Ross crouched in front of her, laughing softly.

  “Take a closer look,” he invited. “What do you think of my Prince Albert?”

  “That must have killed,” she breathed.

  “No, not really. One of the best things I ever did. Really adds a lot to the sensation. For me and my partners. Go on—touch it.”

  Lydia hardly dared put out her hand, but she brought a fingertip to the adornment and pushed at it, half-fearing that it might cause Ross to scream in agony. But he simply made a murmur of encouragement and jutted his hips forward. She handled his cock as if it were made entirely of precious metals rather than pierced flesh—delicately and with care.

  “It’s okay, honey. It won’t break.”

  She wrapped a fist around it and tugged.

  “Oh, yeah,” said Ross, with a shudder.

  An animal sound from Natasha distracted Lydia into turning her head and dropping her new toy. Milan was laving her breasts, the nipples dark berry-red and shiny from tonguing. She saw his hand, the hand she watched every day wielding a violin bow, moving subtly between her legs, knuckles rippling a
s the fingers probed.

  I want that, she thought. I know what he’s making her feel. I know the way he uses his fingers.

  “Yes, watch them,” murmured Ross, turning her to face them and leaning behind her with his hands on her shoulders. “Watch your lover with his fingers inside my wife. Doesn’t she look amazing like that?”

  “Flawless.”

  But Lydia took little pleasure from the sight.

  Milan lifted his head from Natasha’s breasts and shot a glance at Lydia.

  “You like this too, don’t you?” he said. “Ross, bring her around where I can see her and have her sit on Tash’s face while you play with her from behind.”

  The beat of the music drummed in Lydia’s ears and she kept her mind on it, the slow pound, pound, pound, as Natasha forced her tongue way up inside Lydia and Ross caressed her breasts and stomach. His piercing rubbed and pushed between the cheeks of her arse until she worried that he might go too far and breach her virgin opening. And throughout this double battery of lust, she had to watch Milan feasting on the woman who feasted upon her.

  He was like some beautiful sinewy beast, in absolute control of his own body and Natasha’s, knowing exactly how to move, where to target, how much to give and how much to hold in reserve. The look of ferocious concentration on his face was so like the way he looked when in the throes of making music—Lydia comforted herself with the idea that he viewed Natasha as no more than another form of violin, an instrument to be played and mastered.

  Natasha came under his hand and Lydia felt the other woman’s tongue flap wildly between her pussy lips, the breathing coming hard and fast, steaming her up inside.

  “Oh yes,” crooned Ross into her ear from behind, nudging his cock further and further inside her cheeks. “Is that turning you on, baby?”

  Lydia began bucking into Natasha’s mouth, vaguely hoping that she might suffocate the movie star. Milan was looking at her now, watching her keenly as if she were a contestant on that stupid TV show he’d done. Was he going to mark her performance—success or fail?

  “Milan,” she said, reaching out to him, impervious to the joint efforts of Natasha and Ross. They might as well be on the other side of the room as far as she was concerned. “Please.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Milan, apparently to Ross. “She’s a little greedy for my attention. Perhaps if I…”

  “Oh, sure,” said Ross, lifting her off Natasha’s face. “How do you want to do this?”

  “Lydia,” said Milan, taking her hands and pulling her into a tight embrace. “Let me make a suggestion. Ross is feeling left out, and that isn’t fair, is it?”

  She shook her head against Milan’s chest.

  “Come down, miláčku, down.”

  His hand exerted gentle pressure on her shoulder until she was kneeling opposite him. He took his cock in his hand and pumped it a few times, then put a hand beneath Lydia’s chin, running a thumb along her lips to part them.

  “You know what I want, miláčku?”

  She nodded, happy to be given this chance to connect with Milan. She sensed Natasha’s eyes on her, lazily scornful, but she determined to look only at the man she loved and nobody else.

  With her eyes fixed on his face, she opened her mouth and bobbed forward, first darting out her tongue to flick the underside of his glans, then sealing the tip with her lips. A tremble of Milan’s hips signalled his deep pleasure and she began to suck, reaching out to encircle the base of his cock with a finger and thumb, the way he’d taught her. She tried to keep her gaze up at him, hard as it was on her neck, clearing her mind of the audience and the other players in their foursome, concentrating on her work and his satisfaction.

  Noises to their left indicated that Ross and Natasha were fucking enthusiastically while they watched. I guess they don’t do this because they’re bored with each other, Lydia thought. She flicked a look over to them, then couldn’t tear her eyes away, entranced by the two beautiful bodies in erotic combination.

  “He’s hot, isn’t he?” panted Milan to her, pushing her head down further as she sucked. “You could have him. Don’t you want him?”

  Ross and Natasha were bound up in some elaborate contortion from the later pages of the Kama Sutra. Lydia wasn’t sure she could even hold that position for longer than three seconds and she watched in awe as the pair demonstrated the elasticity of yoga gurus. The look on Ross’ face as he slid in and out of his wife’s pussy was electrifying and arousing—so much passion and determination written across his handsome brow. Lydia began to think that perhaps she’d been hasty in dismissing the prospect of fucking him.

  Natasha came as the music reached a thunderous climax, her manicured oval nails digging into Ross’ firm backside.

  “Ross,” urged Milan. “Take Lydia. Take her while she sucks me. That’s okay, Lydia, yes?”

  Lydia could only nod, feeling the edges of her reality mist over with steam and lust. She spread her thighs and pushed out her bottom, ready for Ross’ hard prick, anticipating its size and feel.

  His hands grabbed her hips and his cock glided in.

  “I won’t last long,” he warned.

  “That’s okay,” said Milan, the words coming with an effort now.

  Ross began to thrust and Lydia felt herself pushed forward, Milan’s cock jerking farther down her throat. Caught between two cocks, she tumbled into a dark well of sensation, finding a pleasure in her submission that she had never before experienced. Her cunt widened, opened up by a stranger’s cock, though it was hard to think of a man she had seen so many times on film as a stranger. At the same time, she sucked harder, needing Milan’s spunk in her mouth, her reward for a job well done.

  She got it, plenty of it, shooting to the back of her mouth while Milan pulled at her hair and heaved out a sigh. She swallowed the cream and let Milan lift her head and kiss her, long and hotly, through her own orgasm and, finally, Ross’.

  “Nice,” said Natasha sardonically. “I guess you aren’t such a good girl as you think.”

  Lydia, her face hidden in Milan’s chest, made no reply, but her body froze in anticipation of further hostilities. The applause of the audience drowned her words, but they were sharp enough for each of the foursome to catch.

  “Did you think you were better than me? Is that why you wouldn’t fuck Ross at first? You’re no better than me, sweetie. You’ll take cock from anyone. Tell you what, Ross, let’s invite her round. I’d love to go to town on her with my strap-on.”

  “Okay, Tash, leave her alone,” said Milan. “You were confident your first time?”

  Ross laughed.

  “Are you kidding? She walked out before anything happened.”

  Tash huffed and stalked out of the room, clutching her clothes.

  Milan clung to Lydia, stroking her hair and kissing her head.

  “You were so brave,” he whispered. “You were brilliant. I love you.”

  She emerged from her refuge to stare up at him.

  “Do you?”

  “Of course. You know I do.”

  Did she? But before she could pursue the thought, Milan had rolled her over on to her back on the divan, covering her body with kisses, and Ross had joined in.

  Kissed and licked into perfect relaxation, she lay there, naked and dreamy, watching Ross and Milan make out, then make love, through a haze of satisfied longing.

  She didn’t notice Natasha return to the room until she pulled Ross out from underneath Milan and barked, “We’re leaving.”

  Lydia sat up and watched Natasha snatch Ross’ clothes and hurl them across the floor. With one hand covering his recently vacated arsehole, Ross hopped around the room, swearing and plucking at the scattered garments before chasing Natasha out into the lobby.

  “Oh, dear,” said Lydia.

  Milan’s face reflected his irritation at being interrupted mid-stroke and his cock pointed rebelliously towards the departing figure of Ross.

  “Fucking divas,” raged Milan, which s
truck Lydia as a little ironic.

  He removed the condom and discarded it then, reaching for a fresh one, appealed to Evgeny.

  “Evgeny, help me out here.”

  But Evgeny simply stood and walked out after the movie stars.

  “I think the party’s over,” said Lydia.

  Werner stood and begged his guests not to be put off by this small setback, asking if anybody else wanted to perform.

  A gaggle of enthusiastic libertines rose from their seats. It appeared to be Lydia’s cue to get dressed.

  She pulled the scrap of gold fabric over her head, relishing the prospect of getting a shower and a good night’s sleep, but Milan, dishevelled and devilish in his crumpled black tie suit had other ideas.

  Taking her hand, he led her over to a sofa and sat her down.

  “Aren’t you going after Evgeny?” she asked tentatively.

  “No. If he wants to sulk, he can sulk. I’m not going to ruin Werner’s evening by running out on him. I want to get another invitation some time. Unfortunately, I don’t think Evgeny’s name will be on it.”

  “Will mine?”

  Milan gave her lips a lingering kiss.

  “Oh yes. You will be more than welcome, I’m sure.”

  She sat, half asleep, through the whipping of the man with the leather shorts and a variety of additional humiliations. There followed a more general orgy, from which Milan released her by paying his respects to the host and leaving, pleading early rehearsals.

  As they passed through the lobby—Lydia yawning hugely and carrying the gold stilettos, no longer caring about going barefoot—she caught sight of a shadow behind a bust of some nineteenth-century archduke.

  “Oh, Evgeny!” she said.

  He emerged from behind the plinth, scowling, tie loosened and collar undone.

  “You are still here,” said Milan coldly.

  “I have no money for a taxi,” he replied.

  “You have legs.”

  “Milan, come on—” pleaded Evgeny.

  “No, you come on. There’s no room for jealousy in my cab. I’ll see you.”