Belle Pearl

by Arianne Richmonde

  A cocktail of drugs. Hmm, not so amusing. My pulse was pounding in my ears. This woman could kill me! I took a deep breath and staggered towards the door. I needed air but not just air—I needed my freedom.

  In my peripheral vision—a blur of flesh and limbs—I saw Laura race after me. I kept going, my heart like an old-fashioned steam train, pumping as hard as it could to gain momentum. Laura rugby-tackled me but I stepped aside and she went flying on her face. Her arms curled about my ankles but I kept moving—Laura was letting herself be dragged behind me. I dared not bend down to unlatch her, in case I lost my balance again.

  “Where the fuck are you going!” she yelled. It was not a question but a command.

  The scenery of paintings, smooth walls and light fittings of the hotel penthouse swam before my eyes as I lugged myself, and the limpet on my leg, to the door. Finally I reached my destination, my head flopping against the wood. I turned the handle and poked my head outside. I wedged my foot in the door and edged my body into the corridor.

  Sophie was standing right there.

  With Indira.

  “We came by to see if you wanted to have tea with…” Sophie stopped herself mid-sentence.

  Indira smiled at first, then her eyes swept down to my crotch. I followed her gaze and saw that my missile dick was poking out of my unbuttoned jeans. My hands were still tied with electric cable and groans and moans were coming from my ankles: Laura.

  Indira pushed the door with a mighty thud, and Laura cried out:

  “Ouch, that’s my head, thank you very much! What the fuck—”

  Indira’s eyes scanned down to the floor where Laura was sprawled out, naked, still clinging onto my ankles.

  “Jesus,” Sophie said, speaking in French. “What the hell is going on?”

  “Help me!” I mouthed silently. “Take Laura away, call James.” But I started laughing again, clutching my stomach with bellyache howls.

  Indira’s hand came down hard on my face. The slap stung like twenty wasps biting me all at once. “You slut! And into dirty bondage games to boot! You disgust me!” She spat in my face and shuffled away, nearly tripping over her flowing sari. I knew what really irked her: that she had wanted to experiment with bondage one time, and I wouldn’t play ball.

  I rubbed my face against my shoulder to wipe off her spittle. I’d had enough female saliva for one day.

  I said with a silent growl, “Sophie, please, help—it’s not funny,” but between a racing heart and hitched breaths, I chortled again with another round of hysteria, tears streaming down my face, my jaw sore with all the grinning.

  Sophie stood there, glaring at me, her eyes two empty holes, her lips twitching.

  Like a scolded schoolboy sent to a corner, her disdainful look made me roar all the more.

  2

  As the drugs wore off, my amusement at the situation waned. Although, the more I thought about Laura, the more I sort of admired her gusto. I had to give her an A+ for effort. But I felt as if I was wrapped up in a psychological suspense movie with the mad ex stalking me, and if I wasn’t more vigilant I could wind up dead, poisoned in a back alley somewhere, Laura weeping over my dead body; the body she’d topped off.

  One thing was for sure, though: you had to give her ten out of ten for an active imagination.

  Once again, my sister had bailed me out of trouble. Indira stormed off in a huff and Sophie rescued me, untied the sailor’s knot, and sent Laura on her way, waiting patiently while she got dressed, but not leaving my side until Laura was safely out of the hotel. Sophie called James but he still wasn’t answering his cell, or returning calls.

  Once I was alone again, and with my dick still Viagra-hard, I called Pearl for some Skype sex–I had to do something to tone down my raging erection. My libido was hungry enough as it was; the last thing in the world I needed was bloody Viagra—I didn’t know how long the effect would last but I needed a release.

  Pearl was in the bath with the soundtrack from the beautiful 1960’s film, Un Homme et Une Femme in the background. She wanted to chit-chat about this and that—her meeting with Samuel Myers and how they’d got the gay actress Alessandra Demarr on board, and that they’d be working together on this feature film Pearl was producing, Stone Trooper. I wondered if Pearl would be tempted by a gay woman? After all, her first orgasm had happened with her schoolgirl friend.

  I didn’t want to talk about the film; I needed a release. And fast. I conjured up girlie images of Pearl and Alessandra together, sucking each other’s tits—anything to get my wooden dick to climax and then get back to normal.

  “I know you have a penchant for pretty women,” I breathed into my iPhone as I gazed at the screen; Pearl’s beautiful breasts lathered with bubble-bath foam. “Remember when you told me about your first time? When your best friend stroked you with a feather? Fuck,” I groaned, my hand moving up and down my mammoth cock. I had Pearl’s wet pussy in my mind’s eye, me licking her, flicking my tongue on her clit, fucking her hard. Her squirming beneath me as I thrust myself in and out of her slick wet warmth.

  “I’d love to suck your cock right now.” Pearl was holding her iPad, her big blue eyes staring at me as if she were right there in the flesh.

  I curled my grip harder about my erection, jerking my hand up and down vigorously. “Tell me, baby. Tell. Me. How. You’d. Suck. My. Hard. Cock.”

  “I’d take your big, beautiful centerpiece and guide its silkiness all over my face, licking off your pre-cum, dancing my tongue on your huge, thick crown.”

  “Oh, yeah…oh baby…” My hand clenched harder, pressuring my swollen tip.

  “I’d breathe in the smell of you, Alexandre…the one thousand percent pure, unadulterated, all-male, luscious helping of Alexandre Chevalier.”

  I flinched at the word ‘unadulterated’ and wished it were true—wished what had happened to me as a boy hadn’t been real. I focused on her other words, ‘luscious helping’ and imagined myself being served up at some banquet. I started laughing manically again—the drug laugh—taking my phone away from my face so Pearl couldn’t see my crazy eyes; the mad Frenchman who wanted her to be his bride.

  “Go on,” I urged, trying to make my voice sound serious.

  Her mouth was pouting and I imagined my cock deep inside it. She continued in a whisper, “I’d tease my lips along your balls and let my hot tongue flick up and down along your rock-hard, thick, throbbing cock, thinking how it makes me come when it fucks me so hard—every time. Every single time. No man has ever been able—”

  “Don’t ever put the idea of another man into my head,” I interrupted her. “I don’t want to know who’s touched you. I don’t ever want to even imagine that you’ve been with anyone else. You’re mine, Pearl. Do you understand? You’re fucking well mine.” My eyes flashed like two balls of fire, my jealousy surging through my veins in an emerald-green rush.

  She was moaning, pleasuring herself, turned on by my outburst. For some reason, she liked it when I showed jealousy. Her iPad was all skewwhiff, balanced precariously amongst a pile of scented soaps and fluffed-up towels—maybe it would end up tumbling into the bath again. It had happened before.

  “Tell me about my cock in your mouth,” I growled. “About how you can’t live without it, that you can’t live without me fucking you, fucking your hot, tight, juicy cun—” I stopped myself “—pearlette—”

  “It’s so sexy, so virile, so huge, and even after that big bad boy has spurted into my mouth, he’s ready for round two.”

  “Round three, round four,” I moaned. The truth was that I could have fucked Pearl all day, every day, but I knew neither she, nor any normal woman, could have taken that much of me. I looked down at my cock. It was still swollen as fuck. “When I get back tomorrow, Pearl, I’m going to lick that clit, tunnel my tongue deep inside you, reach your G-spot with my tongue, turn you over and fuck you so hard…”

  I tightened my grip, racing my hand up and down my erection until the heat rose within
me, my orgasm catching up with visions of Pearl’s tight pussy, hugging and climaxing all around my cock, me fucking her hard from behind and coming, fucking her mouth and coming, and in my deep, dark, secret fantasy—shamefully buried and snuffed out from my conscious mind—easing my cock very, very slowly into the forbidden part of her where I would never venture. Off limits. Not allowed, even though she’d suggested it several times.

  Somewhere I dared not go because of what had happened to me. The shame. The fear. The humiliation. I had the scar to prove it really did take place that wintery morning at dawn; right there in the crack of my ass.

  He was a monster, no doubt.

  My mother had done the right thing.

  By the time I was on my way back home to New York, very early the next morning, my dick had calmed down and my grin had changed from inane to sober, my jaw still aching from all the laughing, though, and my mind active on how I would need to keep this whole crazy episode quiet.

  Very quiet.

  The last thing I wanted was for Pearl to find out I’d been bound and drugged, especially by Laura of all people.

  For one thing, it did little for my manhood. A black-belt in Taekwondo being nearly overtaken by a skinny blonde with a handful of drugs? It made me look like a real pussy.

  Not to mention the fact that Pearl wouldn’t believe me for a bloody second. Even my own sister doubted me when I told her the story. There was no way Pearl would be convinced.

  This winter wedding business was threatening to undo me. It was still only October. The sooner Pearl and I were married, the sooner all this backlog of ex-nutters would be off my case, out of my life and leave me in peace.

  Surely they wouldn’t hound a married man?

  Little did I know, at that point, that Laura’s shenanigans were just the beginning.

  I found Pearl in bed. I slipped in beside her and needed, oh yes, I really needed to be inside her. Her velvet cave was becoming my security. My home. It was where I belonged and where I constantly wanted to be. I felt secure there.

  I didn’t fuck her hard, and ravage her as I’d threatened to in our Skype call. No. I held her close, kissing her toothpaste-fresh mouth, my tongue exploring hers with tiny, fluttery movements so I could feel every nuance, every miniscule touch. I entered her wetness, stretching her open, my hands clasped greedily beneath her round ass, bringing her closer with every thrust as she moaned under me.

  “Please don’t stop, Alexandre,” she told me, tears sparkling in her eyes.

  “I’ll never stop fucking you, baby,” I groaned into her mouth. “Never.”

  She’d got the hang of it, all right. These days, orgasms were coming out of her like a string of pearls. I could feel her now, massaging her clit against the root of my thick dick in a rhythmical rocking movement. I sensed the heat build inside her, her pussy clamping around me, owning me. I couldn’t get enough of her. Each time she came, it was more intense, deeper—even more carnal than the time before.

  The pair of us were insatiable.

  Pearl was truly addicted to me. Couldn’t get enough of me. Or my cock.

  Or so I thought.

  A rude awakening was about to prove me dead wrong.

  3

  I started noticing the change within Pearl after her first dream. She was crying out in her sleep, tossing and thrashing in the bed, the small of her back soaked with sweat.

  “Get off me. You fuck!” she screamed.

  I woke up with a start, thinking Rex had jumped on the bed, landing in a painful bound on her breasts (as dogs and cats tend to do), but her eyes were closed and Rex wasn’t there—he had his own bed. My hands held her wrists to try and calm her, but it made her yowl even harder and sent her into a kicking frenzy. Her swim-toned legs were strong, crashing against my calves with all her might. Jesus, what was the nightmare that had caused this?

  “Pearl, chérie, wake up!”

  Her eyes flew open. She was panting; beads of sweat were gathered like raindrops on her brow, under her arms, behind her knees.

  “Baby, what’s wrong? What the hell were you dreaming about?” I asked, holding her close. But she shoved me away, a sneer etched on her lips.

  “I’m going to take a shower, I’m drenched.” She tried to smile at me but it was obvious I had done something terrible to her in her dream and she hated me in that instant.

  “Baby?” I tried again, taking her hand. But she shooed it away, wrestling herself free from the confines of my embrace.

  “Please, Alexandre. I just need a shower, I’ll be fine.”

  “What were you dreaming about?”

  Her eyes flashed with fury. “Nothing. Really, I can’t even remember. I was being chased by a sort of scaly-fish monster or something. Just a typical bad dream, nothing more.”

  Liar.

  Meanwhile, Sophie had suddenly decided that Pearl was marvelous. She was almost obsessed with her, wondering why Pearl was spurning her friendship.

  “Because,” I said, “you’ve been a bitch to her in the past and she doesn’t trust you an inch.” We were sitting at a bar in a restaurant in SoHo, waiting for our table, listening to Lady Grinning Soul by David Bowie. It reminded me of Pearl.

  “But I’m getting her a bloody Zang Toi wedding gown—it’s costing a fortune!”

  “If there’s one thing you need to know about Pearl, Sophie, it’s that she doesn’t give a toss about money. She does appreciate the thought, though, but she’s suspicious of your motives, and I don’t blame her.”

  “What, just because I called her a cougar?”

  “You called her worse, if I remember. And when you came to dinner the other night you were being all bitchy. Pearl noticed, believe me.”

  “That was not directed at Pearl but at you, dear brother…my jibe about the engagement ring. You could have had our diamond if you wanted it so badly, not buy that second-hand gem that belonged to some Russian royalty who fucked horses.”

  I laughed. “You were guarding that silly Indian diamond like a phoenix, Sophie. And the vintage piece I bought for Pearl and had converted into that spectacular, eat-your-heart-out-Liz-Taylor ring, I would hardly describe as ‘second-hand.’ It belongs in a bloody museum.”

  “Anyway, Pearl is an enigma. She makes me…I don’t know…I feel—”

  I nearly spluttered my beer all over the bar. “Jesus, you don’t fancy her, do you? Lay off; Pearl’s mine.” This place made great Bloody Marys but I’d be steering clear of those for a while, so I’d settled for an ice-cold beer.

  Sophie cackled with laughter. “No, but I do have to say I think she really is very beautiful. She has an angelic face. Really, she looks like an angel in a Botticelli painting. There’s an innocent soulfulness about her eyes. There is something special about her. I just wish she wanted to be my friend.”

  “Give it time, Sophie. Pearl’s like a cat. You have to let her come to you; not be pushy or she’ll run away.”

  “By the way, speaking of felines, Claudine called me,” Sophie told me. “She says she’s left several messages and you haven’t got back to her. She’s very upset. I mean, really upset. Hurt feelings. You’d better get in touch.”

  Oh no. “What does she want?”

  “Well, she split with her boyfriend recently.”

  “Oh God.”

  “She’s doing well, though. She’s just been offered a campaign by L’Oréal. You know, the glamorous older model, the over thirty type of thing. She looks amazing for her age. She’s quite a stunner.”

  “If you’re into bones that look as if they can snap in two and skin paler than alabaster, yes, she’s a beauty.”

  “Anyway, you’d better call her because she’s been really bugging me about seeing you. She says she misses you and wants to hang out. She sounded very depressed, very doomsday about everything, despite her modeling success.”

  I could feel my insides churn. Would there never be an end to this slew of exes battering at my door?

  “I’m getting mar
ried, Sophie. I don’t want to see Claudine. Nor Indira, nor Laura. Nor any other beautiful ex that might pop out from under the fancy wood paneling.”

  Sophie laughed again and said in English, “It never rains it pours. I love that expression.”

  I felt my lips tighten. Bloody Claudine. I thought I was off the hook. “I’m in love with Pearl,” I enunciated—to myself as much as to my sister. I won’t be roped into a guilt trip noose about my neck again. Claudine needs to sort her own fucking issues out with men. There is no way I’ll partake in any more mercy fucks for Claudine.

  Sophie dabbed her lips with a hint of gloss. “Alessandra will be all over her, I just know it.”

  “Who?”

  “Alessandra will be all over Pearl.”

  “That’s right, you met Alessandra Demarr, that time backstage after we’d been to see her in that play. I’d forgotten about that. What’s she like?”

  Sophie turned her face away from me and said, “Oh look, our table’s ready. I’m starving, aren’t you?”

  At the time I didn’t put two and two together.

  The dreaded phone call came the next day.

  “How did you get my number?” I asked Claudine. She hadn’t even spoken but I suspected it was Claudine because of the weighty silence that I knew I was expected to fill. Responsible, as I was, for her misery. Not.

  “Alexandre, I’m so down. My boyfriend and I—”

  “I know,” I cut in. “Sophie told me. I’m sorry it didn’t work out but don’t lose hope—there are plenty of other men out there who would be delighted to date you.” Delighted until enlightened…to the psycho side.

  “You’re the only man I’ve ever known who knows how to fuck me properly, Alex.”

  Uh, oh. “You’re being dramatic. Don’t be silly.”

  “I’ve been on a binge. I’ve fucked eight men in eight days and not a single one of them has gotten me even close to feeling turned on, let alone having an orgasm.”