Killer Affair

by Rebecca Chance

  ‘I can’t!’ Lexy said, grinning. ‘They took it away from me and pretty much strip-searched me for hidden cameras.’

  ‘Yeah, sorry about that,’ Silantra said, looking entirely unapologetic. ‘This total bitch filmed me and her having sex last year and then made us pay a fortune to buy the footage. It was really good quality – like, not just a cell phone. Our security said she must’ve used a professional spy cam. So now we have to be super careful. She was an amazing fuck,’ she added wistfully. ‘I really miss her! She could just’ve asked and I’d’ve put her on salary as a stylist or something, you know?’

  She sighed.

  ‘Oh well. So yeah, now everyone I hook up with gets searched. And my staff has my phone, too. Just in case you sneakily take photos of us on it and send ’em to yourself.’

  ‘That’s shitty,’ Lexy said. ‘You getting set up like that, I mean.’

  Silantra shrugged phlegmatically. ‘Yeah, it sucked, but what can you do? I wouldn’t want to be her if Biscuit ever tracks her down, though. He was royally pissed. Forget suing her – he’d go hardcore on her ass.’

  Lexy refilled her glass with champagne from the bottle standing beside her in a silver cooler. It had been considerately placed near her armchair by Silantra’s PA. Once the little party had run its course, the other guests, including Caroline, had been gently ushered out with the excuse that Silantra had decided to film with Lexy the next day and the two women needed to discuss what scenes they would shoot.

  Silantra had promptly retired to the bedroom, followed by Lexy: once the PA had made sure they had everything they needed, they had been left alone. Now, Silantra uncoiled from the bed, moving with impressive grace and ease for a woman who was four months pregnant. Gliding over to the wet bar, she took a flute from the stack of glasses on its marble surface.

  ‘Hit me up,’ she said, perching on the wide arm of Lexy’s armchair, holding out her glass.

  ‘So you’re okay drinking a little in private?’ Lexy said, filling the glass.

  ‘A little? Watch me!’

  Lifting the glass to her glossy lips, Silantra drank its entire contents down in one gulp and then held the glass out to Lexy once more.

  ‘Hit me again, babe,’ she said, her eyes now glinting with mischief.

  ‘Fuck,’ Lexy said, frowning. ‘I’m all for taking the edge off, but that’s too much. They say you can have a glass a day, tops, when you’re knocked up. You’ve got to think of the baby.’

  Silantra took the bottle herself and refilled her glass, manoeuvring her long fingernails with the expertise of a woman who has been sporting them ever since the age of fourteen. Then she leaned over, put one hand behind Lexy’s head and kissed her, long and hard. It was an excellent kiss, full of passion and technique, again with the expertise of a woman who had been pimped out by her mother since the age of fifteen. Before marrying Lil’ Biscuit, Silantra had regularly been required to make trips to Dubai which were billed as shopping expeditions, but were actually to rendezvous with billionaire Saudis prepared to pay seven-figure fees to spend the night with her.

  ‘You ever fucked a girl?’ she asked when she released Lexy.

  ‘Kissed a few, fingered each other a bit,’ Lexy said frankly. ‘But just at school. Once I got on a dick I never looked back.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle,’ Silantra said, standing up. She downed another half a glass of champagne, set down her glass and then reached round to unzip her dress. ‘And you don’t have to do anything you don’t want. But I would really like to fuck you. I have this great strap-on – it really hits the G-spot. Wherever yours is, I’ll find it!’

  Lexy blinked. It wasn’t a surprise to her that Silantra had a strap-on; everyone who had watched her infamous sex tape knew that she liked to dish it out as well as take it. But the nonchalant way she talked about it was almost . . . professional.

  Silantra’s dress was dropping to the floor, and Lexy did a double take at the sight of what Silantra was wearing beneath it. She had assumed that Silantra would be in shapewear: all of them wore it. Awards ceremonies and red carpet events weren’t about being comfortable, they were about looking fabulous, and that meant being as streamlined as possible, no bulges or lumps for the media to mock.

  Lexy was well aware of the existence of maternity shapewear: she had relied on it during both of her pregnancies. But the beige bodysuit that Silantra was wearing looked very different from what Lexy had worn back then. Its texture was weirdly foam-like, as if it were moulded onto her body, bulking it out, the opposite of stretch fabric intended to hold her in . . .

  Silantra’s hands were still behind her, unfastening something else. Bra? Corset? Velcro ripped open, a wide strap came loose, then another . . . and then Silantra widened her grip. Her hands came into view, and she lifted the whole front of her body up and away from her, swollen breasts, pregnant stomach and all.

  ‘No way,’ Lexy said slowly. ‘You’re not knocked up after all!’

  Chapter Fifteen

  The moulded foam prosthetic dropped to the floor next to the discarded dress. Underneath it, Silantra was clad in just a glossy little thong. One did not need to be a connoisseur of fake breasts to find hers superb: big and round and full, but not so out of proportion that they looked entirely artificial. As a woman of colour, she was permitted by the media to be fuller-figured than a white star, and her curves were famously voluptuous – apart, of course, from her stomach, on which not even non-white women were granted an exemption. That always had to be flat, and Silantra’s, after multiple liposuctions, was perfectly so.

  ‘Ugh,’ she said, rubbing her breasts and stomach with complete nonchalance at her near-nakedness. ‘It gets so damn sweaty under there. I hate wearing that thing for more than a couple hours. And I gotta keep going for five more months, and upgrade to bigger and bigger ones too! Nightmare!’

  She took up her champagne glass again and finished off the contents, her breasts bouncing fractionally with the movement.

  ‘Still,’ she said, shrugging, ‘it’s better than the other thing, right? This way I can shoot a DVD on getting my figure back real soon after the birth and make a mint.’

  ‘Wow,’ Lexy said, working hard to keep her cool. ‘I did not see that coming.’

  ‘Right? This thing is awesome,’ Silantra said, kicking it away as she moved towards Lexy. ‘Made especially for me. The tummy part’s totally firm, so it doesn’t bend in the middle when you sit down and give you away, which is what happened to—’

  She mentioned the name of a very famous female actress who had been caught out like that when faking her pregnancy; she had been filmed in a live interview from the side, taking a seat in a TV studio, her stomach creasing in a way that one with a baby inside it could never have done.

  ‘But why . . .’ Lexy began.

  ‘I wanna keep my figure perfect,’ Silantra said simply. ‘I don’t want those hormones fucking with me and making me pile on the weight, giving me stretch marks and shit. I’m gonna have cortisone shots in the last month – they puff you up, make you swell round the face and neck so I look realistic. We’ve put an egg of mine, fertilized with Biscuit’s jizz, in a nice Guatemalan lady who barely speaks English, and when she gives birth it’ll be in a big suite in an LA hospital, totally sealed off to the media. Major security, which we can spin as needing to protect my and the baby’s privacy.’

  She looked thoughtful.

  ‘It’s kinda crazy, the whole surrogate setup. We control how she gives birth, did you know that? If the doc says she needs a caesarean, she doesn’t get to say no. All signed and sealed, contract’s tighter than a nun’s snatch.’

  She was standing in front of Lexy now, and she tilted her glass up to trickle the remains of her champagne over her nipples, which grew instantly erect at the sensation of the cool liquid.

  ‘Wanna lick it off?’ she asked. ‘And then we need to get you outta that dress. I wanna see your titties. They’re not real, right?’

>   ‘No,’ Lexy said, leaning forward obediently.

  ‘Oh good. I like fake ones. Real ones are so, like, droopy.’

  As instructed, Lexy started to lick the champagne from Silantra’s nipples. Silantra clearly wanted to be in charge, and for Lexy, who was used to being the boss of her empire, this was a delightful change of pace. Eventually she removed her dress, peeled off her own bra and Spanx, and lay back as Silantra climbed onto her lap and played with her tits while kissing her as deeply and deliciously as before. After popping off her fake nails and dumping them in a little sparkling pile on the side table, Silantra’s hand went between Lexy’s legs, which were already splayed for her.

  Lexy started to come very soon. Silantra knew exactly what she was doing, pressing over her, bouncing one pair of surgically enhanced breasts against the other in a way that was completely porny but turned Lexy on to a surprising degree. As Silantra pulled her up, told her to bend over the bed and went to get her strap-on, the entire experience was already feeing quite unreal to Lexy, like a dream in which she had been dropped onto a porn set and told she was one of the lead actors.

  It only added to the illusion that Silantra fucked like the professional she had been before her marriage. The Saudis had paid a million dollars for a night with her to recreate the most famous scene from her sex tape: their fantasy was for her to strap on one of her several dildos and give it to them just as she had given it to the guy in the video. She knew how to work a prostate, make her clients scream; by the time they’d shot their load, they always felt the extortionate price they had paid had been more than worth it.

  Lexy was dripping wet, more than ready, and the fake cock slid into her with ease. Just as she had promised, Silantra was feeling for Lexy’s G-spot, that particularly sensitive area which was engorged, ribbed, with arousal. Once she located it, she worked it so expertly that Lexy’s eyes rolled right up into her head with the stimulation. Over her increasingly loud moans of pleasure, she heard Silantra giggling in satisfaction at the sounds she was drawing from Lexy. Lexy had never pictured herself reaching a vaginal orgasm to the backing track of a woman’s giggles, but that was exactly what happened, and as she came she felt a flood release inside her, washing over the dildo.

  For a moment she was terrified that she had accidentally wet herself. Then she realized that the G-spot orgasm had made her ejaculate; she knew that happened to some women. It felt extraordinary, a physical release that was very different from the clitoral one, leaving her as limp as a man after he had shot his load.

  As Silantra pulled out, the rush of liquid followed, streaming out onto the carpet.

  ‘Wow, you come a lot,’ Silantra drawled. ‘I shoulda put down a towel.’

  ‘I didn’t know,’ Lexy mumbled into the coverlet, completely drained. ‘First time it’s happened.’

  ‘Cool! I love being the first one to take a chick’s G-spot virginity and make her squirt!’ Silantra said complacently. ‘I must’ve racked up over a hundred by now. It really turns me on. You shoulda told me.’

  ‘I didn’t even know you liked girls,’ Lexy managed to say.

  ‘Chicks for fun, guys for work,’ Silantra said. ‘Not Biscuit though. He’s gay. Like, gold-standard. He could so not do chicks for work, if you get me.’

  Lexy’s body had stopped spasming: she seemed to have finished ejaculating, but she still couldn’t move a muscle. For the first time, she understood why men collapsed as if they were boneless after they came.

  ‘You’re all knocked out, aren’t you?’ Silantra said, and Lexy heard her unfastening the harness. ‘Great, isn’t it? You wanna try it on me later? No pressure. But it’s a rush if you’re into that kinda thing.’

  ‘Sure,’ Lexy said to the coverlet. ‘Why not?’

  Silantra took the dildo to the bathroom to wipe clean, and after they had finished the bottle of champagne while watching an episode of Real Housewives of Beverly Hills on catchup, Silantra regaling Lexy with salacious gossip on many of the participants, and raided the kitchen for cheese puffs, canapés of air-dried beef on rye bread with horseradish, and a varietal of white strawberry which tasted eerily like pink champagne truffles, Lexy strapped on the harness. It was immediately obvious why Silantra said it was a rush. As Silantra, a pillow shoved under her hips, told Lexy where to direct the dildo, letting her know when she had hit the spot by starting to scream her head off, her braids whipping back and forth as she tossed her head in pleasure, Lexy felt ten feet tall.

  I wonder if Frank would let me do this to him? she wondered as she altered her rhythm, acutely aware of how she hated men just to pound away, fucking Silantra the way she herself liked it best. He does love a finger up his arse. I could ask him to let me try as a one-off, see if he goes for it . . .

  As Silantra bucked against the dildo, the base of it, in the harness, rubbed against Lexy’s clit with increasing pressure. Lexy closed her eyes, riding the dildo even as she rode Silantra, starting to come again, clitorally this time, her thrusts rougher as she focused on her own pleasure; Silantra, knowing what was happening, bucked even harder, pushing back, sending Lexy over the edge and following her just a minute later. Her own orgasm spurted out, trickling down the sides of the dildo, onto the towel that they had sensibly placed under Silantra’s hips. Lexy just had the energy to pull out and collapse on the bed beside Silantra, flipping herself awkwardly onto her back to accommodate the big dick strapped between her legs.

  ‘Wow,’ she said.

  ‘Yeah.’

  Silantra turned on her side, a leisurely movement, and leaned over to kiss Lexy.

  ‘It’s just so hot, fucking someone,’ she said drowsily, falling back onto the bedspread. ‘Why should the guys have all the fun? I’d totally have a dick too if I could. Tits, dick, cunt, everything. I really get why some guys like chicks with dicks.’

  She yawned deeply.

  ‘Okay, I’m crashing,’ she said. ‘You wanna stay over? We could fuck again in the morning. It’s the best thing for filming – your skin looks really great afterwards.’

  ‘Oh well,’ Lexy said, shifting sideways so that she could unstrap the complicated harness. ‘If it’s good for filming, we should definitely do it, right? We’re professionals – we have to think of what’s best for the show.’

  Silantra giggled sleepily, reaching down to mop herself with the towel.

  ‘You’re funny!’ she said. ‘I like that.’

  She smiled at Lexy with real affection.

  ‘Know why I wanted to hook up tonight, enough to do your show?’ she asked. ‘I mean, you’re hot, but there are hot chicks everywhere. I wanted to hang out with you too. You can’t buy funny.’

  ‘Guess what?’ Lexy said, deadpan, putting the dildo on the bedside table. ‘That’s exactly what you just did.’

  Greatly to her credit, Silantra thought this was the funniest quip of the entire evening.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Caroline couldn’t sleep. She had been home for an hour and she was pacing her room, unable to calm down. A mug of camomile tea stood on her bedside table. She made herself walk over, blow on it, try to take a sip: it was coming up to two a.m., and if she didn’t get to sleep, she would be in no state for the considerable amount of writing she needed to get done the next day.

  The discovery she had made back at the St Pancras Grand, however, was so enormous that she was having serious trouble processing its implications. She had walked out of the hotel in an absolute trance. Seeing the line of black cabs on the curving forecourt, she had found herself nodding at the doorman when he asked if she wanted one, getting inside without even thinking about how much it would cost.

  The awards show had finished at eleven, the after-party had run past one in the morning; there was no way she could get home at that time on public transport without a night tube journey to Seven Sisters and then a night bus. The journey itself was fairly speedy; it was the company of the drunks on tube and bus, plus the distinctly insalubrious atmosphere of the b
us stop at which she would have to wait, and the walk down Edmonton Green at that hour of night, that she dreaded. Especially because she was conspicuously dressed in party clothes: in her experience that always made women more of a target.

  Climbing into the cab, she decided to expense it to Bailey and Hart. If they objected, Caroline would have Lexy intercede; Caroline now had a very powerful weapon, if she used it carefully. From this moment on, if she wanted legitimate extra expenses, for instance, all she had to do was joke about how Lexy had told her that Silantra wanted to have sex with her, or ask casually what time Lexy had made it back to the Chelsea flat after her post-party meeting with Silantra.

  Lexy couldn’t possibly know that Caroline was aware of the true reason she had stayed on at the hotel, but she would be desperate to shut down any speculation on the subject in case she was thought to have violated that terrifying confidentiality agreement. Lexy would be horrified if she knew that Caroline was even aware of the agreement’s existence.

  Caroline’s antennae had registered something unusual about the way the PA had bustled Lexy away as they arrived at the party, murmuring that they wanted to get her contact details so they could discuss possible future projects. Why wouldn’t Silantra’s team just give Lexy a card, or ping over their contact details and ask her manager to get in touch in due course, which was what had happened every other time someone wanted to work with Lexy?

  No one else noticed but Caroline. The other guests were too busy vying for Silantra’s attention, taking selfies with her: this was the opportunity of a lifetime to raise their profile by association. Darrell Rose, who, to Lexy’s annoyance, had been invited back to the St Pancras Grand, was particularly egregious, his veneered, megawatt smile flashing repeatedly as he held his phone above himself and Silantra, snapping away.

  Caroline was the only person who sat quietly to one side. And when plenty of time had elapsed, more than enough to provide an email address and phone number, Caroline slipped unnoticed from the living room. She was nothing and nobody, the least important guest of all. It would have more impact on the party if one of the waiters disappeared.