House of Temptations

by Yvonne Strickland

  By the same author:

  HOUSE OF ANGELS HOUSE OF INTRIGUE

  HOUSE OF TEMPTATIONS

  Yvonne Strickland

  This book is a work of fiction.

  In real life, make sure you practise safe sex.

  First published in 1996 by Nexus

  332 Ladbroke Grove London W10 5AH

  Copyright © Yvonne Strickland 1996

  Typeset by TW Typesetting, Plymouth, Devon

  Printed and bound by

  BPC Paperbacks Ltd, Aylesbury, Bucks

  ISBN 0 352 33109 7

  The right of Yvonne Strickland to be identified as the Author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  Contents

  1

  A Morning Passion

  1

  2

  An Unexpected Guest

  28

  3

  Living Fantasies

  48

  4

  Pleasures and Penalties

  75

  5

  The Stars Return

  97

  6

  Unexpected Role

  119

  7

  Sideshows

  139

  8

  The Goddess Speaks

  156

  9

  Sybaris

  193

  10

  The Vengeance of Pauline

  214

  A Morning Passion

 

  The soft morning air was sweet on her face and the sun, still low to the east, spread a gentle warmth. Reaching the shallow rise between the house and the valley, she stopped and turned. Gently easing a whisp of pale amber hair from her cheek and shading her hazel eyes, she looked back to the house; its white painted arches, terracotta roof, surrounding gardens and trees basked in the peaceful glow. Beyond the house, the tennis court lay deserted and a little sad. Between the front of the house and the curving driveway, the pool shimmered invitingly, its cluster of tables, chairs and bright sunshades accenting the background greenery with splashes of colour. The steady chirping of insects served to broaden the feeling of peace and tranquility which enveloped the land. Beyond the gardens lay the main road, backed by the vineyards of Languedoc, which stretched into the distance as far as her eye could see. Reaching the shallow rise between the house and the valley, she stopped. She felt the world might have been deserted.

  Karen did not expect to find anybody else up and about at so early an hour but she had awakened at daybreak, showered, and with no special goal in mind, set out for a walk.

  She thought about how her life had been altered during the months she had been at the house, recalling how she had applied for the secretarial job and remembering, too, the rainy day when she first met Sonia at the interview in England. She remembered her initial misgivings when she had found out that Sonia and her girls were involved in the SM and fetish scene on a commercial scale, and the initial loneliness she had experienced because her situation excluded her from the esoteric and bizarre activities with which the others there were so familiar. How could she have foreseen that in spite of her upbringing and attitude, she would have made such good friends amongst them? And how could she have known that the one whom she had regarded as devious and manipulative would draw her so deeply into her web of sensuality? For everyone at the house must by now have suspected, without the slightest hint of disapproval, that she and Sonia were more than just friends. Though perhaps they did not realise, for discretion was all, that Sonia had introduced her privately into some of the most voluptuous and devious of practices.

  Karen placed her fingers upon the silver locket where it sat above her breasts. The locket was precious to Sonia, but Sonia had given it to her as a token of their intimacy, to keep secretly so that no one else should know. Even when she had returned to England, to consider the direction her life was taking, she had kept the locket. But Karen saw no point in pretending, for some, including Valerie, surely knew of that which had never been spoken.

  This place was her home, these people her friends; perhaps the truest friends she had ever had. And though she had seen video movies of how they fulfilled their roles within and without the house, she had not judged them harshly, despite her less than liberal views on the pleasures of the flesh. But this world had its own frame of references, its own perspectives and meanings. They were just as real and relevant as those which she had been brought up with and had once taken for granted as being the norm. In her wildest imaginings, she could not have envisaged some of the things that had happened to her since her arrival.

  If, at first, she had felt deep shame and guilt at what seemed to be the most improper acts of carnality, she had not, even in her most introspective moments, caught the sulphurous whiff of hellfire. If the demons were stalking her for what she had done, then at least she was in good company. There was a demon, of course, and she was getting to know it well, for it was the demon of lust which had been allowed too little freedom for too long. And having tasted freedom, it wanted more, even more than she had so far ventured to permit it, for she had not yet dared to acknowledge that it might one day be given full rein. She still carried the guilt within, of course. Sometimes it spoke to her in silent disapproval, catching her at the oddest moments, often when she was alone at night. But it was only the shade of guilt which stalked her now, and not the granite ogre which had once so readily stood in her path.

  Karen turned and continued to walk over the grassy rise until the house was out of sight and she could see across the wooded valley to the distant sea. There to her right was the wooden bench where she often sat, sometimes alone, sometimes with Angela, the one who had shown her understanding and helped so often in her times of doubt. The seat, empty now in the sunlight, stood beneath the pine tree which provided it with welcome shade when the sun was higher in the sky and the day hotter. Perhaps, before then, Angela would join her in this idyllic little place. If not, she would read for a while and then take a swim before breakfast, for under the loose-fitting purple and white beach dress, was the little gold and blue striped swim slip she had bought late last summer in Beziers. It was the auburn-haired, mischievous, Annette who had talked her into buying it from the boutique, for such an audaciously brief garment was not one she would have cared to be seen in until that day. She was aware of the cord passing down between the cheeks of her behind and of the small, elasticated front cupping her shaven sex and caressing it like a soft hand. Her hair had been removed permanently in the beauty parlour. She had been held down, unable to speak or to prevent them from doing it. Afterwards, they had served her voluptuously. It had almost driven her wild. The very memory of it made her heart beat faster.

  She placed her white shoulder bag down and sat on the bench. With eyes closed, she listened to the insects for a time, then reached into the bag to pull out her cigarettes and lighter. Smoking was her little concession to another sin, for it was forbidden in the house.

  The blue smoke drifted and coiled lazily upward into the air. Karen browsed through a paperback novel then laid it aside. She was not in the mood to read when the morning was hers to savour like a good wine.

  She delighted in the gentle warmth and remai
ned quite at ease until the cigarette was finished. Kicking off her shoes, she arose, and looking about to confirm that she was indeed as alone as she wished to be, she lifted up and removed her dress. She placed the dress over the wooden back rest, turned to face the sun and stretched out her limbs. It was good and sensual to feel the morning heat caress her body. She ran her fingers down over her firm breasts, over the pink nipples, down her sides and over the curve of her thighs. Sitting down, she leant back against the dress and closed her eyes, telling herself that this was the first morning ever and that she was quite alone in the world.

  Her thoughts began to drift like a fallen petal upon a lazy stream, touching upon the things she had done and enjoyed doing, and the secrets that had been revealed in the new life she had embarked upon. Slowly, her hand moved over her stomach until her fingers rested against the smooth flesh a little above her sex. For a time, she hesitated, listening to the birds and hearing the whine of jet engines above. Opening her eyes, she pushed down the G-string slip, and laid it aside. Spreading her legs, she watched as the airliner, coming in from the west, banked and began its descent towards Montpellier. Her fingers found the focus of pleasure and she began to stroke, slowly at first. As she watched the passing jet, she thought that if it came down low enough, they might all see and know what she was doing to herself.

  But, of course, the plane was too far away. Even so, the thought of being observed by all those passers-by, people who would never know or see her again, amused her and urged her on. Her fingers moved more quickly and entered further into her inflamed sex, stroking with the rhythm of her heartbeat. The heat she was feeling now was greater, much greater, than that from the morning sun. She closed the world out and let her head fall back, feeling the effervescence welling up from her loins and spreading throughout her body. With her mouth opened a little, she began to sigh, quietly at first but, as unmeasured time drifted by, her breathing grew louder. When the tide of pleasure overwhelmed her, she let out a long, low cry, and her body went as rigid as crystal glass with the flames of pleasure glowing through it.

  When she opened her eyes, the light was dazzling and she raised a hand to shield out the glare. The wide blue sky was empty, the airliner gone. She was reaching out for the sun slip when a voice from behind called, 'Hi Karen!'

  She twisted about, startled. 'Oh, Angie! I - What are you -?'

  Angela, with smiling blue-grey eyes and long, silver-blonde hair wound about her head and fastened at the side with a blue clasp, stood but a few paces away. Tm sorry, sweetie. I didn't mean to creep up on you. I was strolling along the ridge. I thought I heard someone call out just now. Didn't you hear anything?'

  Karen felt her face redden. 'No - no, I've been dozing in the sun. Look - er, I'm sorry -' she reached behind for her dress - 'I didn't expect anyone about so early. I just thought I'd ...'

  Angela began to laugh. 'There's no need to be embarrassed, silly! I sunbathe in the nude here myself sometimes. Who cares!'

  Karen smiled sheepishly, got up and pulled on the dress. She regarded Angela for a moment, in her white, sleeveless cotton top and flared, blue satin mini-skirt. Angela was in her early twenties, perhaps a year or two, at the most, younger than Karen. And like Karen and all the other girls at the house, she was beautiful. 'There's no need to get dressed on my account,' she continued. 'I'm sure we're the only ones out here.'

  'No, I think I will anyway. The seat's a bit uncomfortable.'

  She moved along to make space. 'Are you staying for a bit? D'you fancy a cigarette?'

  'Yes, I will, if you don't mind; if you didn't want to be left alone, that is.'

  'Angie, of course I don't mind. I always like your company, you know that.'

  Angela sat beside her. it's a lovely time of the day, isn't it? I always think so, anyway.'

  'Yes, gorgeous.'

  'How come you're up and about so early on a Saturday?'

  Karen held out a cigarette and smiled, it's one of those things I always thought I should do, but never managed until now. How about you?'

  'Oh, I usually get up early. I always have since I was at school. The only time I have a lie-in is when we have visitors to entertain or put on a show. Well, you know ...'

  Karen did know. Sonia had made that clear at the interview. She knew about the erotic theatre that was played out and recorded for the ever-demanding market, and about the wealthy visitors who appeared at the house from time to time. And she was aware that Angela often played the submissive role in these fantasies, even though none of the girls ever broke the rules of discretion and discussed the details of their work openly.

  it doesn't seem possible that you've been here over a year,' said Angela, drawing on the cigarette.

  'Well, I did have a few weeks break back in England didn't I? But I know what you mean. The time has gone by quickly - quicker than I could have imagined.'

  That must mean you're fairly happy now.'

  'Yes,' replied Karen, i suppose I am.'

  'But you're not terribly sure.'

  'Well, it's not that . ..'

  She looked into Angela's eyes, hoping that she might understand what was lurking inside the depths of her mind because Karen dared not express it openly, not even to her.

  'Look,' said Karen, 'I was thinking I might go for a swim and then have breakfast. I'd be glad if you came along too. Unless you were planning something else, that is.'

  'No, I wasn't,' Angela said with a gentle, knowing look. Karen sometimes wondered if Angela knew more than she let on.

  They lay floating on their backs, the crystal water glistening about their slim bodies like two goddesses under a blissful sun and cobalt sky. They circled slowly around, their hair swarming out beneath their shoulders, their eyes closed.

  Someone watched them with studied enthusiasm, eyes resting on each of their bodies in turn, seeing their breasts with their pink and prominent nipples break the water, noting the little string slip which adorned Karen and the equally minimal garment in deep blue satin worn by Angela. He leant on his spade and let out a long sigh.

  Angela opened her eyes. 'Hey, look at that pervert staring at us!' she cried with mock indignation.

  Karen looked about and grinned. 'Hi Mike!'

  His face moulded to a broad smile, the sunlight glinted in his blue eyes. 'Me, a pervert? I'd have to be a pervert not to stare at you two!' He passed a hand across a suntanned forehead, and pushed the short, fair hair from his face. 'I might dive in and join you, if I thought I'd get out alive!'

  'What?' replied Angela, in those dirty old things?'

  He fingered his T-shirt and looked down at his jeans. 'Some of us have jobs to do!'

  'On a Saturday?' said Karen.

  'Yes!' He smiled. 'A man's work is never done!'

  'That's because you take so long to get started!' responded Angela. 'Why don't you go and get us both an orange juice? You know where everything is. And wash that muck off your hands first!'

  He scratched his head and affected a look of despair before laying down the spade. Then, strolling away from the pool, he made towards the French windows of the conservatory and bar, next to the main entrance to the house.

  'Poor Mike,' said Karen, 'we do take advantage of him, don't we?'

  'Not as much as Annette by any means. But he loves it really.'

  They liked Mike, of course, for he had all the manners and discretion of a gentleman despite being barely into his thirties. Both Angela and Karen had experienced physical passion with him, neither disclosing the affair to the other. And he too was discreet, as much out of necessity as through good manners. They all knew that his present situation, as enviable as it might appear, had been born out of difficulty. It was no secret that his escape from the clutches of the British tax authorities had been in part due to Sonia's help, whilst he was still her financial adviser in London.

  'I think we ought to get out and put something on before he comes back,' said Angela.

  'You do?' responded Karen.


  'Well, yes. If we're still like this, his hands will start shaking and he'll spill the drinks!'

  Karen and Angela sat over a light breakfast in the conservatory. Through the window she could see Mike, digging over the flower beds at the sides of the driveway. From the direction of the bar, a figure approached. Karen turned to see Sonia nearing their table. 'Hello you two,' she said. 'I'm not butting in, am I?'

  'No,' responded Karen, 'of course not.'

  Angela smiled and said, 'Pull up a chair.'

  Had they not been so familiar with Sonia, her intimidating appearance might have precluded such a casual greeting. For Sonia, with dark, slightly oriental features and black hair swept back from her face into a bun, had about her an aura of quiet authority, reinforced in no mean part by her attire of black leather biker jacket, heavy black lycra leggings and black, high-heeled ankle boots. Sonia normally wore black. It could seldom be otherwise. She sat down and peered through the windows, her gaze fixed on the far end of the curving driveway where it passed through the trees and joined the main road.

  'Have you heard from them all yet?' asked Karen.

  'All but one,' answered Sonia. 'Everything else is arranged.'

  'Is there no way of finding out?'

  'Apparently not,' replied Sonia. 'Trouble is, if she doesn't show up, the whole thing is a waste of time and money."

  'What's the problem?' Angela asked.

  it's the shots for our new London client,' answered Sonia. 'The studio people will be here with two of the models by eight thirty on Monday morning but the third model seems to have gone missing: whereabouts unknown.'

  'Why don't you get one of us to stand in?' offered Angela.

  'No, you couldn't,' responded Karen. 'They don't want anyone who's been in anything like this before.'

  'Yes,' added Sonia, 'it has to be new faces but people familiar with the scene.'

  'Shall I get you anything from the bar?' offered Angela.

  Sonia glanced at her watch, if you wouldn't mind, please; a sandwich or something so I can get back to the office in case there's a phone call.'