Gemini Heat

by Portia Da Costa

  He was short-sighted, she knew, but in that moment their gazes locked in a perfect incontestable communication. She made an offer and he acknowledged and accepted it.

  ‘You don’t have to do this,’ he whispered, as if raised voices could fracture the spell.

  ‘But I want to.’ She laid her hands lightly on his exposed lower thighs and felt him tremble.

  ‘Well, in that case … Oh God—’ His voice faltered as she slid the fingertips of both hands up the loose legs of his shorts and reached for the treasures at his groin. ‘Oh yes! Please! Do it!’

  Deliberate and teasing, she withdrew her searching fingers and let them rest on his bare knees as if she were deciding what her next act should be. She could feel moisture on his skin, and goose flesh, the sort that came from great excitement, not fear. Strength and exultation washed through her and she reached for the draw-string of his shorts.

  The knot was slack and easily dealt with and in seconds she was grasping at his waistband and easing it downwards. Foraging beneath the gathered band, she hooked her fingers into his underpants too, then eased down both shorts and pants in a single crumpled bunch.

  ‘Hup!’ she urged softly, and like an obedient child, he lifted his bottom. With his hips still raised, she pulled his clothes right down to his ankles in a long bold yank, then suppressed a giggle at the stomach-slapping bounce of his cock as it swung and swayed like a jack-in-a-box. Its tip was wet and shiny and on the upswing it seemed to cling slightly to the gloss of sweat on his belly.

  Sitting back onto her heels, she beheld a simple but magnificent sight. A naked penis, erect in its blind-eyed glory as it pointed its way to the stars …

  It was funny how an act that had never been her favourite was suddenly a bewitching obsession. She’d never wanted to suck Russell’s unimpressive and forgettable instrument, but the idea of man-meat in her mouth was now delectable.

  Peter didn’t have quite the elegant weapon that Jake did – the hard, pure blade of a twentieth-century samurai – but what he did have was no mean shaft. It was fine and sturdy, fat, and a good, long length, its moist rounded head a delicious temptation to the mouth. Even as she watched, another drop of pre-come oozed out.

  Will he taste like Jake, she wondered, her attention winging back to the hot red room and the man who’d lain on the couch. Would Peter be neutral and salty too, or would he have an individual flavour of his own? There was only one way to find out.

  Almost cross-eyed with concentration, Delia touched the thick veiny shank and made it wave to and fro. Peter gasped and gritted his teeth, his eyes shut tight again now, his lean face a mask of submission. Submission to her will …

  Delia felt wild and unstoppable, crazy for experience and pleasure, but completely in control. Shuffling closer, she tugged away the constricting clothes from around his ankles, then edged apart his feet and eased them forward. Pressing down on his splayed-open knees, she brought his pelvis sliding towards her so that his cock reared up, perfectly presented to her mouth. He cried out like a child when she leaned in towards his body and took the tip of him in between her lips.

  She was vaguely aware of him collapsing backwards, his head twisting this way and that, his throat bared and vulnerable. She imagined the sight to be fabulous – but her primary attention was lower. On the pale naked plains of his loins and thighs, and at the heart of the matter, his cock …

  When she sucked him experimentally, he jerked in her mouth and squirmed his hips on the seat. It was almost as if the sensations were too much for him and he was trying to get away, but Delia refused to let go. He was her prize, her treat, her living lollipop and she was determined to have him. She curled the fingers of one hand around his shaft, and with the other hand she cradled his balls.

  This cock was hers now, and she would have everything about it. She would take its heat and its hardness and she would drain it of its strength and sap. Every silk-smooth drop.

  But not straight away, and not simply. This was a learning experience for her, an act to be taken slowly. She would savour it and memorise his every reaction. His every taste and texture. And even though she was only a student at this, she had no doubt in her mind that she already knew enough to enslave him. She could make this man, Peter, her creature with perfect ease. He’d be her grateful slave when she’d finished, to do with whatever she pleased.

  It was an exquisite thought, as seductive and delightful as the taste of the flesh in her mouth. Salty stuff was flowing freely from the tiny little orifice in his glans, and as Delia sucked hard and instinctively to draw it out faster, Peter moaned like a man under torture. She felt his hands close around her head, his wrists and arms tense and shivering. He was fighting a driving urge, a need to grab at her hair for leverage and drive his cock into the depths of her throat. With her mouth chock-full of him, and her saliva flowing down across her chin, her mind seemed to be working with extraordinary clarity. She could feel the fight in him, feel him dying to thrust and pump and come, yet resisting it in case he made her choke.

  He was sobbing now, crying and mewling out her name. Her name. ‘Delia,’ not ‘Deana’ or even ‘Dee’. If she could’ve laughed with triumph, she would have done, but as it was she just swirled her tongue around his glans, tautened the fine skin of his cock with her fingers, then sucked at him till her ears popped and her eyes started watering with the effort.

  Her reward was a long, broken shout that echoed eerily around the small room. He was one of the gentlest men she’d ever met but as he came, he gouged her tender scalp with his nails and filled her mouth with great bouts of his thick, hot semen. Spurt after spurt of it flooded her throat and within seconds she was struggling to swallow. Gulping, she tried hard to listen as well. And to understand the demented ramblings of a lover she’d driven crazy with her lips.

  His chest was heaving, he was panting and gasping, but somewhere in the raving babble of his orgasm, Delia could’ve sworn she’d heard him tell her he loved her …

  Men will say anything when they’re coming, she thought as she let him slip out. Any old rubbish at all, she observed fondly as she kissed his red shiny tip.

  She kissed his thighs, she kissed the dark, fuzzy floss at his groin, then unable to resist, she pressed another kiss to his soft, sticky penis.

  But when she started to lick it, she felt his hand come alive amongst her hair. Moving more gently this time, he caressed her scalp, each tender stroke an echo of the flickings of her tongue.

  ‘I love you, Delia,’ he murmured as she adjusted her position and closed her fingertips very lightly on his balls.

  Any old rubbish, she thought dreamily … then sucked.

  ‘You look superb, Dee,’ observed Jake laconically as Deana settled down in the limousine beside him. Her heart was pounding so hard she was surprised he didn’t tell her he could see it. She was trying to project an attitude of cool, but she didn’t think much of her chances … Inside she’d never felt hotter.

  She was hot in Delia’s stupid dress. Hot, in Jake’s ridiculous perverted idea of underwear. Hot, because the man himself was just inches away, and all she wanted to do was close the distance and get him inside her.

  Half-dizzy with it all, she had the weirdest idea. Had he impregnated the leather of the basque somehow? Steeped it in an aphrodisiac potion that was passing through her skin into her bloodstream? Each time she’d met him she’d wanted him, but tonight it was out of all proportion …

  Jake wore very little leather tonight, which Deana thought strange given his usual, almost fetishistic fondness for it. His shirt was made of heavy black silk, and he wore it tieless but primly buttoned up. His trousers were Italian, also black, and cut with a gorgeous fluid bagginess that was breathtakingly sensual. As a kind of afterthought, the whole lot was topped off with a natty figured satin waistcoat in a black on black shadow print. The only leather item he was wearing was a narrow belt with a discreet silver and black enamel buckle.

  ‘You’re rather quiet, m
y sweet,’ he whispered, leaning close and kissing her throat. The gesture was surprisingly affectionate, and as he made it, Deana breathed in his fragrance. It was heavy and sweet and spicy, drifting out from his sleekly bound hair in a wave so potent it stunned her. To her chagrin, she swayed against him, her giddiness doubling and redoubling at the unyielding strength of his body.

  ‘You’re not feeling uncomfortable, are you?’ he enquired, his long eyes narrowing but in no way diminishing in radiance.

  She thought ‘Bastard!’ but she said, ‘No, not in the slightest,’ and had another stab at cool, unruffled airiness. ‘Why on earth should you think that?’ She even managed a small insouciant smile.

  ‘You just won’t be ‘‘easy”, will you?’ he replied, moving infinitesimally closer, parting his moulded lips and running his tongue across the upper one. He looked as if he were a wolf about to savour his dinner … or the feeding of some other strong appetite.

  ‘Easy for who?’ Deana felt the hair on the back of her neck prickle, like a sensor scanning for danger. He was testing her somehow, she realised, but her natural urge was to rise up, challenge him, and try some subtle tests of her own.

  ‘Easy for us,’ he said, still closing, still insolent and still resolute.

  ‘And who might ‘‘us” be?’ she persisted, her heart revving up in a deep adrenalin produced pound that seemed to bounce it up and down in her chest.

  He was within millimetres now, though she couldn’t have said how he’d got there.

  ‘Dee …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Shut up!’

  And then there was no gap between them. No gap between their pressing, sucking lips; no gap between their bodies as he forced her back against the seat and explored her. His hands moved quickly and roughly, travelling across her body in a grope that was almost adolescent. He was checking for the presence of the corset, she realised, his fingers pressing at her whaleboned waist and her securely cupped breasts – squeezing and testing the elasticity of both flesh and the constraints he’d put upon it.

  She wanted to say ‘Yes, you swine I’m wearing your sodding corset!’ but she couldn’t because he wouldn’t let her. He was filling her mouth with a tongue that seemed twice its normal size, and that stifled any last shred of protest.

  Almost flat on her back on the lushly upholstered seat, she felt his fingers sliding beneath her, then grabbing at her buttocks where they jutted beneath the edge of the corset. She gasped when he took a round of flesh in each hand and pulled and circled it lewdly. The tension between her bottom and her sex was suddenly intimate and maddening; tiny connected muscle groups tugged furiously on her soft pulpy membranes and made her clitoris stiffen and swell. The nubby little organ came alive in an instant, grew stretched and hot and ready, rising up for the touch of its master.

  But just when Deana thought she was going to scream into his mouth, Jake pulled back and away from her. His eyes were like lapis lazuli in the darkness and he stared down at her limp, sprawled body. ‘Let’s see if you’ve obeyed me …’ His voice hoarse, his eyes bright, he pushed crudely at her pretty silk skirt.

  ‘Bad girl,’ he said, touching her pubis through the sheer white panties she’d put on in blatant defiance of his instructions. His finger burrowed in cruelly and poked at her clitoris without gentleness or finesse, punishing the most sensitive part of her body by callously stirring it to pleasure.

  When her hips bucked in response, the prodding hand was snatched away, and through a haze of frustrated lust, she saw him reach across to the console beside his seat and press impatiently at one of the buttons.

  ‘Pull over,’ he rapped and immediately the car began to slow.

  ‘No,’ she moaned, anticipating Fargo’s eyes again, so cold and blank and dismissive as he studied her naked genitals.

  ‘Yes,’ said Jake calmly, but when retribution came it was not in the form she’d expected.

  Lying on the seat, she couldn’t see out of the windows, but she sensed they were in a quiet but well-lit street. Frozen by excitement and desire, she waited for Jake to summon his robot-like servant around to the back passenger door and was surprised when instead, he wound down the dividing glass and simply said, ‘Your knife, please, Fargo.’

  Apprehension gripped her and her innards churned.

  Then she heard the words ‘drive on’ and the hum of the dividing glass rising.

  ‘I specifically asked you not to wear panties.’

  Jake’s voice was terrifyingly ordinary, and his free hand surprisingly gentle as he pushed her tight, ruched skirt up to her waist and lifted the elastic of her panties away from her body and the basque. There was a small ripping sound, and then another, and it was then that Deana understood the purpose of the blade.

  He’d said ‘no panties’ and he’d meant it; so now he was slicing them clean off her body and chopping them up into ribbons. He was perfectly calm and almost unconcerned, as if he carved up lingerie on a regular basis. Maybe he did? she thought suddenly. He seemed capable of just about anything.

  When her panties were destroyed, he snapped the knifeblade back into its guard, laid the weapon aside, then gathered up the scraps of white cloth. Most of these he stuffed into his waistcoat pocket, but several he continued to fidget with; absently winding and unwinding them around his left index finger as if he were thinking intently and considering his next act of outrage.

  ‘Let’s see,’ he said matter-of-factly as he toyed with the ruins of her knickers. ‘I shan’t punish you, sweet Dee, because we’re going to the house of someone who’ll do it far better than I ever could.’ He let the thin strips of cotton unfurl, then hang like tiny fluttering streamers in the heavy luxurious gloom. ‘But we must mark the event somehow.’ Another pause … Another narrow, menacing grin. ‘Take off your dress.’

  ‘What?’ Her sex throbbed again in delicious horror. ‘Are you insane?’

  ‘Not quite. Now kindly take off your dress, Dee … Or shall I chop that up too?’

  She wanted to take off the dress, and her mind offered a perfectly rational reason to do so. It was one of Delia’s favourite party frocks and she’d be absolutely furious if it were damaged.

  Proudly, Deana turned away from him, inclining herself forward as gracefully as she could and reaching around to hold her hair off her shoulders.

  ‘My zip, please,’ she said quietly. He wasn’t going to get the better of her. She wasn’t going to be fazed. Even though the corset reached only to her navel, and to lose the frock that covered it would be to show him her belly, her sex and her bottom – all rudely framed in suspenders and sheer, smokedbeige stockings.

  Slowly and carefully, Jake complied, the deft way he unzipped her an indicator of how many dozens, nay hundreds, of other women he must also have undressed. She imagined them as she was, stripping for him in cars and being coerced into unthinkable acts. She recalled her visit to club ‘Seventeen’ and the men and women there who’d been little more than chained and naked slaves … And she knew then, with absolute certainty, that Jake had taken bound women there himself. The thought made her clitoris throb and her sex-lips pout and engorge.

  But that isn’t you, Deana! her mind protested as she wriggled out of the dress and tried to look coolly unconcerned.

  Ah, but it is, whispered another sly, internal voice as she folded the pink silk mass and set it neatly on the seat beside her. Her thighs trembled feverishly as she fought an almost overpowering urge to cross her legs and hide her wet sex from Jake.

  You want to do it, don’t you? the hidden submissive persisted. To show yourself. You’d do anything for him, admit it. Walk down the Mall nude. Be smacked and fingered by strangers. Open your legs and masturbate in broad daylight in a crowded room. Doesn’t just the thought of it make you cream? her devil’s advocate taunted her. If Jake stopped the car again right now, and had Fargo screw you on the bonnet, you’d be coming before that icy, hard-faced bastard had even got his trousers off!

  ‘Op
en your legs, please, Dee,’ Jake said pleasantly, still twirling his little strips of cotton.

  Deana obeyed him, acutely conscious of her own stickiness as she did so. She didn’t look down, but she guessed that her dark curls were glossy with the fluid of sexual excitement and that her marshy, blood-filled folds would be standing proud and crude and announcing her condition to Jake. Even as she shifted her thighs, she felt a dangerous little twitch in her clitoris. If he touched her even once, she’d have a huge, shaming orgasm in an instant.

  But he didn’t go anywhere near her clitoris.

  Instead he tied the ends of the strips of her torn panties into a knot and pushed that unceremoniously into her vagina, leaving the white tails dangling outside.

  It was a humiliating badge of ‘disobedience’, and somehow the bundle of small white streamers made her crotch look ten times as bare and drew critical attention to her wetness.

  ‘That’s to show that you’ve been naughty,’ he said, uncannily echoing her feelings. ‘When I walk you into Vida’s presence, she’ll know straight away that you’re due for a well-earned punishment.’

  ‘Vida? We’re going to see Vida Mistry?’ The thought was exciting and Deana’s stuffed and decorated vulva seemed to pulsate in a hot flush of yearning.

  To see Vida again, be paraded before her … Oh God, that would mean getting out of this car half naked and with the shreds of her torn-up panties hanging down between her legs.

  Jake’s grin was pure, beautiful evil. ‘Yes … You’re going to have to walk through the foyer of Vida’s building just as you are. Bare-bottomed, and showing your curls and your streamers to the world.’ He leaned over and kissed the corner of her trembling mouth. His saliva was cool on her lips as he licked his way gently around them. ‘You’ve been a bad girl, Dee. Disobedient. And now you have to be shamed for it. But don’t worry, I’ll cover your eyes and plug your ears. You won’t see who’s looking at your sex and your arse … and you won’t hear them calling out what they think of your pussy and your bottom. And your pretty little dangling ribbons.’