by Carla Blake
Title Page
PROTECTION
by
Carla Blake
Publisher Information
Protection published in 2010 by
Andrews UK Limited
www.andrewsuk.com
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 being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
The characters and situations in this book are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.
Copyright © Carla Blake
The right of Carla Blake to be identified as author of this book has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Dedication
For Chris
CHAPTER ONE
Finally, the party was at its most interesting.
Stoically, she had endured all the pleasantries, the tiresome small talk, the unwanted attention from colleagues that ordinarily she wouldn’t have passed the time of day with.
All that she had done, smiling sweetly. Clasping sweaty hand after sweaty hand before releasing her fingers and surreptitiously wiping the moisture down her dress. Her smile muscles aching, her head screaming for the boring stuff to end.
Sighing, she looked down and saw, discarded on the floor amongst the tatty streamers and morsels of food, the remains of inhibitions and good intentions. Alcohol was to blame. Liquid masks clouding eyes that normally wouldn’t have looked twice and encouraging drunken couples into quiet corners, were weaving clumsy limbs together, they quickly shed whatever remained of their common sense.
From her own quiet corner, close to a trestle table that dripped spilt beer onto the carpet, she watched the dance floor empty and raised a wine glass to her lips. It had, she decided, been one hell of a party. A real barn stormer. But now it was slowing down and hurtling towards that point when the decorations, at first so sparkly and new, now seemed as tired and worn as the folk weaving their way between them.
Like the six foot Christmas tree for instance. How splendid that had seemed at first. Its strong, green boughs dripping with a assorted baubles and tinsel whilst the rotund, silver alien with flashing, blue eyes had easily usurped the traditional Angel.
Now it looked merely tired and cheap. As jaded as the booze filled guests creeping away with only one thing on their minds.
Overhead, the spotlights dimmed and glancing upwards, she smelt air sour with the heady aroma of lust. Frowning, she eased herself backwards, not wishing to become part of the great flesh hunt and preferring instead to loose herself to the shadows.
Easing a hand beneath the elaborate mask of feathers and glitter she rubbed at her hot and itchy skin, idily trying to air herself without actually removing the mask, Now was not the time. Things were finally starting to go her way and she did not want to compromise them. Soon she would make her move, grateful yet again, to whoever’s idea it had been to make this a masquerade party.
The music abruptly changed, disolving into a slow, romantic dirge and cringing, she studied those still out of the dance floor. Swaying as they eyed each other up. Their body language so blatant it all but screamed ‘take me!’
Unimpressed, she pondered on how easily the hierarchy of the work place could be so totally obliterated simply by the presence of a cheap bottle of wine and a beautifully decorated mask.
Close to her hiding place, inebriated laughter made her start and throwing a disapproving scowl in the direction of a young woman, she watched her steady herself against the trestle table before clumsily pulling her admirers hand from her cleavage and thrusting it back at him.
It didn’t work. Too drunk to care, her admirer merely pulled a face and nuzzled his whisky sodden chin into her neck. Wrapping an arm round her waist before drunkenly propelling her towards a quiet corner in which they could screw.
The romantic song ended and another replaced it, it’s sickly sweet sentiments bringing bile to her throat. How she loathed the soppy words and promises of undying love. Who cared about that stuff anymore? Who cared about feelings? Everyone was just out for what they could get. Namely the four F’s. ‘Feed, fuck, flee, forget.’ No strings. No romance. Just users and victims.
She was well versed in both. Having been both a user and a victim in her time and caring for neither. To her mind, it didn’t really matter which way you played the game, you still ended up getting hurt.
Sighing heavily, she tapped polished fingers on the trestle table, bored of waiting. No longer could she stay here, watching for the object of her desire to stagger past. It was time to join in the drunken revelry and seek them out.
Shivering with anticipation, she left her dark corner and picked her way across the slippery dance floor, careful to avoid the scattered mess of crushed food and spilt drinks. From the corner of her eye she spied a pair of naked legs poking out from under a table, and captivated by the sight she bumped into the huge Christmas tree making it shudder and emit a squeal of surprise. The very human voice swiftly adding a complaint as to the sharpness of pine needles.
Carrying on, she examined clothes and discarded masks as she went. Searching for, but hoping she wouldn’t find, the one person she’d been watching for most of the evening.
Outside the hall, the corridor was deserted. The doors running along it, closed.
A bottle and two glasses stood outside the nearest, but they didn’t belong to the person she sought. The wine label not the kind they favoured.
The next door opened to angry surprise and she hurriedly shut it again, muttering an apology but certain the disgruntled voice had not belonged to the one she wanted.
Silently, she tried them all. Her unwanted intrusions meeting with either emptiness, grunts of love making or curses at her sudden arrival. None of them, however, harboured the person she was looking for and disappointed, she slumped against the wall.
What if they’d already gone home? Or slipped away whilst she wasn’t looking? Unaware they had a secret admirer who’d only attended the party because she’d known they were going to be there.
Suddenly feeling ill, she closed her eyes. Praying that she was wrong and that all the hours she’d spent on the mask hadn’t been for nothing. Hours she had spent examining herself in front of the toothpaste spotted mirror. Hours spent making sure it covered enough of her face. Needing to be absolutely certain she wasn’t going to be recognized.
Surely she wasn’t about to discover that all that careful preparation had been for nothing? How cruel fate could be.
Behind her, the double doors at the far end of the corridor abruptly crashed open and a couple stagged out, their voices raised in argument.
Startled, she slunk towards the nearest door and let herself in, relieved to find the room empty. Pressing her eye to the gap she peered out, eager to see who it was fighting, then gasping when they finally came into view and she saw it was the one she’d been seeking who was arguing that they simply weren’t interested. Didn’t they understand? They hadn’t come to the party for that!
The other voice fought back and clearly reluctant to admit defeat, pleaded and cajoled, trying its hardest to persuade, until, screaming with frustration, the one she sought stomped off down the corridor, loudly slamming the door in their wake.
Silence again filled the corridor. The one who’d been begging moved off. Leaving through the same door and slamming it even harder.
Watching, she smiled, and smoothed down her dress
.
At last! Her chance!
Hesitating she warned herself not to get too carried away. Be cool, be calm.
Do not blow it now.
A pile of crumpled tissues lay at their feet, together with their masks, their need for them over. The darkened cloak room enough of a disguise on its own, and the only noise coming from the steady tick of a clock and the occasional, mournful creak as they settled themselves onto the upholstered bench that ran along the length of the walls. Above their heads, a few, forgotten coats hung limply from metal hooks. The only witnesses to their growing passion.
It hadn’t been difficult after all. A few encouraging words and she had gently guided her into the privacy of the cloak room. An arm around her shoulders and she had pulled her ever closer into a circle of warmth. Their heads drawn close. Whispered words breathed into softly fragranced hair before her lips trailed down her face, parting to kiss.
Slowly she had eased her hand up Peacock’s thigh, knowing that this was how she would think of her from now on, as a beautiful, graceful peacock. Her mask, wet with tears from her argument, had been decorated as such. The almost luminous feathers winking at her in the darkness, the delicate blue offering brief glimpses of splendor before being tossed to the floor, together with her own mask, designed to resemble an Owl.
In the secretive darkness, they had exchanged names. The peacock had given hers as Sam. Not her real name, she knew, but she didn’t care, she understood why. Lying saved embarrassment later and helped to disguise what they were about to do and with that in mind, she had lied too, giving her name as Emma. The name she would have liked to have been born with, given the choice.
The kiss, when it came, took her breath away and she was filled with sexual electricity. She had longed for this. Dreamt of it. Wished for it more than anything. Now it was hers, and she wanted it to last forever.
Slipping her hand from Sam’s thigh, she eased it around the back of her neck and touched the zipper to her dress. The subtlest of coaxing eased it down, the fabric slipping from Sam’s shoulders and she allowed it to drop to her lap in a crimson pool.
Beneath, her skin felt soft and smooth, the delicate, lacy cups of her bra cradling creamy mounds of flesh. Longing to scoop them free and run her fingertips across the waiting nipples, she stood, and silencing Sam’s moan of dismay with a finger to her lips, eased the spaghetti straps of her own dress over her shoulders, pulling her arms free.
Hovering on the slope of her breasts, she then tugged the velvet material down over her stomach and on past her hips, watching it drift to the floor.
Naked underneath, she smiled at the deep groan of desire issuing from Sam and unable to contain her own desire, she unclasped Sam’s bra and pulled her to her. Needing to feel the full length of Sam’s skin pressed deliciously against her own and delighted to discover, when Sam’s dress fell, that she wasn’t wearing any panties either.
Kissing, they lay down and their nipples touched. Straddling her, Emma smiled, loving the way Sam’s skin gleamed softly in the darkness and the way her nipples appeared starkly brown against the creamy paleness of her breasts.
Devouring her with her eyes, Emma licked her lips as Sam cupped her own breasts and offered them up, sighing when Emma bowed her head to cover the heavy mounds with her mouth and gently flicked her tongue across her nipples. They hardened and she moaned with pleasure, imploring Emma not to stop.
Her moans increased as Emma fingered the other nipple. Squeezing gently, feeling it pucker as Sam writhed and moaned beneath her. Her hips beginning to thrust upwards. Urging Emma to ease the need that burned inside her.
But Emma was in no hurry and trailing her tongue slowly across Sam’s smooth, flat stomach she took her time. Blowing gently across the soft hairs that waited lower down. The musky aroma of clean, sweet pussy teasing her nose as she probed the soft curls with the tip of her tongue and gradually pushed deeper, finding the tiny nub of flesh that waited there and expertly starting to lap.
Parting Sam’s pussy lips with her fingers, she relished the sweet juices before licking the full length of Sam’s pussy with her tongue. Sam gushed and her hips bucked again. Desperately, she begged Emma to take her and fuck her hard.
Lacing two fingers together, Emma worked them inside Sam’s dripping hole and began to pump, feeling the muscles spasm around her fingers as she moved them faster and faster. Beneath her, Sam’s head tilted back. Her back arched with pleasure as she approached her orgasm and Emma thrust her fingers in and out, pushing Sam closer and closer to the edge, until finally she came, her cunt throbbing.
Withdrawing her fingers, Emma licked them clean, and eased herself up the length of Sam’s body until her own pussy hovered over Sam’s face. Then, with Sam’s hands clasping her backside, she lowered herself down and closed her eyes, shuddering as Sam’s tongue delved into her heat and parted her pussy lips. Her slit instantly plump and wet as Sam’s tongue slid up and down and her hands reached up and squeezed her nipples. A single finger suddenly burying itself deep inside her cunt, tipping her instantly over the edge.
Gasping, Emma ground her pussy onto Sam’s finger, coming hard but wanting, needing to come even harder and reaching for Sam’s face, she shoved it against her clit, knowing she was probably making it difficult for Sam to breath, but not caring. She needed to prolong this exquisite pleasure and feeling Sam’s tongue again start to lap against her swollen clit, she rode the waves of a second orgasm.
Afterwards they lay together in a satisfied heap, fused by the sweat on their bodies. The scent of their sex only starting to fade once they had begun to slowly draw apart in a flurry of tiny kisses.
Sitting up they groped for their respective dresses and stole furtive glances at each other while they dressed. They didn’t speak. They didn’t have to.
This would not be the last time they would be together.
She was sure.
Christmas and New Year dragged interminably on. She spent it alone. Dining on ‘ready meals’ and laboriously searching the television channels for something that wasn’t smothered in tinsel and good cheer, settling at last for the least offensive. The flickering images playing unobserved before her eyes, whilst her mind delved inside her memory and replaced the seasonal picture with recollections of the night she had returned from the party. Her attempts to shower without getting the hand she had fucked ‘Sam’ with wet. Her fingers brought up to her nose again and again, inhaling the delicate aroma of pussy on her skin, before falling asleep with her hand cradled to her face, content that this was only the beginning.
Thus, Christmas and New Year had slipped past whilst, in her kitchen, she marked off the days on her calender. Patiently waiting for the time when she could return to work and to the gentle caresses of her Peacock.
Imbued with warm anticipation, all day she had searched for her. Hoping that every time the office door opened she would be standing there. A sexy smile on her face. Filthy suggestions dripping from her lips.
Except it never happened.
Instead the day had dragged on without a single sighting and by the time she was ready to go home, her desperate mind, eager for some solace, had started to compile an extensive list as to the reasons why her beautiful bird had not paid her a visit.
But nothing she tried felt plausable and feeling frustrated and dejected, she’d stopped another woman on her way to the cloakroom and asked if she knew whether her colleague was in or not? She hadn’t seen her all day, she went on, and was beginning to wonder if she’d taken extended leave or was off sick?
The answer crushed her.
‘ Sam’ had left, the woman told her. Didn’t she know? She must be the only person who didn’t. Keeping secrets in a place like this was the devil’s own job! Anyway, that’s what had happened. Her last day had been the Christmas party.
CHAPTER TWO
She was really going to have to do somethi
ng about her backside because if it got bigger the backs of her legs would be permanently in the shade!
Completely naked, Carrie Shilling stood in front of the full length mirror in her bedroom and scowled at her rear end, sure that despite her best efforts to whittle it away on the treadmill it had grown in the last few months. It was such a shame too, because the rest of her wasn’t too bad. She was tall and slim and her long, dark hair lay thick and shining down her back. Her tits were still nice and perk and thanks to the lashing of lotions she slapped on every day, her skin was silky soft. It was just her backside that let her down, the miserable result, she concluded, of all the lunches and dinners she was obliged to attend.
But invitations arrived daily, and as she could rarely get out of them without appearing rude, she was kind of stuck. It would, of course, have been a damn sight easier if she didn’t have to actually eat, but shoving her food around her plate always looked so insulting and it seemed the only answer was to stick to salads and fruit, and if she was really pressed - steamed vegetables.
But steamed carrots! What had her life come to?
Grabbing her bath robe from the bed, she wrapped the offending backside in white toweling and running the risk of Amanda’s wrath, crossed to the bathroom to run her bath.
Amanda was her housemaid, cook, and pretty much everything else, including a stand-in mother when she thought the occasion called for it, and since Carrie’s meteoric rise to fame, when her agent had pressed her to move out of her modest two bedroom abode and into a house that resembled something out of House and Country, she had also been an absolute Godsend. Especially as Amanda clearly didn’t give two hoots about how big a star Carrie became.
She was here to clean and look after her, she’d told her on more than one occasion, and that was precisely what she intended to do. No matter that Amanda was only a little over five feet tall and as thin as a stick. What she lacked in height she more than made up for in stature and more than once Carrie had had to smother a smile whilst the little house maid had bellowed down the phone at some poor unfortunate who clearly believed he was talking to a six foot giant built like a brick out house.
