by Nicole Dere
The sun was well up, the heat of the day beginning, when Joseph reappeared to lead us to our morning ablutions. We were still soaping one another up under the soothing luxury of the warm water when the door opened and Moira came in. Her face looked pinched, there were shadows of weariness under her eyes, but she smiled at us provocatively.
Anxiously, we pressed her for details of where she had been. She stepped into the shower and we made room for her. ‘The president kept me with him, all night.’ She started to wash herself as she told us. ‘Boy, that man is insatiable!’
‘But, how come?’ I asked.
‘Joseph came for me when you were all asleep,’ she said.
‘Oh,’ Nicky gasped. ‘I hope they don’t intend keeping us again all day today. I don’t think I could stand any more.’ She shuddered, and then glanced at the door and the small window. ‘We ought to try to escape!’ she suggested eagerly.
‘Don’t talk silly,’ Moira scoffed. ‘What on earth can we do? We haven’t even any clothes.’ She paused, and then pointed out, ‘Don’t forget, it’s not just our own skin we’ve got to consider. Have you forgotten the others?’
Though I was fast going off Moira and her constantly confrontational attitude towards us, her supposed allies, I could not help but agree with what she said. ‘She’s right, Nicky,’ I said gently. ‘There isn’t anything we can do. We just have to accept what’s going on, and make sure we survive it.’
But Moira would not let it rest there. ‘Let’s face it, there are worse ways of fighting for survival than this,’ she mused, with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. She really did not seem overly concerned about what we were being put through.
Nicky lifted her chin and straightened herself. Somehow she rekindled a shred of her former spirit, and her blue eyes blazed. ‘That might be true as far as you’re concerned,’ she said, ‘but we’re not all like that.’
Moira shrugged indifferently. ‘Well, all I can say is that you seem to have learned mighty fast!’
Nicky looked outraged, but Moira, her damp red hair clinging to her brow, swept on with dismissive scorn. ‘Listen, that’s what we’re here for, isn’t it? To be used by anyone who fancies us? Why do you think Krista picked the four of us out in the first place? Because we’re all attractive, that’s why. Because we’re the most shaggable of the lot. Your looks are all you’ve got going for you here, and you’d better believe it!’
Nicky, Anita and I silently thought about the uncompromising assessment of our worth delivered by Moira, and the brutal reality she flung at us was proved conclusively accurate within less than an hour.
We had breakfast, watched by Joseph, in the room where the sexual antics had taken place the previous evening. Our bottoms, all except Moira’s, were still marked by the evidence of the tawse. We winced and shuffled as we sat, yet already learning the philosophy of living only for the moment, we enjoyed the cereal and fresh fruit, the toast and the excellent coffee, which was there for us in abundance. But then a stranger appeared in the doorway and, after taking a lingering look at our nakedness, he murmured to Joseph, who beckoned to Moira and me.
‘Come!’ he said simply.
Nicky sprang to my side and clung to my arm. ‘Where are you going?’ she blurted. ‘I want to come too.’
Joseph shook his head impatiently, and with gentle haste I detached her grip. ‘It’ll be all right, Nicky. Just do whatever they want. We’ll be back soon.’ I had no idea whether that would be true as we set off down that long corridor. In spite of all my trepidation, there was still that shocking frisson of sexual thrill at the incongruity of moving unclothed in those august surroundings, of feeling the strong morning sun pouring through the rows of tall windows bathing my body in its generous warmth.
‘It’s his bedroom,’ Moira whispered to me, and sure enough, when we entered the room indicated by the stranger, there was the figure of President Koloba, his bulk reclining on the bed in stark contrast to the refined décor around him. The bed was a circular affair, with a canopy of gathered silk above.
‘Ah, my redhead,’ he beamed in his usual way. ‘You’ve brought your friend with you. That’s good. You two are good friends, I believe?’ His deep laughter rolled around the room. ‘Now, show me how friendly you are. I need some entertainment, and I need some time to recover too, so for now I shall be merely a very appreciative spectator.’ He wagged his finger at us, ‘you naughty girls will be the death of me! But what a pleasant way to die!’ He laughed; he clearly found himself very clever and amusing.
I was still staring at him in bewilderment when Moira guided me down onto the silk coverlet, so that I was almost draped across the lap of the recumbent figure, who chortled appreciatively again. I felt Moira’s slim frame pressing intimately against me; breast to breast, belly to belly, her thighs entwining with mine. And then before I could resist she kissed me, and I admit I felt my passions stir at the feel of her energetic little tongue. My spinning mind had time only to register that I must not struggle, except perhaps to emulate and return her embraces.
My rebelliously naughty body was all too willing to play the part assigned to it. We writhed and twisted, glued together on the rumpled silk, avidly seeking contact with each other, our hands and fingers clawing, searching, over every soft plane and curve, moving swiftly down to our rapidly moistening sex lips which opened greedily for more attention.
I could feel Moira’s fingers buried deep in the clinging sheath of my vagina, while my own squelched in her receptive tightness. But who would have succumbed first to their desire was never ascertained, for to our feverish dismay, the president tired of his role as spectator. He prised us apart, his hands firmly clasped in our hair, and then without letting go, he dragged our heads down to the expanse of his lower belly, where his penis thrust up in urgent need of our mutual attention.
So we found ourselves crouching, either side of those substantial thighs, fingers working and our lips and tongues nibbling at the dark column of his erection and its large helmet. Our flushed cheeks bumped, and our moist lips touched around the veined stalk. The dome was coated with the clear fluid that was seeping from the aperture at its crest.
Then without warning he rolled us away, I felt my ankles seized, I was pinned back on my shoulders and my captured feet were folded over them, so that I was mercilessly exposed, my sex lifted to his avid view. He knelt, his knees resting against my buttocks, and drove his rearing prick straight at my exposed sex. I felt him prod and slide easily between my gaping labia to the inner tightness that welcomed his piston-like lunge. He ploughed into me and my back curved as I rocked in time to his thrusts, and soon, to my shame, I shook in the ferocity of a breathtaking orgasm, until I felt the potent flood of his own climax filling and fulfilling me, and I slumped like a rag doll beneath his immense weight in limp exhaustion.
He sank back on the pillows and waved us wanly away, in the direction of an adjoining door. It led to a bathroom that was unbelievable. The fittings were all in midnight blue, the taps and showerheads in gold. The lavatory and bidet pedestals stood side-by-side, and double washbasins snuggled in equally cosy intimacy. There was a tiled shower area large enough for two people behind the glass screens. But pride of place was taken by the splendid circular sunken bath. Surrounding it was a wide shelf covered with a host of fragrances – soaps, oils, and foams, in exotic glass jars.
The bath was full and steaming fragrantly, the surface covered with silky white bubbles, so we took it as an invitation and slipped into its soothing luxury, gratefully sinking down until we were submerged to our shoulders.
Part 2 – Moira’s Story
Chapter 11
‘Oh, no… please don’t stop!’ My head threshed on the pillow and my fingers clutched at the dark head which was devouring me, that lapping, sucking mouth eating at the very heart of me, drawing out every morsel of sexual desire from my spasming body, spread and aching on its rack of physical pleasure, until I could stand no more. I cried out at the engul
fing rush of an orgasm, felt it sweep irresistibly through me, sending even my brain into whirling fragments with its elemental force.
When I came to I was shivering, crying, my fingers now relaxed in the tangled hair. I could feel Jane’s face on my inner thigh, her breath cool and tickling my pubes and skin. The drops of perspiration, and her own tears, mingled with the flood of love juice she had drawn from me, and which glistened liberally on her face and my tummy.
‘Oh, I loved that,’ I sighed, and meant it too, as I gently tried to lift her face from between my thighs. At last she moved until our warm bodies snuggled together, her breasts against mine, and I kissed her lips, shivering in post-orgasmic thrill at the tangy flavour of my sex.
The last three days had been like heaven, so unexpected after all the trauma we had been put through. After the scene in that fabulous bath, and Koloba had screwed me in it, literally under Jane’s nose, he had taken himself off and Jane and I were left wondering, like we did most of the time, what would happen next.
No one came near us – not Koloba, and none of his cronies like fat Maurice or Samuel or David. And still no Krista. If only we had known, we could have enjoyed ourselves even more, but we did pretty well anyway, following our newly learned philosophy of sufficient unto the minute…
Though President Koloba had forced our hand, so to speak, I knew really that Jane fancied me just as much as I did her. Up until then things were getting a bit fraught between us and the other two girls, but we were bound to be tense, given the circumstances.
I believe she was telling the truth when she said she had never had bi-sexual tendencies, until Krista had initiated her in the dark under the plane – of all places! That was the great thing about our interlude at Koloba’s palace – that was when we really got to know each other, because, in between all the sex, we lay for hours, talking and talking. We laid ourselves bare – mind as well as body – and it was as wonderful as all the lovemaking sharing all these intimacies with each other. Ironically enough, our sexual imprisonment gave us all the chance to be more honest and open than we had ever been with anyone before. At least that’s how I felt and I’m pretty sure it was the same for Jane.
Once we let ourselves go, it all hung out, as they say. I’m sure Nicky and Anita were shocked, in spite of all the things the four of us had been put through. Even Jane found it hard going at first. She blushed like mad when I came out and said what I felt. ‘I didn’t need Koloba to force me to make love with you, Jane.’ I told her. ‘I’ve been up for it ever since I saw you.’ And it was true, and she knew it. And she felt the same way, as we proved over and over during that very enjoyable three days.
The other two girls left us to get on with it. To be honest, I was hoping they would get it together too. Nicky was ripe for it, but she didn’t know if she was coming or going since the hijack. First of all, she had been singled out by Krista, who had broken her in to lesbian loving, literally, it seemed. And then, when she was still reeling from that, she had found herself being shafted by four men, the president and his mates. It had certainly been hard for her to take, in more ways than one. By then she would have been glad enough to crawl between Anita’s thighs for a little comforting, but unfortunately Anita was too straight to let anything like that happen out of choice. Still, whether they approved or not, Jane and I were stuck to each other like glue by the first of our three stolen nights and days of bliss – and we stayed that way as often as we could.
It was more than great. It took me back to those giddy days when I first met Jack. I tried to share the magic of the memory with Jane, my latest lover. From my adolescent schooldays, I knew I had a strong bi-sexual element in my make-up. I wanted to be with girls, I had crushes on them, and I avoided boys as a dangerous, uncouth species. Yet there was nothing butch about me. I was ultra feminine, the most girlie of girlies, with my ruby ringlets and dainty skirts and my frilly bits underneath. I was all too breathlessly willing to be the submissive one. Not that I went for the butch types. I like a girl to look like a girl. But I liked her to be bossy, too!
It was not Jack at all I fancied when I first met him. I was seventeen and head over heels with his beautiful blonde cousin, Katy, who was a year older than me, and a lot more worldly-wise. I was a virgin. Not with girls, but no prick had passed, or got anywhere near, the dewy portals of my pussy. Whereas for the delectable Katy I was prepared to surrender everything.
She was certainly dominant enough for my taste. Physically, she could be quite rough. Not only in her love play, though that, too, left its mark in the love bites I had to strive to disguise on my throat.
We were on a family holiday, guests of her folks in their rambling Victorian house on the North Yorkshire coast, when she brought to light the masochistic facet of my sexuality, which responded to the rough stuff – the kneeling astride me, the pinning of my arms above my head as I started to come noisily in the excess of my emotion.
Then one day, up in her room, when the family was out but we were too scared to undress and climb under the sheets in case anyone came and caught us in the act, we were fooling around when she pulled me over her knee and scooped up my skirt over my behind. My bum was hardly hidden; I was wearing a pair of skimpy white panties, with a thin blue piping of lace and two tiny embroidered forget-me-nots on the small triangle of the front panel. Most of my bottom was on show, as the tiny panties had ridden deep into the crack. Even so, as I lay there I felt Katy’s nails scratch lightly at my skin as she slipped her fingers into the elastic and slowly eased the panties down off my bottom.
I was as highly aroused as she was, and I could feel my thighs and tummy rubbing against the rough material of her jeans. I thought she was going to slip my panties down and off my legs, but she left them just clear of my dimpling bottom, stretched across the backs of my thighs. Then her hand was exploring those clenching curves, her fingers gently tracing the deep cleft itself, before, with a sudden sting whose hot burn made me yelp, she began to spank me. Lightly and deliberately at first, so that I felt each ringing slap and savoured its warmth spreading through my buttocks, to mingle with and add to the melting heat I could feel a few vital inches away, in that other moistening area which was the centre of my excitement.
Then she slapped harder and quicker and my struggles grew more genuine. Still I hung helplessly over her knee, and still I grew wetter and more aroused. My hips began to squirm. My bottom was burning quite painfully, and my yelps became interspersed with genuine tears. But the desire grew remorselessly, in unison with the glowing pain of my throbbing bottom. So that when, panting triumphantly, she rolled me off her knee to watch me grovelling, panties at half-mast and hands clawing at my stinging behind, despite my scalding tears I was afire with sexual hunger. Seconds later she was kneeling over me, her fingers dipping into my wet sex, and seconds after that I stiffened, sobbing against the force of the climax tearing through me.
I did not believe her when, hiding on the slope of our favourite sand dune one blustery afternoon, kissing and cuddling, she insisted I should not be exclusively gay. ‘There’s an awful lot of pleasure to be had from a man,’ she assured me, with a cheeky grin. I gazed back in wounded reproach, but she laughed unrepentantly. ‘Don’t look like that, my pet. Believe me, you’ll feel differently once you’ve tried it.’
And that was when she first mentioned Jack, her cousin – and, she hinted broadly, her lover, though she tormented me by never actually admitting that she had gone the whole hog and screwed him. I stared, feeling betrayed, the tears glistening large in my tragic eyes. ‘He’s coming up at the weekend,’ she went on, seemingly oblivious to my jealousy. ‘He’s drop-dead gorgeous, and I know you’ll wet your pretty little knickers after just one look at him.’
Well, as it happens, Katy was not far wide of the mark. Except that my excitement was caused more by the abstract obsession with what it would be like to have a rigid cock, any cock, burrowing into me than with the desire that it should be Jack’s cock that would have
the honour of being first past the post, as it were. Not that he wasn’t handsome, just as she had said; he certainly was attractive, though not in an obvious way. In fact, truth to tell, it was Jack’s resemblance to Katy, in his fine features and slender boyish grace, which drew me to him in the first place.
To begin with, I was more jealous of his obvious intimate relationship with his cousin, but I quickly realised they were both playing up to me for all they were worth. Their delight with their success sickened me further, but there was nothing I could do about it. I even noted the masochistic element in me, which extracted a perverse pleasure from the very misery their behaviour caused me. They were aware of this too. Initially, I thought only Katy knew me well enough to understand this quirk in my nature, but I soon discovered just how close the fiendish pair were in their thoughts as well as their looks.
Things came to a head one wet afternoon when a thunderous deluge, which only the peak August holiday can produce, kept us trapped indoors in the Victorian seaside house owned by Katy’s parents. My folks and hers were downstairs somewhere in one of the corniced living rooms off the long hall. Which made what Jack and Katy planned and did all the more shocking, even though we three were hidden away in the sloping attics, where the red knuckled skivvies had slept exhaustedly when the house was new.
Everything between we three was all hints and giggles, nothing defined or clear-cut, so I was embarrassed as hell when Katy grabbed me and began feeling me, pulling me to her and kissing me in a way that was far from the innocent chums’ fashion which I still thought Jack might assume existed between us.
‘She’s a randy little sod underneath all this prissy exterior,’ Katy told him mockingly. ‘Give me a hand and I’ll show you what I mean.’ Even then I was sure she was just mucking about, that she would stop before things got out of hand.
But I was wrong.
Suddenly they were both pinning me down, and Jack was lying across me heavily enough for me to feel my breasts squashed flat against his chest, while he bent my arms up over my head and held my wrists in a painful grip. His grinning face loomed over me, so that I could not see what Katy was up to. But I could feel all right, as her fingers plucked at my belt, and then unzipped the fly of my jeans and began to drag them down over my wriggling hips. I let out a shriek, and felt the cool air on my belly and thighs, the tightly clinging material like binding just above my knees.
