Sweet Torments: The Best of Alex Jordaine

by Jordaine, Alex

  She would put on an especially good show for him tonight, Christine told herself as she continued to bask in the sunshine by the side of the rippling pool. But you never knew for sure how things would go with one-night stands. After all, it took two to tango, as the saying went. Actually sometimes – tonight as it turned out – it took more than two …

  When Christine walked into the bedroom with the two hunky blond guys that she’d picked up not half an hour ago in a nearby bar, she knew one thing for sure. She knew that Peter would have already started stroking his cock with practised ease behind that one-way mirror.

  She knew – and the knowledge of it made her clit twitch, made her sex feel slippery – that he’d be masturbating with a little more vigour now she was peeling off her tight top and micro-miniskirt and slipping out of her high-heeled shoes. It obviously really turned on the two chiselled hunks she was with to discover she hadn’t been wearing a stitch of underwear beneath that sexy outfit and that her breasts were soft but firm and her nipples stone-hard and her pussy completely shaved. Christine knew the fact that she was clearly turning them on would have turned on her husband as well. She knew he would be masturbating even more vigorously at the sight of her as she cupped her breasts and rolled her stiff nipples between her fingers.

  ‘Strip for me,’ Christine said and she knew that he knew that instruction wasn’t for him, knew that she knew he was already stark naked and wanking. The two blond studs were also naked now, their muscular bodies looking as if they’d been sculpted of creamy tan stone, their cocks thickly inflated. Christine saw herself in the mirror as she knew her husband could see her at this stage of the show, her head back and her full lips parted as those two beautiful specimens of manhood fed hungrily on her breasts, suckled her engorged nipples.

  She knew that Peter would be stroking his cock even more energetically by now, pulling and gasping, as he witnessed the three-way scene unfolding before his eyes. She knew he’d be working his fist up and down ever more insistently as he watched his exhibitionistic wife drop to her knees and grab a cock in each hand. Christine stroked the guys’ hard-ons, glancing lustfully from one stiff cock to the other, then into the mirror, imagining that all-important third cock being pulled up and down, up and down, faster and faster.

  Christine’s eyes gleamed and she smiled a salacious smile to the man behind the one-way mirror before putting one of the hunky strangers’ hard cocks into her mouth. She sucked on it for a while, as she held on to the man’s buttocks, at one moment pulling him in, at another controlling the movement so that it was smooth and fluid. And then she did the same to the other cock. Christine alternated between the two hard cocks, sucking expertly on each in turn, before jamming both of them into her mouth at once. She bet Peter almost shot his load when he saw her do that. But she knew a highly experienced voyeur like him wouldn’t have actually ejaculated. She knew that Peter would be wanking away hard, without doubt, but that he would make damn sure he didn’t spill his seed until he’d seen all there was to see.

  Christine finally, reluctantly disgorged the two cocks, withdrawing them slowly from her mouth, and got back to her feet. She handed each man a condom and told them to put them on. Once they’d done that she pushed one of the men down on to the bed and climbed on top of him, steering his swollen cock into her pussy and making him groan with pleasure. And as he started sliding his shaft in and out of her dripping sex, forging deep into her, she reached back and spread the cheeks of her backside. Christine looked at the second man. ‘There’s a bottle of lube on the bedside table,’ she said. ‘Lubricate your cock and my arsehole and then butt-fuck me.’

  ‘Will do,’ the man replied excitedly, thoroughly dousing his shaft and her anus with lube and then climbing into position. Christine reached back again, this time to fold her hand around his lubed-up erection. She rubbed the slippery head against the equally slippery opening of her anus and then let the man ease his shaft into her until it ground at the back of her rectum. And her anal hole was so tight around his cock that she felt her pussy tighten too around the other guy’s cock, which was pounding into her wet, humid sex. Then the man behind her really started pounding too, ramming into her anus hard and fast.

  It felt so good to Christine to be penetrated front and rear like that, felt even better to know her voyeuristic husband could see it all and would be pulling at his cock furiously now, his fist working up and down faster and faster. Christine loved being fucked in both holes at the same time, loved it all the more knowing she was being watched by Peter as she was being fucked that way. She knew as he witnessed the three-way spectacle she’d laid on for him he would now be jerking away at his cock like a jack-hammer.

  Christine decided it was time to bring the show to its grand finale. She ground her hips down, churning her pussy back and forth on the throbbing cock of the guy beneath her until he suddenly opened his mouth, let out a moan and came hard. His body shook as he grasped Christine’s waist and ejaculated, and that brought even closer the impending orgasm of the man hammering into her anus. He speeded up his thrusts, butt-fucking her in a frenzy as she pushed herself back on him until he was jolted by a shuddering orgasm.

  Then Christine was overcome herself, and her glistening body quivered uncontrollably as she came right along with her husband. Because she knew, just knew that Peter was shooting warm, silky sperm all over his fist at that very moment as he joined in the climax of the four- way fuckfest that had been her special gift to him … and to herself.

  The Choice

  Lauren and Sam had been best friends since they’d been pupils at the exclusive school for girls, Roedean, on the East Sussex coast. Sam was lively and outgoing, confident, shrewd, witty, and highly creative. She was also a natural beauty, with creamy alabaster skin, feline cheeks, big pale blue eyes, and shoulder-length blonde hair. And, if that weren’t enough, she had a figure to die for as well. She was as statuesque as a dancer, an exotic one.

  Like Lauren, Sam had been born into money and she too wore her wealth with consummate ease. This was in no small part because, like Lauren in this respect as well, she was not one of those ladies who lunch. Lauren was doing very well in the publishing field, loved her job. Likewise Sam was making – had made – her mark on the world in her own right and was a very talented and successful fashion designer. Samantha Burrell’s name was now spoken of in the same breath as the likes of Stella McCartney, Alice Temperley, and Roland Mouret.

  Sam was also unashamedly gay. When asked a very pointed question about her sexuality once by a fashion journalist her reply, repeated with monotonous regularity in the media ever after, had been typically sardonic. ‘Put it this way,’ she’d said. ‘I’m not interested in anything with a tassel.’

  It hadn’t always been so. She’d had plenty of boyfriends when she and Lauren had been younger; “boy mad” their parents had said they were in their teens. Lauren had been surprised when Sam had come out as a lesbian. It had been shortly after her own marriage to Mark and she’d wondered illogically if it had something to do with her being in the fashion industry. It seemed to Lauren that it was virtually a statutory requirement for the men in the world of fashion to be gay. Was it perhaps the same with the women?

  No, that didn’t make any sense at all. Sophie Dahl wasn’t gay, nor was Naomi Campbell. Kate Moss wasn’t gay either. But hadn’t Lauren read somewhere that Kate had enjoyed some dalliances with her own sex, threesomes and the like? Maybe it had begun like that with Sam, starting as a bit of experimentation and ending with her conclusion that she “wasn’t interested in anything with a tassel”. No matter, if Sam was gay, she was gay. It didn’t affect their friendship at all. But that, of course, is exactly what it ended up doing.

  On the day it all started Lauren had been driving round the centre of London. She was stuck in a slow conga of seemingly interminable traffic, as she tried to find a parking space. When she finally succeeded it happened to be only a stone’s throw away from where Sam lived and she dec
ided on a whim to see if she was in. If she was, she thought, perhaps she’d like to join her in what she’d originally been intending to do on her own: have a bit of a shopping spree. She was feeling rather low and thought it might lift her spirits.

  Once she’d parked the car and fed the meter, Lauren walked past a hotel and a short terrace of upmarket shops to Palling Court. She arrived at the tall red-brick apartment block, where her friend had lived for the last three years. Sam had always said she wanted to be “where it was at”, right at the heart of things in London. She’d found that with Palling Court, which was in the middle of the West End.

  It was an overcast day, the sky the colour of a fogged negative, and there was a damp feeling in the air. A spatter of rain was just starting as Lauren approached the block. Shit, she thought. I haven’t brought an umbrella. Perhaps I can borrow one from Sam – if she’s in, of course. She pressed the number of her address on the door entry system and hoped for the best.

  ‘Hello,’ she heard Sam say.

  ‘It’s me, Lauren.’

  ‘Great,’ came the friendly response. ‘Come on up.’

  There was a sharp buzz and Lauren pushed open the front door of the block and made for the lift area. She entered the lift and stared at the wan reflection of her face in the lift’s smoked-glass mirror. She decided to put on a brave face for Sam. There was no need to burden her friend with her marital troubles. She emerged from the lift on the tenth floor a few moments later and walked down the spotlessly clean corridor. She stopped outside Number 53, where she pressed the bell.

  After a few seconds the door was opened by Sam. Lauren thought she looked even more stunning than usual, not least because of what she had on. Her shining blonde hair hung down over the shoulders of an absolute killer dress. It was a clinging little black number with spaghetti straps. Her breasts were almost falling out of its top and it was so short that it barely covered her sex.

  She was barefooted and, if Lauren knew her friend, bare-arsed under that dress, which she guessed might be one of her own designs. Yes, she looked stunning. She smelled stunning too, some very classy perfume Lauren thought she recognised. It was musky, sexy.

  ‘That’s a nice dress you’re nearly wearing,’ Lauren joked, rolling her eyes.

  Sam put her hands on her hips and smiled at her. ‘And hello to you too,’ she said. ‘To what do I owe this honour?’

  ‘I was in the area,’ Lauren said. ‘I thought I’d try you on the off chance. I hope I haven’t caught you at an inconvenient time.’

  ‘Not at all,’ Sam assured her. ‘Actually, I’ve just this minute made some coffee. Want some?’

  ‘Sure, thanks.’

  Lauren followed Sam down a longish corridor in the direction of the kitchen and allowed her eyes to linger on the sway of her friend’s hips, the way her hem kept riding up her naked thigh. She suddenly felt horny. That was funny, she thought. Sam had never had that effect on her before, no girl had. She was straight, not even a bit bi, right. Right? Perhaps it was just the effect of that killer dress. Looking at her friend in it was making her mouth dry. She felt she needed that coffee.

  ‘Did you design your dress?’ she asked, taking Sam’s arm.

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘What look were you going for?’

  ‘Haute couture meets trailer trash,’ Sam replied and gave her a sideways look, her eyes shining with mirth.

  ‘You succeeded,’ Lauren laughed.

  Sam grabbed a couple of mugs when they got to the kitchen and they sat down at the table opposite one another. Sam poured them both coffees from the glass pot on the table and added milk from the jug next to it. They drank quietly for a few moments before Lauren asked, ‘So, how are things with you?’

  ‘Very good,’ Sam said, taking a sip of coffee. ‘Give it another year or two and I’m confident of being bought out by Versace or Dior or one of the other heavy hitters in the fashion business.’

  ‘And you want to be bought out like that, presumably,’ Lauren said.

  ‘Oh yes,’ Sam replied. ‘That way I’ll get backing, advertising, money for my shows, accessories, support, it’ll be great. It will mean I’ll be able to do the stuff I like doing, and offload what I don’t. And it will mean I’ll get more time to spend doing other things outside the fashion industry, like spending time with friends like you.’

  ‘That sounds marvellous,’ Lauren said. ‘I hope it works out for you.’

  ‘Well, there’s a way to go but everything seems to be proceeding according to plan so far,’ Sam said. ‘And it’s a goal worth going for. After all, there’s more to life than work.’

  ‘God, I wish Mark could get himself a deal like the one you’re aiming at,’ Lauren said with feeling. Whether Mark wished that himself was quite another matter. Lauren was coming increasingly to the view that her husband preferred spending time at his high-flying job in the big London-based marketing agency of Simpson and Gray to being with her. He desperately wanted a place on the company’s board of directors and was working so hard towards that end that it had completely killed his libido. That’s what he told her anyway. In any event, he couldn’t get it up these days and they hadn’t had sex in months.

  Sam took a swallow of her coffee. ‘He’s really busy, is he?’ she asked.

  ‘And how,’ Lauren said. ‘I work hard at my job and really enjoy it but, like you, I think there are limits. You’ve got to have a life too. The hours Mark has to put in these days are ridiculous. I’ve barely seen him these last few months. It’s like he’s married to Simpson and fucking Gray rather than me. I try to be philosophical about it, though. He’s so exceptionally busy at present because he’s working on a big project that could well mean a major promotion for him, get him onto the board of directors, no less.’

  ‘It can’t go on for ever then,’ Sam said and Lauren shrugged in a noncommittal way. ‘Any end in sight?’ Sam persisted, parting her lips quizzically.

  ‘Nope,’ Lauren said. ‘Well, not at the moment anyway. To tell you the truth, Sam, it’s really starting to get me down.’ She hadn’t meant to say that, had meant to keep her own counsel, keep her matrimonial problems to herself.

  ‘I can see that,’ Sam said. ‘I thought you were looking pretty stressed out as soon as I saw you, Lauren. Your little joke about my dress didn’t fool me, I know you too well.’

  ‘You’re a good friend,’ Lauren said softly. ‘The best.’ She drank some more coffee and then put her mug on the table.

  The two women were quiet for a time, neither talking nor drinking. Then Sam lifted her mug and took a long sip of coffee. After that she rested her mug on the table and stared at Lauren for several long seconds, frowning. Finally she said, ‘I know what you need.’

  ‘A bit of retail therapy,’ Lauren said, brightening slightly.

  ‘Wrong,’ Sam replied, with a shake of the head.

  ‘What do I need then, wise one?’ Lauren asked with a slightly forced smile.

  ‘One of my massages,’ Sam said, not skipping a beat. ‘It’ll do you the world of good, believe me, untense all those muscles. You’ll leave this apartment a different woman.’ Lauren would remember those words.

  ‘A massage, huh. Do you do “relief”?’ Lauren joked, doing the quotation marks in the air thing with her fingers.

  ‘Why?’ Sam countered. ‘Do you feel in need of relief?’ She smiled and looked at Lauren, her pale blue eyes engaging with hers for just a fraction longer than was necessary.

  ‘Don’t ask,’ Lauren chuckled. Mark might not want sex these days but she sure as hell did and she was feeling thoroughly deprived. She hadn’t had sex for ages and ages. Mark wouldn’t even deign to give her a pity fuck. But no, that wasn’t fair. It wasn’t his fault he couldn’t get it up, poor guy. Anyway, the point was it had been three whole months since he’d so much as laid a finger on her, and she was a very highly sexed woman with, well, needs, for crissake. She felt a twinge of frustrated desire inside her sex, by no means the first she�
��d felt over the last 12 weeks.

  ‘Come on,’ Sam said, getting to her feet. ‘Let’s be having you.’

  Lauren quickly finished the remains of her coffee, set the mug on the table and followed Lauren to her bedroom.

  Like the rest of Sam’s apartment it was neat and tidy and furnished in a minimalist style. There were low bedside tables either side of the neatly made double bed and at its foot was a wardrobe with well-finished louvered doors. Against the wall beside that was a high-backed chair. There was a chest of drawers with an uncluttered surface up against another wall.

  ‘Off with those clothes,’ Sam said in a tone of theatrical command.

  ‘Yes, Miss Dynamic,’ Lauren said with a laugh that she was conscious was a little too loud. She undressed, folding her dress over the back of the chair and lining her shoes together under it. She squirmed out of her thong. ‘I wasn’t flying commando like I bet you are,’ she said, giving her friend a grin.

  ‘You’re not wrong there,’ Sam said with a straight face.

  ‘Shameless,’ Lauren laughed.

  Sam narrowed her eyes and smiled to suggest that maybe she was right in that assessment. She didn’t say anything though. Instead she stopped and stared for a moment, in appreciation, at Lauren’s naked form.

  ‘Who are you staring at, mate?’ Lauren said mock-aggressively in a ridiculous “mockney” accent.

  Sam raised an amused eyebrow at Lauren’s impersonation. ‘I love your figure,’ she said, letting her eyes sweep over Lauren’s body once more. ‘It’s so shapely, such a refreshing change from all the stick insects I work with all the time in my trade.’

  ‘You’re not so bad yourself,’ Lauren replied, tilting her head back a little and lowering her eyelids, letting her gaze go up and down that floaty-clingy-sexy dress, appraise that lovely figure, those beautiful unbound breasts, those shapely thighs.