Lauren slowly withdrew the dildo and Lisa collapsed, panting, onto Sam. She was now lying on top of Sam, her erstwhile secret lover; Sam, who was still in bondage, her wrists tied as securely as ever to the headboard, her blindfold and makeshift gag still in place.
Everything happened very quickly after that. Lauren unbuckled and removed the strap-on dildo. She climbed onto the bed and stood over Lisa and Sam with her legs apart. She unleashed a great golden stream of urine over the two women. The hot rain of piss saturated them. ‘Hey,’ protested Lisa, looking round and getting a burst of urine in the face for her trouble.
‘Fuck you,’ said Lauren.
Lauren climbed off the bed. She dried her soaking thighs with Lisa’s blouse and threw it onto the two piss-sodden women. She put on her dress and shoes. She stared at Lisa and Sam with quiet contempt as she was dressing, her eyes as hard as rivets. Lauren strode over to stand next to the bed. She took in a deep breath and let it out. Then she lifted Sam’s piss-bespattered blindfold. Lauren looked for a long moment direct into Sam’s startled, panic-stricken eyes. They were so wide she could see the whites above and below the pupils.
‘I’m leaving you, Sam, you cunt,’ Lauren spat out finally, fixing her with her most withering gaze yet. ‘We are no longer friends. In fact, I don’t ever want to see your treacherous face again. I think you’re contemptible. I’ll leave you to the person you deserve, this sly-eyed bitch – your ever so dominant lover. What a fucking joke that is!’
Sam’s eyes remained as wide as saucers. ‘Mnhhhhh,’ was all she could manage from beneath her gag.
‘That’s the most intelligent thing I’ve heard you say in a long time,’ Lauren said with a dry laugh. ‘Oh and Sam – my thong,’ she added, pushing the makeshift gag it was being used for further into her mouth. ‘You can keep it. Consider it a gift.’
Lauren slung her handbag over her shoulder and took hold of the small suitcase she’d hastily packed earlier while she and the blindfolded, gagged and bound Sam had been awaiting Lisa’s arrival. As Lauren walked out of the front door of the apartment, she couldn’t stop herself smiling; thin, mirthless smile though it was. Revenge is sweet, she said to herself. And it’s sour too. As sour as piss.
Showtime
Carol and Peter Moore decided to rent a villa in the Provençal town of Dauge for their summer vacation. Dauge, steeped in antiquity and charm but at the same time very sophisticated, was a particular favourite of theirs. The place had so much going for it, the couple felt, with its ancient stone buildings and cobbled streets; its shaded squares and fishing piers; its excellent restaurants and buzzy clubs and bars.
Carol and Peter were now halfway through the vacation and their days, each one as brilliantly sunny as the last, had settled into a familiar pattern. They would rise mid-morning and go straight outside to the villa’s pool that shimmered invitingly in the clear sunlight. They’d swim a few laps together, their nude bodies, warmly brown from the Mediterranean sun, glistening with rivulets of water.
They’d towel off and, still naked, would seat themselves at a table on the lawn, in a spot shaded from the bright sunshine, and take a light, late breakfast of juice, croissants, and coffee. They were completely private in the garden as the neighbouring properties were screened from view by the high wall of the villa.
As they sat together eating, the nearby pool sparkled and rippled and solid beds of flowers presented a bright swathe of colour around the well-kept grass. As they sipped their juice and drank their coffee and munched their pastries, Peter would flick through Le Monde, his mastery of written French more than serviceable, while Carol would read a bit more of her doorstopper of a novel.
The couple would then go indoors to complete their ablutions, dress in cool, loose clothes, and go off together to do the tourist bit. Strolling side by side, they visited the resort’s museums and art galleries, shopped for gifts, and explored the maze of cobblestone streets and squares.
They would, more often than not, end up at the same restaurant, one they especially liked. It was situated on the town’s main thoroughfare and was a short distance from their villa, a mere stroll. They’d take a seat at an outdoor table under a substantial awning, thankful for the shade it afforded at that time of day, and give their order to the friendly waiter when he arrived with the menu. The couple usually had one of the restaurant’s superb salads, accompanied by bottled water and a glass or two of rosé.
Then, as the town drowsed lazily in its afternoon torpor under the burning Mediterranean sun, the air heavy and sultry, they’d go back to the villa for a nap. After that, they’d go out for another swim and to soak up some late-afternoon rays, the sun still high in the clear blue sky and reflecting off the ripples of the pool.
Nearing sunset, when the sky was starting to glow pink and the air was becoming slightly cooler, the pair would go indoors. They would shower and dress – he casually, she seductively. Then they would go downstairs to have a light meal as they waited for the sun to go down completely. Waited for the cover of darkness.
And when daylight had finally gone for good to be replaced by the thickness of night, by that darkness they had both been waiting for all day, truth be told, Carol would go her separate way. She would venture out into the warm evening air all on her own, to find a good bar, to find some good wine, to find a sexual partner to bring back with her to the villa.
They never stayed till morning, these one-night stands of hers. That was one of the rules the couple had decided upon, as was their insistence on the man agreeing to wear a condom. One of their other rules was that, while Peter never had anything whatsoever to do with these fleeting guests, he did get to watch what they did with his wife.
What fuelled this strange and obsessive surrogate ritual the pair had got into was the fact that Carol was an insatiable exhibitionist and Peter an equally insatiable voyeur. Her compulsion fired his, and vice versa. That was the way things were between the kinky couple and neither of them tried to fight it. Quite the reverse, in fact – they both revelled in it.
It was a clear night and a full moon was shining in a star-filled sky. The air was slightly cooler than it had been during the day and a light breeze was making the living room curtains move slightly against the French windows.
Peter was looking good. His handsome face was tanned a mahogany brown, as was the rest of him. He was dressed in loose-fitting denim cut-offs, a crisp white T-shirt, and espadrilles. Standing at the bar that was set up near the fireplace, he moved to fix himself a Scotch. He unscrewed the bottle cap and poured out a decent measure into his glass, adding some ice.
He sipped his drink, ice cubes rattling, and thought about his wife. About how radiantly beautiful she was with her lustrous black hair, her high cheekbones, her large, dark eyes, and her wide, sensuous lips. And then there was that incredible body of hers: those full, ripe breasts, those jutting nipples, that narrow waist, those smooth, rounded hips, that hairless mons, those long, shapely legs.
Carol was so drop-dead gorgeous it was enough to blow your mind, Peter said to himself excitedly. And what was that luscious wife of his doing right now? She was out on the prowl, was the answer. She was picking up some hunk to have sex with – that he could watch without the guy even knowing he was there.
Or maybe she’d visit a lesbian club this time, bring back a girl. She didn’t do that often, it was true, but it was certainly not unknown. Just think of what Carol had got up to with that horny little redhead she’d brought home with her the other week back in London. His brain began to flood with the memory of what she and the flame-haired young woman had done, what he’d seen them do …
Peter had been in his usual position: standing on his side of the one-way mirror he and Carol had had installed in the room next to their bedroom. He was naked and ready, cock in hand. He was semi-hard and stiffened further within his fist as he watched his wife and the other woman pad into the bedroom. Both were barefoot but otherwise still dressed – if you could call it tha
t.
As usual, Carol looked stunning, incredibly sexy. She was wearing a semi-transparent black blouse and a very short, tight skirt, in mauve leather. The other woman appeared to be in her early 20s, petite with short red hair and porcelain-perfect skin. She was clad in a body-hugging and almost obscenely short minidress, bottle-green in colour, which displayed to magnificent effect her slim but shapely figure. She had small, high breasts, her nipples stiff and sticking out against the thin fabric of her dress.
Carol suddenly grabbed the redhead in her arms and kissed her full on the lips. She responded by wrapping her arms around Carol and kissing her right back. Showtime, Peter said to himself salaciously, squeezing his cock, which was now rock hard, and beginning to pull it up and down slowly. Its veins pulsed beneath his fingertips as he worked his palm over it, pressing it, teasing it. He brought his hand up to the swelling of its head and back down again, continuing to pleasure himself deftly.
His heart beating faster, he gazed intently as Carol momentarily pulled free, only to grab the other woman’s head in her hands. She then pressed her mouth against the redhead’s again, kissing her even more passionately. She painted the girl’s lips with her tongue, then shoved it inside her open mouth, quick and tight. The two women kissed voraciously as Peter began to masturbate more vigorously. He pushed his fist up and down in a regular rhythm, all the while feasting his voyeuristic eyes on the developing action on the other side of the glass.
Carol finally broke the kiss to lick her way up and down the girl’s slender neck, her tongue travelling all over her throat. The redhead responded by slowly removing Carol’s blouse to reveal her big breasts with their erect nipples. She wasted no time in going to work on those beautiful orbs, fondling them with her soft hands and teasing their swollen nipples with her tongue until they were stone-hard. Carol then unfastened her tiny leather skirt, beneath which she wore no panties, and shimmied out of it. At the same time, the redheaded girl pulled off her own micro-minidress and the flimsy G-string she’d had on under it.
Peter felt a thrill run through his body like an electric current as, continuing to masturbate hard, he pressed his face to the glass and viewed the thrilling scenario unfolding before his eyes. He jacked away at his erection, stroking and pulling, as Carol and the redhead, both now gloriously naked, climbed onto the bed. They kissed some more, the redhead on her back, Carol on top of her, their breasts pushed heatedly together.
Then Carol moved down the bed and fastened her bright lips to the girl’s pussy, drinking her thirstily. The redhead bucked and tried to move her sex more rapidly against the regular licking. She jerked her hips forward again and again towards the point of Carol’s tongue as the dark-haired woman continued to draw it slickly against the dewy folds of her sex lips. Carol then turned round and positioned herself so that hers and the other girl’s thighs were scissored together, their wet pussies rubbing up against each other excitingly.
Peter stood back from the glass a little, his breathing heavy, his eyes bright and feverish with lust. Extremely aroused now, he felt as if all the blood in his body had rushed to his cock. It had become ragingly erect and was throbbing furiously within his pumping fist, its glans glistening with drops of precome. He stroked his swollen shaft even more forcefully, staring intently as Carol and the redhead ground their gleaming-wet slits together, their naked bodies entwined. The other girl trembled in delight, her milky-white thighs quivering, as Carol desperately fucked her with her pussy.
Then it happened. Carol’s undulating body suddenly shook with orgasmic tremors, as the hot pussy friction built to boiling point and beyond. At the same time the redhead trembled, losing all control as she too was consumed by erotic ecstasy. That brought Peter to the boil as well and, breathing more heavily than ever and jerking frenziedly at his throbbing erection, he came to a climax so powerful that he coated the glass of the one-way mirror with spurt after spurt of creamy come.
* * *
Hell no, Peter said to himself with a shiver of excitement, Carol certainly wasn’t averse to a bit of girl-on-girl action from time to time. Nor girl-boy-girl action or boy-girl-boy action, for that matter. Admittedly, it was usually lone guys and the occasional lone girl she brought home for sex, but she wasn’t totally into one-on-one by any means. Some of her threesomes had been out of this world.
Peter refreshed his drink at the bar, then sat down in a nearby leather armchair. Taking a sip from his Scotch, he let his mind wander again. He recalled another of Carol’s assignations back home in their house in London.
Leslie had been the name of the statuesque beauty with shoulder-length blonde hair, he remembered Carol telling him after the event. And she’d been one half of an exceptionally attractive young married couple that his wife had hooked up with at a singles bar. Alan had been the husband’s name, she’d also told him afterwards.
In her experience, Carol had said, you’d sometimes get couples like Alan and Leslie at singles bars: couples on the lookout for someone to prove that two’s company and three’s … a threesome.
Peter looked across a space inside his head and started to remember what he’d watched his wife getting up to with Alan and Leslie on the other side of the one-way mirror. The images behind his eyes became more vivid as he pursued the memory further, driving his mind into an almost cinematic recollection of what had occurred.
The three of them had been naked on the bed. Alan, well-built and good looking with short, dark brown hair, was lying on his back between the two women, his thick cock engorged and pulsing. He leant over to kiss his wife but she cupped his face and turned him towards Carol. As Alan kissed Carol’s mouth hard, Leslie slipped sinuously down the bed and between his legs. She then took his throbbing shaft inside her mouth and began working her lips and tongue over it greedily.
With his wife’s mouth bobbing up and down on his stiff shaft, silvery precome trickling from the corners of her lips, Alan’s own lips continued to engage firmly with Carol’s. Then Leslie slid her mouth from Alan’s cock and slithered back up the bed. He in turn stopped kissing Carol and trailed his mouth down her shapely body. She spread her legs around his wide shoulders as he nuzzled her pussy and began to dart his tongue over her slippery clit – flick-flick-flick. She responded enthusiastically, squirming over his lips and pressing her quivering thighs against his cheeks as he carried on kissing and tonguing her sex energetically.
From his vantage point behind the mirror, Peter, naked and stiffly erect within his own pistoning hand, saw Carol glance at Leslie who was herself gazing at what her husband was doing. Leslie was clearly intensely excited. Arousal shone in her eyes and her cheeks were flushed. As she watched Alan continue to lap insatiably at Carol’s wet pussy, his face now covered in her love juice, Leslie began to pleasure herself with a vengeance.
Her fingers were like ramming rods as she slid them in and out of her vagina, rubbing herself all wet and sticky. She continued to masturbate feverishly until her palm and wrist were soaked. Before long, she tensed and clamped her thighs around her hand as she climaxed ecstatically.
Once Leslie had come down from her orgasmic high and removed her fingers from her sodden pussy, she turned towards Carol and smiled wickedly at her. Then she kissed her softly on the mouth. This gentle contact, combined with Alan’s lips and tongue as they continued working tirelessly on her sex, caused Carol to tremble.
In due course, the couple paused, and Alan put on a condom. Then he was above Carol, driving his forceful penis into her sex, his rhythm strong and fast. Over and over, he thrust into her slippery wetness, filling her as his body pinned her to the bed. Leslie was watching them again, and masturbating hard again too, her fingers working violently between her own labia.
Peter was also lost in self-pleasure, as he watched the show. His heart was beating like a drum, his breathing was laboured, and his cock was a stiff, burning pole against his palm, hot from its friction.
All the while, Carol and Alan continued to fuck like crazy,
she now rocking her hips up to meet his thrusts. Her body trembled against his as he increased the pace more and more, thrusting in and out in a furious rhythm. Then he climaxed. And so did she. And so did Leslie, shuddering in unrestrained release.
And as that stunning threesome reached its tumultuous crescendo, so too did Peter, the desire that coursed through him having built, by now, to fever pitch. Out-of-control spasms began to shake his body as he coaxed his raging-hard cock to a climax. Squirts of warm semen leapt out of his shaft and spilled in pools on the shiny hardwood floor beneath him.
Peter was still all alone in the villa although he knew that wouldn’t be the case for much longer. He would be watching and wanking again very soon; he would be the complete voyeur. At the moment, however, he was listening, and very intently too, from the open door of the unlit bedroom on the first floor.
There was not long to wait now, he was sure of it, and he was right. Peter could feel the excitement shivering through his body as he heard the rattle of a key being worked in the front door, followed by the creak of that door opening and then an emphatic bang as it was shut. Honey, I’m home!
His pulse beat faster as he heard the click of Carol’s stiletto heels and the echo of male footsteps on the marble floor downstairs. Soon, soon. He heard the drinks cabinet behind the bar being opened. Indeed, you could have heard a pin drop at this time of night. As always, he’d have to make sure to be exceptionally quiet himself.
‘Vodka?’ he heard Carol say. There was perhaps a nodded assent from her companion, Peter surmised. Vodka had presumably been the man’s drink of choice in whichever busy club or bar Carol had picked him up in. He heard the metallic twist of a bottle top and the splash of liquid in a glass followed by the clink of ice cubes.
Now Carol’s voice again. ‘Enjoy your drink, Pierre,’ she said huskily. ‘I’m going for a skinny dip.’
Sweet Torments: The Best of Alex Jordaine Page 8
