In Too Deep
Page 11
Vesta and Katie also wore provocative attire. Vesta's blue satin corset finished under her breasts, the upper curve decorated with chains that chaffed her teats and made them crimp. Her pussy was bare, and so was her generous bottom, apart from leather straps that ran across her navel to part her cleft on either side, pushing it into prominence, then disappearing into her crease, over her anus and up to the back of her waist.
Katie's costume appeared ordinary enough, at first glance. She was wearing sports gear: a tiny white skirt, suitable for tennis, except that every time she moved it was to display her naked beneath. Her top was tiny, a mere strip of jersey cotton stretched over her breasts, and to complete the picture, her coltish honey-brown legs ended in white ankle socks and trainers.
There was a general buzz of approval when they walked onto the stage. They postured and preened, and while they entertained, two stagehands quietly manoeuvred a wooden triangular frame - one angle at the bottom, the other two at head height - to the back of the stage. And then Roberta, wearing a spangled, figure-hugging gown, a pink feather boa and a ringletted, platinum blonde wig, stepped to the fore.
'Now for the high spot of the evening, gentleman,' he announced, flanked by the beautiful girls. 'The pièce de résistance. We're about to present Julia, our very own virgin bride. Yes, gentlemen, I tell you no lies. She truly is a virgin - our sacrificial virgin.'
Julia didn't like the sound of that at all. Her stomach knotted with trepidation, and she was on the verge of bolting when Gina and Vesta grabbed her arms and pulled her into the unremitting glare of the spotlights. None of this had been rehearsed. 'Wh-what are you doing?' Julia whispered frantically. She could see nothing in detail beyond the lights, the auditorium black, cigarette and cigar smoke drifting in layers above the shadows that sat there - watching.
'Just be quiet and don't resist,' Gina hissed, and the two girls moved her to the front of the stage, where she stood, in full few of everyone. This was a show put on for fashion buyers? Somehow Julia doubted it. She was on to something more than the theft of her friend's designs here.
Gina lifted the veil, laying it back over Julia's hair, to general murmurs of approval from the inky shadows.
Roberta tossed his shimmering mane and snapped his fingers at Gina, who held Julia's forearms while Vesta snapped two metal bands to her wrists. Roberta snapped his fingers again and the macabre wooden crosspiece was trundled forward and positioned precisely in front of Julia, who stared at it, eyes wide with dismay.
Chains hung from the cuffs, and as Julia stood aghast at the scene that was unfolding - with her as the main attraction - Gina and Vesta lifted her arms and attached the chains to the crosspiece of the triangular frame, pressing Julia's cheek to its smoothly polished surface in doing so. Her ankles were gripped, forced apart and fastened with two more metal bands and chains that, in turn, were fed through iron rings at the base of the wooden structure. She was at their mercy, arms strained out to the sides at head level, her ankles parted wide and also secured. It was uncomfortable, her arm muscles already beginning to ache, and the cross felt somewhat unstable, cunningly contrived so that it was rooted in a turntable.
Somebody was close, pressing against her back, and without opening her eyes Julia knew it was Vincent Gabor. He was there behind her; she knew it, could sense it, and instinctively accepted that it was he who was to lead her through the ordeal. She could feel him, erect against her buttocks, even through his trousers and the material of her dress, and she instinctively eased back a fraction against it. For some reason, despite the horror of her situation, she wanted him; yearned for his mastery.
'Shall I take your virginity like this?' he whispered, his dark velvet voice filling her head. 'Here, in front of all these people? Or later, in private?'
'I...'
'Whatever I decide,' he went on, so quietly she could barely hear him, 'you must be chastised first. You know that, my dear, don't you?'
'I... why?' she managed, choking back the sobs that threatened to overwhelm her. 'What have I done wrong? Why would you punish me?'
'Because you need it,' he murmured enigmatically, and then withdrew, leaving her, eyes closed and holding her breath with apprehension... and inexplicable excitement.
Strong hands lifted the skirt of her dress and fixed it just above her waist, and then he moved away, leaving a chill where his warm body had been. The onlookers waited with a menacing, brooding, quiet. The music was no more. The cross was slowly turned, until it faced the back of the stage. Roberta was there, one hand on hip, one leg thrust out through the slit in his dress. Grace was with him, an austere figure in black. Their unblinking eyes were fixed on Julia, pinning her as effectively as the chains that held her to the odious frame.
Through her anxiety and confusion Julia was vaguely conscious of a stirring in the air behind her - not so much a sound, as a breath of movement... and it was followed by a searing explosion of agony. Too shocked to cry out, she convulsed against her bonds. Vincent Gabor had laid the lash low, deliberately catching her in the crease between toned buttock and thigh, and before she could recover a second blow bit mercilessly, placed an inch higher than the first. This time a howl was wrenched from her lips. Her buttocks were bathed in fire, the heat spreading down through her loins and up to her breasts, her clit and nipples echoing the pain, but on the brink of twisted pleasure, too.
Julia's world shrunk to that moment, as though she and Gabor were in the eye of a hurricane and everyone else had vanished. Alone, just the two of them, the teacher and his pupil, the master and his slave. And for some bizarre reason she would have had it no other way, even when the whip bit into her flesh again, and again, and again. She embraced the crosspiece, welcoming its solid support, nearly fainting as she slumped there feeling the drag on her wrists and the discomfort of her ankles, and the breathtaking pain of the brands Gabor had whipped into her as surely as if he'd used a hot iron. They would fade physically, but their marks would remain imprinted on her soul for all eternity...
Julia was vaguely aware of hands freeing her from the frame and someone - she knew it was Vincent Gabor - carrying her away from the scene of her cruel ordeal.
Now she was somewhere quiet, too drained and bewildered to open her eyes, but feeling a soft mattress under her, as he laid her on her front. An astringent coolness laved her stripes, taking away the heat, and he was spreading lotion over her buttocks, massaging it in, his hands gentle - hands that, a short time ago, had brandished the whip, punishing her most cruelly. He was an enigma, and she was intrigued, falling ever deeper under his spell.
She dared to open her eyes, squinting sideways, her tearstained cheek pressed into a satin pillow. The light was subdued, but she glimpsed a carved bedhead and, to one side, drapes pulled across the windows. Of course, it would be dark outside by now. She had been in the penthouse suite for hours. Would Arlene be worried and send out a search party, headed by Will? For some inexplicable reason, she rather hoped not. She and Vincent Gabor had unfinished business.
'You took your introduction to pain very well, my dear,' she heard him say, and felt his hands lightly working the balm into her skin. 'Don't worry. This is a secret prescription made up for me by a Chinese doctor. The welts and bruises will fade in a day or two.'
He rolled her over. The finest linen caressed her tender rear, and she smelt the aroma of herbs and spices, oils and incense. It was pungent, almost narcotic, and she relaxed, wanting never to leave this place. Vincent Gabor sat on the side of the bed, smoothing her hair back from her flushed forehead and looking deeply into her eyes. The throbbing of her bottom receded, the ointment working as he promised. He lifted a glass of wine from the nearby bedside cabinet, supported her while she sat up a little, and she drank gratefully. It was red and full-bodied, and delicious.
When she'd finished he replaced the glass, then gently and skilfully removed her clothes. Feeling too lethargic to utter a sound or move a muscle, Julia watched him, the wine making her a little
woozy. In her investigative mind she wondered dreamily if he'd added anything to it, but no longer cared, content to be gazing up at a very powerful and very attractive man.
Then he stood and, without taking his steely eyes from her supine form, started to undress himself.
The evening jacket came off, and the crisp white shirt was unbuttoned and tugged from his waistband. He had the body of an athlete, kept in superb condition by regular training. Broad shoulders tapered to a narrow waist, and his skin was copper-brown. He was hirsute, but not unpleasantly so, chest furred, arms as well, but not on his back or shoulders. Julia was glad of that; hairy men were not her favourite.
His shoes and socks were slipped off, his trousers unfastened and lowered over his trim hips and down his muscled legs, before being discarded where they fell in a crumpled heap. Now he wore nothing but the briefest of pouches, the front weighted by the size and hardness of his tumescent penis.
Julia propped herself up on one elbow, the better to see him, and a dart of desire pierced her to the womb. Thumbs hooked into the brief garment, eased down, and his manhood sprang from its snug den, thrusting potently towards her. Brown-skinned and veined, it curved upwards with no foreskin to protect the swollen twin lobes of his glans. He let her look for a while, and then knelt on the bed, looming over her.
His face lowered towards hers and then her took possession of her mouth, his tongue performing a dance of desire with hers. She moaned against his lips, and heaved her body up so that her naked breasts met his softly pelted chest. His kiss was perfect. She'd never known anything like it, aching with longing, her nipples peaks of passion, and her clitoris hard and needy.
He raised his head and swept a hand down over her breasts, her tensed tummy, and down between her thighs. He found her clitoris and teased it, then dipped into her entrance, testing it with two fingers. She wriggled against the invasion, wanting more.
'Oh, yes... please,' she gasped, the discomfort in her buttocks augmenting the pleasure as he took her to the heights with all the skill of an experienced lover, carrying her upwards on liquid wings until her orgasm peaked and shattered.
He eased his knees between her limp thighs and she felt his cock nudging at her. She wanted it, hooked her legs around his waist and pulled him in closer. Her hands slipped up and down the sinews of his arms, her nails dug into his back, and he rocked against her, then thrust hard, his cock slicing into her enveloping depths. She felt her membrane resisting and the pain was intense. She closed her eyes and bit her lip, sobbing, but not prepared to let the moment slip away. He thrust harder, pushing his cock with his lithe hips. There was a moment's pause and then he prevailed, sinking into her.
She whimpered, her stripes and her plundered vagina combining in pain. She was overwhelmed, his huge penis stretching her narrow channel, the bulbous tip butting harshly against her cervix.
'You're too big...' she moaned.
'Don't be silly,' he grunted, moving more rapidly, dragging his cock out then plunging back in again.
And, gradually, the pain melted into a dull ache that turned into utter pleasure as his pubic bone ground against her clitoris and she felt his heavy balls brushing the insides of her thighs. He was moving in a steady tempo and without conscious thought, and she kept up with it, tightening her legs around him, wanting more, embracing the size and girth of his shaft. She could feel the sweet beginnings of another orgasm. She had never known such ecstasy, the feel of his cock inside her an awesome sensation, until she wanted to remain linked with him forever, her life dedicated to his service.
And Vincent Gabor was showing great passion and a need that matched hers. She revelled in the feel of him, the smell of him, the joy of that rigid muscle pistoning inside her, and she didn't care when suddenly all gentleness was gone. He took his pleasure ruthlessly, and his roughness excited her unbearably. She squeezed even tighter with her legs, wanting to get closer and closer, even if it meant he speared her to the heart.
She sobbed into his mouth as her crisis came, sending fiery arrows throughout her writhing body. He gave a harsh bark and stiffened, head back, body arched, and she felt the heat of his seed erupting deep inside her.
Julia gave a deep contented sigh, happy to be crushed beneath him, his face buried against her throat, his rasping breath gradually returning to normal.
Then he raised himself, resting on his elbows and staring down into her face, his spent penis slipping from between her legs. 'Now you know what it's all about,' he said casually.
'Can... can I stay with you tonight?' she asked carefully, sensing him becoming distant, making her feel cold and empty.
'No, I've business to attend to,' he said dismissively. 'But I will see you tomorrow; we have much to discuss, and a contract to be drafted and signed.'
Chapter 7
'And?' Will pressed.
'And what?' Julia responded, and he didn't much care for her defensive tone.
'And, aren't you going to tell me what's going on?'
He hated being hard on her; he was nothing like as tough has he liked to portray. This lovely girl with the big round eyes that could change from blue to violet according to her mood had really got to him. He'd even had a furious row with that sleazebag George, who'd been angling to sell the nude pictures of her to a porn magazine.
Julia and Will were in the Hi Life office. She was reporting to him during Denise's absence, who was away on business for a few days. Julia sat in front of his desk, looking mouth-wateringly gorgeous as usual. Will leaned back in his operator's chair and his neglected monitor automatically switched to screen-saver. Two spacemen drifted across a black, star-spangled void, to the accompaniment of bleeps and blips and what the designer had obviously imagined were sounds heard in the far reaches of the universe. I don't think so, Will concluded, and turned the volume down.
Julia fidgeted, her denim skirt riding up over her silky thighs, and the tiny white triangle of her panty gusset winked at him as she crossed her legs. His cock stirred with that familiar ache he associated with his frustration concerning this nubile nymphet. He concentrated on her body language, and it told him that she wasn't too happy.
'It's all going fine,' she said at last. 'I'm really in there. I'm seeing Vincent Gabor again later today. He wants me to model for Blake, who'll be there, too, I hope. In fact, if I take to the life, I might give up journalism and embark on a new career.'
'That's bollocks, and you know it.' He scowled across his desk at her, annoyed at the sudden cold chill that invaded his heart. Lose her to the fashion trade? Never!
'I don't know any such thing,' she retorted loftily, standing and going over to stare out of the window at the uneven rooftops, then down into the crowded lane. It bordered Soho and Wardour Street, home of films, printed sensationalism, and sex, and not far away from London's theatre-land.
Will could not resist the temptation to leave his chair and stand behind her. 'Fine view, isn't it?' he said quietly. 'Can't you feel the energy, the crazy tempo, the get-up-and-go? I wouldn't want to work anywhere else on earth.' He hardly knew what he was saying, simply giving himself an excuse to be close to her without exactly touching. Her hair smelt delicious, reminding him of the hay fields of his boyhood, fragrant with poppies and meadowsweet. Then there had been his grandmother's cottage near the sea, where the front door bore a garland of honeysuckle throughout his summer visits, his townie nostrils seduced by the scent that somehow mingled with the tang of ocean spray.
Unable to control his emotions or his burgeoning penis, he leaned down and kissed the tender nape of her neck. He felt her stiffen and cursed himself. He'd got the timing wrong - again. She moved away, putting space between them, glancing at him from the tail of her eye. 'Don't push it, Will,' she warned gently. 'I like you; you're a good friend...'
'But,' he finished the sentence for her. 'There's always a "but" in there somewhere.'
'But, I'm not ready to make a commitment just now. There's too much happening in my life.'
She turned her eyes to him, and despite the glint of anger there, he could see a defensive uncertainty as well. 'I don't think that's any of your business,' she said without conviction, and then turned to leave. 'Tell Denise that I think this story will blow the roof off, when it's completed.'
'Bugger!' Will cursed, sat down again, eased his erection into a more comfortable position, and opened a file. He was writing an astringent article concerning cosmetic surgery, and breast implants in particular, but for once the words simply refused to flow from his fingertips to the keyboard. Breasts; surely one of his favourite topics, but all he could see were Julia's; so firm yet succulent, not too large and not too small - just perfect. He groaned and gave up the battle to write, elbows on the desk, chin in his hands as he stared at the taunting cursor on the screen and saw nothing but Julia being spanked by Gus. It was a scenario he had relived over and over, using it as a masturbation aid, and coming when he got to the bit where she sucked Gus's cock and he ejaculated over her face and hair.
Will needed relief now, so he went across and turned the key in the lock, then unzipped his trousers and lifted out his engorged cock. Some people condemned wanking as something only frustrated teenagers needed to indulge in, but Will disagreed. Whether in relationships or out of them, he had always indulged. It was so easy, so uncomplicated and immensely satisfying. He loved women and everything about them, of course, but his cock was always there for him, loyal and true.
He slumped low on his chair, legs spread, flies agape. His weapon rose from his groin like a splendid fleshy spear; he was very proud of its length and girth. He stroked it affectionately with his right hand, and reached lower with his left to rummage inside his underwear and fondled his balls. They felt like sap-filled fruit. He hadn't had sex for several days and they were more than ready. He massaged them, and pretended that Julia was on her knees between his legs, cupping his testicles in her dainty fingers and licking his cock. He squeezed his shaft and pumped briskly, drawing down the ridge of skin that collared his helm, then sliding up and over it, anointed by the bead of juice that hung from the eye. Will sighed, and watched his hand and fingers performing the ritual. He knew precisely how much pressure to use and for how long, and when to let up to stop himself peaking.