The download complete, she slipped the last disc out of the slot and tucked it into her pocket. Then as silently and swiftly as she had arrived, she left Abbey Reach.
'Is that Marty? It is? Good, this is Arlene Murphy.' The phone was tucked under her chin, her fingers coiled nervously in her black, Irish tinker hair, as she liked to call it. 'No, don't hang up,' she added quickly, instinctively putting her free hand up as if to halt someone. 'I want to apologise for the fracas at your last collection. I was wrong to kick up such a fuss. I see that now, and I'd like us to meet and talk about it. After all...' she purred in her most seductive tones, 'we got on rather well at the Cloth Show, didn't we? I was very impressed. Everything I've heard about you was true...'
She judged him to a nicety, smiling as she heard him fish in his most charming, conceited tones. 'And what have you heard, Arlene?'
'Rumour had it that you're seriously well hung... and now I know...'
There was a silence for a moment, and Arlene wondered if she'd somehow messed up, but then he went on. 'Tell me more.'
'Well, you obviously remember our little tete-a-tete in the storeroom?'
'I do indeed.' His voice had thickened and she wondered if he was stroking his cock through his trousers, even as they spoke.
'Shall we meet, then? I could do with your advice about my work. Who knows, we could even indulge in a repeat performance? Would you like me to come to yours, or would you rather come to mine?'
He hesitated. Her call had obviously thrown him. Perhaps he was feeling guilty about Julia? Not for long, she thought. Will was already en route to Wylde Court and the police had been informed.
'Let me deal with Blake,' she had begged Theona during the meeting when they read the printout of Vincent Gabor's chicanery. 'It doesn't seem that he knew what was going on, being too concerned about his own fame and fortune. Keep his name out of it and please, let me have him. He owes me one.'
'Well, if you're sure,' Theona had said doubtfully.
'Quite sure,' Arlene insisted, a calculating look of intent in her eyes.
'Must you?' Eugene asked, looking troubled. She knew him to be jealous, but nothing would shift her from her purpose.
'I must,' she said, slipping her arms around his neck. 'It's a matter of honour.'
'What are you up to?' Will wanted to know, though he was abstracted, already planning his Suffolk rescue operation.
'You'll see,' Arlene said, tapping the side of her nose mysteriously.
Now Marty Blake and she agreed that she should go to his apartment later that day. He seemed eager, intrigued, and she felt a hot itch within her when she recalled his spectacular good looks, his lean body, long legs and dark wavy hair. And she had only slightly exaggerated his development in the genital area; he had a most impressive cock.
His warehouse home was impressive, too. So this is one of the perks of being a famous dress designer, she thought, strolling through the wide hall and into the lounge with its polished teak floor and stylish chrome furniture upholstered in black leather. The few ornaments were the original works of well-known sculptors, as were the surreal paintings on the original brick walls. It breathed money, fame and fortune, and Arlene intended to have all three.
Blake led her outside. The garden was beautiful, filled with greenery, sunshine and birdsong. Though made safe by high wire fencing draped in flowering climbers, she found it hard to remember that they were several floors up, and that every ounce of earth, each plant and shrub, even the water feature had been placed there artificially, not by nature.
'Would you like a drink?' he asked, but she hadn't come there to exchange pleasantries over gin and tonics.
'I'd rather you showed me your bedroom,' she answered frankly, giving him an impish glance with her green eyes. She had practised this look, and found few men could resist.
'Didn't you want to talk about your work?' he said, but was already moving back inside. She could see the shape of his hardening cock within his baggy white cotton trousers.
Her nipples peaked and her clitoris thrummed. There was no denying that she still fancied him, unprincipled bastard though he was. She was fond of Eugene, might even make a go of it with him, but weren't the bad boys always the most exciting?
When they reached his bedroom her anger was still simmering dangerously, but she moved close and slipped her arms around him. His response was immediate, though he looked cautious. 'So, are you still accusing me of stealing your designs?' he asked.
'Oh, let's not talk about that,' she murmured seductively, and reached up to kiss him. It was as pleasant as she remembered; firm lips and an active tongue.
She could feel his cock, vertical against his belly, the stem pressing through her flimsy cotton frock. She had dressed herself for seduction - his, more than hers. His hand delved beneath the skirt, lifting it high and caressing her bare thigh and then her bottom crease. She started and raised her hips towards him as his fingers edged round the tiny tanga which barely covered her mons, then wormed their way between her dark bush and landed unerringly on her clitoris. Lust poured through her, making it hard to remember her purpose there.
She raised a leg and hooked it round his thigh, wriggling against the large bulge tenting his trousers. He responded by gyrating his pelvis, his hand going to her breasts, tweaking the nipples through the fine fabric, but even then his trade impinged as he said, 'This is cotton voile, isn't it? Did you make it?'
'Yes, and yes,' she replied, ready to yell with frustration as he continued that delicious manipulation.
Still holding her, he led her towards his bed. She felt the edge of the mattress against the backs of her knees. But she didn't intend to fall across it, legs wide, arms embracing him while he fucked her. Oh no, she had other plans for Mr Marty Blake.
'Lie down,' she commanded dominantly.
His eyes widened. 'What?'
'I said, lie down,' she repeated, implementing her words with a sharp rap across his tight muscled arse. The delicious feel of it was almost her undoing, but she hung on in there. 'You enjoy dishing it out, don't you? Well, how about if we experiment a little. I'll be tops to begin with and you'll be bottom.'
His face cleared, and he grinned boyishly. She tried to ignore the brilliant charm of him. 'Okay,' he said. 'I'm game if you are. Do we have a safe word?'
'Yes,' she said, testing him. 'Let's use Incagold?'
He looked genuinely surprised, and not in the least guilty. 'That's an odd one, but yes, I agree, though I'll bet you say it before I do.'
'You first,' she said, with a determination that stopped any argument.
Soon she had him where she wanted him, naked and spread on the bed, his arms and legs spread and tethered to the posts with silk scarves and belts she had found in the chest-of-drawers, and the glorious sight of him almost swayed her from her intentions. His body was so beautifully proportioned; wide shoulders and a muscular chest, a flat belly, a nest of dark curls and that magnificent cock rising stiffly upwards, his balls in their taut sac resting on the sheet between his thighs. He had an all-year-round tan, his skin contrasting with the snowy whiteness of the pillows.
She had retained one of the leather belts and suddenly brought it down with full force across his thighs.
'Bitch!' he yelped, his cock jerking, crimson marks forming on his sinewy flesh.
'Now, now, that's not the way to address Mistress Murphy,' she reproved and, just to remind him of her power, she flicked his helm with the belt. Pearly dew oozed from the single eye, and he groaned through gritted teeth.
She knew she was right. This wasn't the first time his passion had been roused through pain. Her control was slipping; she wanted to yield to temptation and have him penetrate her. First though, there were other things she must do.
Standing where he could see everything but was unable to touch, she undressed slowly and languidly. First her button-through dress, then her icing sugar-pink bra, though she took this off with the tantalising, cynical skill of
a professional stripper using men's lusts to support herself and her dependants. She paused then, retaining her panties and high-heeled shoes. This had the desired effect on him and he writhed on the bed like a landed fish. He tugged at his bonds, swore at and cursed her. She smiled, enjoying seeing him roped there, helpless. It was unusual; he was always so confident and full of himself.
'I wonder what your fan club would make of you now?' she remarked. 'That American woman, Mrs Hooper-Jones. I thought she was going to have an orgasm when she spoke of you.'
Hooking her thumbs in the ties each side of her tanga, she partially pulled them down, giving him a glimpse of her crisp pubic hair. Then, disappointing him, she turned her back and shimmied towards the tallboy to find her supposition was correct. Inside one of the drawers was an array of sex-toys, almost as comprehensive as her own. She took them out, one by one. There were oriental eggs for anal or vaginal insertion, a mock plastic vagina, penis rings to delay orgasm, and several lifelike vibrators.
'By all the saints, Mr Blake,' she drawled. 'What a collection! It's nearly as large as mine.'
She stood close to the bed and dropped her panties, then placed one foot up on a chair, giving Blake an uninterrupted view of her cleft. She played the tip of the vibrator round her salmon pink inner lips and stroked it over the puckered anal mouth. Then she switched it on and held it against her clitoris. She gasped, coming in a rush, and Blake groaned with longing.
Returning from the blissful realms of orgasm, she snatched up the belt and belaboured him furiously. Stripes marred him from thighs to belly to chest. She even lashed him once across the veined length of his cock. He squealed, but didn't use the safe word.
'Climb on me, ride me, mistress,' he begged, and Arlene took up position astride his genitals, lowering herself and allowing the tip of his glans to brush over her wet quim, teasing him. 'Where is Julia?' she demanded.
'Wh-who?' he stammered unconvincingly.
'Julia!' she hissed viciously, reaching down and squeezed his testicles.
'I don't know!' he bleated, capitulating instantly. 'I promise you. She was at Hazel House, but he's moved her.'
'Gabor, you mean?'
'Yes, that's right.' He was panting heavily with alarm and sweat glistened on his chest.
'And all this fuss because of my designs?'
'As far as I know,' he admitted. 'He's a dark horse and keeps his business affairs to himself.'
Arlene reached for the vibrator and wetted it at her delta, then trailed it over his body. She held the buzzing end to one of his nipples and he almost wept. 'God, you're a witch!' he wailed pathetically, increasing her contempt for him. 'What is it you want from me?'
'I need to find Julia.' She passed the vibrator across his scrotum, paused, holding him with a challenging stare, and then pressed it inexorably into his arse.
He jerked like a puppet on a string, his back arching off the bed. 'I've told you everything,' he wailed, his cock weeping milky tears.
The sight of it was too much for Arlene, and she was pretty certain he was speaking the truth; that he knew no more. She was confident Will was about to save Julia, and she could no longer deny herself, so keeping the dildo in place with one hand, she impaled herself on Marty Blake, writhing up and down, feeling the glorious sensation of his huge organ within her and the spreading vibrations from the thing embedded in his rear.
He came almost at once, and Julia only a few seconds later.
She sat back on his thighs with a sigh, her head slumped forward as she savoured the last spasms of her delicious orgasm.
'Take out the vibrator,' he panted, his chest heaving. 'I've had enough. I can't take any more.'
'And the safe word is...?'
'Incagold,' he breathed.
She'd beaten him on every issue and was empowered by the good feeling this evoked. But before she withdrew the sex-toy, she said, 'I want you to show me your atelier.'
'Anything, anything,' he panted, his cock stiffening again under the continual stimulation of the buzzing plastic deep in his bottom.
'And you'll take me into partnership,' she pressed. 'Do you agree?'
'Yes, I agree - now please turn that thing off!'
'Only if you promise not to rescind.'
'I do, I do. Arlene, mistress, don't torment me any more.'
Arlene swung a leg over him, reached down and flicked the switch, then pulled the dildo from within his rectum. 'Marty,' she said, smiling down at him and starting to unfasten his bonds. 'I think I can say that you've been well and truly shafted...
'Now, it's time to show me your studio. I need to see which part I'll take over for my own use.'
'Sir!' Grace shouted, hammering on the door of the master chamber. 'Mr Gabor, we've caught an intruder!'
Julia was already awake, her mind in a ferment. She sat up sharply as Gabor got out of bed and slipped into his trousers, sweater and sneakers. 'Bring him here,' he called, and then turned on Julia. 'Is this your doing? If it is you'll be sorry. Now stay where you are.'
Within a minute several of the guards crashed though the door, hauling Will in and then throwing him down at Gabor's feet. Grace had a revolver trained on him, and Jason stood in the background, looking uncomfortable.
'Julia, are you all right?' Will said, ignoring his captors and looking at her.
'Yes, but I want to go home, Will,' she said, her chin trembling with emotion at the sight of his familiar, ruggedly handsome face.
'I know—' he began, but was silenced by a vicious blow to the face, delivered by a hefty guard.
'How did you manage to track me down here?' Gabor raged. 'No one knows about Wylde Court. You may be a member of the press, but this smacks of something more. Internal espionage. Someone's been hacking into my computer. Who? Tell me. You'd better comply, or suffer intensely. My men are expert torturers and I'm determined to tear the truth out of you.'
'Do your worst,' Will said defiantly. 'You have no right to keep Julia here against her will.'
'Against her will?' Gabor echoed scornfully. 'I think not. You should have seen her performance last night. She couldn't get enough of me. Get out of bed, Julia, and let this cretin judge for himself if I'm speaking the truth or not.'
She obeyed, fearful for Will's well being, knowing that Gabor was capable of anything. She had dressed up as ordered, and it was like taking part in a fantastic play where everything was upside down and nothing like real life. She suspected that Gabor had laced her wine with an aphrodisiac, for it had seemed that she became the characters he demanded; the eighteenth century courtesan in powdered wing and hooped skirt; the blowsy Edwardian whore in a bustle, corsets, feather boa and wide-brimmed hat; the chambermaid in pink stays, black woollen stockings and cambric knickers with a wide slit in the crotch.
She was still wearing the latter, having fallen into an exhausted sleep without undressing again. The corset was laced very tightly, her breasts bulging over the top, displaying her pierced nipples. Long pink suspenders were clipped to the tops of her stockings that showed mid-thigh where her drawers ended. Somehow, during their sexual excesses, these had been torn, and the gusset, far from covering her, exposed her treasures, denuded mound and all. She stood there with her head down, cringing because Will would see it all and doubt her loyalty.
'Oh Julia,' he said dismally.
'Will, it's not what it seems,' she insisted desperately, daring to meet his eyes. 'I've been kept here by force. Please Will, take me home.'
'You're not going anywhere, my dear,' Gabor said icily. 'And neither is he. I'm afraid your friend has foolishly put himself in an untenable position. I can't possibly let him go, and shall give orders for his demise. As for you? A sojourn in one of my foreign establishments will suffice - for the time being.'
'You won't get away with it,' Will warned, and Julia's heart bled as she saw his bruised eye and cut lip.
'Won't I?' Gabor sneered, and Grace handed him his riding crop. 'Bend over, sweet Julia.'
Oh, Julia was mortified, not wanting Will to witness such things. But Gabor pulled down her knickers and had her present her buttocks so that no one could miss seeing the perfect globes, marked with last night's whipping.
She gasped and could hardly maintain her subservient pose as the crop struck, welting her already bruised bottom. He laid them on cruelly and precisely, forming a vivid criss-crossed ladder over the fleshy area. Then he flung the crop at Grace and pointed at Will. 'Beat him if you want, then lock him up! I'm sick of the sight of him already. I'm hungry, and I want my breakfast!'
Julia cried when Will was hustled away. 'Please say you won't harm him,' she begged.
Gabor bit into a slice of toast from the tray of steaming food and eyed her with scorn. 'Why should I not?' he provoked. 'He's a busybody who should have kept out of my affairs. He'll get what's due to him.'
Carrying his coffee cup, he paced to the window that overlooked the front. One of the shutters was open a crack. Julia saw him stiffen, and then he spun round, slammed the cup on the table, and grabbed her by the arm.
'What is it?' she shouted.
'Police cars.'
He snatched up his jacket, barked a crisp order into his mobile, and then dragged her towards the fireplace. He pressed a carved rose and an aperture swung open, emitting a dark odour. Without giving her time to think he shoved her in and switched on a flashlight. Steps and more steps, dripping walls and a passage that led into further blackness.
'W-where are we going?' she managed to shriek.
'To freedom,' he said. 'A helicopter is waiting for us in a field at the back.'
'Us?' She was too shocked to think straight.
'Of course. You're coming with me, Julia. To France, and then Rio. I have friends who will help me.'
'But—'
'No buts - I've decided. I could leave you down here to rot where nobody would ever find you, but I want you too much.'
In Too Deep Page 22