Star Slave

by Nicole Dere

  Chapter Twelve

  Daylight knifed its way through Michael’s screwed up eyes into his throbbing head. His fuzzy awakening view of the world suddenly swam into clear focus. Slowly he realised he was in Felicity’s bedroom. Then his jaw dropped at the vision of the slim, smiling, naked figure standing by the window.

  ‘Here,’ it said, ‘I’ve brought you a cup of coffee. Are you feeling dreadful? You must be.’ John came so close that Michael found himself staring from inches at the neat penis and compact scrotum, the smoothness of the belly and slender thighs. Words failed him as John put the mug of coffee on the bedside table, then moved around to the other side of the bed. He climbed in, the mattress dipping as he did so. Michael felt a foot scrape lightly across his leg.

  Oh God! This was some kind of sick nightmare! Surely he couldn’t be awake. Not naked in Felicity’s bed - with her cousin. Fragments of memory began to swim back. His lonely drunken evening... then sitting opposite John... the whisky bottle... his swimming drunkenness. Then - his mind tried to shy away from the crowding, tormenting thoughts - the touch of hands, pulling him this way and that, dragging off his clothes. The feel of a slim body nestled against him... and then those hands again...

  His muscles bunched to propel him out of the bed, when suddenly another realisation struck him, stopping him from movement. He was naked, too. Completely naked. But surely he’d been wearing underpants? His horrified gaze identified the crumpled garment on the rug by the side of the bed. A vivid memory of Felicity’s knickers lying in just such a position, tinged with the evidence of her excitement and their love, assailed his mind.

  As though tuning in to his mental anguish, John stirred and moved even closer, so that his warm thigh and leg rested against Michael’s limb. He was sitting up on the pillows, above Michael, and he slipped his arm with casual possession over the broader shoulders at his side. ‘Come on, drink up while it’s hot,’ he said. ‘It’ll do you good.’

  At last Michael was galvanised into action. Wildly, he flung aside the blankets and leapt out of bed, while John swore as the coffee he was holding slopped onto the sheet.

  ‘Jesus! What’s going on here?’ Michael cried, his eyes bulging. He was standing hunched, his hands cupped over his genitals. He bent and grabbed at his underpants, felt the crusting semen, smelt its unmistakable odour, and dropped them again with disgust. His hands flew back to hide his shrivelled prick.

  ‘What did you do to me?’ His voice rose in his agitation and disbelief.

  John laughed mischievously. ‘Why? What’s wrong? Are you sore?’

  ‘What?’ Michael glanced down at his crossed hands, then up again at John, his face reflecting his terror. ‘What do you mean? You bastard!’ Suddenly his stomach gave a great heave of revulsion and he staggered desperately, doubled up, for the bathroom, where he dropped to his knees over the lavatory and retched dryly for some minutes.

  With a deep moan he slumped and folded his arms on the plastic seat, lowered his head onto them, and began to sob.

  A spasm of disgust flickered over John’s features as he swung out of bed and followed him to the bathroom. So much for macho man, he thought, unable to suppress his mean satisfaction at the crumpled image of masculinity crouched on the floor in front of him. Then the beauty of the naked figure registered, and he felt his penis stir and throb again. He bent, put his hands under those heaving shoulders, and drew him gently to his feet. Michael’s chin was on his chest as he cried softly, unable to look at him. John knew at once there would be no resistance, no violent attempt to prove or defend his heterosexuality. With an arm around the shoulders, he steered him back to the bedroom. Michael moved as in a dream, still weeping like a boy.

  ‘There’s nothing wrong, Mikey baby,’ John crooned, his own excitement flaring, his prick rising and stiffening. ‘Nothing to be ashamed of. It was good, wasn’t it? Don’t tell me you don’t remember. Don’t fool yourself. It can be good - you know it can.’

  As he spoke, he eased Michael down upon the bed again, and let their bodies touch. He lay on top of him, their bellies and thighs pressing together. He felt his prick heaving against Michael’s warm body, felt the responsive quiver in the penis that lay beneath his own; its swelling arousal, their mutual warmth.

  Slowly, he let his face approach the red visage under his, saw the sparkle of tears on the cheeks and glistening in the fair eyelashes, saw the wild fear in the eyes, before his lips closed on the warm mouth. Michael’s throat worked and his Adam’s apple bobbed violently, but John’s fingers dug into his hollowed cheeks and held his mouth imprisoned to the kiss until he felt the stiff resistance ebb from the body beneath him, and heard the choking gasp of surrender.

  John’s hand dipped down between their bellies, found the swollen column it sought, and jerked vigorously. A huge sob shook Michael’s ribcage and sent his chest heaving upward. A spasm wracked the supine frame and his legs twitched reflexively at John’s knowing strokes. John’s head dipped and his feather-light tongue flicked at the hard nipples. Then on, over the slight dip covered by a fine swirl of hair, down over the quivering stomach, past the recessed navel, to the thick bush and the stiff penis, the helm gleaming purple and fully emergent from his fist. A drop of fluid shimmered at the tiny slit, and John lapped at it.

  Michael was moaning softly, his head rolling tormentedly from side to side, his hips and belly lifting in helpless response to John’s stimulation. The prick was beating mightily in John’s grip now, the head more swollen than ever. He licked at it, teasing the flanged rim where it met the long shaft, until Michael tossed and whimpered. Straining his jaws, John slid his lips over the shining helmet and sucked deeply, taking as much of the throbbing penis as he could into his working mouth. He gagged, fought for air through his nostrils, then released the captive flesh. He relaxed his hold on the rigid column, pushed it back against the pubis and belly, lapped greedily at the ball bag, then up the root of the shaft, back to that engorged head.

  Michael began to kick, his feet scissoring just like Felicity’s in the throes of orgasm, and his creamy seed erupted with such pent up force that it splattered onto his chest and into the recess of his palpitating navel, hanging in pearly gobs among the dark curls of his pubis. Some of it spilled onto John’s chin, and he dipped his head rapturously to lap at the residue that still oozed thickly from the softening cock.

  ‘You gorgeous fucking man!’ he breathed, and buried his face in all that sweet and cloying softness.

  ‘What is it?’ Debbie’s voice trembled with her nervousness. It was the first time she’d been back in this secret room since the ceremony of her initiation. This time, as far as she knew, only she and Magda were present. She was startled to find the tall figure clothed in her robe of office, her splendid figure hidden by the long scarlet robe. Again, the pool of brilliant light fell on that marble circle and the outer edges of the strange room were in deep shadow. ‘I’m sorry,’ she faltered, her heart racing. ‘What have I done?’

  ‘You went out with Felicity this morning, didn’t you? Where did you go?’

  ‘For a walk. That’s all. I didn’t tell her anything. Not a thing. Honestly.’

  ‘Where did you go?’

  ‘Just up through the wood.’ She hesitated fractionally.

  ‘I took her to the folly.’

  ‘And what did you do there?’

  ‘We talked.’ Debbie felt her face growing warm. ‘I - I gave her a bit of a cuddle. And...’

  ‘Is that all? Tell me.’

  ‘I didn’t know - we fooled around. I mean - I made love. I just fingered her, you know? She wanted it. She’s lovely. I’m sorry, Magda. I didn’t know we weren’t supposed to. I mean, we all do it, don’t we? The rest of us...’ her voice faded.

  ‘But Felicity isn’t one of us,’ Magda said softly. ‘She’s not a daughter. You had no right to touch her. Not without my permission. And you didn’t have
that, did you?’

  ‘No. But I didn’t know... I’m sorry.’ Debbie’s tone betrayed her fear. ‘I won’t do it again,’ she added, in a chastened voice.

  Magda smiled. ‘No, you won’t do it again, my black beauty. But you have to be punished. Don’t you?’

  The dark eyes widened in alarm. Debbie swallowed, and then nodded.

  ‘Right,’ Magda continued abruptly. ‘Undress.’

  Debbie was wearing clothing suitable for the cold weather. She removed the thick sweater and the camisole top beneath, exposing her pointed breasts, then unhooked the skirt and stepped out of it. She wore panties of pristine white. The rich dark tones of her upper body stood out in delightful contrast. There was a narrow band of brown thigh, then the thick ribbed woollen stockings and narrow pointed ankle boots. A few more seconds and all these garments joined the others on the floor. Naked, Debbie stood and shivered, her hands clenched at her sides.

  ‘Lie down. On the star.’

  Debbie gasped at the icy bite of the marble. Gingerly she stretched out, face down, and spread her arms and legs out wide, following the black points. She heard Magda move, heard the swish as the heavy cloak was flung back to give her freer access• to wield the instrument of punishment. It was the three-stranded whip. Debbie shivered anew as its thin tails trailed over her flexing behind, and tickled the backs of her thighs.

  ‘Keep still,’ Magda warned, ‘or it will hurt far more.’ The soft whistle was followed by a stinging line of fire right across the centre of Debbie’s bottom. It burnt so fiercely that, for all her determination, she was unable to obey her mistress’s dictate, and squirmed, sobbing, before she could bring herself to lie still again and spread herself as before. The whip stung again, and every muscle locked in an effort to keep her from threshing around, with a little more success this time, despite the fiery pain. She bit down on her lip until she tasted blood, trying to smother the cry threatening to burst forth.

  Three more times the whip whistled and struck, until her behind was aflame with a torment that forced her to move. Her flanks jerked, her knees and feet banged against the marble in her involuntary squirming, and the sobbing became audible. Her hands reached out behind her, moved to touch the throbbing rounds, and snatched away again, for the slightest contact sent darts of fresh pain through her.

  She lay there, her body shaken with her weeping, blind in her ordeal, until Magda’s voice penetrated her misery. She was aware of the feet planted firmly apart near her head, and the voice coming from the heights above her. ‘You’ve forgotten to thank me,’ it said.

  ‘Thuh - thank you,’ Debbie stammered at once. The tears flowed, soaking her cheeks, then she gasped as she felt a sudden iciness touch her throbbing bottom. Magda was bending, spraying on a freezing substance that took away the throbbing burn immediately. Then those gentle hands were turning her, and she lay, her eyes filled with tears, and saw the hazy shape hovering over her like some winged angel. The robe was open, its edges held wide around that splendidly sculpted nakedness, which she could not see properly, did not have time to see, before it descended to cover her own eager frame.

  Debbie’s head swam, and with tears now of transported joy her former suffering was forgotten. Her whole being and body was alive with need. In an instant she relived the magical conjunction at her initiation, the dreamlike splendour of it, which afterwards had seemed too strangely wonderful to be true. She had thought she’d been drugged somehow; could not have experienced what her body had fantasised. But now it was happening again, that miraculous lovemaking which, her giddy mind told her, could not take place. She felt fingers moving, opening her centre once more, as before, then the penetration, not of those fingers, but of another, fabulous, more solid piece of flesh. It was an impossible amalgam of sexes as that gloriously beautiful body covered hers, and thrust onto and into her with shattering dominion.

  ‘Where’s Debbie?’ Felicity asked after breakfast the following day.

  Magda smiled. ‘I think she’s having a day in bed, sugar.

  Not feeling well. Time of the month, eh?’

  ‘Oh, I’ll pop up and see her. Sit with her a while. I know how miserable it can be if it’s rough.’

  ‘I don’t think so, lover.’ Felicity stared in amazement at Magda’s words. ‘Why?’ the deep voice went on, mockingly. ‘You can bear to be without her for one day, surely? Let the poor girl have some rest. She won’t be much use to you anyway.’

  Felicity’s face flooded with colour. ‘I - what on earth do you mean?’ she flustered, aware of the guilt stamped on her features.

  ‘I know what you two were up to yesterday,’ Magda answered levelly. ‘I think we’d better have a little talk.’ She opened the door and courteously ushered Felicity out before her. Firmly gripping her above the left elbow, she steered her up the wide staircase and along the landing. She closed the door of Felicity’s room behind them, and nodded towards the bed. ‘Sit down,’ she said pleasantly, and Felicity obeyed.

  ‘You’re a promiscuous little slag, aren’t you?’ Magda continued, in the same light tone.

  Felicity blushed deeply, and her eyes instantly blurred with tears. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again. She could think of no defence against the accusation. ‘I’m sorry,’ she eventually muttered. ‘I just thought everyone here seems so free... with everyone else.’ She paused. ‘It wasn’t my idea.’ She felt more and more like a sulky schoolgirl. ‘It was Debbie who suggested going up to the folly. Debbie who - did everything. I didn’t—’

  ‘And you put up a terrific fight, eh?’ Magda interrupted dryly. ‘It was all very much against your will. A case of rapine, was it?’

  Felicity shrugged miserably. ‘No, not exactly,’ she murmured, head down. ‘I didn’t think you’d mind. You all seem like I said... so close.’

  ‘We are, my dear. We’re very close. Which is why nothing happens around here - to the girls, that is - without my say-so. Didn’t you realise that?’

  Felicity shrugged uncomfortably. She was beginning to wonder if Debbie’s absence today had anything to do with yesterday’s incident, and she felt a tiny pulse of both fear and excitement begin to beat deep within.

  ‘I asked you a question,’ Magda prompted gently, and again Felicity felt reduced to the status of a naughty child.

  ‘I didn’t know I had to have your permission,’ Felicity replied, with a hint of defiance she didn’t really feel.

  ‘You’re my girl,’ Magda said strongly. Again, Felicity felt an inward shiver of delight at the dominance in that phrase. ‘At least while you’re here. And so is Debbie. You don’t do anything without my permission.’

  Felicity gasped at the bold directness of the statement.

  She stared up at the tall figure standing over her, but said nothing.

  ‘I think we need a little lesson,’ the deep tones went on. ‘Lie down on your tum. It’s all right; you can leave your boots on.’

  Part of her shocked at her own compliance, Felicity found herself obediently stretching out on the bed. ‘What are you going to do?’ she asked breathlessly. ‘You’re not going to beat me too?’ Her voice carried a trace of bitterness.

  Magda chuckled. ‘Just a little, baby. We’ve got to teach you obedience.’

  Felicity was too amazed to put up any real resistance when she felt her arms captured, and a pair of cuffs slipped over her wrists. They were softly padded on their inner surface, and linked by a short chain that Magda padlocked to the bed frame behind the pillow. She began, tardily, to twist a little in protest as Magda plucked up her short jumper and unfastened the waistband of her jeans. She hauled them down off her hips, then rolled the tiny black briefs down off her bottom.

  A large hand explored the dimpling cheeks, caressing, stroking, the fingers delving into the tightness of the cleft until Felicity was writhing once more, though not with any thought of escape. Magda
leaned close, her lips touching behind Felicity’s ear. ‘Love taps, my darling,’ she crooned. ‘Be a good girl and show me how brave you are.’

  The bed rocked slightly as she stood up. Felicity’s bottom clenched and she began to whimper. ‘Don’t hurt me,’ she pleaded feebly. ‘I can’t stand it.’

  The first blow landed with a loud splat. It stung, and she yelped, stiffening instinctively. The second blow fell almost immediately. The instrument was a slipper, the pliant sole raising blotchy outlines on the quivering rounds until they were soon a rosy red. Though Felicity flinched at each burning slap, she remained otherwise still, her loins thrusting into the yielding mattress, her face buried in the pillow to smother her cries.

  The pain burned steadily, and she knew it was over. Strangely, the tears flowed more freely then, her sobs growing more tempestuous. To her surprise, and dismay, she heard the door open and close, and she lay alone in the bright room, weeping, arms pinioned above her head, her behind throbbing painfully.

  Chapter Thirteen

  ‘Where the hell have you been?’ Stella hissed, keeping her voice low so that the crowds bustling round them would not hear. ‘People have been looking everywhere for you.’

  It was the first time the two had met since their disastrous clash two weeks ago. Lord B had been right when he’d said they would need their skill as actresses when they were next exposed to the public gaze. The strain of appearing not only bosom friends but lovers was already, after only minutes, beginning to tell. What made it worse was that they were doing an interview and some intimate photo shots for Liberelle, a recently released women’s magazine which no one was sure how to pronounce but which most people, and all with-it females under forty-five, had heard of.