Club Crème

by Primula Bond

  I pulled my hood up quickly and she didn’t recognise me. She glanced briefly at my own trainers and old jogging pants before dodging off the path across the scraggy grass in the direction of the bandstand. I tossed some crumbs to my gaggle of ducks and stood up. I couldn’t sit still any longer. I shook my legs, keeping my ankles loose, and glanced round the pond once more. Hardly anyone was daft enough to hang around on a freezing day like this. A couple of black guys were holding hands and skating up and down the wide walkway known as the Broad Walk, a young family was trying to launch a fleet of model yachts onto the glassy water and a bloke dressed in multicoloured lycra and a helmet was hunched on the ground, trying to fix the chain back on to his upturned bike.

  I jogged after Avril. Perhaps I would try to make friends with her. She was prickly and competitive, not to mention decidedly kinky, but she could be a helpful ally if I wanted to have some fun. The last few nights had been dull, but not even a spate of sedate card games could dull my appetite now that it had been whetted. Perhaps I could invite her to the club tonight, liven things up a little. Perhaps the two of us could attract Sir Simeon’s attention. Avril wanted Sir Simeon. But so did I. Even without Miss Sugar’s encouragement, I wanted to dig underneath that cool exterior. Get face to face with him, this time.

  Avril was over by the bandstand now, one leg resting on the edge while she did some stretching exercises. She had unzipped her lilac top and wore a cropped white vest underneath and, as she leaned back, I could see her stomach, ridged with muscle. Then she bent herself forwards until she was lying along her own extended leg, and the ridiculously tiny lilac shorts slipped right into the crack between her tight buttocks, showing quite clearly the dark curve leading towards her pussy. The crease where the cheeks met the top of her legs parted and closed as she stretched. The shorts were struggling to keep her covered. It was just possible to catch a glimpse of her pubes separated by the dividing cotton crotch, the pale lips parting with the movement of her leg to reveal a delicate magenta sliver of flesh before vanishing again.

  I jogged a little nearer, unable to resist a closer look. It must be deliberate, I thought, her wearing tiny shorts like that on a cold day but, apart from me, no one else was near enough to notice.

  I veered off onto another path, speeding up my stride, taking lungfuls of air while London hummed in the distance, losing myself in the growing power of my limbs. What was I thinking, trying to get close to a woman like that?

  I heard a muffled shriek behind me. I spun round in time to see the lilac jogger slipping on some bird mess and crashing to the ground right in front of my abandoned bench. I jogged up and down on the spot for a moment, wondering whether to go over and help, but the cycling man was already there. He had propped his bike up against the bench and was helping her to her feet. I could see she was swearing, holding one leg out and hopping about, and I could also see that he was trying to calm her down, patting the bench.

  There was obvious confusion before he realised that she couldn’t hear him. He reached up and took the earphones off her ears and repeated what he had been saying. She blinked at him, and bowed her head, perhaps apologising for her language. He seemed to have tamed her. She sat down obediently on the bench and he sat down beside her.

  As he did so, something glittered against his cheek. I squinted, but I couldn’t see that far. Then I remembered I had brought my tiny camera with me, sentimentally thinking I’d take some wintry pictures of London. I fixed the zoom lens on the pair. The cyclist was wearing a silver earring. My heart started thumping. I wanted Sir Simeon, sure. But I wanted his son, too.

  On impulse, I decided to take some photographs. I fired off a couple of shots, then kept the zoom fixed on the pair as they started talking. He lifted her ankle and prodded it, just like he had touched my bruised foot when we were sitting in the kitchen at Symes Hall. She tipped her head back, grimacing in exaggerated pain. Then she leaned forwards, gripping the bench behind his neck, and kicked her foot playfully into his chest.

  These two knew each other. This was no chance encounter. They had planned to meet. So much for Merlin fighting his corner for Miss Breeze. He obviously had a taste for the butch, crop-haired type as well as curvaceous red-heads and dusky older women. What a hound.

  I kept the camera fixed on Merlin and Avril the jogger, using the zoom lens as binoculars, and felt a weird raw heat of jealousy spreading through me. I wanted him to touch me like that. Seeing him again made me hungry. I had been permanently hungry since he’d fucked me on his father’s bed.

  Their faces were very close, but it looked as if they were just talking. I raced over to a tree that was closer to the bench to get a better angle. This way she wouldn’t see me, but Merlin would if he looked up. I wanted him to see me. But what would he see if he did look up? I wasn’t tarted up in a sequinned sheath dress today like I’d been at Mikhail’s party. I was wearing an ancient long-sleeved Breton shirt and navy jogging pants and my hair was scrunched up in a ponytail. Meanwhile, his new companion had a barely there vest (and barely there tits too, I thought cattily) and tiny shorts. Where would he prefer to look?

  I squatted down in the longer wet grass beside the tree, lifted the camera again to look and bit my lip until I tasted blood.

  He had let go of her foot and she had allowed it to slide down, but her knee was still hooked over his and she swung her leg so that they both rocked slightly with the momentum. From here I could see that his full-length cycling gear was skintight, like a wetsuit, black over most of his torso and thighs, then flaring into flame colours down the arms and legs. I could see his rangy, lean frame, which the cycling kit hugged possessively. It would be hugging his crotch possessively, too. That bold young cock would be lying in wait, waiting to be coaxed into life. And she was going to be the lucky one to do it, if I didn’t stop them.

  A few people were still strolling or skating up and down the wide walkway, but the family of model-boat sailors had gone, and the afternoon was drawing in. A cold breeze came off the pond, ruffling Avril’s short hair, and I shivered, but the two of them were warm enough. He was sealed inside his cycling outfit and she was still panting and flushed from her run.

  I zoomed the camera in closer. She was fingering his neck now, her hand coming off the back of the bench and sliding under his tight collar. He started to take off his helmet but she stopped him, patting it playfully back on to his head. From here it looked as if he was maintaining the good Samaritan approach, while she was evidently out to play. Watch and learn, I told myself. This woman knew how to get a man to scratch her itch.

  She was already at work. I knew how a brisk run in the cold air could get the juices flowing. Her blood would be singing. She would still be out of breath. Her veins and muscles would be fired up with exercise and with fury at falling over in front of him. But now she had his attention. I realised he was going to do nothing to encourage her. She was going to do it all.

  She shifted herself on the bench, waving her other arm about as she obviously started to tell him something about herself, and crossed her legs into the lotus position. Merlin glanced down at her crotch, which was now open and inviting. He allowed one finger to trail up her shin. Soon she wouldn’t be able to help herself. I clicked the camera. I wriggled on my haunches, itching to know where his finger would go next, my breath catching as the sensitive skin inside my own fanny started to fidget.

  Merlin fiddled with the catch of his helmet, doing it up again as if he was preparing to leave, and the woman grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand down, pressing it on to her thigh. She started to rub the inside of both her thighs then, rising closer and closer to her shorts which were straining across her crotch, and then suddenly she jammed her thumb up under the hem of her shorts, yanking the material aside. She tweaked her finger between her sex lips and flipped them open. Her pubes were still completely shaved, and I could not stifle my own gasp at the sudden intimate redness revealed there. She held the material away from herself, inviting, d
emanding, that he look at her.

  His face was impassive. She would like that. This was a woman used to a fight, I could tell. But I wanted to be where she was. I wanted to be sitting in front of him with my legs open, seeing his haughty blue eyes sizing me up again. He’d not been impassive with me. His reactions, once I was stripped bare and lying beneath him, had been written clearly all over his face.

  I picked up the camera and clicked again. I realised I could zoom the powerful lens in closer still, and now I could see that there was a definite bulge in his groin. I felt a mixture of horror and fascination. There was no denying his male reaction to Avril’s brazen mating display, even though he was still giving nothing else away. And she had noticed his growing hard-on, for sure, because, while she started to slide one finger up and down her exposed red slit, she put her hand on his groin, stroking the outline of the erection she could see there. She was talking to him again. He kept his hand on her leg, didn’t try to move hers away from his crotch, and I burned again with envy as I stood up to focus my camera more closely.

  Avril started fingering herself urgently while her determined other hand slid up and down the length of his bulging groin. He bit his lip, but still didn’t move to help her or touch her. I chuckled to myself. She would have a hard time finding her way inside his all-in-one suit. There wasn’t even a visible zip. But she knew better. Her hand disappeared for a moment and then I saw her easing the tight top over his stomach and pulling at the waistband of the trousers. They may have been tight, but they obviously had to stretch while he was cycling and, using both hands now, she was able to get them down over his hips. He wiped one hand under his helmet and she, like me, took that as the first sign of weakening. She got his trousers halfway down, so that the tip of his penis showed, and then she let go of him for a moment so that she could quickly wriggle out of her own shorts and toss them onto the ground.

  They both glanced about to check if anyone could see them and that was when Merlin caught sight of me. I couldn’t see the expression in his eyes because I quickly lowered the camera and he was too far away, but he kept looking in my direction. I stiffened, wondering whether to run away, pretend that I hadn’t seen what they were doing or keep spying.

  Avril murmured something to him, unaware of me, then spread her legs wider and holding her sex lips open with one hand, started to frisk herself, sliding several fingers in and out of the hairless crack, lifting her bum off the seat as the obvious excitement started to take her over. Then she grabbed his hand, the one that was still resting on her thigh, and forced it towards her so that she could start rubbing herself up and down the palm of his hand, then across his fingers, swivelling and twisting her hips as she opened and closed her legs over his hand.

  For a moment longer, Merlin kept his eyes on me and it was only when I lifted the camera that he turned to see what she was doing.

  My legs were shaking, both from a horrible jealousy at watching the pair of them and from my own unwelcome, violent arousal. With every seductive wriggle that she gave on her naked butt, with every flex of her arm as her fingers drove up inside her, my own snatch wept sympathetic juices until I could bear it no longer. I squatted down again, sitting squarely on my heel so that my clit was pressed against my ankle bone and I felt dampness seeping through the soft cloth of my jogging pants.

  Suddenly, Avril sprang like a cat onto the seat of the bench so that now she was spread over him, balancing just above his legs. She held on to the bench with one hand and with the other felt for the tip of his cock and slowly drew it up, out of his trousers. His hand, the one that had been resting on her thigh, gripped the bench an inch or two from hers, but didn’t touch it. I smirked to myself. He didn’t really fancy her, I was sure. I didn’t know what he was up to, but surely this wasn’t a meeting of long-time lovers. More likely he was doing this to spite Sir Simeon. And now he’d seen me, he would be spiting me as well.

  Avril wouldn’t know it. But I knew it. How angry she would be if she knew. The delight at this possibility coiled up inside me, dragging my sexual excitement with it. She must be getting a trifle irritated by his lack of response.

  As if she could hear me, she yanked his trousers right down and under him, so that his flat stomach, the sudden, shocking mat of dark curling hair and the long, straight cock were all revealed in the open air of the park. I shut my eyes for a moment. Did I really want to catch all this on camera?

  Yes, I did. I gritted my teeth and focussed the camera right in on his groin, but I was nearly knocked off balance as his handsome coffee-coloured cock reared out of his trousers. It quivered slightly, as if it was greeting me. I whimpered out loud, grinding my wet cunt on to the hard bone of my heel.

  Avril was obviously stunned at the sight as well because at first she didn’t touch it. I held my breath, shocked at my own reaction, and I willed her to leave it, leave it alone. This one’s mine.

  When I turned back she had regained the upper hand. She pulled his cock right out of his trousers, stretching it to its full splendid length. She rubbed her thumb over the plum end, then curled her hand into a fist and moved it up and down the hard shaft. I didn’t want to look at his face just then; I didn’t know how much lust, if any, it would register. But my clit was bleeping, burning for attention, yearning for that cock to be pleasuring me.

  But she was rising up over it now, kneeling up so that his face was against her chest. Now she seemed keen to get his cycling helmet off, but it was his turn to shake his head. Again I felt a hot coiling of nasty delight inside my chest. There was pure, physical lust going on over there. There was no affection. He wouldn’t touch her intimately. He wouldn’t take his helmet off, even to fuck her. That pleased me. It was different from the way he’d been with me, even though he’d pretended to be indifferent afterwards. I longed to tell Avril Grey she was second best.

  But then again, how could I complain after what I’d been up to in the last few days? Just one flick of the clit and it seemed that I was anybody’s, so how could I object to Merlin letting this rampant jogger wriggle all over him?

  Once more I lifted the camera, checking first how many frames I had left. She was lowering herself slowly on to the tip of his dick and, without any pubic hair obscuring the details, it was clear as day what was happening. I watched in fascination as her fleshy, naked lips nibbled at his cock, then slowly engulfed the first inch, then the first half of it. His hand on the bench tightened, the knuckles white.

  I gave myself a break and looked round the park. Dusk had nearly fallen. There was no one else in this part of the gardens, only a few people making for the gates and, at the Bayswater end of the Broad Walk, a pair of bright headlights switched on. Merlin and Avril noticed, too. She grinned broadly and thumped right down on his lap, swallowing his penis whole. She wrapped her strong legs round his hips and started to buck against him.

  The light was failing. The only way for me to catch this ultimate moment was to get closer and risk being seen. Under the cover of the gathering dusk, I slipped out from behind the tree and dodged to the next one. Even Merlin had not noticed me this time. He was supporting his weight by leaning backwards a little on the seat of the bench while she tilted herself wildly, grinding herself against him, flinging her head right back and pumping against him so that he was shoved across the seat with each of her determined thrusts. I ran silently like an invading soldier across the wet grass to the next bench, and the trusty camera clicked silently, catching the pair of them, arching away from each other more like dancers in a modern ballet than ecstatic lovers, arms and heads flung apart, their bodies joined at the groin.

  The headlights were swinging slightly as the park warden’s vehicle got closer to the pond. Merlin and Avril were up against it if they didn’t want to be caught. I had one last exposure. The red light on the camera showed me that it was using its automatic flash, it clicked silently one more time and caught the woman as she rose up on her muscled thighs, straightened her spine, flung her arms out
sideways and let out a ragged howl of triumph.

  The creaking engine of the vehicle had reached the pond now. The headlights swept briefly over the scene as it started its circuit of the pond. I couldn’t hear whether Merlin called out in the height of his own pleasure. I couldn’t tell if he had climaxed or not. His torso was still angled away from Avril, even though she was trying to wrap her arms around his shoulders and pull him towards her for a kiss.

  He pointed towards the headlights, which any moment would sweep over this side of the pond and catch, not only Merlin and Madam Jogger, but me as well. I ran across the grass to the set of trees that led towards the Kensington exit and waited. He would have to come this way and I wanted to get his attention.

  By the time I looked back, they were both standing. The headlights had fixed on them and they were shielding their eyes against the glare. I felt a bubble of laughter rising in my chest. What stories this park warden must have to tell. Before he had a chance to get out of his cart, Avril, after some sort of argument, started to run away from the scene. Merlin stood and watched her go, then swung his leg over his bike. He paused and looked around. I stepped out from my hiding place and waved, but he didn’t see me and, before I could make a move towards him, he pushed his bike off in the opposite direction and disappeared into the darkness.

  11

  He’d slipped through my fingers twice now. Once dressed as a matador; once masquerading as a cyclist. Once watching; once being watched. Yet I had to go after Merlin and taste him again. I risked enraging Miss Breeze, but I had the excuse that Miss Sugar was virtually ordering me to do it.

  The weekend was already upon us. I hadn’t returned the MG to Sir Simeon. I would hold it hostage for the time being; it might provide a handy excuse for getting under his skin when the time was right.