Anything Goes

by Cathryn Cooper

  And Rene.

  Through the curling smoke, her gaze went back to Rene who was still standing at the bar. His wife, Stacey, was with him. The blonde's sultry eyes held her gaze and a slow smile played around the bright red lips.

  Images from Stacey's mind flashed into her own. Because of the nature of Stacey's thoughts, a surprised flush spread over her face.

  In the mind of Rene's wife, she saw herself sitting astride Rene as Stacey instructed her on how best to satisfy her husband. She could clearly see the blonde's hand on her buttocks, pushing her down onto him, urging her to ride him harder, to do better in order to satisfy him.

  Face reddening, she dragged her gaze away. She sang the last notes of the song. It finished and Max was by her side. 'Ya hit the mark, baby,' Max muttered in her ear as she took the applause of the crowd. 'Same time, same place later.'

  Before she could respond, his thick fingers were already in action and his trumpet was wailing again.

  Intrigued by what she had seen in the minds she had read, her gaze immediately went back to the man who employed her. Rene gestured for her to join him. Stacey stood languidly at his side, a faint smile on her lips, an unfathomable gleam in her eyes.

  Unwilling to meet Stacey's gaze, Sheree concentrated on acknowledging the appreciative smiles and positive comments of the customers as she squeezed her slim hips between tables.

  'Marvellous, my dear. Simply marvellous.'

  'The best voice we've had here in many a day.'

  'Beautiful voice. Beautiful woman.'

  Some kissed her hand. Some said with their eyes what they did not say with their voice.

  Some touched her body, but only as if by accident when it was obviously nothing of the kind.

  The bar itself was a beige marble affair decorated with orange and brown diagonal lines. Mirrors lined the shelves on which stood rows of bottles, everything the barman could possibly need to make every cocktail ever invented.

  Rene kissed her on each cheek. 'Wonderful, ma cherie. Superbe!'

  'Good for you, honey,' Stacey added, her look as sharp and disarming as any well-honed knife. 'You look special and sound special. Drip with promise in fact.'

  She exchanged a swift look with Rene and it seemed as if she were about to say something. But she didn't. Sheree caught the hint of warning in his eyes.

  'Curb your enthusiasm, mon amour. We don't want to frighten our little Sheree off before she has fully come to know us.'

  They smiled, held each other's gaze for a moment and laughed lightly.

  Sheree joined in, though realised she was not supposed to be privy to their innermost thoughts. And yet, she already had an inkling of how dark their thoughts and their actions might be.

  Stacey laughed louder, slid her arm around Sheree's waist and kissed her cheeks in the same way Rene had done.

  'Oh, I think our little songbird here will get to know us real well in time. In fact, I think she's gonna fit in with me and you like a slice of pastrami between two slices of rye. Ain't that right, Sheree, little darling?'

  Sheree paused before she answered, her eyes wide and mouth slightly open as she looked at Stacey's smiling face. By itself what Stacey had said could easily be taken two ways. But, added to the fact that her hand had slid down Sheree's back and was now caressing and squeezing one buttock, Sheree was left in no doubt of its true meaning.

  Chapter 6

  'You want her, don't you, Rene, my darling.'

  Rene and his wife were sitting at a table, a bottle of good burgundy between them. The room was small, but with a high ceiling, a secret place whose only door led to a staircase which in turn led to their apartment below.

  Rene barely acknowledged his wife's comment. His pulse was racing. A blood vessel on his forehead was throbbing just beneath a lock of dark, silky hair. His eyes did not leave the sheet of glass which, to him and his wife sitting in the small room, was a window. To the unsuspecting young woman in the room on the other side, it seemed merely to be a mirror.

  Sheree took off the clothes she had worn in the club and, stripping down to only her chemise, strolled out onto the balcony, a beautiful French inspired affair so typical of the better buildings in the Quarter.

  Lights blinked from windows and the sky seemed to hang like a purple, muslin scarf just a few inches above the buildings.

  Traffic had ceased in the streets and squares, yet Sheree still perceived a hum of life throbbing around the city, sleeping just below the surface until morning when it woke, and evening when it truly reached its climax.

  Taking deep gulps of air, she leaned against the ironwork and looked at the buildings opposite and then along the facade of the building in which she lodged.

  Tall windows beneath ornate plasterwork looked out into the night. Unlike her room, the one next door had no balcony. As she studied it, she perceived a small glimmer of light shining through a gap in the blinds.

  She frowned. Wasn't she the only tenant on this floor? That's what she had been given to understand from her suave, sophisticated employer.

  Rene and Stacey had the rooms downstairs; a luxurious spread that filled three floors. There was even a basement down below that, though, according to Rene, it was unused as such.

  'I only use it for personal hobbies,' he had told her.

  Of course, the room next door could also be used by them, and yet Sheree could not recall there being a door into it from the passageway outside. There was only her door, the rest nothing but blank walls. Unless, of course, there was a private staircase from the dwelling beneath, or even the dwelling to the rear or side of them.

  She shrugged. Why worry? Her gaze went back to the city and the night. The air was not as oppressive as usual, and its freshness made her feel light-headed. Excited. And why shouldn't she be? She was young, and she looked like being successful. What more could she ask for?

  Stretching her arms high above her head, she walked back into her room where the windows also stretched between the ceiling and the floor.

  After slipping off her underwear, her garters and stockings would normally have followed. But she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and stopped.

  The mirror had a gilt frame of flying cherubs and naked goddesses. A bracket candle holder stood out from each side of it, its base dripping with crystal lozenges.

  At first, the sight of her naked body held her attention, the breasts firm and pert, the areolae large, plush and pink. Her ribs curved down to a narrow waist. Her hips flared, but not hugely, and the naked flesh above her garters shone like the softest of silk.

  Her body and the room looked like a beautiful picture, complimented by the ornate gilt frame which she felt compelled to touch.

  'Pretty,' she murmured, her finger running over the fat little bottom of one pert cherub.

  Her eyes went back to herself. The mirror was large. She stepped away from it and eyed the full length of her body. Without being touched, her nipples hardened and became larger as her blood warmed and rushed through her veins.

  She ran her hand down over her belly and lightly touched the nest of dark hair that spilled out from between her legs.

  She turned her bottom towards the mirror and looked at her reflection over her shoulder. She smiled. Why was it that she looked more naked, her buttocks more vulnerable with just her stockings on.

  Giggling to herself, she turned round and faced the mirror again. It was still the same. The stockings accentuated her nakedness.

  Her giggle subsided. Something about looking at herself ignited thoughts of Errol. He had often gazed on her and told her she was beautiful and incredibly sexy. And then he had reached for her. Suddenly, she missed him.

  Just as he would have done, she cupped her breasts, squeezed them, and slid her index fingers over her nipples.

  She moaned just as if it were Errol doing it.

  Half closing her eyes, she ran her hands down over her body, appreciating the firmness of her own flesh, the silkiness of her own skin. Sh
e turned, back to the mirror, crossed her arms across her front, brought her hands over her shoulders and caressed her back. In the mirror, it looked as if it might be other fingers, not hers, spreading over her flesh.

  'I wish...' she murmured, but could put no name to what she desired.

  Her eyes followed the curve of her back, the roundness of her bottom. She let her hands slide down her ribs, her waist, over hips and onto her buttocks.

  The touch of her own hands, her own fingers clasping, digging, clutching, then releasing was good, though not as good as having someone else do it. All the same, hot flames seemed to lick over her skin, and yet it still felt cool and soft.

  Through narrowed eyes she admired the full firmness of her buttocks, one nestling against the other like a large ripe peach. How soft they were, yet how firm.

  My own body is enticing me, she thought, and I cannot resist it.

  Her breath came in quick snatches. There was a heaviness in her abdomen and a ticklishness between her thighs that made her want to thrust her hips and curve her back.

  'Not yet,' she breathed, her eyes wide as she eyed each buttock and dared herself to explore her body as she had never explored it before.

  One hand on each cheek, she probed cautiously into the crack between. Spreading her fingers wide, she pulled one buttock away from the other. Her face became warm as she took in the details of what lay between them. Like a daisy, she thought. A small, mauve daisy that dilates and constricts at will.

  One finger strayed to tap at its petals, to push into its centre.

  Her muscles tightened over the intruder like lips sucking in some delicious fruit.

  Sheree watched herself through blurred eyes, her body on fire, reacting to both what she saw and what she was doing.

  Letting her buttocks go, she turned round, lips parted and a pinkness blossoming in her cheeks. Eyes glittering and tongue stroking her bottom lip, she slid her hand between her legs. A satin wetness transferred from her hidden flesh to her fingers. She pushed her pelvis backwards and forwards and shuddered as electrifying sensations poured out with her juices.

  And yet it was not enough. Her body was on fire, tense with a desire that was like a pouring tap, or a cascade of water falling into a lake. She was that lake and desire was filling her up, threatening to flood. It was too much to be placated by her own hand. She wanted someone else's. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine.

  'Errol,' she moaned.

  But Errol was not here. He was back where she had grown up, lamenting her departure but, no doubt, sowing his wild oats before they got too stale. Sheree's eyes flitted swiftly around the room. She had to have someone. Something.

  Ornate and as tasteful inside as it was out, the furniture and decorations of the room seemed to whirl and burn with the frenzy of her searching.

  There was a bed with a golden brocade cover. White linen drapes hung from a brass and blue bead coronet above its head. Cream closets decorated with ormolu fronds and sweeps, all gilded with pale green and gold, stood against a wall. Tall gas lamps on heavy tripods hissed in each corner. There was a low chest of drawers that would not have looked out of place in the court of the Sun King, Louis the Fourteenth of France. And there were chairs of gold brocade, their legs braced on ball and claw feet, the claws themselves gilded like the rest of the furniture. There were also ornaments; china, glass, bronze and brass.

  There was also a five foot high statue just to the left of the window. It was the old, black footman sort holding a tray in front of him on which drinks would sometimes be put.

  Breathing rapidly, Sheree, still wearing only her stockings, went across to him and quickly removed the tray.

  Her eyes opened wide. A handful of bent, hard fingers had been exposed.

  Breasts heaving, she got astride the spread hand. Two fingers stood up proud of the rest. Sheree eased herself down onto them, murmuring with delight as, unyielding, they pushed their way into her.

  Carefully at first, she began to ride him, her eyes half closed and a low moan escaping her throat.

  His palm, like his fingers, was hard against her sex and was formed of high plateaus and low indentations that issued just the right pressure against the rest of her erogenous flesh.

  Sighing with delight, she wriggled a little on his hard hand so that, soon, she could almost forget he had no life. No warmth. He was only very hard and always available.

  As she rode him she leaned forward so that her breasts slapped the hardness of his little face.

  Despite his eyes having a serious look, there was an open expression to the mock human face, and yet he seemed a little sad.

  'Ooow,' Sheree moaned as she stroked his cold cheek. 'Perhaps you would like to enjoy this too. Perhaps that would make you happy.'

  Taking hold of one nipple between finger and thumb, she pushed it into his gaping mouth. She gasped as the warmth of her nipple met the coldness of his mouth. Strangely enough, she could almost believe his lips closed on it.

  As one set of fingers manipulated her other nipple, a long finger of her other hand went back behind her to feel again the tight flower that blossomed between her buttocks.

  What a man! He wasn't complaining or demanding that she do this or that to him. He was doing exactly what she wanted, his hard fingers and mouth untiring and uncomplaining.

  As her juice ran over his fingers and dripped onto the floor, she threw her arms around him and hugged his head against her breast.

  Rene and Stacey exchanged silent looks. A knowing smile played around Stacey's mouth. Rene's eyes seemed to burn with white heat.

  'I told you I was right.'

  Stacey's voice was even more husky than usual.

  Rene swallowed and licked at his lips. He was having trouble even speaking.

  'Oui. You were right. Even so, we must wait until the moment is right.'

  Stacey's smile did not waver. Even as she slid her dress from one shoulder, it remained exactly the same.

  Moving closer to him she extricated one breast, ran her finger around its areole, then pulled on her nipple until it stood hard and proud from her breast.

  Rene watched impassively, though desire danced in his eyes.

  Stacey picked up her wine glass and refilled it. She came close to him, dipped her nipple into the dark, red liquid, then sighed with satisfaction as her husband sucked both it and her nipple into his mouth.

  Lips parted, Stacey murmured with pleasure as her husband's tongue licked and prodded at her succulent teat. Behind her closed eyelids she could still see the girl in the next room, her body racked with desire.

  'I wonder who Errol is?' she murmured before dipping her nipple into the wine and again offering it to her husband.

  Chapter 7

  Errol sat on the porch of the place he'd shared with Shirley Anne, his head in his hands. 'I'm going to find her,' he said softly. 'I ain't lettin' her go that easy.'

  His brother, Jim, looked at him soulfully. 'P'raps she don't wanna be found.'

  'I don't care. I'm still gonna go lookin'.'

  Jim walked with him to the bus stop. He didn't tell him he was a fool. But Errol knew the look in his eyes said it all, so he made a great effort not to look at his brother.

  'Take care,' Jim called as the bus moved off.

  Errol nodded and smiled faintly.

  Somehow, he couldn't accept that Shirley Anne had gone all the way to New Orleans. Of course, she'd talked about going there some day, of leaving the place she'd been born in and taking up some real, good job in town. But he'd taken that to mean Le Farge, a place of about 60,000 souls just fifteen miles away. That's where he was going first. If he couldn't find her there, then he would surely be convinced he should go looking in New Orleans. Till then, he would stay in Le Farge and do his best to find her.

  When he got there it was midday and the sun was hot, and the air clung to his skin like sugar water.

  Errol took off his jacket. Not that he got that much cooler. His shirt stuck to h
is skin and his trousers clung tightly to his body.

  He started asking around as to whether anyone had seen a good-looking girl with green eyes asking for work. He asked at the big houses where domestic servants were always wanted. No one recalled someone looking like her.

  By the time he'd tramped around a good few big places, he was dog tired and ready to quit for the day. He was also hungry, and asking about Shirley Anne had made him want her just like he used to. He felt no shame at that. Errol had always had a good appetite as far as sex was concerned. It came to him as naturally as drinking or eating. None of them were bad habits, he told himself. Not like gambling or drinking. Just think, he thought, if sex was whisky I'd most likely be a drunk!

  Despite the anxiety of his mission the thought made him laugh, and laughing made his footsteps that much lighter.

  The afternoon went fast and the sun was hanging red and heavy in the west.

  The last house he tried was a big place with gables that were common in towns, but more usually found in the northern states rather than the south.

  Thick lace hung at the windows and a widow's walk ran around the major part of the roof.

  'One more time,' Errol muttered to himself. 'One more time.'

  Slinging his coat over his shoulder, he opened a white painted gate and strolled purposefully up the garden path. As he did so he studied the big windows that were half hidden because big, angular yellow shades were pulled out over them like hooded eyelids.

  As he studied them he chanced to notice a slight movement, a shifting of a curtain. The moment he glanced in that direction, it dropped back into position.

  Shunning the idea that he should go round the back to the trade entrance, he rapped firmly at a thick black knocker formed into the face of a leering, tipsy-looking Bacchus.

  The sun beat on his feet as he waited. It beat on the garden too, the green of the grass now seeming to visibly discolour as the last vestige of water was sucked from the soil.