Anything Goes

by Cathryn Cooper

  Amber groaned without shame, and Errol wondered if the voluptuous redhead had any real need for genital contact to bring about an orgasm. It was as if her nipples were triggers to the whole of her sexual being and Errol could not help but be intrigued and even aroused by her reactions.

  'Wicked boy!' Amber exclaimed, but made no attempt to push him away.

  She lay back upon her cushions, her silk robe open, her eyes closed.

  Errol took it as both an invitation and an opportunity.

  He rested his chin on her belly as he used both hands to manipulate her nipples.

  Being a man of vibrant passions, Errol could not help the fact that his penis was fit to burst against the stiff leather of the cock harness.

  Bear with it, he told himself. Keep it under control.

  'Put it in me!' Amber suddenly cried out.

  Errol did not alter position. His mind was working fast. His fingers were pulling on the pebble-hard nipples that were burning hot beneath his touch.

  'Put it in me, you sonofabitch!' Amber shouted.

  His judgement had been correct. Amber really was coming without him being in her. Yet she still wanted the illusion of having been shafted by him.

  He judged she was now at her weakest; her most vulnerable.

  Now! He thought to himself. Now!

  His hands left her breasts. He slid down to the floor, then made as if to get up, to push his pelvis against hers and send his shaft into her welcoming niche.

  Instead, he grabbed the fallen manacles.

  Amber struggled and cried out as he fastened the metal bands around her wrists.

  'Stop!' she cried out. 'I will not allow this! I will punish you! I will beat you till you bleed!'

  There was a metal post behind her lounger, a support for the glass roof above their heads. He passed the chain behind that so she couldn't strike out at him.

  Only her legs and her voice now fought against him.

  'You bastard!' she cried, her legs flailing as he fought to bring her wild kicks under control. 'Let me go. Let me go or I'll...'

  More exultant than any warrior, Errol brought his face close to hers. There was a golden gleam in his eyes now and a wild happiness all over his face.

  'Now hush that foul mouth, Amber honey,' he said in the sort of way he'd heard share croppers use.

  'Don't you dare speak to me like that!'

  'You don't want to be quiet?' Errol raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. 'Well in that case honey-child, I'll have to shut it for you.'

  Amber's eyes opened wide as Errol fastened the same gag he had worn since his captivity around his former mistress's mouth.

  All the while Amber struggled and kicked, her body lifting from the lounger, her breasts flopping wildly around, and her hips gyrating beneath him.

  He took the key from a side table and unfastened the manacles from around his ankles and transferred them to hers. It restricted the movement of her legs to some extent, but not enough to fully placate the shame he had felt since she had first imprisoned him.

  He looked around the room for something to inspire him. As his eyes alighted on a blue and white porcelain dish piled high with fruit, a smile enveloped his face.

  'This,' he said taking hold of a banana, 'is exactly what I need.' Still smiling lasciviously, he turned to her. 'And it's exactly what you need too, honey.'

  Amber began to struggle.

  'Now come on, Amber honey. I know you better than that. I know you want it.'

  Amber's eyes regarded him now with pure hate as she struggled to avoid what was about to happen to her. But Errol felt no sympathy. She would take what he was giving her and take it gladly.

  There was a hint of wickedness in his eyes as he approached her.

  He held the thick, yellow fruit before her eyes so she was in no doubt of what was about to happen to her. But still she struggled.

  'Now come on, honey,' said Errol, leaning on one elbow as he spoke. 'I know what buttons to push. You'll beg me to put this piece of stiffness in you. You know that.'

  Amber merely struggled again.

  Errol smiled. He continued to hold the banana in front of her eyes with one hand. With the other he began to play with her right nipple.

  The effect was electric. At his touch, Amber began arching her back. As ecstasy began to take hold of her she bent her knees in an effort to open her legs because her ankles were restrained by the manacles.

  'Easy does it, baby,' Errol murmured.

  As he continued to finger her nipples, he slid the tip of the banana between her pubic lips.

  Despite her confinement, Amber began throwing her head from side to side, and her body, unable to resist, trembled with pleasure.

  Not once did Amber attempt to close her legs as he pushed the hard, under-ripe fruit into her. To Errol's delighted amazement, she actually lifted her bottom and bent her knees that bit more.

  Soon, the whole of the fruit had disappeared. Amber, Errol decided, was enjoying this far too much, and that hadn't exactly been the point of the exercise.

  He glanced down at his own penis.

  'Traitor,' he muttered.

  Restricted by the size of his erect penis, his balls had a mauvish sheen. His glans was moist, and his whole length was throbbing with anticipation.

  'Get down boy!' he ordered. 'You're not going where you think you're going.'

  A sudden thought came to him as he studied the way his genitals were behaving. He also remembered the plug attached to the strap that ran between his buttocks.

  A hint of sudden meanness came to his face. His hand fell away from Amber's breast and he left the banana to do its own fucking.

  Quickly, with fingers that seemed too big to do anything, he undid the buckle that held the cock harness in place. Once it was off, dangling in his hand, he looked directly into the eyes of the woman who had forced him to wear it.

  'Do you see this, honey?' He shook it so the leather danced and the buckles jangled. 'This is an item of shame as well as pleasure. And now it's your turn. You were the mistress, I was the slave. Now I'm the master, and you're the slave. Savvy?'

  Wide-eyed, Amber stared at the harness. She began to struggle.

  Errol snuggled up close. He had her measure. He knew what soothed her.

  Smiling triumphantly, he again resorted to tweaking the most sensitive part of her body.

  He played with each nipple in turn, pressing it, twisting it, pulling it and pinching it.

  Once she was compliant and almost sobbing with desire, his fingers left her flesh to deal quickly and decisively with the leather harness that she was now to wear.

  He took great pleasure in pushing the anal plug into her body and tightening the strap that held it to the waistband. The piece at the front had been made for male genitalia so did not sit well against her pubic lips.

  'Damn it,' he swore. 'This has to fit right, otherwise that piece of fruit you got in there is going to slide right out.'

  Again his eyes went to the fruit dish for enlightenment. The solution was easy. He got hold of two shiny red apples, put both into the pouch made for a set of cock and balls, and fastened the strap into the front of the waistband.

  Once it was all in place and the apples were held tight against her sex, he went back to playing with Amber's nipples.

  'Don't that feel so good?' he murmured between planting kisses in her cleavage.

  Because his fingers were again twiddling with her teats, Amber began to surrender once more to her sensations.

  'Make the most of it, honey,' he said, continuing to play with her nipples as he took his penis in his other hand. 'This is the last you'll see of me.'

  To Errol, it was the strangest sex he'd ever had in his life. Amber, assisted by the assortment of fruit and Errol's fingers, achieved her orgasm at exactly the same time as Errol spurted his semen over her belly.

  He didn't bother to untie her or clean his emission from off her snow-white flesh. He merely washed and dressed him
self as quickly as he could and took what dollars he thought the woman owed him for services rendered.

  Pierre attempted to stop him from going, then stepped back once he saw the furious determination in his eyes.

  'I've given her what she wanted, and this time she got more than she bargained for,' he said before leaving.

  Pierre stood dumbstruck for a moment before he saw the handful of dollars Errol held in his hand.

  'I'll call the police,' he blurted.

  Errol grabbed him by the shirt collar.

  'One word and I'll call them right now. Imagine the gossip in this town if your mistress was seen trussed up like a thanksgiving turkey, stuffed with fruit and garnished with sauce.'

  Pierre's eyes flickered nervously. He licked his lips.

  Errol could see that Pierre had exercised some judgement.

  Whistling happily, he went out of the door and strolled off down the garden path, his jacket slung over his shoulder in exactly the same manner as when he'd arrived. With some luck he'd find a bus going out of this place right away. He had no wish to linger. New Orleans was his next stop, and hopefully it was there that he'd find Shirley Anne.

  Chapter 16

  It was a wild night at the Catnip Club. Max was belting out one helluva jazz number that set people dancing as though they'd just drunk the bar dry.

  Women wearing gauzy hats, similar in shape to tight-fitting flowerpots, swung their arms and legs and pretended that they were sweet young things rather than women who had reached their zenith just before the Great War. Skirts swirled and strings of beads that reached their hips swung out in the opposite direction to their arms. They were for all the world like animated clocks, the strings of beads swinging like pendulums.

  A lot of loud cheering and clapping greeted the end of his tune and sweaty bodies regained chairs and ordered more bourbon, more champagne, and more food.

  The lights above the small stage on which the band sat became more subdued and changed from red to dark blue.

  Sheree, wearing only the mauve silk dress, walked slowly out onto the stage, her head down, her movements sultry and incredibly erotic.

  Soulful and enigmatic, the notes from Max's trumpet began to play in time with her movements.

  At first she stood sideways on to the audience, the geometric line of her haircut falling forward over her face as she waited for her cue.

  This was a new song she was singing tonight; the sultriest, sexiest song she had ever sung in her life, and she was dressed - or rather - undressed to suit it.

  Just as Rene had ordered, she wore no underwear beneath the plainly cut dress. Only the rustle of silk against silk betrayed the fact that she was wearing stockings.

  At the right time, with the right note, she turned her face towards the audience. Her eyes were sharply defined with black, mauve and dark pink make-up. Peek-a-boo fashion through her hair, they peered at the audience, offering plenty, and firing them with a need to know more.

  The small sounds that pervade a nightclub disappeared once the words of her song rang out and caught hold of their minds.

  'You send shivers down my spine,

  My body aches for you all the time.

  Run your hands through my hair,

  You can have me anywhere, but baby,

  Be kind to me.'

  A brittle hush descended. Only the sensual sound of Max's trumpet and her voice echoed around the darkened room. Even the barmen stopped serving to lean on the bar and listen, then ogle her as she turned full frontal to belt out the last two verses.

  A gasp of astonishment rippled through the audience. It was like an orgasm; a joint anticipation of climax that flowed like the sea kissing a shingle beach.

  Sheree did not acknowledge the reason for the sudden gasp. Resolved to concentrate on the delivery of the song, she stared straight ahead like some ancient painted idol. But she did know what they were gasping about.

  Affected by the dark blue light, the lighter blue of her dress became almost transparent. Even without looking down at herself, she could see what the audience was seeing.

  Her nipples were like ripe grapes, prominent behind the thin silk that covered them. The silk sheath accentuated the shape of her hips, her thighs, and her waistline and the triangle of darkness between the tops of her legs.

  Her dress, her hair and her whole body seemed to shimmer as she reached the climax of her song.

  As she sang, Sheree let her gaze travel lazily over those gathered until finally alighting on Rene.

  He was standing at the back in semi-darkness. Beside him was a bigger man who had small eyes that were half hidden in above fleshy cheeks.

  Her gaze merely skimmed the heavier man. It was Rene's mind she wanted to look into. She wanted to see if her person was as clear in his mind as it had been. Was she still submitting to his most perverse demands?

  To her surprise, his thoughts seemed slightly confused, the visions hazy. It was as though he no longer knew himself what he wanted her for. She could also tell that he didn't want anyone else to know he was disturbed by her. Something in his make-up had been changed by her presence. So far, she did not know what but felt in time that she would.

  Once the last note had hit the ceiling, she turned herself sideways to the audience again in one swift movement, her hair concealing her face, one knee bent, one hand resting on it in a classic Art-Nouveau pose.

  The audience leapt to its feet, clapping, cheering and crying for more.

  Rene too was looking very happy, but with far more reserve than his clientele.

  The man with him was tapping at a scarred cheek with a silver-topped cane, his gaze fixed on the woman Rene called Sheree, but whose real name was Shirley Anne.

  'Is she not as good as I said she was?'

  The man nodded and smiled sardonically in answer to Rene's question.

  'What will you be asking?'

  Rene smiled and took a silver pocket watch from his vest. 'Now that is a leading question, Richthof. You know her contract will be auctioned to the highest bidder along with her body.'

  The man he'd addressed as Richthof glanced at him sidelong. 'I don't respond well to people who refuse me what I want.'

  Rene kept his eyes on the stage. Sheree had gone and Max was belting out some real hot mamma of a Black Bottom arrangement.

  'Neither do the other interested parties who will be attending my auction. Please bear in mind that you are the one who have had a foretaste of what is in store for the lucky purchaser. Only you have had the privilege of watching her from my private room.'

  'And liking what I see... Yes, yes. I take your point. I also take it that this auction will be in the usual place?'

  Trying his best not to smile too triumphantly, Rene nodded. 'The Brabonne Plantation. As always.'

  'As always,' repeated the man, his eyes searching the stage and the room for the lovely creature he had seen and heard earlier. There was a sharp tap as the tip of his cane hit the floor. He turned to Rene, a purposeful look on his face.

  'I'm determined I shall have her, Brabonne. Mark my words. I am very determined.'

  'I always said you were a man of taste, Richthof. My little Sheree sings like a bird does she not?'

  Richthof laughed. 'It's not her singing I want her for. I want her to perform with me like she does with that statue she's got in her room. God, but I'll get her rolling I will. I'll give her body some performing once she's mine.'

  Rene hid his contempt for the big Austrian immigrant behind the smoke-screen of his latest cigar.

  He did not entirely approve of the man, and he certainly didn't like him. Besides that, he couldn't help feeling he'd prefer Sheree to go to someone less of an animal than Richthof.

  He shrugged. What was it to him? She was another little strumpet with a big ego and an average voice. Average? He corrected himself. No. Not average. Sheree had a beautiful voice. A beautiful body too, and he couldn't help but notice that.

  The trouble was, Stacey had not
iced as well, and Rene had grown accustomed to the routine of his life. His wife was useful to him and knew well.

  'You'll get as fed up of this one as you have of all the others,' she said.

  She's probably right, he thought to himself. All the same, he couldn't help but regret the fact that Sheree had to go.

  Sheree was taking off her make-up and wore only a pale pink wrap when Rene came in to see her.

  He smiled at her reflection in the mirror and placed his hands on her shoulders.

  'I have something for you,' he said in the kind of tone a father might use to a daughter.

  Sheree, who still couldn't quite forget the fact that her real name was Shirley Anne, gazed back at him round-eyed.

  'You do?'

  She knew she sounded innocent. She always did in Rene's presence. His closeness and the feelings she felt for him made her feel like that. Perhaps it was because having such feelings for him meant she was forgetting Errol. And yet she didn't want to forget Errol. She still loved him. How could she not love a man she had known all her life?

  'My darling girl, you are a credit to the Catnip Club. You have the sort of voice that burrows deep into the soul.'

  'That's very kind of you to say so.'

  Her voice faltered. Rene nodded, his eyes sparkling as though he knew her thoughts as well as she knew his.

  He rested his chin on the top of her head and smiled. 'I have a contract for you to sign. One year. That is all I ask of you.'

  Sheree's eyes opened wide. 'A singing contract?'

  He didn't answer, only went on smiling.

  'When do I sign it?'

  He straightened up, but his warm palms remained on her shoulders.

  'How about tonight over supper. We can celebrate with champagne.'

  Sheree agreed and was too excited to ask where they would celebrate. She only knew that Stacey was away and she would have Rene to herself. It was wicked to think so. After all, this was a married man she had in mind. But she couldn't help it.

  Have I got more wicked since coming to New Orleans? she asked herself.