Anything Goes

by Cathryn Cooper

  Confused more than shocked, Sheree turned away from him, but he took her elbow and guided her down a red-brick path that led away from the stables and into a courtyard that had a lawn in the middle and a bird table made from the same red bricks as the path.

  'The women's quarters,' he said quietly.

  A strange chill ran down Sheree's spine as she eyed the arched doorways and the blue painted window frames of the single-storey cottages.

  'Would you like to look in?' Rene asked her.

  Sheree shivered. She had a compulsion to say no, to turn and stomp away. But she also had a desire to stay, to look and to wonder how those women had felt submitting to a man and a family who owned them body and soul.

  'Come,' Rene said, his hand again on her elbow.

  The cottage he took her into was very cool compared to the glaring heat of the courtyard outside.

  There was a large fireplace and pretty furniture. A mass of wild flowers sat in a vase on the table as though someone had just placed them there that morning.

  Mame, Sheree thought.

  A window at the back of the cottage faced the grass and trees that sloped off down to the river.

  Sheree stared out at the scene. Even before Rene actually touched her, she knew he was going to.

  His touch was gentle on her shoulders. His thumbs began to work at the sudden tenseness that had seized her neck. She moaned, closed her eyes and rested her head against his lips.

  'This,' he whispered, his breath mingling with her hair, 'was a house of pleasure. Just like the Catnip Club in a way.'

  'But how can you...?'

  Her stomach tightened as she half turned round to face him. Her words were lost as his lips covered hers. What she had wanted, and what he had wanted had at last happened.

  All her strength seemed to leave her for a moment. His arms encircled her, drew her close. His chest pressed hard against hers, crushing her breasts back against her ribs.

  She tried to draw away.

  'Sheree,' he whispered. 'Please. Be grateful. You are my star. The most beautiful attraction the Catnip Club has had in a long time.'

  'Your wife...?'

  He smiled as he shook his head. 'A contract. A business arrangement. For both of us.'

  Deep down, Sheree knew that this man had got under her skin. She also knew that she needed to be grateful to him. But she was wary of throwing her chances away by virtue of a jealous wife. Stacey catered for Rene's sexual foibles, but she would not tolerate any emotional involvement. Sex only. That was it.

  'Do you expect me to believe that?' Her voice was trembling.

  'Ask her. Ask her about her lovers. She will tell you there is nothing to fear. Truly.'

  Sheree needed a man. She knew that. Other women needed new clothes, children, or even gin to give that extra zest to their lives. She needed a man, and Rene, with his twinkling blue eyes, gleaming black hair and hybrid accent definitely did something for her.

  'I am grateful,' she managed to say.

  His eyes held hers. 'Then prove it.'

  'How?'

  He smiled and took hold of her hand. He tapped at her lips as he might those of a small child.

  'I will show you. Come.'

  Chapter 20

  It was midday and the sun had found chinks in the wooden blinds that shielded the Catnip Club from the brightness of daylight.

  Dust motes swam in a sea of yellow light that seemed as out of place in the club as a pack of Jesuit priests.

  Max raised his horn and pursed his lips. He took a deep breath and his cheeks became bloated with air.

  There was a jaunty joy to the tune he played and, as it thumped out of the brass, his foot tapped the floor.

  Because the tune was happy and he was happy, he got lost in the racy notes and the swiftly changing scales.

  It wasn't until he could actually smell her perfume, that he realised Stacey was standing beside him.

  Closing his eyes, he went on playing.

  Stacey persisted.

  The club disappeared as she lifted her skirt and let it fall over his head. He immediately stopped playing.

  'Stacey!'

  'You're ignoring me.' She sounded petulant.

  Max glanced up at her. She looked annoyed. He noticed she was holding a piece of paper in her hand.

  Max sighed as he took the mouthpiece away from his lips.

  'I've things on my mind.'

  He started to raise the trumpet once more.

  'So have I,' Stacey growled. 'This,' she hissed as she waved the piece of paper. 'This is on my mind!'

  Max got to his feet.

  'Look, Stacey, I really don't want to know...'

  Stacey glared. 'I know, Max. I filled a gap. Or rather you filled mine!'

  She laughed after she said it. As though it were the funniest thing in the world. Max merely grimaced.

  'Look,' he said, placing his trumpet inside its velvet-lined case and clicking it shut. 'I've got other things to attend to, Stacey. I'm off from this place. I've got to meet someone.'

  Stacey looked shocked.

  'I didn't know you were leaving.'

  Max raised his eyebrows but tried not to look her straight in the eyes. He had trouble saying 'no' to Stacey. She had a way of getting the best of him that was similar to Emmeline. Powerful women, he thought. Both of them.

  He nodded in answer to her question. 'I'm off to pastures new, Stacey. I'm meeting Emmeline from off the train.'

  Stacey stared.

  'Emmeline? But I thought her contract was...'

  'Yes. For two years.' Max interrupted brusquely. 'When we understood it was only for one. Rene lied. You lied. Lucky some Englishman took pity on her. Paid off her contract.' His eyes blazed.

  Stacey looked uncomfortable as though she were thinking fast and trying to find a way out of her current embarrassment.

  'I can't believe it. The Cotton Club don't usually let go that easily.'

  Max merely shrugged her aside and started to make his way to the door where a green exit light flickered uncertainly above it.

  'Not my problem.'

  'No,' Stacey murmured. 'It's mine.'

  Suddenly she grabbed Max's arm. 'Look, Max. I'm sorry, but I have to tell you. It's about to happen all over again. Rene has got Sheree to sign a similar contract to Emmeline, only this one is to a man from Berlin who has just opened a nightclub in Paris.'

  Max looked bemused.

  'So what? Won't you be glad to get rid of her? All of us could see that Rene was a bit more fond of her than he should have been.'

  Immediately after he'd said it, Max knew he'd hit the bull's-eye. Stacey looked furious.

  'Rene has always wanted to go to Paris. There's an appendix to the contract saying that Rene can go to Paris as Sheree's manager.'

  Max eyed her a little coldly. Stacey was manipulative, more of a controller, in fact, than his darling Emmeline. Today, for the first time, he'd seen fear in her eyes. Fear of losing Rene to another woman. A sudden thought occurred to him.

  'And how much does Sheree know about this?'

  For a moment Stacey held his gaze. 'I doubt if she knows anything at all.'

  'Excuse me.'

  They both turned to where a good-looking guy dressed in dark green trousers, a white vest and a black jacket had entered.

  Stacey did a double take and, liking what she saw, turned round to face him.

  'I'd excuse you anything,' she purred, her eyes scanning his six-feet-four-inch frame.

  'I'm looking for someone,' he said. 'I've been told she's been working here. Her name's Shirley Anne. Do you know her?'

  Max, who up until now had been more interested in taking his instrument and getting out of the place, suddenly brightened.

  'Dark hair, coffee complexion and emerald eyes?'

  Eyes as dark as bitter chocolate and face like burnished bronze cracked into an instant smile.

  'Sounds like her. Have you seen her? Have you?'

  Low and h
usky as his voice had been, it seemed to go higher with the expectation that he had found what he'd been looking for.

  'Only we have a problem,' said Max, and quickly grabbed the contract from Stacey. 'Someone's got her to sign a contract that will take her out of the country and perhaps tie her to a guy she might not want to be with. Might make her do things she doesn't want to do either.'

  Errol's happy face darkened. 'And who might that be?'

  Max glanced at Stacey, who suddenly looked a lot more optimistic than she had done.

  'Come with me, and you'll find out. But first, I have to pick someone up from the station. She's the best person to fill you in on the details.'

  Chapter 21

  Rene led Sheree away from the pretty cottage, out into the sunlit courtyard, then back into the stables which were cool because they were built of stone and whitewashed inside.

  The horses shifted in their stalls and looked expectantly over their shoulders as he led her into a barn at the end. There was a tack room to one side where bridles, saddles and carriage harness sat in neat racks. On the other was a grain store and the hay barn was straight on.

  'I love the smells in here,' he said as he led her into the barn which was strewn with dark yellow straw. More straw bales were stacked in four by six squares for easy access and, further along, hay was stacked in the same way.

  'Straw. Hay. Fresh leather.' Rene took a deep breath between each word.

  He took off his jacket and turned to face her. The look on his face was different than it usually was. Their eyes met and, in that instant, she knew exactly what was going to happen. She also knew why it had never happened so far. Back in New Orleans he would have had to include Stacey. Out here he didn't need to do that. Out here, on his family plantation, he would have her all to himself.

  Mouth smiling, eyes sparkling, he stepped towards her. Sheree became very aware of his smell. I love the smell of men, she thought to herself, and immediately there was a tingling in her breasts and a low kind of throbbing throughout the length of her vulva.

  Breathing more quickly, she watched as Rene began slowly to take off his shirt.

  'You cannot believe how long I've waited for this moment,' he said as he undid the starched collar and cuffs of his expensively tailored shirt. 'Alone. At last.'

  Sheree's breath caught in her throat. 'Yes.' The word came out sounding similar to a leaf rustling in a breeze, lower than usual. Husky. Warm.

  There were no more words she wanted to say. Her body was on fire for his, and her own movements, her very words, seemed too ungainly for a time such as this.

  Rene was every inch the southern gentleman, the type who never stank of stale sweat or unlaundered clothes. Creamy soap had washed his body and cologne enhanced the natural smells he already owned.

  She had an urge to run her hangs along his shoulders and run her fingers through the frills of dark hair that covered his chest.

  I've never done that with Errol, she thought to herself. Errol, whose chest was shiny, smooth and brown. The contours of Rene's body were pleasing, but his muscles were not as developed as Errol's. His skin was paler too. In comparison, Rene resembled a well-bred gentleman's hack. Errol was more like a sturdy young stallion, rippling with well-defined muscles where arteries and veins stood proud beneath his skin.

  To Sheree's surprise, Rene no longer filled her senses as he had done. It had been a while since she'd thought of Errol, and now he had popped back into her mind and lodged there as if he had never left.

  Sexual arousal no longer seemed to be the result of the man standing before her, but of the man in her mind.

  But did it matter which man had aroused her?

  She decided it didn't. She also decided she would enjoy taking a fiendish delight in thinking about Errol whilst making love with Rene.

  He didn't order her to take off her dress, but she did anyway. Carefully, she placed the neat navy and yellow outfit on a bale of hay and laid her underwear with it too.

  Soon, she wore only her shiny silk stockings and a pretty pair of garters. The fresh air on her body felt good and she responded to it all by herself, wetting her finger and running it round her nipples as if to prepare them for what was to come.

  Rene's eyes raked her body and, as he looked, her nipples hardened and her stomach tensed. He might just as well have been touching her.

  'Lie down,' he ordered and pointed at a pile of hay in the corner.

  Sheree tingled at the sound of his voice. Her whole body seemed to erupt in goose bumps. Not because she was cold, but because what was happening in her mind and what was happening in reality sent her blood racing with passion.

  In her mind, she remembered being in the straw with Errol and him taking her from behind as she looked out of the barn window and passed the time of day with two middle-aged women who'd just come out of the church opposite.

  With that in her mind, she did as Rene asked, then watched as he removed his clothes before coming to her, his penis swaying before him, of a good size but perhaps not so big as that of her darling Errol.

  Desire overrode any other feelings she might have had towards Rene Brabonne. Her breath seemed to stall in her throat as her eyes swept over his well-shaped body and lingered on the erect rod that thrust like an unsheathed weapon from beneath his thighs.

  His warmth seemed to reach her before his body did, like a cloud of warm rain rides before the sun. He knelt beside her. A droplet of fluid glistening on the end of his rod caught her eye. A dryness came to her throat along with an urging for her tongue to take the droplet from off his cock.

  She trembled as he reached for her, his palms covering her breasts. His hands were warm and she welcomed them, stretching so that her back arched and her flesh forced itself into the warmth of his hands.

  A sense of abandonment washed over her and she closed her eyes. There was no need to see this man, to know who he was. His touch, the tone of his voice was enough.

  The smell of hay, straw and leather mixed with that of his body and his desire. She closed her eyes and murmured sweet words, though he could not know they were not for him. They were for Errol and were the words she had used on that day when they'd made love in the hay loft and the two women had kept her talking.

  She'd wanted to cry out in ecstasy. She'd wanted to murmur words that were both exceedingly passionate and appallingly lascivious. But she had restrained herself. And as Errol's cock had pumped its cargo into her, she'd merely laughed throatily and agreed with the women that it was indeed a lovely day for a ride in an automobile, or even behind a horse and cart.

  'A good day for any sort of ride,' she'd cried out, and the women had nodded, astonished at her enthusiasm for such a suggestion.

  Her body undulated at the thought of the sweet scene and the feel of Errol's hard cock cleaving her sexual lips asunder, ramming into her body, his balls slapping rhythmically against the back of her thighs.

  Again and again she went over the same scene in her mind; Errol fucking her. Errol coming. The women's expressions. It all added to what she was feeling.

  She moaned as Rene's hands ran down over the flatness of her belly and tickled the concave dip just before the rising of her mons.

  Soon, she thought as she opened her legs slightly, he will put himself into me. Soon I will be in ecstasy. She also knew that whatever he did, in her mind it would be Errol doing it. Errol, who knew so many ways and so many places in which they could indulge in their wildest fantasies.

  Errol, whose sexuality was completely natural. Whose body was so strong, so firm, and whose sexual thrust was as powerful as the pistons that drove the latest Henry Ford car.

  'Turn over,' Rene said suddenly, his voice hot with desire. He pushed her over onto her belly, then slid his arm beneath her and hoisted - her up onto her elbows and knees. She moaned with ecstasy and wriggled her bottom invitingly as his fingers played with her pubic hair then slid between her sexual lips.

  Delirious with pleasure, she cried ou
t for more as his finger invaded her inner lips. It didn't stop there, but travelled on to tap and touch her clitoris until it swelled with passion and danced with excitement, raising its soft, pink head and hardening beneath his demanding touch.

  She squirmed on his finger, raising her hips, offering her body to him, tilting her backside until it wasn't far from his face.

  It was his for the taking. She was fast falling among her own sensations, growing dizzy with her own desire and not really caring how he had her and who was around when he did.

  Even the two middle-aged women, she thought. Any audience would do.

  Suddenly she could control herself no longer. She was ready for him. Her wetness was seeping from her, running down the insides of her legs and dampening the straw on which she lay.

  'Fuck me,' she demanded. 'Please!'

  Her cry was almost desperate. And that was exactly how she felt; desperate for something more vigorous, more substantial than a finger to be inside her.

  His inspection of her private parts seemed to falter. She heard him sigh, felt his hands fall away from her.

  He sighed, a long mournful note, full of sadness.

  She opened her eyes, fully expecting her gaze to meet the stiff penis she had seen earlier. The sight that met her eyes was not expected.

  His erection was lessening. His hands were hanging at his sides and a regretful expression was on his face.

  Sheree raised herself onto her hands, the spikiness of the straw scratching at her arms. She frowned.

  'What's the matter?'

  He shook his head and spread his arms disconsolately.

  His eyes, like hers, were on his cock.

  'I think it's dead,' he said.

  Sheree raised her eyebrows. 'Dead? I don't understand.'

  Rene shook his head again. 'I thought I could manage it all by myself. But I can't. My cock is a creature of habit. In fact, it seems at times to almost have a mind of its own.'

  'Rene, you are talking in riddles. Do you want to do me or don't you?'

  'I apologise, Sheree.' His look matched his voice. 'But this is the way things are. I cannot perform unless I attend to certain matters first. As I said, it is a matter of habit. I thought both I and my penis had grown out of such things. Obviously, I was mistaken. At least as far as my cock is concerned.'