Obsession

by Cathryn Cooper

  ‘Both my grandfather and the princess were stripped of their clothes and incarcerated in a barred cage hewn from the solid rock.

  ‘It was not a cold place by virtue of the many torches and, bearing in mind the heat of those parts of India, might even be called pleasant.

  ‘But the temple itself was certainly not pleasant. It reeked of wickedness and voluptuousness. Through the bars of their cage, they looked at the terrible presence of the bloodstained goddess. Always the goddess Kali is depicted with her tongue hanging out and her breasts hard and round. She is life by virtue of sexuality and fertility, but she is also death.

  ‘Even whilst he was there, my grandfather saw them bring a woman in; a Parsee, he said she was, fat with good living, but stripped of her jewels and her clothes.

  ‘She wailed for mercy, but those who tormented her would give her none. Her flesh trembled like the sea in the light of many bright torches. The whites of her eyes reflected their brightness as she pleaded for her honour and her life.

  ‘They laughed, and although my grandfather tried not to watch, he could not help himself.

  ‘He saw them spread her out and, holding her tightly, each man mounted her, and each also held onto her breasts as though they were the forked pommels of a saddle. As one finished, another would take his place. Whilst this went on, each man that held her arms and legs pulled on his member with his free hand until her face was almost obliterated by their fluid.

  ‘When each man had used himself both ways, they turned her over and pushed themselves between the cheeks of her bottom which was very large, and very fleshy.

  ‘By now, the woman was moaning and gagging in turn on the fluid that had flowed into her mouth and up her nose. Slowly, she had drifted into unconsciousness and very likely did not feel them turning her over. Perhaps also she did not feel the knife sever her jugular artery and her blood pump out to join the rest that encrusted the stone. From where my naked grandfather and his equally naked princess stood, it was very hard to tell.’

  ‘Good grief!’

  Carew had been suitably spellbound throughout her telling of the lurid and very erotic story. His arm had fallen from her shoulders and, with a gleam in his eye and an open mouth, he stared into the straw. Whilst he stared, Katie murmured goodnight, and softly took her leave before he had chance to stop her.

  ‘But what...?’

  Blinking as if he’d been aroused from a vivid dream, he looked at the emptiness where she had been. His storyteller was gone, and suddenly his world seemed empty.

  I don’t believe this, he said to himself as he leaned his head back against the coolness of the stable wall. I listened to all that. I was mesmerised by it, besotted with the scene and the way it was told.

  His breathing was quick, and his penis noticeably hard and aching.

  How had he done it, he asked himself, how could such an innocent and beautiful boy have this affect on him purely by telling a story?

  Pull yourself together man, he told himself.

  It was easier said than done. In admitting to himself he had wanted the storyteller to stay and continue his tale, he seemed also to be admitting something else. He had wanted the boy to stay longer and tell him more. He wanted to hear more. He had to hear more. It was maddening not to be able to ask the question that was on the tip of his tongue, but he did have guests, a duty and, following the lurid story, a very large hard-on to attend to.

  At dusk when dinner was over, he withdrew alone to the library, and shut the door. In an effort to temporarily calm his iron-hard erection, he sat himself down in a chair, pulled out a cigar, and listened to the chiming of the longcase clock that blended so well with the panelled walls and row upon row of gilt-spined books.

  In his mind, he could see everything that Oliver had told him in infinite detail. He could imagine the beautiful princess, helpless and naked with only Oliver’s grandfather to protect her. It was easy, and also irresistible to imagine the plump, womanly body so bronzed and glistening in the light of naked flames being sorely abused by the men who held her prisoner. She had been full of their fertile juices, that woman, their personal libations to sex, and to life. Poor woman; a sacrifice, or rather, an intermediary, a vessel who held their libations, whose blood was in turn their offering to their goddess.

  He shuddered. No matter how horrific the tale, he could not help but be fascinated. How real the story had seemed. In fact, he could almost have sworn he had detected the very scent of the woman concerned.

  You’re a fool, he said to himself, then shocked himself by his own determination to make a mental note to ask exactly how Oliver’s grandfather had escaped.

  Oliver, Oliver. He smiled to himself and lay his head back against the chair as he puffed on his cigar. Oliver. There certainly is more to you than meets the eye, and perhaps it was that something more that Maude saw in you.

  At dinner, Lady Maude had arched a quizzical eyebrow when Imran had reported that he had successfully arranged Oliver’s sleeping accommodation. ‘And what, pray, was your reason for taking him on?’ she had asked.

  Dreadful woman, his aunt. Always hinting that there might be more to his actions than appeared on the surface. However, he did not tell her about Oliver’s story. Despite her own shortcomings, she’d be suitably appalled - especially in front of guests. So he’d been succinct - and entirely honest in his response.

  ‘He seems above the normal calibre of boy we get here. He’s polite, and appears quite intelligent. Besides that, he is very good with the dogs. Anyway, I think we owe him something.’

  ‘In what way, my dear nephew?’

  He had put down his knife and fork and stared at her hard. His house guests were present, so he had not been able to go into great detail. He had searched carefully for the words that might explain that he knew why she had chosen Oliver, and what she and her husband had done to the young fellow in the darkness of the stables.

  ‘Firstly, he got beat up by some of the other young men because they perceived that he had been favoured by you, my dear aunt. On top of that, he had an experience in the stables, an experience he neither expected nor deserved. I feel it is up to me to make it up to him. Besides, I find him very entertaining.

  Maude had lowered her eyes and reached for her fourth glass of sherry. As always, she still attempted to have the last word.

  ‘As long as that was the only reason, my dear.’ Hypocrite, he wanted to say. Instead, he looked from her to Sir Charles who supped noisily from his glass of dark, red port. His uncle did not return his look. Uncle Charles was too old to be altered, too moulded into the creature he was. He was also encouraged to stay like that by virtue of his wife’s pimping.

  In the library, he had time to reflect on the day, and on Oliver’s incredible story. Just thinking of it gave pain to his member, whose stiffness had not dissipated. But it was a pleasurable pain which promised his erection would die and resurrect itself on many occasions that evening.

  Activities for the evening ahead were also something to consider. He settled himself in the smooth and comfortable confines of a leather armchair and through the open window looked out at the garden nearest to the house, and the parkland beyond.

  Tonight, he decided they would play a game of hide and seek among the darkness of the trees. He would be the hunter and his three female house guests would be the hunted. They would be naked and he would pursue them. Imran would be at his side to pass him the special gun he had had made that only fired blobs of red paint. As each naked girl was hit, she would fall down where she was on the wet grass or earth and be dragged by her feet to where he wanted her to lay.

  Once he had pursued and despatched all three, he would have them all lying together, naked to the night and to his sight. Like shot birds, he would have Imran bind their hands to suitably adjacent shrubs and blindfold their eyes “to make sure they w
ere truly dead”. Once this was done, their knees would be trussed to their waists so that their respective slits were exposed and vulnerable to whatever he wanted to do to them. So, he realised suddenly, would their other smaller, and more virgin portals.

  In the darkness and amid the wafting cigar smoke he smiled. Each woman would be taken - by him and by his servant. By virtue of their blindfolds, the women . would not know which one was poking into her moist cleft.

  He blew out the last of the cigar smoke and squashed the stub into an adjacent ashtray. In his trousers, his penis struggled to escape its confines.

  Affectionately, he patted the rising mound. ‘Control yourself, my dear friend, control yourself.’ Then he got up, stretched in front of the window, and left the room to find Imran and arrange solace for his burning lust.

  Chapter 6

  Gareth was a man with a rugged, weather-browned face, broad shoulders and dark hair that curled around his muscular neck. Altogether, the head groom and car mechanic was something Katie Fisher had not allowed for.

  It had not occurred to her that she might end up having to share a room with someone. In the roomy, red-brick Queen Anne house where she’d grown up, her parents had taken care of the servants’ arrangements. Before the war, servants had appeared from the backstairs and disappeared down them once their services were no longer required. Downstairs had been, and still was the realm of the cook, the housekeeper and the butler. They slept at the top of the house, somewhere beneath the eaves. On occasion she ventured into the kitchen, but never had she strayed into their private quarters.

  Now she found herself sharing a room with a lithe, yet muscular man who smelt of horse sweat and leather. He was good to look at’ and, to her surprise, despite his work and his honest sweat, he was also good to smell. It was hard not to stare and contemplate what might be hidden under the sweat-stained clothes.

  ‘Your bed’s there.’

  His gruff voice made her jump. He pointed to a narrow bed that was squeezed under the lowest part of the eaves.

  With mixed feelings, Katie eyed the leaden pillow, the haphazard maze of colour and texture of the patchwork quilt. Enough of that, she thought. Somehow, I’ll cope. She let her eyes roam the shape of the room and run down over the slope of the ceiling.

  ‘Is this the best room available? I’ll brain myself if I get out of bed too quickly.’ She said it low, but not low enough. Gareth’s supple fingers gripped her shoulder and she cried out.

  ‘Now listen, squib,’ he said, his breath hot on her ear. ‘I didn’t want to share with you, I still don’t want to share with you. It’s orders, so I’ve got to follow them and so have you, and in this room I gives the orders and you takes them. Right?’

  His fingers dug more fiercely.

  Katie nodded and tried not to look at his face, but it wasn’t easy. He was good-looking in a rough and rugged way, and over and above the smell of horses and sweat, he smelt like all men should. He affected her, and that wasn’t part of the plan.

  ‘Put your stuff in that drawer there.’ He pointed at the bottom drawer in the four-drawer chest and, releasing his grip on her shoulder, pushed her towards it.

  She fell to her knees on the bare boards from where she stared at the knobs of the bottom drawer of the chest.

  Gareth’s hands had left her, but the spots where his fingers had gripped her were still warm and had a familiar tingle. Gareth was frightening, but did he know he was also arousing?

  She heard him pouring water from the china jug into the blue-rimmed enamel bowl on the washstand.

  ‘I’ve got nothing to put in this drawer. I haven’t got anything with me,’ she said. ‘I have to go and get some stuff tomorrow.’

  He continued to wash as he answered, his back still towards her. ‘Then I suggest you wash and get some sleep. And don’t expect me to mollycoddle you. I haven’t got time. I’ve got to be up at half five tomorrow and so have you.’

  Not knowing quite what else to do, Katie got up from the floor and sat on the bed. She watched Gareth as she took off her jacket. By the time he had stripped off to the waist, she had undone her boots. Now he was half naked, his smell seemed to fill the room and beckon her to look at him. She watched as he soaped his face, rinsed it off, then scooped water up over his neck and back.

  His skin was brown where the sun had kissed it - white as alabaster where it had not. Like men who have always used their strength to earn their living, his muscles were hard and well-defined. Dark hair was clustered in the centre of his chest and, like his suntan, ran from his elbows to his wrists.

  Hypnotised by sight and smell, she stared. Edgar, and lying on the lawn in the light of the moon, suddenly seemed a whole world away. It was almost as though she had not eaten for days and just looking at Carew in the long• tall grass earlier today had whetted her appetite. She licked her lips and tapped her fingers on her knees.

  Gareth stripped off his boots, his dark green corduroy trousers and woollen drawers.

  A more intense smell filled her head. With mounting excitement, she studied his naked body. His back was still towards her and, as he bent down to pull his trousers from his legs, she studied the tautness of his buttocks and thrilled to the sight of his scrotum hanging like a dark shadow between his thighs.

  After rinsing off his lower areas, he turned round and reached for the towel.

  All self-control seemed to fly from Katie’s mind. This man with whom she was sharing a room was rough, yet desirable; reminiscent of some item of Greek statuary - a shepherd or a Spartan warrior - he filled her eyes. So perfect did he seem, so unreal, and yet so very basic. Wide-eyed and concentrating on the area encompassed by his triangle of hair, she devoured him in detail. His penis nestled against a cloud of crisp darkness and his balls hung like well-filled purses between his thighs.

  The towel he threw at her made her start, but did nothing to force her to avert her eyes.

  ‘What the bloody hell are you staring at?’ Gareth’s dark eyebrows beetled and there was rage in his voice.

  Katie’s mouth dropped open and, although she did raise her eyes to his face and knew he was angry, she couldn’t help but let her gaze fall back to the epicentre of his body.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said hurriedly. ‘I’m sorry. I just thought you looked like a Greek warrior. That was all. I saw one in a painting once. The Greek warriors loved each other - especially the Spartans.’

  Vaguely, she remembered seeing some paintings and statues in a museum in Florence, or was it Rome? It had been summer and she had been only sixteen or so, but the form and firmness of the warrior had been enough to ignite her virgin body with a fiery lust. She had felt as though white-hot needles were piercing her flesh and her own fingers had not been enough to release all that passion. Finally, her fire was quenched and her virginity had been taken by a mature and experienced lover. He had been a count and a connoisseur of fine art and good music. In her, he had ignited an older tune, a truer and more natural art form. He had awakened her sexuality. From then on, it had been a beautiful summer of discovery, experimentation, and sheer lust.

  But at this moment in time, the first time hardly seemed to matter. Gareth was fuming.

  ‘Dirty little sod!’

  The full weight of his hand caught her cheek and she fell sideways. As she fell, her cap fell off her head.

  Those same, strong fingers that had gripped her earlier now dragged her back up to a sitting position. Again, he raised his free hand, but Katie, knowing her cheeks were now as red as her open lips, turned the full power of her eyes upon him.

  ‘Please,’ she pleaded. ‘Don’t hit me again. I’ll do anything for you, anything at all!’

  Although he had just washed, the smell of his sex was still strong. Like ripe fruit, it hung before her eyes and, unable to resist, her gaze dropped to it.

  ‘
Oh you would, eh?’

  He sounded less angry, even thoughtful. His penis rose with his quickening breath.

  Katie looked up and saw a smile was coming to his lips. His eyes stared into hers and became softer as though dreaming of what she could do for him. Then his gaze dropped and, even before she looked at it, she knew his penis was rearing towards her lips.

  ‘Then if you admire it so much, squib, kiss it and suck me in.’ His voice commanded, and yet it was hushed, apprehensive.

  Hot and crowned with a pearl-drop of essence, his member rose that much more vigorously until it was no more than an inch from her mouth.

  Do not sigh, she told herself. Do not appear to be used to having such a thing in your mouth. You have become the boy, Oliver. Think like an innocent boy. Think.

  Instinctively, as if tasting a man’s rod for the very first time, she poked out her tongue and deftly licked the tip of his penis. Adopting an air of innocence, she dropped her eyes.

  With dainty temerity, she took the pearl-drop of essence on the tip of her tongue, and rolled its saltiness back onto her taste buds. Above her, Gareth sighed, then groaned before he spoke.

  ‘Go on, squib. Take it in.’ His hand covered her head like a cap. He would guide her head as it pleased him. There would be no opting out but, then, she had no intention of opting out.

  Closing her eyes to conceal the delight that shone in her eyes, she closed her mouth over the head of his rod. Before proceeding further, she circled his glans with the tip of her tongue, first clockwise, then anti-clockwise. Judging by the strengthening of his erection and the groaning from far above her head, her actions were having the right affect.

  After repeating her circling movements, she brought the tip of her tongue back to the apex of his hood and deftly probed its tiny opening.

  More flesh filled her mouth as he pushed her head onto him. Close to his body and his warmth, Katie could not resist raising her hands and cupping the velvet softness of his balls.