Usually, dominating Priscilla would have been enough to restore Carew’s confidence in himself. It had not worked this evening.
Too confused to concentrate on where he was going, he walked off through the conservatory and out into the garden. The evening was fair. Strips of gold and mauve cloud lingered in the west. The breeze was warm and the clock over at Pursington struck nine.
Carew noticed little. His thoughts were confused and would remain so even when he went to bed later. Even in sleep, those dark grey eyes would haunt him, as would the alluring tales that Oliver told so beguilingly.
Suddenly, he stopped in his tracks. ‘Then I won’t go to sleep!’
He took his hands from out of his pockets and strode off along the front of the house, then through the archway that led into the stable yard and the place where he kept his cars.
After cranking the Bugatti, he got in and, without putting on either goggles or hat, he sped- off towards the main road and the city. There was a place there; a place full of women; professional women who could ably restore his dented confidence.
Chapter 10
Carew liked the look of Felicity’s bottom, though he thought Theodora’s was pretty good too. Perhaps, he mused, as he sucked on his cigarette, it was Theo who had the most appealing face, as refined and precise as some ancient Patrician youth. And such big eyes. Such alluring eyes.
He fought to get his thoughts and imaginings under control. There you go again, he thought to himself. Not a youth. A young woman, a young woman, damn you!
But it was Oliver, his stories and his very presence that had brought him here. He did not make a habit of coming to a house of pleasure but, under the circumstances, he felt he deserved such a diversion.
Mrs Vertibel, the doyenne of the establishment, was a discreet and charming woman whom he mad met before on the few occasions he had felt the need for her redoubtable services. Pleased to be of assistance, and flattered that he should choose to bestow his patronage on her small but select establishment, she made him very welcome. Anyway, he liked the decor. Not all red velvet and gold braid like a Parisian bumping house, but beige, white, blue and gold.
The woman had taste, albeit a little dramatic for a house in Hampstead, or a bijou residence in Peckham. No doubt taking an interest in the recent finds in Egypt, Mrs Vertibel had decorated the place with statues and plaques depicting jackal-headed gods, pert-breasted slaves, and broad-shouldered priests. Perched on one plinth, her one glass eye overseeing all, was a reproduction in plaster of the head of an Egyptian Queen whose other eye no doubt, had become lost in the centuries.
On the whole, the place had class and girls of a very high and healthy calibre.
‘I want just to lie there,’ Carew told Mrs Vertibel when she had asked him what her establishment could offer him. ‘I wish to do nothing myself but have everything done for me.’
Mrs Vertibel, whose hair was pure white, and whose eyes were as dark as her profession, nodded in a slow and understanding fashion in the manner of a woman who long ago gave up being shocked by anything a gentleman might require. ‘One girl, or two?’ she asked.
Carew considered this only briefly. Now, he told himself, when you are feeling downright confused and down at heart, is the time to indulge your fantasies. ‘Two,’ he said.
Mrs Vertibel had not let him down. Felicity was dark-haired and blue-eyed. Theo had fair hair and dark eyes. He liked that. Dark eyes and hair on the same person would have been too much for him to handle. Dark eyes were not grey, but added to dark hair they did bring that figure to mind, the one that haunted his thoughts.
Yes, Felicity and Theo were definitely a good choice. Their figures were boyish, and as he wondered how they would look dressed in an evening suit and wielding a silver-topped cane, his stem burst forth from his unbuttoned flies.
Neither girl wore anything to hide her nakedness, except the most rudimentary of decoration.
Felicity had a pearl drop glued into her navel, a ring through one nipple, and a tattoo of a red rose on one buttock. The other girl, Theo, was lean with small breasts and soft smattering of blonde hair between her legs. It was almost, he thought, as though she had been gilded with a fine layer of gold in that place only. All she wore were long black gloves, sparkling bracelets, and matching necklace and earrings. Most women, he decided, should wear just that. Never mind fashion and its idiosyncrasies. Their bodies, plus the jewellery and the gloves were quite enough to incite his desire.
Hopefully, both girls would be worth the money. He closed his eyes. Please let them assuage this hunger I am feeling.
‘Could we have only one light burning - one of the gas ones?’ he added as a long, white arm reached for a sole electric light switch.
Felicity had seen that he was interested in her body decorations and took great pleasure in sticking her bottom close to his face so that he might examine her tattoo in more detail.
For once, he touched the woman who would give him pleasure and, with his index finger, lifted her cheek so that the rose appeared to fall back into a mere bud. ‘You can push your finger in me, if you like.’ She sounded hopeful that he would.
Carew removed his hand. ‘No. That is not what I have come here for. I wish you to pleasure me, not me pleasure you.’
He knew he sounded superior, but then, he was the one paying so judged that he had the right.
Before he closed his eyes and tucked his arms• under his head, he saw them exchange looks, saw their lips pout and their heads toss in disappointment.
He felt the bed dip slightly as they layout full stretch on either side of him.
Their lips were soft and gentle on his face, their hands all-knowing as they ran across his chest in ever-decreasing circles.
Like a matching pair, they kept time with each other. When one girl’s hand was on his right breast, the other girl’s was on the left. Soothing and edging on affection, their free hands ran softly through his sprinkling of chest hair.
Automatically, his stomach muscles tightened as their fingers trailed •like strands of a broken cobweb, sweeping in ever-increasing circles until their fingernails were catching in the curly swatch of his pubic hair.
One girl straddled him, showering his face and his neck with a storm of kisses.
The other girl aimed for kissing the lower half of his body. Even now, her mouth was sucking each of his balls in turn; as if, he thought, they were ripe apricots, or small tomatoes that when the skin is pierced, the flesh will gush sweet and liquid into her mouth.
The exploring mouth did not stop there. Nipping, licking, and sucking, it travelled up his stem and sucked long and hard as the head of his member entered her mouth.
The other girl began to slide downwards. The girl who sucked let him go, then helped her friend mount him. As his penis disappeared up into girl number one, the second girl lowered her head. He could see her bottom raised high, the roundness of her buttocks like the crest of two gentle hills. Then he groaned as her mouth sucked long and hard at his resting scrotum whilst the other girl rode up and down upon his rod.
There was a smacking sound that made him smile. Her head, he thought, must be immediately beneath the rising and falling of her colleague’s bottom. He could hear the buttocks of one slapping against the head of the other. Even though his eyes were closed, it was an easy scene to imagine.
Imagination, he thought, is to blame for so many wrong manoeuvres when it comes to sex. Best to rein it in, keep sex in its place, and ignore the question that comes to mind: Will she be good in bed? Will her lips feel as good as they look if they happen to be around my cock? Yes, he thought to himself. Imagination has a lot to answer for.
His own sensations became hot and avid for release. For a while he seemed to be swimming in them, cutting a fast pace through them as if he were stronger than they were. But his own imagination was
expanding along with his ardour.
These girls were giving him pleasure, and yet it was not them in his head. In his head he saw those same grey eyes that had met his when Priscilla had been sucking him off. Those eyes had disconcerted him, yet they had also excited him. It was as if, he thought, everything that I was feeling, he was feeling too.
Let it be, his mind screamed. Let it be!
Coupled with his mind, his climax shattered whatever logic he wanted to adhere to. He was lost, and there was nothing he could do about it.
‘Oliver,’ he whispered to himself. ‘What is it about you that won’t leave me alone?’
Katie had gone walking the dogs in the woods, and being in need of relieving herself had gone behind a tree, let down her breeches, did what she wanted, then got up again.
As she cattle out from behind the tree, the sun glinted on a glass monocle and the dogs sniffed and wagged around the feet of Lady Maude. Surprised, Katie stopped in her tracks.
Thin lips smiled and betrayed large teeth. ‘My dear, young Oliver. You are out early. What a good young man.’
Oliver stumbled through the twists of rough grass and thick clumps of fern. Mindful of being polite and giving this woman no excuse to reprimand, she took off her cap with one hand whilst the other did up the last of her trouser buttons.
Maude was looking her up and down in the same way as Sir Charles did; in the same way that Carew did. The shrewd eyes lingered on her fly buttons. There was invitation in the look. There was also intimidation. Now what did she do?
Before she had chance to do anything, fingers as big and strong as a man’s reached out and took hold of her chin. ‘My, my, you are certainly going to be a very good-looking man when you are older. In fact, you already are. I’ll bet you’ll turn more than a few heads before long.’
Her thumb stroked Katie’s chin. Determinedly, Katie kept her eyes lowered. Her fingers were still doing up her last button.
There was lust in Lady Maude’s voice and in her eyes. ‘Let me do that for you.’ Maude reached for Katie’s fly buttons. Katie took a step back.
‘I’m doing fine.’
Maude moved closer. Her movement was quick as she cupped Katie’s face in her hands. Before she could protest, Maude’s lips were fastened upon hers.
Maude’s fingers still held Katie’s chin when she retreated.
‘Charles, my husband, thinks I got you just for him,’ she said, her mouth just inches from Katie’s. ‘But I did not. I saw you that first day, all big eyes and dusty face, and I thought, what long legs he has. I would certainly like them wound around me and I would love to have his immature little pecker inside me! Do you believe that, Oliver? Do you believe me?’
Maude’s breathing was rushed, her fingers strong and hurtful.
‘But, madam...’
Maude kissed her again and wound her arms around her. ‘Call me Maude.’
‘Madam, you are married woman and I couldn’t possibly...’
‘Then just feel me.’ Maude clasped her hand tightly and pushed it inside her jacket. Beneath Katie’s hand was a full, warm breast and a nipple as a hard as a pebble.
‘Oh, madam!’
‘Do it! Pinch me! Squeeze my nipple till I scream!’ Maude held her close. Her own arm and hand was between Maude’s ample breasts and her own. Maude would not, and must not, discover she was a woman.
Maude undid her blouse buttons.
At her own volition, Katie slid her hand into the opening and further down beneath silk underwear to the warm softness of Maude’s breast. Beneath her touch, Maude trembled. She gasped and her monocle, usually so tightly held, fell to her shoulder.
‘My beautiful boy! My beautiful boy!’ Maude’s eyes were half-closed.
Don’t let her find out, Katie told herself determinedly. Warm to your task. Convince her you really are a young man.
It was not that difficult. Beneath her agile fingers, Maude’s nipple grew and became as hard as India rubber.
‘Is this good for you, madam?’ Slyly, she smiled in a wicked, boyish way. As she asked the question, her fingers manipulated the doughty nipple.
Maude became breathless, her breast rising and quivering beneath Katie’s touch. ‘Oh yes. Oh yes. Please. Squeeze it harder. Torture it, dear boy. Bite it!’ There was little clothing between the hard nipple and the outside world.
Shoving the silk down slightly, the whole breast was easily exposed.
Examining the white flesh and pink bud, as only a boy would, Katie squeezed each breast fiercely. Remembering how Lady Maude had treated her, she pinched each nipple cruelly.
‘Oh, cruel boy!’ cried Maude, throwing her head back as red marks appeared on her breasts, and her hands clasped Katie ever more tightly to herself.
She’s loving it, Katie told herself, she’s absolutely loving it. So she squeezed more, pinched more then, bending her head, she sucked on Maude’s nipple. With all the suction power she could employ, she pulled it ever outwards. When she considered it fully erect, she bit it again and again. Above her, Maude cried out in anguish and begged for more.
Instinctively knowing what was required, Katie pulled the other breast from cover and as she mouthed and pleasured one full handful of flesh, she pummelled, squeezed and pinched the other.
Maude was in ecstasy. ‘Touch me, my dear boy. Touch me!’
Katie, glad to be biting and pinching this woman rather than kissing and caressing her, knew exactly where she wanted to be touched.
Maude had raised her skirt.
With her free hand, Katie touched the white flesh of Maude’s thighs which was surprisingly firm. Field sport, thought Katie, and wanted to laugh. Weren’t they in a field at the moment? Or at least, not far from one. And could this be called a sport? Surely not, though no doubt the contortions of the flesh might be termed that way and the teasing of sensations with soft caresses and showers of kisses between two lovers might be termed competitive.
But Maude, she knew, did not want her to tease her flesh with the language of lovers. Maude wanted her to torture it. Willingly, Katie pinched at the yielding flesh of Maude’s inner thighs, scratched at her outer curves, and dug her fingernails into her silk-covered crotch.
‘My dear boy, my dear boy!’ Maude’s voice rose ever higher. Like a screeching crow, thought Katie, or a screaming jackdaw.
‘My dear boy!’ Maude exclaimed again and again. It was all the poor woman seemed able or willing to say. She was writhing beneath the biting, digging, squeezing and pinching. Everything Katie was doing to her resulted from dislike rather than desire, and yet the woman was thoroughly enjoying the experience.
Burrowing beneath the silk of Maude’s underwear, Katie’s fingers became enmeshed in the copious hair of her pubic region. Long fronds hung from the lips of her sex and it was these that Katie wound around her fingers, and pulled. At the same time, she bit one fat breast, then the other.
Katie knew this woman well. Instead of pushing her away as some would have, Maude cried deep in her throat, then clamped her hands around Katie’s head so that for a moment she was half asphyxiated by the plump bosoms.
Instead of stroking Maude’s labia, or gently tapping at her clitoris which was large and hung below her lips, Katie pinched at the former, and dug at the latter. Then, with one unheralded plunge, she shoved three fingers into Maude’s vagina.
‘My boy!’ Maude exclaimed again in a higher voice than ever. Katie’s thumbnail remained dug into Maude’s clitoris. Three almighty thrusts of; her fingers and Maude’s body shuddered along with her groans.
Katie licked the generous breasts until the last shudder was gone. Maude held onto her head, cupped her face and kissed her again.
‘Next time, you must take me properly.’ Her eyes were sparkling and her voice was husky. ‘Promise me that, Oliver. Pleas
e promise me that.’
Maude’s hands pressed more strongly against her face so that her cheeks were compressed and her lips formed a fish-like pout.
The promise was easily said. ‘Yes. I promise.’ But how, she wondered, could she possibly keep it when she did not possess the correct equipment? That problem, she decided, I will solve when I come to it.
Chapter 11
Carew had decided on an early start the next morning. He had invited a few people down from London but wanted to get some shooting in before they arrived.
Normally, he would have instructed Imran to accompany him. As it was, he convinced himself that Imran would have plenty of other things to do before the guests arrived. Bearing that conviction in mind, he had decided that it would be Oliver who would stand by his side and reload his gun after each resounding shot.
He held his chin high as he surveyed his tough, no-nonsense expression in the mirror. There was no softness in his eyes, no nervous twitching to give away the turmoil he was feeling. The turmoil was unwelcome, and he wanted it gone. Today, he would be putting his masculinity to the test. By insisting that Oliver accompanied him, he would be daring himself to be other than what he considered himself to be - a ladies’ man: macho, as the South Americans would say. Yes, he was macho, and he had a need to prove it.
As Imran brushed at the shoulders of his jacket and handed him the keys of the car, he listed in his mind the probable reasons why he enjoyed the boy’s company - even his closeness. The boy was bright, amazingly good to look at, even to smell. Oliver had, he decided, a voice of a certain huskiness that bordered between childhood and adulthood. It wasn’t broken and halting like that of some adolescents; rather it was thick and toffee smooth. Like his eyes, it was out of the ordinary.
It’s the stories, Carew told himself, that’s why I like him with me. He’s entertaining, and although his stories are more than a bit naughty - even erotic - they are also very witty.
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