Obsession

by Cathryn Cooper

  ‘Let me lick you,’ he shouted out. ‘Let me kiss you.’ With her foot, Katie pushed him back on the pillow. For a moment she eyed him over her shoulder.

  ‘No, Gareth. You cannot have us. We can only have you. We can do anything we want to do to you. Remember?’

  Gareth groaned against the weight of her foot. Moans of surprise and pleasure were lost against the head groom’s scrotum as Gareth kissed, then suckled at her toes.

  Careful that he should not come before she wished him to, Katie placed her finger against the throbbing channel that would bring forth his sexual fluid. When she felt it rising, she jerked her head away and pushed at Phoebe’s shoulder.

  ‘Ride him,’ she ordered.

  Her lips red from all the sucking and kissing, Phoebe beamed brightly and, without further ado, straddled Gareth’s body.

  From where she was positioned, Katie could see the dewy folds of Phoebe’s sex widen like a hungry mouth as she spread her legs. From below the outer lips, the lacy frills of the inner lips hung like the wings of a ragged butterfly. Her clitoris, Katie guessed, was throbbing, aching and raising its hard, pink head.

  Deftly, as Phoebe lowered herself slowly on the stiff Gareth, Katie flicked the open flesh of her friend with her fingers. Phoebe threw back her head and covered each of her own breasts.

  Gareth, eyes wide, gasped and coughed.

  For a moment, Katie thought he might choke. But he didn’t. Instead, he overcame his momentary problem, then stared goggle-eyed, his gaze alternating between Phoebe lowering herself on him, and Katie’s pussy which was still so near his face. He flung himself back on the pillow. ‘I don’t believe this is happening to me!’ His words sounded like sobs, but they were short-lived. As Phoebe’s clutch of blonde pubic hair met his, and her body gyrated with a steady and constant tempo, he began to moan.

  Knowing that his climax was coming, Katie changed position so that she was facing her friend. She bent and kissed his navel. Then, after throwing Phoebe a wink, she straightened up, and as her friend straddled Gareth’s groin, she straddled his head.

  Now it was her turn to moan. How sweet and warm his breath felt against her open flesh, how lightly it touched her as he strained to get nearer to her secret folds.

  Smiling, her eyes met those of Phoebe.

  Phoebe lowered her eyes and licked her lips. ‘Why Katie, how pretty your breasts are.’ She said it without once breaking her rhythm.

  ‘And how yours bounce up and down as you do.’ Katie’s words were rushed, strangled by her mews of delight. Her sex was on Gareth’s face, and his tongue licked along her frills of flesh and thrust like a small penis into her vagina. Smiling and purring with pleasure, she reached out and took Phoebe’s nipples between her fingers.

  Phoebe sighed, then reached out and did the same to Katie. As they pleasured each other’s breasts, they rode the man beneath them.

  When they came, it was almost simultaneously. Gareth jerked his hips up to thrust deep inside Phoebe, and Phoebe thumped heavily down on him as her own climax took her.

  Her fingers still rolling Phoebe’s nipples, Katie threw back her head as spasms of pleasure flowed from that tiny button nestling so secretively between her legs. Her fluid too seeped from her portal and ran around Gareth’s lips and into his mouth.

  Still securely chained, Gareth slept between them that night. Only twice was he disturbed. In the middle of the night Katie adjusted the chains that bound his hands so that he could sleep on his stomach. Phoebe did the same to his ankles. But he was given no chance to rest. Katie slid beneath him. The warmth of his body was on hers, the heat and hardness of his penis erect between her open thighs.

  ‘Phoebe,’ she whispered. ‘Put it in me.’

  ‘Yes, darling,’ Phoebe whispered back and, from over Gareth’s shoulder, kissed her cheek.

  Between her legs, Katie could feel Phoebe’s hand as well as Gareth’s hardening penis. The fingers of one hand were opening her lips, whilst the fingers of the other were guiding Gareth’s stiff member into her.

  ‘I don’t believe this,’ Gareth said again.

  He was very much alert, and getting very hard. Already, he was beginning to thrust deeply into her, widening her body and applying pressure against her pebble-hard nub.

  ‘Give me it, Phoebe darling.’

  Katie was in ecstasy. A hard man lay stretched out on her, and his cock was in her. And yet, it was not him controlling the speed and depth of the thrust but Phoebe.

  Her friend’s body was on top of Gareth, her movements dictating when he should thrust and when retreat.

  Crushed by the weight of bodies and desire, Katie grasped them to her, and raised her legs in an effort that one foot might meet the other behind Phoebe’s back. Her legs were long, and she just about managed it.

  Stimulated by both the feel and the thought of what she was doing, her climax took her before Gareth had chance to reach his.

  Ideal, she thought to herself as she slid out from beneath him. Phoebe took her place.

  Already satiated, Phoebe did her best, but Gareth climaxed before she had time to reach her own.

  ‘I didn’t get one that time,’ she muttered.

  ‘I’ll do it for you.’ Across the body of the man, Katie reached and touched Phoebe’s sex. With firm fingers and a light but dextrous touch, she manipulated her friend’s hot, wet flesh until she jerked wildly, then lay and sighed herself to sleep.

  Closing her eyes, Katie ran one hand over Gareth’s back. He felt warm now, his coldness banished by the heat of sexual passion. He was already asleep, his head against the sleeping Phoebe, Katie nuzzled more closely against his back, his buttocks cushioned by her pubic hair.

  Unseeing, she stared into the darkness. It was hard not to wonder exactly how warm Carew was in his bed at the present time. She had to get back to him. Tomorrow, Gareth would take her to meet Imran who seemed to know more about his master than he should.

  She smiled. At this moment in time, Imran knew his master better than his master knew himself.

  Chapter 14

  Bruised and grazed, his head still aching, Carew sat up in bed. Because he was feeling so hot, he took off the pyjama top that Imran had so carefully buttoned for him earlier. As the air cooled his heaving chest, he threw it across the floor and fell back on the pillows.

  He looked down at the smooth hardness of his well-muscled chest and deftly touched the areas that were still purple and ringed in yellow. His muscles were hard but he ached from his collision with the tram. His skin glistened. He was still hot and, although the windows were open and the breeze blew in from the parklands that surrounded Thompson Towers, his hotness did not lessen with the removal of his pyjama jacket.

  Silence, except for the birds and rustling leaves beyond the window, seemed to surround him. In that silence, he began to think again about Oliver. What was this obsession that so tightly held him? How could he have been so stupid to have run after that girl, to have seen her face as Oliver’s face?

  ‘Stupid, stupid, stupid!’ He closed his eyes as he spat the words out, but the face was still there and he was still hot.

  Stiffly, he reached under the covers and took off his pyjama trousers. He never wore them to bed normally. Pyjamas were a sign of being ill, and he wasn’t that - not any more. He was feeling better, though the cause of the accident still made him feel a fool.

  He rested his hands on his pelvic bones, then brought them up over the flatness of his stomach. It tightened beneath his touch as if they weren’t really his fingers at all. In his mind, he could see those dark grey eyes and that striking face as he wanted to see them - above a body that he could desire, a female body. Was that, he wondered, how Uncle Charles saw boys? Or did he J only desire features of a body that replicated his own?

  It was a purely academic question to whi
ch he did not know the answer. He couldn’t even ask his uncle what the truth was; not just because his uncle might be embarrassed by it, but also because he feared what the truth might be.

  What if boys are my particular predilection? Could I accept such a thing? ‘No,’ he said out loud. ‘No. I could not.’

  Those eyes were there in his head, and the body he imagined drifted between what it was and what ‘he wanted it to be. Between male and female.

  The sheet that covered his loins rose into a small hump as his penis responded to his thoughts. Beneath the sheet, his fingertips ran through the tangle of pubic hair that surrounded his rising erection. He sighed as the tightness in his stomach increased and a rush of blood hardened his penis still further. As he stroked it and tapped at its circumcised head, it flooded with blood and with passion. He groaned and wished that it was not his own finger doing this. But it was, and he had to go on.

  Whilst the fingers of his right hand encircled his throbbing flesh, he cupped his own balls with his left. If only, he thought again, someone else was doing this to me. But as his breath quickened, his own desire was enough to increase the thrilling sensations he was feeling. His right hand tugged and tugged at his member, his thumb rubbing and tapping against its sensitive head. Whilst his right hand worked with energetic zeal, his left squeezed his balls.

  A woman, he knew, would elicit even more rapture from his willing flesh. But there was no woman nearby, no soft hand to tease his penis to greater proportion, so in his head he invented one.

  His breath quickened and behind the darkness of his closed eyelids he could see the creature he had invented, the woman who aroused him. Such a vision made his hands move more rapidly. This was no boy, a full-blooded woman with a woman’s body, and a woman’s smell, but for some reason he dare not look up at the face.

  He was coming. Already the channel that would bring his semen to the surface was pulsating beneath his fingers. Both his stem and his balls were tensing beneath his touch, tightening as if gathering all their strength into themselves before letting go.

  Jerking his hips, he groaned softly as the warm issue played over his fingers. Then he opened his eyes and stared. Open-mouthed, and eyes shining, Oliver was staring at him.

  His mouth dropped open. He felt a fool. Like an errant child, he had been caught in the act. He felt his face grow hot and knew he was reddening. Normally, it would not have concerned him unduly. At boarding school, especially after rugger or lights out, each boy tried to outdo the other with the power and frequency of their hand-held ejaculations. But he wasn’t at school; he wasn’t a boy any more, and none of his old school chums - absolutely none of them - had looked as attractive or intriguing as Oliver did.

  He became instantly defensive. ‘What are you bloody doing here, boy? Don’t you ever knock when you enter a room?’

  Katie, now once more in her guise of Oliver, smiled. Carew’s penis, despite having just climaxed, pulsated in his hand.

  ‘I did knock. I knocked three times in fact. I’m sorry, sir. I thought you answered. I did hear something.’

  Carew reddened. Had he subconsciously known Oliver was here in his bedroom? He shook his head. He didn’t want to think about it. He returned to the defensive. He spoke sharply.

  ‘I ask again, what are you doing here?’

  ‘I was looking for Imran.’

  ‘Oh.’ Carew knew he sounded dejected. Had he hoped it was him the boy had come to see? He forced himself to go on. ‘Why were you looking for him?’ The boy who stood before him and had such an angelic face and such alluring eyes shifted his weight from one hip to the other.

  ‘He asked to see me. Something to do with the dogs, I believe.’

  ‘Dogs! What have dogs got to do with Imran?’

  ‘Gareth asked him,’ she said quickly. Gareth had not mentioned the dogs when he’d come calling. They were a useful excuse.

  She eyed the crumpled sheet that covered Carew’s loins. There was a damp patch in one particular place. She licked her lips as her cheeks got warmer.

  ‘I see.’ Carew nodded as the figure that haunted his dreams came closer. It had been raining out. He could smell wetness on the clothes Oliver wore. But there was something else besides, some familiar smell that he could not quite name. The boy was looking down at him. How intense were those eyes, how feminine those lips. How sweet the voice, he thought, as Oliver began to speak.

  ‘I hear you haven’t been well. I hear you had an accident.’

  Carew cleared his throat. ‘Yes. I did.’ He was having trouble speaking. The boy was close - too close. His smell was intoxicating.

  ‘I’m truly sorry to hear that, sir. Truly sorry.’ Oliver’s voice was soft. So were the smokey-grey eyes. The hand that touched his shoulder sent shivers through his body.

  He did not protest. Their eyes met and, unable to stop himself, Carew drew his still sticky hand from beneath the sheets and covered that of the boy. ‘Thank you. I appreciate your concern.’

  He saw the nostrils dilate and the eyes shine like stars. He smells my fluid, Carew thought to himself, he smells my fluid upon my fingers and is excited by it.

  He saw the boy smile. ‘There is no need to thank me. Even though you sent me away, I cannot help being concerned about you.’

  ‘I’m sorry for sending you away.’

  ‘Are you truly?’

  ‘Yes. Yes. I am.’ Carew paused and frowned. A sudden thought accompanied by a sudden pain had crossed his mind.

  ‘Have you been with your lady friend? The one I saw bringing you here in her car?’

  Phoebe, thought Katie, he saw me with Phoebe, and what’s more, he’s jealous. She considered her answer. ‘I have,’ she replied. ‘But she was only a friend. Nothing else. Remember, I told you she was a very sad lady.’

  Carew nodded and his fingers tightened over those of the person he knew as Oliver. That same person’s breath became as quick as his. Carew dropped his eyes to where the boy’s penis should have stirred. He could determine nothing. The trousers were baggy, shapeless over the lean hips.

  How would it feel, he asked himself, to touch that youthful penis, to jerk it off or feel its softness in my mouth? Carew pushed the thoughts to one side. It was difficult, yet he had to touch the boy. For his own sanity, he had to do it.

  Instinctively, Katie knew what he was thinking. Her heartbeat echoed in her head. This, she thought, this is the moment I have been waiting for. He will reach out his hand and his fingers will touch me, fumble inside my trousers and find what he would prefer to find; not a male member, but a set of female lips, wet, plush and tingling with anticipation. She swallowed hard, her eyes bright and fixed on his face - his beautiful face.

  Carew’s mouth hung open and he breathed too heavily. His heart too must be racing, she told herself, his blood too must be pounding in his veins.

  Yes. This is the moment. This has to be the moment.

  I mustn’t, Carew warned himself, and yet I cannot stop myself. For the briefest of moments, his fingers brushed against the front of the damp, rough material of Oliver’s trousers.

  Katie shivered as she took a deep breath.

  ‘I have to touch you,’ said Carew and licked his dry lips; he wished he could lick the inside of his throat as well.

  ‘Please,’ whispered Katie, her voice sounding half strangled. ‘Please. Touch me.’

  ‘Carew, my dear boy!’

  The door banged as Sir Charles entered and Katie stepped back from the bed.

  Sir Charles beamed, then frowned when he spotted her. ‘What are you doing here, boy? I thought you’d been dismissed.’

  ‘He’s looking for Imran.’ Self-consciously, Carew drew the bedcovers back up. The pinkness of his face had travelled down his neck.

  ‘Really?’ The old knight’s eyebrows disappeared up un
der his fringe. ‘Well, he won’t find him here. The fellow left an hour or so ago. Maude wanted him to drive her into town.’

  ‘Then I’ll go, sir.’

  This can’t be happening, this can’t be happening, said Katie to herself as she began taking backward steps to the door. But it was happening. One moment, she had been willing - no, unable - to resist exposing her true sex, and Carew had been willing to have her no matter what her gender. But Sir Charles had changed all that. Sir Charles had entered and pierced the moment as a pin does a bubble.

  The two men looked at the figure in the damp, dark clothes that they both knew as a boy named Oliver.

  Carew looked crestfallen. However, the moment did not last. ‘Oliver,’ he called and raised his head from the pillow. ‘My dogs have been neglected of late. Would you go and take them for a walk? I would appreciate it,’ he added.

  ‘I will.’ Katie smiled as she said it. She was back at Thompson Towers and Carew did not want to let her go.

  ‘Glad to see you’re back with us.’ The bottom lip of Sir Charles Thompson hung open and a faraway look came to his eyes.

  Katie backed out of the room more quickly and, just as speedily, closed the door behind her.

  Out walking with the dogs, the long grass brushed against her trousers and left them wet and heavy. Trees wept constant excess droplets that dripped on her head and down her neck. They trickled down her spine and into the cleft of her behind.

  Ahead, the dogs ran barking and wagging, snuffling among the dark earth and the thick fronds of dark green fern.

  She felt almost as happy as they did. Sir Charles had intervened and unwittingly stopped her from what might have been a premature act. A better chance would come, she told herself. A better chance was bound to come.

  But her spirits were high, the breeze was warm, and everything around her was sopping with sensuality.

  The dogs ran on, still yapping excitedly. She followed them along a narrow path that snaked out of the long grass and the hanging trees and through to a gap where the blue of the sky was framed by nodding branches.