The Ninety Days of Genevieve

by Lucinda Carrington

  Genevieve was not sure whether to be annoyed or amused that Bridget was taking her performance seriously.

  ‘All right, expert,’ she challenged. ‘Show me.’

  Bridget pressed the remote control again. The music that came out of the speakers this time was harder and more insistent, a real stripper’s beat. It seemed so appropriate that Genevieve wondered if Bridget had prepared the tape in advance.

  And Bridget was a sensation as a stripper. Genevieve could not believe that this was the same haughty beauty she had smiled at across the dining table earlier that evening. Dancing with professional grace, Bridget made every move erotic. She removed her dress as if she was making love to it. She strutted in her dark-blue lacy underwear. She rolled her stockings down to her knees.

  Genevieve felt her own body moving in time to the beat, and her feet tapping. The thought of watching another woman undress had never excited her before, but now she felt a distinct tension waiting for each item to be removed and tossed away. She realized how a man must feel, wanting to both prolong and end the teasing.

  Bridget’s naked breasts were firm and round and, Genevieve thought, surprising herself, really rather attractive. Standing close to Genevieve’s chair, Bridget worked on her panties. She turned her back and began to rotate her hips suggestively, pushing the flimsy lace garment down to her knees, stepping out of one leg, then the other, tossing the panties into the air on cue to a crash of cymbals. Naked except for her rolled-down stockings and high-heeled shoes she reached out to Genevieve. ‘Come on, darling, show me what you’ve learned. Dance with me.’

  It was then that Genevieve knew she could say no and leave, and that would be that. If she stayed, she was committed. She would experience what would be for her an entirely new way of sex. Did she want to stay? Bridget was still swaying in front of her, smiling—her rounded body an unknown territory, but not a threatening one.

  Yes, Genevieve decided, she wanted to know what it was like to feel those smooth curves, to know how a man felt when he caressed a woman. To know how James Sinclair felt when his hands explored her. She stood up and began to move to the music, closer to Bridget. They were together and yet separate, deliberately avoiding contact to begin with until Bridget put her hands on Genevieve’s shoulders, pulled her close, and kissed her full on the lips.

  It was a long kiss and it left them both a little breathless. Their bodies were touching now, in unexpected places. Genevieve felt Bridget’s hard nipples brushing her skin. Felt her own touch Bridget. Bridget’s mouth moved lightly over Genevieve’s neck and traveled downwards. The music stopped.

  ‘Let’s make love,’ Bridget said softly.

  She bent down and picked up the remote control, and a different kind of music flowed from the speakers, gentle chords and a dreamy saxophone. Genevieve thought it was too convenient to be accidental.

  ‘You planned this,’ she accused, smiling.

  ‘Well, sort of,’ Bridget admitted. ‘You never know if you’re going to meet someone you like. Do you mind?’

  ‘I’ve never been seduced by a woman before.’

  ‘There’s a first time for everything,’ Bridget said. ‘And this is yours, darling.’

  Stretched out languorously on the bed, Genevieve kicked off her shoes. Bridget’s fingers hooked under the elastic top of her knickers, gently slid them down and tossed them on the floor.

  ‘Oh,’ Bridget murmured, ‘you shave. That’s nice. I like that.’ Her mouth traced lingering patterns from Genevieve’s neck to her breasts, drawing circles round the hardening peaks with the tip of her tongue. Genevieve felt warm tremors of pleasure course through her.

  Bridget worked slowly on her body, seeking out all the special places that women know but men often can’t be bothered to discover, licking and stroking unhurriedly, watching Genevieve for indications of sexual excitement. If Genevieve moaned or sighed Bridget lingered there. She seemed content to give pleasure rather than receive it.

  But Genevieve also wanted to give, and the gradual arousal of her body was making it difficult for her to simply stay passive. She reached out and found the softness of Bridget’s breasts. Giving in to an uncontrolled urge she fastened her mouth on a nipple and sucked gently, coaxing the pink tip into an even harder peak with light flicking movements of her tongue. Bridget groaned deep in her throat, offering herself to Genevieve, and Genevieve surprised herself by responding fully to the invitation.

  They explored each other in an uninhibited orgy of sensation. Genevieve revelled in discovering new erotic pathways on Bridget’s supple body, delighted in the small noises she drew from the other woman, shivered with delight as Bridget’s mouth and fingers traced patterns over her own skin. Then Bridget’s hand stroked gently between her legs.

  ‘Darling,’ Bridget murmured, ‘you’re so wet.’

  She slid downward and suddenly Genevieve felt a warm tongue lapping her with soft caresses. The effect was instant. Bridget knew exactly how to tease her clit into full erection, how to prolong the intense agony of pleasure, and how finally to release it. Genevieve’s back arched as the delicious spasms of her orgasm shook her, mounting to a climax and then subsiding gently.

  She lay on the bed for a moment, recovering, feeling that she should offer Bridget the same pleasure, but for a hesitant moment she wondered whether she could actually use her mouth on another woman. She had never had any reservations about performing this service on a man. In fact the way she felt now she could have cheerfully taken James Sinclair’s cock in her mouth and given it the full treatment, forcing him to the brink of release and then torturing him by refusing to oblige. She wondered how long he could control himself then, how long it would be before he groaned for relief. The thought excited her. Her encounter with Bridget had made her feel incredibly sexy.

  Then she realized that Bridget had taken matters into her own hands, literally. With her eyes closed and her face tense with delight, Bridget brought herself to a manual climax that seemed every bit as satisfying and tumultuous as Genevieve’s own. Opening her eyes again she smiled at Genevieve. ‘Sorry, darling. Couldn’t wait.’

  They lay for another ten minutes in sleepy companionship, then Bridget sat up. ‘We can’t stay here forever. Duty calls. I’m going to have a shower, unless you want one first? You can use any of my things. Try the body spray, it’s gorgeous.’

  Showered and dressed, Bridget became once again a glacial and haughty beauty. She helped Genevieve zip up her dress and fix the diamond choker round her neck.

  ‘Playtime’s over,’ she said. ‘Let’s go and find the men.’ Genevieve found James Sinclair more quickly than she expected. He was waiting in the corridor, smoking a thin cheroot. Bridget looked at him archly.

  ‘Not dancing, Mr. Sinclair?’

  ‘You’ve got my partner,’ he said.

  ‘Not any more,’ Bridget replied.

  Sinclair smiled slowly. ‘Playtime’s over, is it?’ he drawled, from behind a blue curtain of smoke.

  ‘For now, ‘Bridget said. She smiled at Genevieve: ‘Maybe we’ll get together again sometime, darling?’

  She swept regally down the corridor. It took a minute for Genevieve to realize what the brief conversation implied.

  ‘You bastard!’ She turned on Sinclair, furiously. ‘You’ve been watching us.’

  ‘Well, of course,’ he said. ‘Didn’t you guess?’

  ‘No, I didn’t.’ She knew now that she should have. No wonder Bridget’s stereo played such appropriate music.

  ‘When I pay for something I expect to get full value.’ He paused. ‘And Bridget doesn’t come cheap.’

  ‘Do you mean she’s a—well—a professional?’ Genevieve stumbled over her words, more from disbelief than embarrassment.

  ‘A whore?’ Sinclair smiled. ‘But of course. And a very expensive one. She used to be a dancer, Royal Ballet I believe, but the pay was terrible, so she took up stripping. Then she found that selling sex was a good way to make a lot of money fast. She
won’t be doing it for much longer, though. When she’s saved enough she’s going to open a riding school.’

  ‘What kind of a hotel is this?’ Genevieve demanded. ‘Are there two-way mirrors in all the rooms?’

  ‘Not in any of them,’ he said. ‘There are other, less obvious ways of accommodating voyeurs. This is a Victorian hotel. The Victorians were quite subtle about their spy holes.’ He drew on the cheroot and blew a cloud of pale smoke into the air. ‘I hope you remember those tips Bridget gave you about stripping. That wasn’t just for fun. I like to get full value on my investments. Practice at home. You’re going to give me a private performance before too long, and I expect it to be good.’ He stubbed out the cheroot in an ashtray. ‘Come on, let’s try a different kind of dancing.’

  She enjoyed the rest of the evening, its formality contrasting strangely with the sexual adventures she had participated in, but at the back of her mind anger was smoldering. She was not worried about Bridget. A professional of her standing would certainly be discreet, but Sinclair had put her in a dangerous position in the corridor. If anyone had seen her and recognized her the publicity could have ruined her. He had broken the rules of their contract. She was determined to have it out with him.

  The last waltz finally came and went and Sinclair guided her off the dance floor. Genevieve saw the stately Margaret coming towards them. Her blue eyes were bright and inquiring.

  ‘Did you enjoy yourself, my dear?’

  ‘Very much, thank you,’ Genevieve admitted, wondering what Margaret would say if she knew exactly what kind of enjoyment she had experienced that evening.

  ‘Everything went very well,’ Sinclair said. ‘Thanks to you, Margaret.’

  ‘I may be old,’ Margaret said, ‘but I haven’t lost my touch.’ They both laughed, and Genevieve suspected they were sharing a private joke, but she had no idea what it could be. She waited until she was in Sinclair’s car before confronting him.

  ‘You broke the rules of our agreement.’

  He slipped the Mercedes into gear and moved smoothly away from the kerb. ‘I never break agreements.’

  ‘You promised that whatever you made me do no one would recognize me,’ she reminded him. ‘And then you stripped me in a public corridor and—well—’ She faltered, remembering that she had reached a point where she had all but forgotten the chance of discovery. ‘You know what you did,’ she finished lamely.

  ‘Gave you one of the best orgasms you’ve ever had,’ he agreed. ‘Made even better because you were so tensed up about being seen. Because secretly you wanted to be seen.’

  ‘I did not,’ she snapped back angrily.

  ‘Oh, not recognized,’ he admitted, ‘but seen. That really turns you on. Admit it.’

  She was not going to admit anything of the sort, although she knew it was true. ‘You promised I’d never be put in that position,’ she accused.

  ‘I kept my promise,’ he said. She started to protest but he silenced her. ‘There was no chance of you being seen or recognized. The whole floor was booked for members of the Order and their guests.’

  ‘And I suppose you’d asked them all personally not to appear in the corridor while we were there?’ she challenged acidly.

  ‘I didn’t,’ he said. ‘Margaret arranged it. And made sure no one came up the stairs until we were safely in our room.’

  ‘Margaret?’ Genevieve could hardly believe it.

  He smiled. ‘Didn’t you get her reference to tradition?’

  She stared at him. ‘What exactly is this Grand Order of the Knights of the Banner, Mr. Sinclair?’ It was her best boardroom voice.

  He slowed down at a set of lights and stopped. ‘A genuine charitable order that does a lot of good work,’ he said. ‘The story is that when the Order was founded, over ninety per cent of its members were so straight and conventional you could have drawn squares with them. The others,’ the Mercedes slid forward again, ‘were maybe a little less so. When these particular Victorians grew bored with too many long meetings, they arranged to slip away for some fun and games upstairs. All very discreet. The girls were well paid if they were pros, and those that weren’t just had a good time. Over the years it became a tradition. It still is. We always use the second floor and all the little conveniences that those Victorian adventurers arranged for their personal entertainment.’

  ‘Like the spy holes?’ Genevieve kept her voice cool and disapproving. ‘I just can’t believe Margaret approved any of this, let alone helped you.’

  ‘You’ve misjudged Margaret,’ Sinclair said. ‘She loves to be involved. She’s the one who recommended Bridget.’ He turned his head slightly and grinned. ‘She also thought you might make a pretty good stripper, with practice. She loved your other performance, too. And don’t worry,’ he added quickly when he sensed she was about to protest, ‘Margaret’s the soul of discretion. She’s had a lifetime’s practice. She was a star performer on the second floor in her youth.’

  The package that fell through Genevieve’s letterbox the following morning contained a single CD with two words printed on the cover: REHEARSAL MUSIC. When she slipped it into the stereo the first tune to beat out from the speakers was the David Rose classic: ‘The Stripper.’

  Chapter Five

  Alone in her flat, Geneviere was practicing her striptease. Pictures of Sinclair filled her mind, and when her phone rang, she was certain that it would be him. The thought of speaking to him while she was stripping made her feel sexy. She picked up her mobile abruptly, one hand behind her back searching for the hook on her bra.

  ‘Hallo, big sister. How’s life?’

  ‘My life’s fine,’ she said, taking her hand off her bra and making an effort not to sound disappointed. ‘What’s the problem?’

  There was a pause. ‘Why should I have a problem?’

  ‘Why else do you ring me?’

  ‘Well, that’s charming,’ Philip said. ‘I think I’ll ring off.’

  ‘Okay,’ she said. And waited.

  ‘It’s my girlfriend,’ Philip said. ‘She’s ditched me.’

  ‘The one you had the nice cut and dried sex contract with?’

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t put it like that. The one I thought I’d squared things with, yes.’

  ‘What was wrong this time? Not politically incorrect again?’

  ‘Worse.’ Philip paused dramatically. ‘She said I was boring.’

  ‘But I thought you agreed on a program of fun and games?’

  ‘That’s why she said I was boring. She said it was like having sex to a timetable. She said I wasn’t spontaneous.’ Philip sounded genuinely hurt. ‘And I thought that was what she wanted. To be consulted. I respected her opinions.’ He added accusingly: ‘What exactly do you women want from men? You’re a woman. Tell me the secret.’

  ‘If I could answer that I’d write a book and make a fortune,’ Genevieve said. ‘We’re all different, little brother. You have to play it by ear.’

  ‘That’s a great help,’ Philip said. ‘How do I get some decent sex, that’s what I want to know?’

  ‘Pay for it,’ Genevieve suggested.

  ‘You’re joking!’ Philip sounded horrified.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Genevieve said innocently. ‘Is that politically incorrect too?’

  ‘It’s disgusting. That’s what dirty old men do. Or wimpy nerds who can’t get a woman any other way.’

  ‘Actually it isn’t,’ Genevieve said. ‘It’s often what men do when they’ve got a special need that they can’t find anyone to satisfy. Which sounds a bit like you.’

  ‘You make me sound like a pervert,’ Philip said. ‘All I want is a no-strings relationship with a girl who’s willing to lie there and let me do things to her while she’s helpless. Or pretending to be helpless. I’d even tie her hands very loosely so she could get away easily if she wanted to. And I don’t want someone who’s doing it for money, or playing “let’s pretend.” I’d actually like her to enjoy it too. I’m sorry if you find that
a bit shocking, but I don’t think it’s too much to ask.’

  ‘I don’t find the tying-up bit shocking,’ Genevieve said. ‘It’s the fact that you seem to be more interested in sex than a loving relationship that bothers me.’

  ‘Don’t get all old-fashioned on me, sis. I know women have got minds and feelings and all that. I’m surrounded by female students all day, for God’s sake, and most of them are feminists. But there are times when I don’t want to discuss political theory or environmental problems. Or be a shoulder to cry on. Or be good friends. There are times when I just want to—well—have sex.’

  ‘Perhaps when you want to make love,’ Genevieve said, ‘you’ll have better luck.’

  ‘A lot of help you are,’ Philip said. And rang off. Genevieve put the phone down and smiled. But she did wonder if she was really a hypocrite to lecture her brother on love. What would he say if he knew the kind of relationship she was currently involved in? Sinclair had already accused her of selling herself, and she supposed that it would look like that to Philip too. The fact that she now felt comfortable with Sinclair, and couldn’t imagine indulging in any of the sexual adventures that he arranged with anyone else was a bonus. She had been lucky. Her business arrangement had turned into a pleasure-filled adventure.

  But would it last beyond the ninety days?

  The morning had dragged on longer than normal. Genevieve had been closeted with a particularly argumentative client who disagreed with virtually everything she suggested and whose ideas seemed to Genevieve to be fifty years out of date. She sighed with relief when he had gone, and went to get herself a cup of coffee.

  On the way back she passed two colleagues gossiping about their holiday. Snippets of conversation followed her.