Going Too Far

by Unknown

  While I enjoyed the wrapping-up process and the initial attention, being a slug soon got a trifle boring, especially as the guests were launching into the wine. I’d just started to wonder how long the show was going on for when Jorge signalled me to make for the gallery door and I wriggled as fast as I could towards him. He was in the lobby with the door marked ‘Private’ open and I slid in there with relief.

  ‘Photocall, Bliss. You’ve been wonderful. Won’t be long now, then just one more thing . . .’

  The flash blinded me. Like Susie I was going to be immortalised on his gallery wall; would Carlos see me? He took several shots from different angles and then took off the cap and removed the clingfilm from my mouth.

  ‘Wine!’ I said urgently, and he laughed.

  ‘Wine, sure. But first you need to get that plastic stuff off your body, and I thought after you’ve showered Ulla could massage you with some essential oils. OK?’ He started to unwind me.

  ‘Fine, as long as I can have a drink at the same time.’ I would have agreed to anything for a large glass of wine.

  ‘The other thing is, I’m getting into audio as well. What I’d like to do is tape you talking while Ulla massages you: first describing being tied and wrapped up, what it was like being a slug, what you were thinking, and what you’re thinking about Ulla’s massage as well, describing where she’s working and so on; and try to put the tape and photographs together. What do you think?’

  ‘It sounds like a candidate for the next Turner prize. I’ll do it.’

  He smiled. ‘Good. We’ll see if it works. Being in English will be great. You get your shower and I’ll get you a drink and fetch Ulla.’

  ‘And now I’m having a massage from Ulla, the one I mentioned in the nurse’s uniform, to get some essential oils into my skin after the plastic wrap – can I have some more wine? Oh, sorry, but I expect you’ll be editing this, won’t you?’

  ‘Yes to both,’ said Jorge, grinning and getting up for the bottle. The microphone, which he had been holding to my mouth, was propped on the pillow. ‘Don’t stop, though. What exactly is Ulla doing now?’

  Before he poured the wine he took another photo.

  ‘Massaging me, I said,’ I repeated, getting slightly exasperated, though frankly I think it had more to do with two large glasses of wine on an empty stomach than any real disgruntlement. After all I was quite appreciating Ulla’s hands on my back, especially now as she rotated them firmly over my buttocks.

  ‘Detail, Bliss,’ said Jorge as he handed me another glass of Cab Sav. ‘Actually turn over, it’ll be more interesting.’

  I assumed he meant for the photo he took as I turned and settled lazily on my back, though I realised what he really meant when Ulla’s capable hands moved on to my breasts. I giggled.

  ‘Right, I know what you mean. Her hands are on my tits – breasts – edit out what you want. It’s nice.’

  ‘Exciting? As exciting as being the slug?’ He zoomed in to my tits.

  ‘Different. I told you, I liked the crowd watching me, legitimately, as an artist, even though it was a bit like being a stripper. But contact is . . . well, more immediately pleasurable.’

  Her hands moved to my stomach, which was a bit disappointing. I was starting to hope for some nipple teasing at least.

  ‘How exciting, Ulla?’

  Why was he asking her? I didn’t have to wonder for long as she pushed two fingers inside me. Well, I said she was like a nurse, but I must admit it wasn’t much like a medical.

  ‘About as good as it gets,’ she said quietly, moving her hands back to my stomach. I started to wonder if I’d imagined it but, no, she’d definitely penetrated me. This wasn’t going to be an ordinary massage.

  ‘Bliss?’

  I was neglecting my commentary duties.

  ‘Ulla just penetrated me with two fingers, obviously on instruction to see if my excitement had produced lubrication,’ I enunciated pedantically. ‘And it had.’

  ‘Does that mean you’re hoping for sex, Bliss? And with who?’

  ‘Whom,’ I corrected, a touch acidly.

  Jorge laughed and took the wine out of my hand. ‘Enough of that. I’ve got a better idea.’

  Before I could say sorry, yes I am hoping for sex, you’ll do nicely, he pulled my arms above my head and fastened each wrist to a corner of the massage table with leather straps. Massage table, that’s what they’d called it. I started to wonder if I’d been right about Ulla being more into flagellation than Swedish massage. She was busy fastening my ankles to the bottom of the table, of course.

  After the inevitable photo I dutifully told the tape machine what was happening and admitted that I was not displeased. I had to confess as well that when the oily hands pulled my labia apart and smeared my wetness over my clit and started to massage me with feathery strokes rather than the firmer ones I’d been enjoying on my body I was equally happy. Describing Ulla’s every stroke, probe, rub and caress into the microphone turned me on almost as much as the fingers themselves and Jorge’s eyes flickering from Ulla’s attention to my face didn’t make it worse. I was slightly tipsy and it made me loud and maybe slurry and slightly theatrical as my voice rose to tell the tape how she had two fingers pressing inside me and her little finger ringing my arse but most of all her other hand was on my clit. My orgasm must have been about two seconds away as Jorge raised his hand and she stopped abruptly.

  ‘Hey! I was just about to come!’ I tried to sit up but only managed to lift my body, which had anyway been straining upwards towards Ulla’s practised hand.

  ‘Not yet,’ said Jorge. ‘I want more words. Tell me about the sex you’ve had in South America.’

  ‘Oh shit,’ I muttered. Not that there was anything to hide – he was Carlos’s friend and they shared Susie so I knew there would be no secrets there, and I wouldn’t have been surprised if Carlos hadn’t already told him about Red and Robbie – but because I was loving the manual attention. ‘Only if I can have some more fingering.’

  ‘Of course. Just more slowly, Ulla. A slow build up. Go on, Bliss.’

  With my arms and legs tied and almost farcically desperate to come I didn’t feel I had much choice. Ulla moved her hands over my breasts, ignoring my overheated sex for the time being, and talking about my introduction to bondage while having my nipples teased was just fine.

  I’d moved on to exhibitionism and the size of Red’s prick by the time she’d moved her hands back down. She was bloody good at this.

  ‘And who are these men? Australians, did you say?’

  ‘Yeah, mature students, from Perth, into the environment and, what do you call it, ethical consumerism and stuff.’

  Ulla’s fingers were playing me like a harp and the melody was sweet. I just hoped he’d let her pluck me to a climax this time.

  ‘Interesting. So are they studying here?’

  ‘No, just backpacking, though they’re doing some work while they’re here. They went to visit the big copper mine up north. I forget why, something about one they had on some island near Australia that was polluting everything, stuff like that.’

  Her little finger was in my arse while the other fingers brushed lightly over my cunt. The other hand was the one with the finger that was made to massage a clitoris and that’s just what it was doing. Unwillingly I dragged my attention back to Jorge who was asking about activism.

  What?

  OK, let’s not be paranoid about this. A close friend of a powerful and possibly unscrupulous businessman who is being spied on by two activists has you tied up and has rendered you desperate for an orgasm. As you’re on the verge of one he’s asking you leading questions.

  Just because he’s out to trap you doesn’t mean you’re not paranoid.

  Luckily I have this knack of putting sex first. While my mouth formed words that appeared to be the beginning of an answer to Jorge’s question, my body tensed and pushed against Ulla’s hands. Despite her light strokes my muscles were strong enough – prac
tice, practice – to go over the top into a tumbling, spiralling spasm and my words trailed off and my eyes closed. Apart from the climax itself I was damn pleased with myself for pulling it off. I reckoned I could make a pretty good spy after all.

  ‘Sorry, Jorge, that orgasm took my breath away – do you want me to describe it for the tape?’ I asked innocently. ‘Where were we, anyway?’

  ‘The Australians,’ he said. I don’t think I was imagining the slightly defeated look in his eyes.

  ‘Oh, yes. Activists?’ I laughed dismissively. ‘You know, they might be called mature students, but I don’t think they’re either mature enough or bright enough for that. But then I don’t really care about their brains; it’s their brawn I’m interested in.’

  I yawned theatrically. ‘God, I’m tired. What with the wriggling, the wine, the massage and, oh, thanks Ulla, the sex, I’m really beat. Do you think you’ve got enough on the tape now?’

  Five minutes later I was in my room smirking at my brilliance, though underneath the bravado I felt a bit wobbly about Jorge’s questions. It proved that Carlos suspected that Red and Robbie were up to something. The question was, did he think I was in with them, or did he assume I was an innocent caught up with these fearsome radicals?

  As far as Jorge was concerned it didn’t matter; it was my last night in the hotel. The next day was Monday, when I was due to meet the boys. We were heading south for a town called Pucon, where they planned to walk up to the crater of a volcano. I thought I’d probably had enough personal eruptions for the time being, but you never know.

  I slept the sleep of the just, the stupid and the satisfied, feeling slightly like I had elements of all three.

  Chapter Seven

  Red and Robbie were unsurprised by Jorge’s attempt at espionage but impressed with my avoidance of his trap, though I expected more lavish praise. I think they were still distracted by the thought of me slithering around the floor in nothing but clingfilm, my debut as a performance artist being the first thing I had told them.

  They had news, too. Their contact on Chiloe had told them that Carlos was renting one of the most prestigious houses on the island. He hadn’t moved in yet but had set up meetings with important local government officers and wealthy businessmen.

  ‘How does your contact know all this? And how did you get a contact there anyway?’

  Robbie shook his head. ‘You don’t need to know that. The safe way for us to work is with minimum information, Bliss. We don’t know much more ourselves.’

  I was impressed. They clearly knew how to do this properly. I’d read the same thing in Mum’s favourite novel about a revolutionary in the US back in the good old days before I was born. But in the book they were blowing up banks and oil companies. This seemed trite in comparison.

  ‘Are you sure you’re not being a little bit theatrical about this? We’re talking about a holiday complex, right? A sort of Club Med, Center Parc effort? Is that such a big deal?’

  Robbie nodded. ‘A very big deal, Bliss. We’re talking about a massive development here. One that could spread over the whole island and turn it into a theme park rather than a real place. A theme park with only one employer dictating wages and conditions. Buying up land thanks to bribing government officials and kicking off the indigenous people. Reproducing the local handicrafts in sweatshops, probably in China. Taking over the local hotels and restaurants, disenfranchising and disempowering the local people, and sending all the profits to the States; doesn’t that sound like a big deal?’

  ‘OK. So from the sound of it he’s going there to start the bribery and so on. But he told me we were taking a bit of a holiday, and he wanted me to give him my opinion of the place. What am I going to be doing while he has his meetings?’

  Dim, Bliss. As the words came out of my mouth a picture came into my mind of Carlos and Señor X sitting by the pool while a bikini-clad waitress brought them a tray of drinks. I just hoped that waitress was the extent of the job description.

  ‘I assume you two would tell me if your “contact” implied that the local bigwigs were being offered any sexual favours in return for their co-operation?’

  Red looked genuinely indignant. ‘Shit, Bliss, what do you take us for? Can you believe that we’d really let you go into this if we thought he was going to try to use you as a bribe?’

  Robbie too seemed horrified. Bless. Given the nature of my relationship with Carlos, not just the bondage but the participation of unknown others, it hadn’t been too great a leap to imagine myself bound and blindfolded while Señor X got his reward for pushing through planning permission or selling his land. Equally, given the boys’ ignorance of that relationship their shock at my suspicion was normal. I realised how far I’d come since I arrived in South America; maybe too far. It was time to tell Red and Robbie about Carlos’s tastes and my own happy accommodation of them, but I would save it for when we were alone.

  Uncannily, my thought appeared to prompt Red to tell me something; not that I believe in telepathy, or any of that psychic stuff, but it was strange.

  ‘Robbie’s got some adventures to tell you about later.’

  So, we could take turns.

  Robbie raised a sardonic eyebrow. ‘Yeah, but as we’ll be on the bus all night I reckon it’ll have to wait.’

  ‘Oh I don’t know. I haven’t managed to get to sleep on a bus yet. You know how to whisper, don’t you, Robbie?’

  In view of our saving on another night’s lodging by taking the night bus we were splashing out on a terrific lunch in Santiago’s fish market, which was brilliant, full of restaurants that were all packed and noisy, though according to Red the one in Sydney was just as good. We’d met up in the office of the shipping line to book our passage on the boat down to Patagonia. Luckily we all agreed we didn’t fancy being in a 20-bed dormitory-type-cabin but the smaller ones only came in even-numbered berths. Robbie quickly invented a friend, whom I christened Miss Bertha Vida, to share our four-berth cabin but without Bertha’s presence or passport they would only book her in provisionally. As it was unlikely that Bertha would turn up in their office to claim her place it looked like we would have a stranger to share with. You win some, you lose some. It might spoil our games, but on the other hand the right person might provide us with a new source of mutual pleasure . . . I put that thought out of my mind. Three in a sex game was, frankly, more than enough.

  We wandered around the city, watching the chess games in the central square, strolling up the hills of Cerro Santa Lucia, where I tried unsuccessfully to get the guys to split up and pretend to be on the pull, it being a big gay area. But I guess that men just don’t feel the same way about bisexuality as women, or at least if they’re macho Australians they daren’t admit it. It would have been a bit of a blast to hear about their adventures; I felt sluttish and demanding and wanted Red to give me lots of hands-on attention while Robbie supplied the eyes-on variety. My performance the previous day had left me with an erotic charge that was still smouldering enough to communicate itself to the boys, though the only place I could think of to satisfy the edgy hunger we were all infected with was Jorge’s hotel, which in the circumstances was not one of my better ideas.

  The bus wasn’t full and we had arrived early so we spread ourselves over the back seat, talking loudly so as to put others off sitting near us. Red propped himself up in the corner and pulled me close but facing away from him towards Robbie. As we draped our fleeces and sweaters over us as blankets and the video started its Spanish dubbing of Clear and Present Danger, Robbie’s deep, rough voice started telling me about the girl he’d met in the mountains.

  She was with a friend – Red had been unfaithful! Though Red pointed out that he’d only gone along with the foursome because Robbie hadn’t been getting any for a while – and the two guys thought they’d done pretty well for themselves when they got talking over the camp stoves on the first night.

  The girls were Becky and Tasha from New York State. The guys had taken a
couple of cartons of wine with them and they shared one and Tasha started flirting with Robbie. The logical conclusion to the evening was that Red moved in to the girls’ tent and Tasha took her sleeping bag and bedroll in to Robbie’s.

  ‘Up till then it was fine,’ he said gloomily. ‘But, Jesus Christ, Bliss, though she’d been all over me and stripped off and cried out when I played with her breasts, when it came to touching her down below she was as dry as – as –’

  ‘A kookaburra’s khyber?’ I supplied from my Barry Mackenzie guide to Australian slang.

  ‘A nun’s nasty?’ offered Red slyly, giving me an alternative and somewhat unpleasant addition to my slang vocabulary. It confirmed my growing suspicion that Australians may be great at sport, terrific at fighting globalism and superb sexual partners but when it comes to the finer cultural points they belong firmly in the bottom division.

  I shrugged. ‘So, you know what to do with a girl, don’t you?’

  ‘Sure. I moved my mouth down there and she was gasping and oh my God-ing, as American women do, as though she was on the verge of coming, but I just knew she wasn’t getting anywhere near ready. I tried a little more and then fingered her and fucked her and fingered her some more but I knew she was just putting on the verbals.’

  ‘Shit. I’m sorry, Robbie. After you’ve been so good with me you deserved it.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s what I thought. But to be fair she was sucking me and rubbing her tits over me and saying fuck me and so on, so I guess she was trying, but without her getting something out of it I wasn’t interested. So I started talking to her like I do to you and she seemed to breathe a bit quicker, so my hands were working overtime and when she said fuck me now, I’m ready, I did and I came, but she didn’t.

  ‘“Tell me what you want me to do,” I said to her. And she burst into tears. I just held her, wishing to God you hadn’t gone to Santiago and then she started going on about being worthless, how she was just a tramp for the way she came on to me, what was I doing with a slut like her and so on. Really over the top, you know? So I cuddled her and told her that was bullshit and she wasn’t at all worthless and she kept insisting she was, and how I must think her such an easy lay but then she wasn’t any good for anything else, and suddenly I got the message.’