The shower felt glorious. He’d worked for it. Only two days until the weekend. The weekend and the babe: Calvin’s babe. He ran through the plan Calvin had suggested for Saturday. Bloody deviant, that man.
Jason wasn’t about to turn the suggestion down, though. He liked the idea. It was all for the sake of art, after all, he thought to himself with another grin. He leaned his back against the wall, the full force of the shower coming straight down onto him. He closed his eyes, lazily massaging his stiffening cock with a soapy fist.
Georgie girl, he thought, remembering how inviting her luscious body had looked on those cushions, all that glorious female flesh. Her tits were beautiful, weighty. He imagined them in his hands, molding them while he nudged his cock inside her. His fist began to move faster, the splatter of water on its swollen head sending needles of sensation into his very core. His balls ached, his spine tingling.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t think there was anyone in here.”
Jason’s eyes snapped open. The girl from the counter, Susie, was standing there with a mop in one hand, the shower curtain pulled back in the other.
No one in here? Who was she kidding! She knew exactly what she was doing, and as if to prove the point, she was staring at his cock with avid interest.
“You don’t get many of those to the kilo,” she commented, one overly plucked eyebrow arching dramatically. “Don’t let me interrupt. I do love to watch a man wanking.”
“That’s just as well, because I’m not about to stop now.” Jason had no trouble performing for an audience.
She glanced up and down the shower room, then set aside her mop. “Don’t worry. There’s no one about. Jack’s the only other guy in here, and he’s got a good eight hundred reps to go.” She unzipped her fly and pushed her hand down the front of her shorts “Do you mind if I ...?”
“Not at all,” he grunted, his free hand reaching for his balls. He cupped them, feeling the tautness, reveling in it. He rode his fist up and down the length of his cock from base to tip. She had her hand wrapped round her pussy, rubbing vigorously, holding back the curtain with the other hand, watching him with a glazed expression. Her nipples had peaked, her breasts riding high and firm under her neat white polo shirt.
“Fuck.” Her eyes widened.
“Uhu.” He was about to come. He moved forward. The water hit the base of his spine just as his cock bulged up in his fist and spurted.
He breathed deeply, leaned over, and pulled her hand free. He plunged his hand into the open fly of her shorts instead. She gasped, quickly squirming against the solid mass of his hand.
“Oh, yeah,” she panted, gripping the shower curtain as she rode his hand up and down, fast and wild. He flicked his thumb from left to right over the nub of her clit and was rewarded by a sudden shriek followed by the sound of the shower curtain popping free of its hooks and collapsing in a wet heap on the floor.
* * * * *
Georgie lived in a basement close to the college of art and design. It was a bed/sitting room masquerading as a flat. A tiny bathroom with a creaky shower and plumbing that shuddered each time it was asked to cooperate had been tacked on to give it its exalted status. The main room was arranged around the boiler room for the rest of the building. In one corner, two electric rings and a tiny sink acted as the kitchen. On the other side, a rail with a velvet curtain pinned across it pretended to be a wardrobe. When the door to the flat was opened, it slapped against the side of the bed, which invariably let out a metal-spring laugh in response, like a delighted woman who had been teasingly patted on the rump.
Georgie loved it, although it was always too hot -- the boiler room constantly kept her floating around the space in the flimsiest of garments. Even during the colder weather, she had been kept warm. It came as quite a shock to her body when she stepped outside on those cooler days.
Georgie knew that she was living a somewhat bohemian notion of student life, but she was having fun, and that was more than she had done stuck at home in Randlethorpe for the previous few months. She had a small allowance from her father. Despite the fact that he hadn’t exactly approved of his daughter going off to London to study fashion design, he had eventually agreed to her request. He was well aware that she was suffering from ennui with village life in the heart of the countryside.
Since he had retired his parliamentary seat, Georgie had been at loose ends. Prior to that, she had been his principal caseworker for several years, a job she had truly enjoyed. He knew the prospect of another season of charity ’dos and parties with the neighbors was not going to satisfy the daughter he had sent out to investigate the people’s rights in order to broaden her mind.
Had he realized his daughter was such a sexual libertine, he might have done more to dissuade her from exploring life in the capital, and exploring that side of her life was exactly Georgie’s intention from the moment she had landed in London. She was no shy innocent. She was more than ready to sidestep convention in the pursuit of pleasure.
Saturday morning found her lazing in bed, sipping her freshly brewed coffee, looking over her current design portfolio. She had to choose an outfit to make up for the end-of-term fashion show. She had miraculously secured a place on the prestigious one-term flash course, a foundation course designed to sort the wheat from the chaff. As a result, she already had her place secured for the full diploma course the following year. Half the major European fashion houses picked up designers from the college, so she was delighted with her progress.
She spread her portfolio of sketches across the rose-printed damask bedcover that Felice, her father’s housekeeper, had sent her from home. Her designs were up-beat, kinky club-wear designs for the bold at heart. No shrinking violets would be seen wearing these radical PVC and latex numbers. They reflected her admiration for Gaultier, Westwood, and clothes with a deliberate alternative edge. The striking images contrasted bizarrely with the softly depicted roses on her bedcover, but Georgie liked that kind of difference. She liked to explore both her light and her darker sides. She smiled and glanced at the clock. In a couple of hours she would be with Cal again. She hummed to herself as she dressed. It was a bright, beautiful day, late July, a glorious summer, and the end of her first term in London.
She chose a fitted sheath of a dress in black. It flattered her dark looks. It was important to look right arriving, although she would soon be undressed for the modeling. Cal always looked at her with an enquiring eye as she entered his space. That first glance set the mood for the rest of the session. Georgie was already attuned to his way of working. He intrigued her, and observing him at work was a pleasure in itself.
She swept her hair up into a wide silver clip, treated her full lips to a coat of rich ruby lipstick, and dabbed a little of her favorite Hugo Boss scent along her collarbone.
When she dashed up the tiny stone steps that led from the flat to the street, she took a deep breath. She felt the anticipation humming in her veins as she walked along the busy midday streets toward Cal’s studio apartment.
“Come,” he shouted when she tapped at the door.
He was sitting on a stool in the center of the space, long legs crossed at the ankle, watching the door. His hands slowly folded a dark licorice paper around a thicket of tobacco. Next to him a blank canvas stood on the easel. He had prepared for a new beginning.
As she walked into the studio, she noticed the cushions that were usually spread across the floor where she posed had been replaced by a large, elegant sofa. It was big and wide, like a relic from a stately home, and covered in deep burgundy velvet edged with gold braid. Large tassels hung from the sweep of each armrest to complete its ostentatious presentation. In one corner of the room stood a large, smoothly molded sculpture of a woman with her hands buried between her thighs, one shoulder against the wall as if balancing there while she masturbated. The flagrantly exposed woman made her instantly hot. Was that his intention?
Cal watched her intently as she walked in, following the sw
ing of her hips. He took the cigarette to his mouth as she neared. She smiled, hoping that her face wasn’t too flushed. She breathed him in. The look of him filled her mind. The smell of tobacco, oil paints, and his musk enveloped her body. She reached the easel and collected the box of matches that always sat amongst the paint and brushes on its ledge. As he sucked the flame from her fingertips, he looked into her eyes.
“Thank you, Georgie. You look terrific, very sexy. That’s good. That suits my plans.”
She looked up and met his stare.
“For the painting.” He gestured at the new canvas and smiled at her again.
“What would you like me to do?” She opened her arms, as if to let his artistic persona in.
He stroked his beard, glancing over her body briefly, and then stood up. “Here.” He gestured to the stool. “Just sit. I’ll make some sketches first.”
Georgie took the place he indicated. This was unusual. He invariably worked straight in paint onto the canvas, and only once before -- the first time -- had he left her dressed for a while. He seemed to be waiting. Her mind suggested he was waiting for Jason. She wondered if that was the case. As if in response to the question her mind had posed, Cal spoke.
“I’ve asked Jason to come over later, to help me with this.” He glanced at her to see her reaction.
Georgie was beginning to guess what he might have in mind. “Do you ... work ... together often?” Her pauses were deliberate. She smiled, her mouth twitching when she observed the downward sweep of his lashes before he nodded. Sometimes this man was so direct, and at other times quite devious.
“Occasionally.” His reply was cautious.
“What is it that he helps you with -- the painting or the ... theme?” She couldn’t help herself. She was desperate to know.
“That’s one of the things I like about you. You’re a very candid woman.”
Georgie shrugged. “Sometimes there’s no point beating about the bush, but you’ve avoided my question.” She gave him a cheeky smile.
“So I did. Well, I’m hoping he’ll be able to help me with a little of both.”
“Both?”
“Can I be candid myself?”
She nodded encouragingly.
“I like the way you look when you’re being fucked. I want to capture something of it. However, it’s difficult for me to concentrate when I’m doing the fucking myself.”
Georgie swallowed. It was just as she had guessed, but hearing him say it aloud was quite another thing.
“Does he know what you want him to do?” Her voice was low. Her heart was pounding.
“He seemed very keen, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Georgie blushed. She’d handled herself quite well up to that point, but something in her had to know. Now that it had been said, she realized there was no turning back.
He seemed to sense that she was willing to follow where this led, but that she needed to know more. “Jason’s a pretty cool guy. We’ve been friends for a while. He’s a photographer, mostly broadsheet press, although he sometimes does celebrity interview shots for the gossip magazines. We met in Austria when he was working on a travel shoot there. When I came to London, we got back in touch.”
The charcoal spun in his fingers; he wasn’t drawing. He chuckled to himself. He was working his magic, focusing her on the man who would shortly arrive.
“He’s also a musician, a talented classical guitarist, and a tattoo artist. It’s difficult for him to focus on one thing when so many options in life beckon.” He seemed older and wiser than Jason, but she guessed they were about the same age. Their personalities were what set them apart. Cal was intense, Jason more free-spirited. How fascinating, to have two such different but sexy men on hand. Georgie’s blood was on fire at the very idea of it. She could see it would be impossible to go for long without thinking about sex -- it was their theme, after all.
“What about you? Is painting your favorite thing?”
“Life is too short for favorites, Georgie.” His glance was meaningful. “I would like to try everything. Wouldn’t you?”
Georgie wondered if they were back on the subject of sex, but she was also curious to learn more about him.
“Is that why you teach art as well as practice -- for the variety?”
“I learn from the students. It’s good to see the things they create, their visions of life.”
By the time Jason arrived, they were chatting about the other students at the college. Georgie was older than most of them, and she and Cal shared anecdotes of their antics. The charcoal lazed in the palm of Cal’s hand, occasionally rolling back and forth with his gestures, but Jason brought with him an atmosphere of sensual tension. He was ready to begin. Their voices stilled. The two men exchanged meaningful looks and nodded at each other. Georgie wondered if it was a silent acknowledgment from Cal that the scene was set. Her pulse began to trip higher.
Jason touched Cal lightly on the back in a gesture of greeting as he passed, before walking over to Georgie. He was a very handsome man, his skin warm and lightly tanned, his features classical, his body firmly muscled and attractive. She could see he was ready for some action -- the hunger in his expression was obvious.
He looked into her eyes, then kissed her on both cheeks, his hands slowly smoothing her hair back from her face. The brush of his lips across her face and the musky scent of his skin brought a momentary pause to her breathing. Anticipation forced it on again, more rapidly. She smiled in appreciation and drove the momentary doubts back where they came from in her mind. She wanted this.
“Hello, babe. You’re looking good.”
“You’re looking pretty fit yourself.” She felt reckless and daring, her pulse rate flying up as she allowed herself to take in the presence of so much testosterone.
Cal watched them negotiating each other. She could see he was looking with his artist’s eye, for the painting, but she sensed it was more than that -- it was a thrill to him to share his friends, to offer them to one another in this way. Her body burned up with a mixture of shame and desire. She was about to display herself in a way that she never had before.
“Should we let him watch?” Jason whispered. “We could just tell him to get lost.” Humor danced through his expression.
“I doubt you could make him.”
Jason chuckled. “Perhaps you’re right.”
She glanced at Cal, who frowned at them from across the room. She blew him a kiss. Jason closed on her, kissing her neck while she looked at Cal. Power surged up through her veins. This was going to be good; she knew it.
Jason took off his shirt, dropping it to the floor, his eyes dark with simmering lust as he watched Georgie begin to undress. She glanced appreciatively at the smooth, strong outline of his bare chest. His jeans dropped, and he stepped out of them. His thighs were strong, his hips lean. He was a fit specimen, very well packaged indeed. His cock hung heavy, rising before her. A heavy, insistent pang of desire sprang up deep inside her core, and she glanced away, suddenly light-headed.
He rested his hands on her shoulders, and as they sank lower to curve around her breasts, Cal watched. The touch was like static, a thread of electricity that leapt from the skin of Jason’s palm into the tightening skin of her nipples. Jason looked at her so beguilingly. His expression was filled with a blatant, passionate sexuality. He stirred the palms of his hands, his body closing on hers.
“Shall we give him his fix?”
“Yes, oh, yes,” she murmured. She wanted to do it, all right; she wanted to know what it would feel like to be fucked by Jason and watched by Cal, who was standing with his legs spread, a bulge already visible in his jeans, his expression almost demonic.
When the contact of naked skin began, she was against Jason, gripping onto him, her fingers digging into his buttocks, her body a desperate torch flaring into the atmosphere. Jason responded to her sudden intensity by guiding her to the sofa, kissing her all the while. Georgie took his tongue deep into her m
outh, her body wanting more, feeling the hardness of the erection that was growing so very real against her belly. And those eyes, those eyes that watched.
She sat into one corner of the sofa, her arms draping over the back. She had to grip the velvet cover on the seat to keep steady.
He sank to his knees, pushing her thighs open to lean between them, his mouth buried in the soft skin of her throat. His hands swept up and down the length of her thighs. Georgie felt the slide of her own moistness seeping out, just before his fingers met it in the folds of skin between her legs.
Her hands moved to Jason’s head, closing around it as his mouth opened over her nipple, sucking deep, saliva slipping down from his lips to slide over her flesh. His fingers were inside her, slicking the moisture against the flexing walls of her sex. The engorged head of his penis moved between his fingers, displacing them in its quest for the soft, moist grip of her sex.
He rose up and grappled with her hips, drawing her body forward and pressing her thighs open. As he thrust into her, he glanced at the man watching from the corner of the room. He gave a hint of a smile and drew back, his arms rigid against the sofa, then thrust into her. Georgie cried out in anguish. Her body leeched to that thrust, her mind and body chaotic with abandon, her legs creeping higher around Jason’s body. She felt the velvet against her back and the ride of that thrust. She was locked into it, her body moving in time to meet it. She panted and moaned loudly. She saw the cracked paint on the ceiling fade, and then her eyes closed as she drove harder and harder to meet and take.
“Jesus, man, she feels so good.”
Her eyes opened, Cal was standing next to them, looking down at her face, his expression intense.
“Her pussy is on fire.” Jason gasped. “And just look at those breasts.”
Cal’s hands moved, closing over her distended nipples, pressing between her body and Jason’s. He plucked the sensitive flesh of each knotted nipple between his fingers. Georgie cried out, her whole body in spasm. Jason was moving more rapidly, coming near to his release. But she wanted more of Cal. She gripped Jason’s shoulder and arrested his movements.
Along for the Ride Page 3