Exotika 03 - On the Loose

by Tesni Morgan

  They sat in silence for a while longer and she tried to concentrate on the dancers, then he said, “D’you want another drink?”

  “No. I’m going home.”

  They walked in silence and when they reached her garden, he took his helmet and was about to put in on, when he suddenly turned to her and said, “This wasn’t a good idea.”

  “No, it wasn’t.”

  “It’s just that I don’t like to see someone like you taken advantage of. I’ve heard things. People talk. And Laurette is a vicious bitch.”

  “I can look after myself. Mind your own business.”

  The walled garden was moonlit and she ached for David to be there, not this barbarian, who threw down his helmet and dragged her up against him, hard. “You’re a stubborn sheila, aren’t you?”

  “Let me go!”

  For answer, he almost lifted her off her feet as his mouth came down on hers, forcing her lips apart and savaging her with his tongue. She was unable to stop him as he untied the halter neck and pushed her dress down to her waist, exposing her breasts. She gasped as those large hands cupped each globe, while his fingers pinched her nipples. His mouth stifled any protests and she was unable to give them anyway, every feeling numb, save that of passion. Matt was like a tropical storm, sweeping all before him. Her efforts were puny compared to the strength of his will and desire.

  His knee was between hers, and her skirt wrinkled up, baring her thighs and belly. His hands were everywhere, their rough caresses arousing her, despite herself. His leather trousers were tight, but his penis swelled. She could feel it pressing against her, and her hands seemed to have a mind of their own, reaching for his crotch, her fingers running up and down the impressive length.

  He thrust her from him momentarily, his action coming as a shock as he pushed her facedown across the seat of the Harley. He whipped up her skirt and she felt the air on her cleft, her sex protected by no more than the skimpiest of thongs. He was behind her as if about to mount her like an animal, but first he let his fingers run around the edge of the material, lifting it away and finding her pussy.

  “You’re wet. Quit pretending that you don’t want this.” And he smoothed her love juice over her clit and began to stroke it.

  It was a marvelous feeling. He knew exactly what to do, his touch sometimes soft, sometimes hard, subjecting her little organ to a rough frig, then leaving it and concentrating on her labia. She moaned and managed to forget who was giving her such extreme pleasure, pretending that it was David. Eyes tight shut, she could blot out the garden and imagine that it was her boss who held her. She relaxed, gave herself up to her dream lover, pictured his face, could almost smell him as her climax approached.

  Then, with a cruel abruptness, Matt flung her from him. “You bloody little cheat! I know your game and believe me, Miss Hewitt, you can’t use me as your pawn. No woman thinks about another man while I’m with her. And that’s what you’re doing, isn’t it? Pretending that I’m David Farlan. To hell with it! I’d rather jerk off.”

  He opened the gate, clapped on his helmet and fired up the Harley. With a roar that mirrored his rage, the machine leapt into the road and away.

  “Damn you!” Carenza screamed, rushing out and seeing the rear light disappearing around a corner. “Damn you to hell! I hope you end up under a bus!”

  * * * * *

  Vicky rang David’s office and asked if he could see her and Joanna with view to a discussion about his proposed TV program. Carenza had told her that he already had several stars booked but this didn’t deter her.

  “What did he say?” Joanna asked.

  “He’s up for it.” Vicky had a tall glass in one hand and a cigarette in the other. She was stretched out in a wicker chair on the patio, a gibbous moon appearing above the rooftops, the daytime clamor of Kensington reduced to a distant hum.

  “Do we tell Carenza?”

  “Later.” Vicky gave a throaty chuckle. “Let’s test lover boy and see just how sincere he is, or isn’t. We don’t want our friend getting entangled with a mind fucker, do we?”

  “Right on. And how far are we prepared to go?”

  “Let’s play it by ear or whatever comes to hand. And never forget that we’re doing it for her. Don’t want her to go to Wales and into the den of the Big Bad Wolf unless we’re there to keep an eye on her.”

  David had arranged to see them at lunchtime the next day. Vicky guessed correctly that the office would be vacated then with the staff off for their break. She smiled to herself as she steered her car into the parking area, nodded to the man detailed to keep an eye out for thieves and entered the tower block. Joanna was at her side and both of them were wearing their most tasty gear, short, diaphanous skirts and revealing tops, high-heeled sandals and bare, tanned legs. They hadn’t had to discuss their plan, and would take their cue from one another if and when situations of a personal nature arose.

  The elevator carried them smoothly to the top floor, the whole edifice one of super-modern efficiency, light and airy as an elf king’s palace. The two women exchanged a glance that said it all. This man had influence and money.

  A dour-faced secretary, who eyed them up and down as if they were bits of rough trade, showed them into the holy of holies. “I’m Ruth Norton, Mr. Farlan’s secretary. I’ll tell him that you’re here.” Her voice could have cut through steel. “Please don’t hold him up and prevent him from having lunch. He really needs to eat regularly.”

  “Who does she think she is? His nanny?” Vicky said to Joanna.

  “She wishes!”

  Ruth disappeared through a door, then returned directly and told them they could go in. David was sitting at his massive desk in a room redolent of technological know-how. He must have a brain the size of a planet to cope with it all, Vicky thought, then concluded that they had all grown up with computers, mobiles, digital cameras and the like. It no longer took a genius to understand them.

  He was facing the wide windows, gazing out at the dockland below and the river sparkling as it wound its way down to Greenwich and the open sea. He swung around as they entered, rested his elbows on the desktop and stared at them steadily for a moment, then he rose, shook their hands and ushered them into chairs. “I’ve met you before. You faces are familiar.”

  “In the Barley Corn Club, not long ago. Upstairs, not in the bargain basement.” Vicky let him know that she was familiar with the scene. She sat down and crossed her legs in a provocative manner that she had perfected.

  He smiled, cocking an eyebrow and resuming his place behind the desk. “And even then I felt I had seen you somewhere else. And you too, Miss Marsden.”

  “Let’s not be formal. You can call me Joanna. You’ve probably read my column. We’re all in the entertainment business in some form or other.” She ran her fingers provocatively through her spiky auburn hair.

  “That’s true.” He exuded charm in his shirtsleeves and slacks, immaculate and unfazed. “You are Carenza’s friends.”

  “You’ve got it in one,” said Vicky, as blonde and rangy as Joanna was small and pixie-like.

  “And you think you are well-known enough for the public to want to watch you coping in the wilds of Wales?”

  “Let’s face it. The public are out for prurient thrills, and these sorts of programs are disgustingly salacious. All the viewers want is to somehow catch people at it. Give me porn any time. At least it is honest. But I can do whatever is required. I don’t mind showing my assets to the cameras.”

  “Neither do I. It’ll be a hoot, and not to be taken seriously.” Joanna leaned forward slightly so that her cleavage deepened. Vicky applauded her silently. They could both see what kind of a man he was, used to getting his own way. Not the right boyfriend for Carenza.

  He wasn’t averse to any display, and Vicky made sure that her skirt rose another couple of inches, giving him a glimpse of white thong. His reaction convinced her even more that he was no suitable beau for Carenza. He’d only let her down.

/>   He’s a dark horse, she thought, so cool he might have been conceived on an iceberg. She took up the challenge. Here was a worthy opponent, but heaven help anyone who fell in love with him. Did she desire him? Not really. This was simply a matter of business. She could take her pick of a dozen men if she wanted sex, and there was no way she intended to rain on Carenza’s parade. She was doing this in her friend’s best interests.

  “You do realize that I shall ask you to perform…shall we say…unusual tasks?” he said, and she recognized the masterful timbre of his voice. He’s into domination, she decided. I can cope with that. But would Carenza? She doubted it.

  “It’ll take a lot to shake us.” Joanna joined in and Vicky hoped she wasn’t falling for his charisma, but knew her friend well and had witnessed her using and then discarding equally strong men.

  His lips curved in that enigmatic smile that was part and parcel of his act. She doubted that anyone knew the real person behind the façade. “Brave words. I take it that you did a stint at summer camp when you were kids, learning about self-sufficiency. It’s those sorts of skills you’ll need. Matt will be your leader.”

  “Is he the lure? He’s a hunk,” Vicky retorted. “What about you? Where do you fit in?”

  “I shall hole up at Tretowyn Manor. Everyone will spend the first night there. You’ll find it more than just interesting, I promise you. That is, if I decide you’re right for the job.”

  “You want to see if we are photogenic? That can be arranged.” She stood up, seized the hem of the ragged, distressed and fiercely expensive top that she had designed herself and pulled it over her head, careful not to disarrange her hair extensions.

  He stared at her, but only for a fraction, then came toward her, tall, masterful, with an erection lifting the front of his superbly cut Italian-made trousers. His hands were big too, the nails manicured and she didn’t move as he cupped her breasts, squeezing them and rolling his thumbs over the prominent nipples.

  “Beautiful.” He weighed each breast in a palm and hovered over the tips as if about to suck them. “And real. You are fortunate to be so well blessed. Maybe I’ll introduce you to the joys of my manor house. You’d get off on my well-equipped play rooms.”

  Vicky’s ears pricked up. “Oh? Do you mean games rooms?” His touch was almost her undoing for, despite her resolve, pleasurable sensations shot straight to her clit. He knew his stuff, all right. His eyes met hers and the mockery in their depths let her know that he knew how she was feeling.

  “You could call them that or even dungeons, if you wanted to be dramatic. These are games for adults.”

  “Sounds more than just interesting, unless I’ve got it wrong.” His erection was fascinating her and she avoided Joanna’s stern eyes and added, “You’re well endowed, Mr. Farlan. Won’t you show us your cock, as a sign of good faith.”

  He gave an almost boyish grin, admiring her nerve. “Are you ready for this?”

  “Ooh! Is it that impressive?” She dared him to take up the gauntlet. “It will have to be a monstrous dick to impress us.”

  “You asked for it.” And he slipped a hand into his fly and lifted his cock from the silk boxer shorts. It was hard and eager and so tempting that Vicky went down on her knees and took it into her mouth until it butted the back of her throat. By now Joanna had stripped, her small breasts firm, the ginger floss covering her mound proving her to be a natural redhead.

  As David stood there, receiving Vicky’s blowjob, Joanna got behind him, opened his shirt and caressed his puckered nipples. Between them, the women forced a groan from his lips, the combined pleasure making him lose control.

  Vicky choked on his hugeness and rocked her head, pulling on his cock with a light suction, tasting the saltiness of his pre-cum. She tickled the ridge of his foreskin with her tongue, and worked his chinos around his hips so that she could cradle his heavy balls in their wrinkled sac. Joanna was rubbing herself against him, winding her thigh around his and moving her cleft up and down.

  Experienced cocksucker that she was, Vicky could tell to a microsecond when he was about to lose it. She lifted her head, staring at the bulbous red helm weeping clear tears, the whole mighty appendage shuddering as she abandoned it in its moment of desperate need. Joanna left his nipples too.

  “Ladies, ladies, what are you doing? Don’t stop,” he groaned, and it was more than just satisfying to hear such a man begging.

  Vicky slapped his tool relentlessly, making it jerk and sway, subjecting him to such painful pleasure that he very nearly spurted over her. “You haven’t said we can take part in your documentary,” she declared, looking up into his face. It was contorted and this gave her almost as much pleasure as if he had been licking her pussy.

  “All right, all right. I was going to anyway. Now finish me off, for Christ’s sake, you bitches, or I’ll see that you never get on TV.”

  So they did, working together on David’s flesh, using their considerable skill to bring him to such a pitch that he yelped as he came, bedewing Vicky’s chin, hair and breasts.

  “But you girls didn’t get off,” he said when he had recovered, dried his penis on a tissue and tucked it back behind his zipper.

  “Don’t worry about this, boy-o.” Vicky mopped his tribute from her, while Joanna and Vicky dressed again. “We can pleasure each other. No sweat. Want to watch? No? Then we’ll reserve that treat for you when we get to your stately home.”

  He grinned. “I imagine that you’ll be appreciative of what I have on offer and fit into the event very well, on all counts.”

  She winked at Joanna, pleased with the result. Now Carenza wouldn’t be alone, that babe in the woods who didn’t know a wolf from a prince. Aloud, she said, “Thanks, we’ll look forward to it. Get your secretary to put a contract together and fill us in about details. Is she coming too?”

  “Naturally. She’s invaluable. Knows the ropes. Keeps it all together.”

  “Have you fucked her yet?”

  “That’s an odd question, and none of your damn business, but no, I haven’t. She’s not exactly my type.”

  “Don’t give me that.”

  “Ruth has her place in the scheme of things. She will organize us, keep the director, participants and cameramen sweet and stop me from having a nervous breakdown. Now, hop it, girls. You’ve got what you came for. We’ll get contracts ready and later on, Ruth will tell you when we’re going and what to bring.”

  “And that’s that.” Vicky slipped her arm through Joanna’s as they went down in the elevator. “He just needs handling in the right way.”

  “We certainly did that.”

  “Don’t let on to Carenza that we’ve been playing with his willy. Not yet anyway, while she’s still carrying a torch for him.”

  “Right, commander. Anything you say.” Joanna saluted sardonically as the lift jerked to a halt. “But he’s enormously well heeled, isn’t he? Bet he’s worth a fortune.”

  “He’s a scumbag and certainly not my type.” Vicky found her car, put it in gear and left the area with the sense of a job well done. “His cock is huge, bigger even than Rob’s. I’m not sure I could take it.”

  “But you’d like to try?”

  “Maybe,” Vicky said coolly, a thoughtful smile playing around her lips, those same lips that had done such sterling work on David Farlan.

  Chapter Five

  They were nearly ready. FWDs and vans were loaded with equipment, and Eddie Bartlett, the director, vying with makeup, costumes and caterers for space and attention. David’s limousine had been replaced with a vehicle supplied by the sponsor. In this business, the perks were considerable.

  By nine-thirty, tempers were getting frayed, chiefly David’s. He was anxious to be off. Wales was a distance away. He had wanted to miss the early morning traffic, but no chance of that now. They were waiting for Laurette.

  “She’s always late.” Carenza was leaning against Vicky’s car, a nippy little red roadster, its trunk brimming with luggage,
although they had been warned that only outdoor clothing would be necessary.

  Vicky had been scornful. “It won’t be all hard slog, surely? What about our first night at the manor? We’ll want to dress for dinner.” And she had added another pair of spindle-heeled shoes to her already overloaded case.

  Carenza admitted to butterflies in her stomach. This was an adventure and she and her friends were up for any challenge. Now, as they waited for Laurette, they eyed up the men, a reasonable crop of technicians who would presumably be around for the duration.

  “That one over there looks a right horny bastard.” Joanna’s neat ass and slim thighs were shown to advantage by a pair of very short, very tight denim cutoffs. Her hair was confined by a bandana, fiery tendrils escaping at her neck and forehead.

  Vicky glanced toward the man indicated. “Not him, for Christ’s sake! He’s bald as a coot.”

  “His follicles may be challenged, but that’s all right by me. You know what they say about bald men.”

  “That’s crap…an old wives’ tale. Give me a head with hair, long, straight or curling!”

  “What are you going on about?” Carenza hadn’t been paying too much attention, wrapped up in watching David. He looked awesome in jeans, a sleeveless black vest with the company’s logo emblazoned across his chest and designer shades that concealed his eyes, making him look even more sinister and powerful and sexy.

  “Men. What else?” Joanna perched invitingly on the car’s bonnet, resembling a mischievous elf.

  “Look at the boss, for instance. He’s really mad.” Vicky held a cigarette between her fingers as she added, “Nobody had better try and take these away. Every other indulgence is to be slung out, apparently.”

  “It’s time we packed it in.” Joanna lit up herself. “Life’s a series of compromises. Give up one thing, and you get another. Tell me this, girls. Why is it that you can sue a cigarette company for cancer, McDonald’s for getting too fat but you can’t sue liquor companies for all the ugly people you’ve fucked when you’re drunk?”