Exotika 03 - On the Loose

by Tesni Morgan

  “That’s too heavy for me early in the morning.” Vicky sidestepped this neatly. “I wish they’d get the circus on the road.”

  “How did you manage to persuade David to let you come along?” Carenza asked for the umpteenth time. She hadn’t been able to understand how they had done this. They could be pretty overbearing at times when they set their minds on a task, but even so.

  “He recognized our star quality, and we played it cool.” Joanna flashed her legs at the bald man. “Anyhow, it’s not difficult. These audience participation shows are the last refuge of the terminally untalented. They give a sick thrill to the sad viewers who watch them.”

  “But you don’t mind taking advantage?” Carenza felt uneasy about this. Such a strong dose of ambition was foreign to her.

  “Hell, no! I’m ready for a flesh-fest, but have a feeling it may all go wrong if Laurette has much to do with it. I’m in, whatever.”

  David was pacing up and down and yelling into his mobile. Ruth, almost unrecognizable in trousers with a white panama hat covering her dun-colored hair, was running along behind him, trying fruitlessly to pour oil on troubled waters.

  “God, look at him.” Vicky was watching David. “But Nanny is there to soothe his troubled brow.”

  “And get into his boxer shorts, given half a chance,” Joanna added unnecessarily, for it was obvious to all with a modicum of sense.

  “Here’s Laurette.” Carenza nodded toward the presenter who now stalked across the car lot, acting the diva.

  “Fan-bloody-tastic!” Vicky commented.

  David waited until Laurette reached him, the blackest of black scowls on his face. “What time do you call this?”

  “Darling, I’m sorry. I overslept, sweetie. Blame Marty. That boy! He’s incorrigible. Gave me one hell of a seeing to last night.” Laurette looked daisy fresh and not in the least as if she had been shagging for hours.

  She wore low-slung jeans so tight that her plump labia and the divide of her cleft and ass were outlined. A short, revealing purple chiffon top accentuated her breasts and her hair was a fiery aura about her head, tempting men to burn their fingers. Thick cork-soled mules made her look even taller and slimmer. It wasn’t fair that one woman could be blessed with such stunning looks. Carenza was possessed of the ignoble emotion of jealousy. Although David was furious, at least he was noticing Laurette. Who could fail to? The good fairy was there at her christening, she concluded dourly, but only the bad one turned up at mine…

  “Well, get a move on, now you’ve condescended to put in an appearance.” David shot Laurette a cold stare.

  “Am I traveling with you?” She was all big eyes and pouting lips.

  “That’s the plan.” He was calming down slightly, but no less put out. “You’ve got to take this seriously.”

  “Don’t worry, pet. You now have my undivided attention. I’m done with frivolous. Trust me.”

  “Very well. Ruth will tell you what’s happening. See to it, Ruth.” And he turned on his heel, hustling the waiting crew into their vehicles.

  Ruth, who had acknowledged Laurette’s presence by small twitches of her facial muscles, now handed her a file and led her to the FWD. “This is Mr. Farlan’s Cougar Ranger. The firm has given it to him, all part of their advertising. Please respect it, for it is brand-new.”

  “Will you be traveling with us?”

  “I have my own car,” Ruth said icily.

  “Oh, dear, I can see trouble ahead,” Carenza predicted.

  “What fun! Old Ruthie is showing her claws.” Vicky was gleeful. “Come on, girls, let’s get going. Mustn’t keep the country bumpkins waiting. I love a man of the soil, myself. There’s nothing like doing it on a hayrick.”

  “I’d rather put my head in a blender than bonk one of them.” Joanna’s lip curled in distaste.

  “Don’t you like the smell of sweat? “Vicky teased as they climbed into the car.

  “No.” Joanna was in the passenger seat, a map spread out across her knees.

  “Aren’t you prompted by the desire for a rural idyll as an antidote to city life?”

  “Bog off!”

  “I’m kidding. Don’t have a fit!”

  “Are you two going to argue all the way?” Carenza sighed from the backseat, already dispirited.

  “You’re pissed off because Laurette is cozying up to David,” Vicky said frankly, never one to mince her words.

  “I thought at the beginning that he might care for me a little. He seemed genuine,” Carenza blurted out, tears masking the view. She had been too ashamed of her behavior to tell them about the episode with Matt, but it had upset her. She had real bad luck with men.

  “Honey, he don’t do genuine,” Vicky reminded, her eyes on the lead truck.

  The driver leaned out of his window, pressing thumb and forefinger together to signify the acme of readiness.

  “Let the wagons roll,” shouted Joanna and they headed out for Tretowyn Manor.

  * * * * *

  The Principality of Wales was on the opposite side of England from London. Compared to America and the rest of Europe, this was no distance at all, just over one hundred and fifty miles along the motorway, but the English weren’t used to traveling. The north of Scotland was a trek for them, up the whole length of the country. Wales, due west, seemed foreign. Some of the inhabitants used their own language. It was almost as if one needed a passport to cross the border.

  David loved the isolation, taking great satisfaction in his house, situated on the rugged Gower Peninsula. He managed to escape there whenever he could. It had most things he desired, particularly privacy, and there were prominent KEEP OUT and TRESPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED notices around the estate.

  He was driving himself, Laurette beside him, though he could have done without that. He liked his own company, for as he handled the powerful vehicle expertly, he could immerse himself in his plans, though the script had been worked out with Eddie and the crew filled in. It was the participants who had been kept in the dark. By so doing, David hoped to get a natural reaction from them.

  Brooding on this as the miles sped by, he was jerked out of his reverie by the feel of Laurette’s hand on his thigh. He ignored her, though his flesh responded and he wished that it was Carenza. He’d been well aware of her earlier in her sensible outfit—blue dungarees over a thin vest—and had longed to open the zipper that led all the way down to her lower belly, slip a finger inside and comb through her bush.

  Laurette, thinking that the thickening of his penis was her doing, moved her hand over to caress it. David shook her off. “Not now. Not here.”

  “Then at the next motorway café. We’ll nip into one of the toilets.”

  “No.” He reached over a hundred on the flat stretch of road.

  “Then as soon as we hit Tretowyn. I’ll race you to the dungeons.” There was a wicked glint in her eyes. “By the way, where’s Matt? I have great hopes of him.”

  “He’s already at the site with his gang, setting everything up.”

  “But he’ll be at the manor tonight?”

  “I’ve no idea. I’m not his keeper.”

  “But you are his boss.”

  “Temporarily.”

  He decided to stop for refreshments at a service station, following the lead van as it wheeled in and found a parking space. “Are you going to make me wait, David?” Laurette complained. “I’m randy. If you don’t come up with the goods, then maybe I’ll give that truck driver a go. He looks fit.”

  “Do what the hell you like.” David hit the brakes, killed the ignition and leapt down.

  He was cynically amused by his reluctance. Laurette was sexy, beautiful and famous. Many besotted male fans and a few female ones as well, judging by the letters that poured in, would have given their eyeteeth to fuck her. It was too easy, and he needed a challenge. Carenza presented one and he was determined to possess her.

  * * * * *

  Carenza’s initial glimpse of Tretowyn Manor wa
s one she would never forget. It was like something out of a fairy tale. Her first ever visit to Wales and she had already been enchanted by the half-timbered houses, orchards, green meadows and flowing rivers. There was much evidence of the coal industry, gray towns built on the slopes, rows of little terraced dwellings that had been originally been constructed for the workers, huge heaps of slag and the gaunt skeletal erections above the pits, many of which were still working. But when they reached the coast, it was a different matter, and David’s estate was wooded, with mountains in the background, while his house was beyond her expectations. It was built of stone with a gabled roof and mullioned windows. A cluster of ornamented chimney pots were outlined by the gathering dusk.

  Following the others, they drove down the incline to reach the high wall that surrounded it. David got out and hammered on the studded gatehouse door and they were admitted into the courtyard. There was plenty of room with garages and stable blocks at the back. Groaning and stretching, tired by the drive, everyone followed David up wide steps and through an imposing arched door.

  The caterers were introduced to the kitchen staff, and the manager-cum-butler welcomed everyone and had them shown to their rooms. There were several servants and each appeared to know his or her duties.

  “Have a rest, then come down for dinner.” David was acting the expansive host. “Don’t forget, ladies and gentlemen, that this will be your last night in civilization for some time. Make the most of it.”

  The Great Hall was darkly paneled and hung with oil paintings. Antique statues stood in alcoves. There were flags so tattered that they might indeed have once been used in battle, and crossed swords and pikes and even a full suit of armor standing in a corner, with unnerving eye slits in the helmet. The main staircase from the Great Hall was so large that it looked like it needed scaling ladders to climb it.

  “It’s the Hammer House of Horror!” Vicky exclaimed as they mounted it between wide handrails with newels carved as Titans. “I expect to see Dracula at any moment.”

  “Perhaps he’s David in disguise,” Joanna giggled. “And Ruth is the wicked witch of the West!”

  “Then Laurette is the vampire bride.” Carenza was aware that the presenter had disappeared with David, not upstairs but somewhere below. The torture chamber, perhaps? She speculated on this with wry amusement.

  Their rooms were next to one another, along a carpeted corridor, up two steps and down a couple more. A maidservant turned the key in the lock, standing back so that they might enter.

  “There are communicating doors between each room, “she said in a lilting accent of so musical a cadence that it was easy to see why the Welsh produced such superb singers, from operatic tenors to Tom Jones.

  “Wow!” the girls exclaimed in unison, stepping inside the one intended for Carenza.

  It resembled the set of an historical movie with a large bed that had a tester supported on four turned posts, crimson velvet drapes and a headboard inlaid with Tudor roses. There was a massive wardrobe and a chest of drawers. Large padded armchairs stood on either side of the stone fireplace. This was ornamented with carvings of mythological beasts and had a central coat of arms.

  “David’s?” Vicky stood spread-legged before it, balanced on her high heels.

  Joanna came back with, “I doubt it. He may like to think he’s descended from a long line of nobility, but I’ll be damned if it’s true.”

  “Would you like some tea brought up…or coffee?” The maid was dark-haired, big-breasted and attractive. “My name’s Blodwen, and I’m at your service. Just press that bell over there if you want anything.”

  “Thank you, but I fancy something stronger.” Vicky went across and flung open the adjoining door that led into rooms that were much the same, assigned to herself and Joanna.

  “Whiskey, wine, gin and tonic, cocktails?” Blodwen suggested.

  “A Pimm’s, long and cool and fruity. Better bring a jug.”

  “And I’ll have coffee, decaffeinated, but no milk, just grated chocolate,” said Joanna.

  “A pot of tea for me,” Carenza ordered.

  “Biscuits? Sandwiches?” The maid’s long-lashed eyes were bright and her smile wide.

  “We’d better save our appetites for dinner,” they all agreed.

  “She’s a stunner,” Vicky remarked when the maid had gone. “All the servants we’ve seen so far are babes.”

  “David likes to surround himself with pretty girls,” Carenza said, rather disheartened.

  “And pretty boys?” added Joanna.

  “Does it matter to a guy when he’s got a hard-on? Any hole will do. When the balls are full, the brains are empty,” Vicky put in.

  “You’ve a depressingly low opinion of men.” Carenza shook her head reprovingly.

  “Realistic, petal.” Vicky hugged her. “Come on, let’s case the joint before Blodwen gets back with the drinks.”

  It was like a five-star hotel with beautiful bedrooms and en-suite bathrooms. Tretowyn Manor might be old, but it didn’t lack in modern comforts. Carenza sat on her bed, the tray of tea on the nightstand, and Vicky joined her, ice tinkling in the tall flute in her hand. The smell of freshly roasted coffee spiced the air, reminiscent of Brazil, not Wales.

  “This is the life,” Vicky pronounced.

  “Shall I unpack for you?” Blodwen seemed overawed in the presence of these sophisticated London ladies.

  “‘Blimey, I don’t know. Guess so. Hang the things in the wardrobes, though we’ll be taking some with us tomorrow. No more than a knapsack full, so the master says.” And Vicky pulled a face.

  “We’ve been promised a party when it’s over.” Carenza was always trying to redeem David and find some good in him, whereas the others were all too eager to put him down.

  “So I should hope!” Joanna was tired and irritable. “You think he can walk on water.”

  “How can you be so horrible?” Carenza wished that they would go to their own rooms. She needed a hot shower and time alone to decide what to wear.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Years of practice.” Vicky was well into the Pimms.

  “I’ve done what you asked,” piped up Blodwen, returning from the other rooms. “Is there anything else?”

  “No. I’m going to have a shower,” Vicky said.

  Blodwen bobbed a curtsey. “Then I’ll leave you.”

  “You don’t have to.” Vicky had a gleam in her eye that Carenza distrusted. Surely, she wasn’t about to introduce this simple Welsh girl to the joys of Lesbos? She’d put nothing past her.

  “I must get on my way,” Blodwen blurted out.

  “Have you a boyfriend?” Vicky sipped her drink.

  “Yes, miss, indeed and I have. His name’s Geraint, and he has a job here, a gardener, you see. We’re going out together.”

  “Have you slept with him yet?” Vicky refilled her glass and stood there looking like a bacchante. All she need was a vine wreath on her head, symbolizing her worship of the god of wine.

  This was too rich for Blodwen’s blood. She blushed, and squirmed with embarrassment. “It’s n-not the sort of thing I want to talk about. It’s kind of private like.”

  “Okay, we’ll leave it for now, but if you want any hints and tips come to me.”

  Blodwen couldn’t get out of the room fast enough.

  “Pity.” Vicky looked after her regretfully. “I think there’s a lot more beneath the surface than she likes to admit.” Then she shook herself. “Anyone else want to join me for a shower?”

  “I’d rather be alone,” Carenza stated firmly.

  “Oh God! Saving it for the boss? You’re setting yourself up for a letdown. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Come on, Joanna. Bet you’d like your pussy shampooed.”

  Joanna stretched lazily, then got up and followed Vicky into the next room. She winked at Carenza and gave her a grin. “See you later. Get into your finery and knock ‘em cold.”

  Despite her refusal of Vicky’s offer, C
arenza couldn’t get sex out of her mind. It was so long since she’d been with a man, wanting to feel a hard body lying across her and the strength and force of a rampant male. She dropped her jeans, vest, bra and panties and trailed across to the shower stall. The bathroom was decorated in Victorian style, all gilt and cabbage roses, and the tub stood center stage, resting on ball-clawed feet. The floor was carpeted in fuchsia. The towels were pink, thick and luxuriant. There were glass shelves holding jars of foaming lotions and vials of rare oils, herbal soaps and conditioners and unguents from all over the world, each fiercely expensive and all there for her delectation and delight.

  She was spoiled for choice. She pinned her hair on the top of her head and entered the tiled shower. The doors were of etched glass. The water was just right, the even warmth spreading over her in high-powered jets, stimulating her skin wherever they landed. She stood there, her head back, eyes narrowed, reveling in the sensation, turning slowly so that the spray cascaded over her shoulders, back, buttocks and flanks. It trickled and tickled, making her aware of every inch of her body. She reached for the scented gel and squeezed some into her right palm, then massaged it over her breasts, waist and stomach, the white, fragrant liquid sliding down past her navel and sending impudent, soapy fingers into her cunt.

  She moaned under her breath and parted her legs, washing the insides of her thighs and her sex. The water coursed down, desire thickened in her loins and her fingers lingered on the plump swell of her cunt. She moved slightly so that her feet were farther apart. Her labia parted and her fingers found the pathway that led to the seat of sensation, the hard pleasure kernel that was swollen and red. It was like a tiny penis and very sensitive, attached to nerves that were buried deep inside her. The only organ in the body designed entirely for pleasure. It had no other function. Now it had grown from furled bud to full flower, flaunting its petals.

  Carenza allowed David to fill her fantasies. Supposing he was there now? And she pretended that it was so, unhooking the showerhead and directing it on to her clitoris, making believe that he was licking her most intimate place. The feeling was intense. She leaned back against the tiles, her pelvis thrust forward toward the jet.