by Tesni Morgan
Carenza was feeling wrung out and exhausted, the day’s events catching up on her. “I’m all right, but I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Spoilsport! Aw, come on!”
“I need to sleep.” She stuck to her guns. “I’ll see you guys in the morning.” And she went back to her own place, needing peace and quiet in which to sort out her jumbled emotions. She confided her inmost feelings to her diary.
I’m very confused and not too happy. Is there no sincerity left among the men of today? Have the feminists robbed them of their certainty about their own role in life? If so, then those earnest sisters have done females a disservice. I know all about the lack of equality in the bad old times, but this has been carried too far. Gone is chivalry, politeness, caring, or so it seems to me. I thought, even hoped, that Matt and I had formed some sort of bond when he was injured. That there was more under his casual treatment of me. I think I could have fallen in love with him wholeheartedly, given a little encouragement. But once back at the lodge, he doesn’t seem to give a damn about me. As for David? Who knows what he really thinks or feels?
The next few days sped by and she played her part as directed. Clem organized the teams’ routine and it carried on much as before, but for Carenza it had lost its spark. Matt wasn’t there to bully, cajole and give of his wide and varied experience. She had succeeded in fobbing off the girls, unwilling to discuss that momentous day spent with him. Now she was schooling herself to blank it from memory, for he had made no effort to contact her. Clem heard from him. Clem visited him at the lodge, but there was never any message for her. She settled unhappily for the painful fact that it had been a fleeting moment of insanity and that she should forget it, as he obviously had.
So she did as she was told, carried out her duties and learned a lot about survival. The last morning dawned and there was an air of excitement and relief. There were more cameramen than ever and the team was given orders to pack and leave the camp clean and tidy.
David drove in unannounced, bringing Ruth with him. She had her secretary head on, rounding up paperwork and generally being officious. He was looking as suave and sophisticated as ever, in corduroy jeans, green Wellington boots and a rugged jacket, in country squire mode.
“I’m surprised he didn’t arrive here on horseback,” Carenza whispered to Vicky.
“I know what you mean. Very Mr. Rochester. He’s some stud, but dynamite. I wouldn’t want to get involved with him and I strongly advise you to steer clear. I’ve a theory that Laurette is keener on him than she admits.”
“Really? What about Kieran?”
“He’s nothing but a screw. I’d never be surprised if David and Laurette got it together, running the business, even going so far as to marry.”
“So you think I don’t stand a chance?” Carenza’s heart seemed to drop into her boots.
“Darling, I should be upset if you did. He’s a bad boy and you deserve better.” Then Vicky changed her serious tone. “Jeez! I shall be glad to get out of here. I’m going to spend hours in the shower and get the makeup people to do my nails, face and hair. I’ll feel like myself again.”
* * * * *
It was with a twinge of regret that Carenza said goodbye to the place where she had lived for two weeks. She’d learned a lot, been upset, come out of it, recognized things in herself that she hadn’t known existed. She longed for Matt to put in an appearance, but there was no sign of him. They didn’t call at the lodge either, but drove straight to the manor house. A festive mood prevailed. The show folk knew they’d done a good job and were now going to enjoy themselves. All Carenza wanted to do was get the party over and return to her London house, there to go to ground for a while. She’d had enough of them, even Vicky and Joanna, but mostly David and Matt. There was a crude expression that labeled flirtatious women “prick-teasers”. She dubbed those two arrogant men “cunt-teasers”. Same difference. Other gender.
It was late afternoon before they arrived, to be welcomed in with drinks and snacks, and shown to bedrooms and made to feel thoroughly at home. Tommy left for a gig in Newcastle. Some of those involved in the shoot elected to return to their wives, husbands or families, but the majority stayed. It was going to be a night to remember. Some had arrived from the hunting lodge, but Matt wasn’t among them.
“Boring fart!” Vicky gave a toss of her hair extensions. “Clem’s here.”
“So is Eddie.”
Carenza wanted to wipe the smug expression from Joanna’s face. “I though he was married and would be going back to his wife?”
“He’s divorced. You know I don’t do married men.”
“Who cares?” Carenza gave a dismissive shrug, walking to the door that linked their rooms. “I’m heading for the shower.”
The water was glorious, and she stood under the warm power jets, letting them pour all over her, flooding from her shoulders and trickling across her breasts, droplets hanging on her crimped nipples. She was bone-weary, and decided that this was her first, last and only venture into the wilds. From now on it would be the sophisticated city life for her—posh frocks, posh restaurants and posh escorts. And she was finished with Tarzan.
Don’t you mean he’s finished with you? inquired that mocking little demon that sat on her shoulder.
Get lost, before I wash you down the plughole.
But her body ached with more than just tiredness. There was a deep need within that only sex could assuage. Still standing in the shower stall, she angled the jets so that they continued to play over her, and then cupped her breasts in both hands, her thumbs caressing the upright nipples. Desire shot through her, straight to her pussy and she closed her eyes and sighed deeply.
Breasts were not enough, and one hand trailed over her flat belly, circled her navel and combed through her bush. She could see herself in the tile mirrors, a dozen hands fondling a dozen clits. She wondered how it would be if she depilated, imagining the pink bare flesh of her mound, the darker blush of her slit and the outrageous flaunting of her swollen organ with no hair to conceal it. The thought excited her and she wanted to reach for a razor, but didn’t have one handy. Her legs were practically hairless and she never shaved them, only her underarms received this treatment. She decided to leave her bikini line until later when she had more time and her clit wasn’t throbbing and demanding satisfaction.
She spread her legs a little, opened her cleft wide so that her labia parted like flower petals and then massaged her clit. Keeping it in torment, avoiding touching the ultra-sensitive head, she rubbed each side of it until it swelled near to bursting. Then she took pity on it and her middle digit flew over its crest smoothly, all wet from the shower gel and her own juices.
The feeling was exquisite, much more enjoyable even than with a man, and she remembered reading somewhere that a famous person, probably Oscar Wilde or Quentin Crisp, had once said, “Sexual intercourse is a poor substitute for masturbation.”
She couldn’t stop now. No matter who had walked in just then, she would have been unable to desist, on that wondrous rise to bliss where a brilliant fireworks display dazzled her senses and she exploded into pleasure. It was only on her descent from heaven that she had the uneasy feeling that she was being watched.
Switching off the water, she stepped from the stall and wrapped herself in a large towel. On reaching the bedroom, she began to dry her body, intending to smooth on moisturizing lotion and prepare to dress. She was looking forward to wearing something feminine, tired of being an urbanite turned guerrilla.
Suddenly a voice sounded from hidden speakers. A man’s voice. David’s voice.
“Stop right there,” he commanded in a soft though piercing tone that seemed to come from every corner.
“Where are you?” She held the towel in front of her.
“It doesn’t matter where I am. Suffice to say that I have eyes and ears all over. No room is safe from me. I watched you showering and pleasuring yourself. That gave me pleasure as well and I came int
o my hand when you climaxed.”
“You’re disgusting! Spying on everyone! How can you do such a despicable thing?”
“It amuses me. I like to be in control.”
“That’s obvious! Am I to have no privacy? If that’s the case, I’ll leave right away.”
“Not until I say you can.” His tone was severe. It sent prickles down her spine. “Now then, go to the wardrobe and put on the gear I’ve left you.”
“And if I don’t want to?”
“Tough! Just do it!”
Curiosity was getting the better of her and, still clutching the towel like a shield, she went across and opened the door of the wall-length armoire. She gasped at the variety and splendor it contained. There were female outfits for every occasion. How many women did he entertain there in any given year? Transvestites, too, by the size and length of some of the dresses. This man was kinky, to say the least, and it aroused her even more.
“Okay. Now take out a leopard skin fur coat, along with a red corset. You’ll find stilettos in the bottom and stockings in a drawer.”
Her fingers encountered the fur. On removing it, she saw that the coat had a swing-back and huge collar, the fashion that of the Thirties, as might have been worn by a movie star. It was seductively luxurious. So was the red satin corset, trimmed with black lace and having crisscross ribbon down the front.
Carenza laid the articles on the bed, hoping David had tired of the game and gone away. Yet she experienced disappointment at the thought. She wanted to carry on with this charade, wherever it led her and no matter the consequences. To hell with Matt and everything she had hoped of him.
“Drop the towel.” David’s disembodied voice made her jump. She obeyed, the covering tumbling to the floor. She wanted to hide her breasts and pussy, but he was watching. “No, let me look at you.” His breathing was ragged and it pleased her to know she was getting to him. “Touch your nipples and then finger your clit.”
It was as if he was a magician and she under his spell, given no choice but to obey him. It was a relief to surrender her will to another, removing all responsibility for her own actions. Her pleasure was doubled by the knowledge that he was watching her touching her tits and genitals. She wanted to have him as an audience when she came again, but he had other ideas.
“Get into the basque.” She couldn’t do other than obey him and though finding it awkward without help, she strapped the boned garment around her upper torso and pulled it together tightly.
It was strapless and her breasts bulged over the top. The long black garters, clipped to the tops of the stockings she had found, formed a frame for her lower belly and curly mound. The high heels made her taller, her legs long and slim in those wickedly alluring stockings. She posed for him, striding this way and that, hoping he was catching sight of her from all angles. She had never felt more wanton and would have gladly walked out onto a stage before a crowd of randy men, pole dancing, lap dancing, stripping and performing every lewd act they demanded. It was tremendously freeing.
“Makeup,” David insisted. “I want you to put it on thick and strong, like a regular hooker, then back-brush your hair, spike it and use plenty of gel.”
Her hands trembled as she followed his instructions, seated at the dressing table, the stool brushing against her bare pussy. She wondered if it would stain the upholstery, but had no control over her love juice. She used a darker foundation than usual, blusher, black mascara, eye pencil and green shadow. Her lips were outlined in frosted crimson, lustrously gleaming.
She sprayed herself with potent French perfume, then stood up and slung the coat over her shoulders. Well aware that even her walk was different, she sashayed around on her mile-high heels, hands on her hips, waiting for his comments.
He didn’t make any, simply said, “Meet me at the garage now. Don’t hang about and don’t talk to anyone.”
“We’re going out in the car?”
“Yes.”
“But I thought that we were partying here?”
“So we are, but we’re taking a drive first.”
“Why?” She was mystified. One never knew what to expect from David.
“I’m taking you dogging, my dear.”
“Dogging? What’s that?” Visions of walking a poodle crossed her mind.
“You’ll find out. Now get going. Don’t keep me waiting.”
* * * * *
It was chilly outside and getting dark. Carenza wrapped the fur coat ‘round her, a draft whistling up from below and playing over her ass. No one commented or took any notice as she went to the back of the building where the coach house and stables had been turned into spacious garages and outbuildings. Feeling as guilty as if she was embarking on an illicit assignation, she hung around, wondering which of the several cars parked there David would use. And what the hell was “dogging”? It rang a bell faintly somewhere, but she couldn’t remember.
David arrived ten minutes late. He liked keeping people waiting. It spoke of his inner angst and determination to manipulate those who challenged him. He walked straight up a magnificent red Mercedes and said, “Get in the back.”
The machine purred smoothly into action and he swung down the drive and out through the gates that parted electronically.
“Where are we going?” She watched the sweep of headlights as they reached the main road.
“Closer to the town” was all he would say, and they drove in silence, eventually arriving at a public car lot on the outskirts, large, dimly lit and surrounded by trees. Several vehicles were there, abandoned by their owners while they shopped, dined or went to places of entertainment. There was no parking fee at that time of day.
David pulled in and braked under an oak. There were a couple of other cars not too far away, and they were lit from within and seemed to be occupied. “What now?” Carenza assumed that she would get out.
To her surprise, he left the driving seat and let himself in the rear door, switching on the interior light. He slipped in beside her and took her in his arms under the coat, his hands caressing her bare skin. Carenza relaxed, slightly amused because he wanted to make love to her in these circumstances, maybe reliving his teens when he fucked girls on the backseat of his car. It made him less remote or so she thought until he eased her arms out of her coat, undid the corset and bared her breasts then unzipped his pants. He rolled her over so that her bottom was in the air and introduced his sheathed cock head to her vagina. It was then that she realized they were being watched.
Faces were pressed against every window, drooling with lust, mostly men but a few women also. Middle-aged, old and young were there. One man banged on the glass, pleading, “Let me in. I want to do it to her. She’s got a lovely ass.”
Now Carenza could see that several of them had their cocks out, rubbing them to full stand. “Shall I let him in?” David teased. “Wouldn’t you like to be fucked by such a dirty old tramp?”
“No! Where did they spring from?”
“People wait here every night, hidden in the bushes, emerging when they see a car stop and its lights go on. They know they’re in for a show. Some couples invite them to take part. Now shut up and let me get on with it. I’m going to fuck you brainless.”
He lubricated the condom and made sure she was equally slippery. All she could see were leering faces, all she could feel was pain and humiliation, but her sex tingled and her bottom ached and that dark part of her was glad that he was mastering her. His fingers were beneath her, playing with her clit while his virile penis plunged into her depths and the watchers murmured and grunted and some of them ejaculated, spattering the sides of the car.
“Turn her over. Give us a good look at her.” One of the men was younger and smartly dressed. He formed the first finger and thumb of his left hand into an O and used the forefinger of his right as an imitation penis, working it in and out suggestively.
David made Carenza sprawl on her back, legs in the air, displaying her cunt for all to see. The man who had
spoken licked his lips and made obscene gestures. David wearied of the sport after he had reached his climax.
“Cover yourself. We’re leaving,” he said to her abruptly, and they drove back through the night, reaching Tretowyn Manor within a short while. As on the journey out, he didn’t speak to her, his eyes on the road ahead. She knew him no better than she had at their very first meeting.
She was shivering within the fur coat, appalled by what she had allowed to be done to her. I’ll never be able to look Matt in the eyes, she mourned, but hot on this came the thought—He doesn’t give a hoot anyway! I may never see him again.
The sleek car drew up outside Tretowyn Manor’s main entrance and before they left it, David turned to her. “We shall go in as if nothing untoward has taken place. I expect you to behave impeccably. And you will obey me throughout the evening, doing exactly as I tell you. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she muttered ungraciously.
His hand tightened painfully on her arm. “Yes what?”
“Yes, master.” She was unable to hide the sarcasm in her tone.
“Keep on the coat until I tell you to remove it. We shall carry on with the party in the dungeons and I want your full cooperation.”
* * * * *
“Love the gear, Carenza.” Vicky was arm in arm with Clem. “What is it they say? ‘Fur coat, no knickers?’”
She was wearing a shiny pink latex bodice that jacked her breasts high, her nipples poking above it, and a pair of matching slinky trousers, with a zip going all the way down, between her thighs and up through her bottom crack. It would be desperately easy for anyone so inclined to open it and have access to her. Added to this was a pair of bright blue ankle boots that accentuated the length of her legs, while her blonde hair was wild, wanton and exotic. Clem had a possessive air about him, proud to have this piece of eye candy on his arm.
Carenza was distinctly uneasy, brooding on what part David expected her to play. She feared that the game he had organized in the park was as nothing compared to what was planned for later. She felt isolated. Vicky had Clem. Joanna was with Eddie. She wore a backless bodice and tulle tutu that brushed the tops of her glittering golden mesh stockings, dipping and lifting to give glimpses of her foxy bush. Laurette, apparent queen of the event, was almost naked, apart from a see-through top and fragile handkerchief pointed skirt. She had never looked more ravishing, encouraging homage from all the men and women and flirting with Kieran. Phil was in full drag, escorted by Darrell in a tuxedo.