The door swung soundlessly open and a man in a dinner suit let them in; greeting Jake with quiet obsequiousness and totally ignoring Deana. She felt as if the flunky had seen what’d happened in the car as surely as the silent Fargo had. Jake escorted her inside with exquisite politeness and solicitude, but it was obvious that to the mâitre d’ – or whoever he was – she was purely her master’s sex toy.
Inside, the house was an elegant neutral no-place. There was no way to tell if it was a private home, a club of some kind, or even a high-class brothel. Without knowing why, Deana had a feeling it could well be all three at once, but as they were ushered into a long, spacious, dimly lit room, the impression of a club was uppermost.
There was a cleared, slightly raised area at one end of the room, which – covered in polished boards – was obviously an impromptu stage. A number of white clothed tables were scattered in the gloomy foreground, and at them, groups of people sat laughing and chatting in hushed but expectant tones. Some of them turned and stared when she and Jake passed by, and for one hideous moment, Deana wondered if she might be the show!
They were led to one of the tables, however, and after she’d almost fallen into her seat with relief, she relaxed and looked around. In wonder.
‘Seventeen’ was no ordinary house, and certainly no ordinary club. She and Jake were perhaps the most conservativelydressed of its patrons, and if she hadn’t been wearing a leather skirt and high heels, she would’ve felt even more of an alien.
An elegantly made-up black woman at the next table appeared to be dressed completely in leather. Skin-tight patent encased all that could be seen of her body above the table, and even as Deana watched her, she peeled open a zippered aperture in her bodice, exposed one huge chocolate coloured, cherry-tipped breast, and offered it to the man at her side to suck. He seemed almost ecstatic to do this; mainly because there was no way he could touch her. His hands lay awkwardly on the white cloth in front of him, manacled in heavy steel handcuffs. As far as Deana could tell, these shackles were all that he wore.
Astounded, she turned away and looked across the expanse of their own table to the one beyond, at Jake’s side.
Its sole occupant – a distinguishedly handsome grey-haired man in evening dress – seemed, at first glance, to be having a heart attack. On the point of alerting Jake, Deana abruptly stopped short and caught her breath.
Suddenly, she recognised the distinctive way in which the man was grunting and jerking. Enlightened and excited, she heard him groan eloquently, then watched as he threw back his head, clawed at the white napery before him, and nearly knocked over his glass of champagne.
For a few moments, the man sat perfectly still – only to stir and smile indulgently when a slim young woman with straight dark hair wriggled out from beneath the table-cloth and sat down meekly at his side. She wasn’t as naked as the pleasure giver at the other table, but her clothing was more erotic than nudity could ever be. Narrow black leather straps encased the whole of her body like a tailored-to-fit cage. Her exposed white breasts were especially constricted, bulging out painfully as if they’d been stuffed through a pair of matching steel rings which were rather too small for their mass. Rousing from his post-orgasmic stupor, her grey-haired companion reached out and pinched one of her nipples. The girl sobbed.
‘What is this place?’ hissed Deana, breaking out of her shock and torpor.
‘This is “Seventeen”, Dee,’ Jake whispered back to her, patting her hand, his soft white shirt like a cool fire brushing her arm. ‘Now shush, will you? There’s a show about to begin.’
Too thunderstruck to argue, Deana obeyed. Good grief, we’re in a madhouse, she thought as a woman dressed as a French maid brought champagne and glasses to their table. What sort of show does an audience like this expect?
After a couple of seconds the lighting began to dim even further and concealed spotlights swung around on to the raised stage area. Jake and Deana were sitting quite close to whatever was going to happen, and it occurred to her then that they’d been given the best table in the house. Jake put a glass of champagne into her hand, and when she took a grateful sip, she realised that the wine too was probably amongst the finest available.
He’s perfectly at home here, she observed to herself as some softly weaving and vaguely eastern music started playing. This is a fetish club and he’s an honoured guest. What the hell have I got myself involved in?
Got us involved in, she amended, remembering the deception and wondering what oh-so-straight Delia would think of ‘Seventeen’ and its patrons. Shifting uneasily on her seat, which was covered – surprise surprise – in fine soft leather, Deana cringed as her naked sex seemed to squelch and suck like a mouth. Unlike Jake, she wasn’t at home here, but there was no doubt that the place did excite her.
With no advance warning, two figures suddenly appeared in the bright, white circle of light. Two men. One was slight, long haired and blond; the other huge, black and almost grotesquely muscled. Both were artfully made up, far more so than Deana herself, and both were completely naked, their glossy, depilated bodies enhanced by a bright film of oil.
As the music grew louder and more complex, the men began to move to its rhythms, coiling their limbs around each other and writhing in a slow sensual ballet. Their hands roved over one another’s body and, as they worked and wriggled and fondled, within seconds they both had erections. Secret signals seemed to pass between them, and turning to face one another, they each put their hands on their hips, bent their knees lewdly and began to duel with their stiff gleaming organs. First the blond, then the black man, each dancer would smear the tip of his penis against the belly and sex of his partner …
Deana found it so entrancing it was painful. Her own body ached with an echo of their lust and she knew exactly what she wanted them to do to each other. Like lovers in reality, though, they were teasing and playing. Jousting, it seemed, with their intimate and mutual stiffness.
What’s all this doing to the rest of the audience? she wondered. Her own sex, primed by Jake in the car, was simmering and bursting with need. She felt heavily engorged. It was uncomfortable just to sit, and surreptitiously – as the two men’s hips bounced and jerked – she eased her warm legs slightly apart. The urge to slide her fingers down beneath the table was overwhelming, and she knew that if she did so, she wouldn’t be the only masturbatrix in the room. She was probably in the minority now in not touching herself, but the scene was too new for her to succumb. Without thinking, she tore her eyes away from the gyrating bodies on the stage and turned in the darkness towards Jake.
Her nemesis was smiling and relaxed. And looking straight at her. As their eyes met, he slowly licked his lips, then slid one hand beneath the table-cloth. When he had obviously found his target, his body bumped slightly as a signal … To her.
What is it with you? she demanded – in silence because she dared not speak. This was a gay scene being enacted, yet plainly Jake found it arousing. And that fact only aggravated her arousal. There was no doubt now that he was stroking himself and Deana nearly whimpered aloud at the thought. She remembered the one time she’d seen his penis – in the afterglow, on that blessed white balcony. And she thought of it now, how it must be and feel, its rampant thickness compressed beneath the leather of his trousers. He gasped very softly and she wondered if he’d unzipped himself to give ease to his paintinged pleasure … But then a louder more universal gasp returned her fevered attention to the stage. To the light and the sleekly oiled men.
They were combined in a new way now, the blond sprawled across the other’s back; not quite the arrangement Deana had expected. She’d assumed that the bigger man would be dominant in the final, inevitable act; but no, it was the smaller male, the blond. He was biting the sheened ebony shoulders of his partner, and pushing his stiff red sex into the groove of his dark bottom. They were almost there now, almost copulating, and the audience was gasping again. Some did more than gasp when the black man leaned over,
set his legs strongly wide, then reached back to open the way for his partner. With a cool, impassive care, he held open his own buttocks with his fingers. The blond then surged forward, his penis stabbing like a weapon, and jammed himself into his target.
As the black man groaned loud and joyously and began working himself back on the invasion, Deana too had to bow to the sexual imperative. Blushing and sweating freely, she became aware of Jake’s hard scrutiny. But it changed nothing … Working her skirt upwards under cover of the table-cloth, she set her thighs wide apart on the chair.
‘Yes!’ she heard softly from nearby, while everyone else was cheering the sodomites. ‘Do it, Dee,’ he purred. ‘Lift your skirt up and touch yourself. I want to see you come … Now!’
‘I can’t!’ she protested. If she pulled her skirt up far enough to masturbate, her stockinged thighs and naked bottom would be on clear view through the open back of the chair.
‘Don’t disappoint me, Dee.’ The threat was whispered but clear, and driven by its power, she shifted her rump on the seat and pulled clumsily at her slim leather skirt. As she eased it upwards, she shuddered, knowing what was now quite revealed. Her only comfort was a peripheral awareness of similar things happening all around her.
Her vulva was awash when she touched it, the lips enormously swollen and her clitoris pushed out and irritated. The tiny bud had been aroused too much already tonight and when she touched it herself, it was tenderly painful. Sharp discomfort sliced through her, but even so she flicked it and rubbed. Her juices flowed faster than ever, and she cried out softly as an orgasm rushed in and engulfed her.
The pleasure was sudden and unexpected. It seemed to drag her deep inside herself and away from her shadowed surroundings. Detachedly, she wondered how such an intimate, almost religious experience could occur amongst a throng of perfect strangers. How something so personal could be shown in public. Shown by herself, and by the men on the platform.
In spite of her soreness, she began caressing herself again as she watched them. The blond was obviously climaxing now, his tight buttocks tensing as he rose on his toes and rammed. Deana half expected him to reach around and bring ease to his huge dark partner, but he didn’t. He clung tightly to the black man’s narrow hips; selfishly increasing his own leverage with no thought for the other man’s erection. His partner’s penis seemed to quiver in mid-air, then leapt like a stranded fish and disgorged his white semen from its tip. Deana had never seen such a sight – great long creamy strings, jetting out and landing on the stage. She could even hear the impact of the droplets as they fell on the hard polished boards.
As the last spurt flew in an arc, and the two men seemed to crumple in ecstasy, both the stage and the house lights were killed. In total, velvet blackness, Deana could almost taste the sex in the air, feel it vibrating around her in a multitude of strange, hidden ways.
It was like being in limbo, but as her eyes began to adjust she saw evocative movement all around her. She heard hushed sighs and groans. She half expected Jake to reach for her, but when he didn’t she resumed her self-fondling – overcome by the warm, sexy darkness.
The tenderness of her clitoris made her sob, but she could no more stop touching it than stop breathing. She felt her consciousness ascend again, soaring up on a steep curve of pleasure. And as she handled her own sticky body, she sensed Jake, nearby, attending to his. She imagined his penis released from its leather confinement as he stroked it to fulfilment and relief. Her memory displayed her the balcony scene, and she saw him climbing over her back as the blond pederast had mounted his black victim. Bizarrely, she also seemed to ‘remember’ her sister’s experiences. Being licked and touched. The tantalising ‘did he, didn’t he’ of wondering whether he’d really been inside her.
Then it was back to being herself again, and being fingered and displayed in the limousine. She whimpered at the enormity of it, and the shaming. And how much that shame had intensified her climax. Her finger rode hard on her painful bud and she came again in a long wet burst – just as the house lights started phasing back on again. Deana’s vision was blurred with pleasure, but it didn’t stop her seeing quite a sight … Her so-called ‘lover’ being kissed by another woman!
The embrace was something of a shock, and even more shocking was the sensation that came along with it. The long brown curve of Jake’s bare throat – as he craned backwards in his seat to be kissed upside down – was as erotic in its own way as anything that had happened on the stage. Intellect told Deana she should be jealous, but instead she felt only titillation. The kisser was stunning; an elegant, pale-skinned woman dressed in a shirt and jeans of silk-smooth black latex rubber. Her hair was a brilliant zinging red, and styled in a long thick plait, a great living hank that hung forward over her shoulder, trailed down across Jake, and lay on his heaving chest like a shimmering rope of blood.
Good God, she’s almost raping him! thought Deana, aroused anew – and against her will – by the sheer animality of Jake being kissed and taken by force. The woman had complete, albeit temporary control of him and her long white hands, bejewelled with many rings, were a frame for his dark face and jaw. Her bold pink tongue was clearly visible as it darted its way deep into his mouth.
At length the clinch dissolved, and the woman straightened up like a flower uncurling to the sun. Her lips were moist, Deana noted. And naturally, deeply, and flawlessly red. There was no lipstick there to be spoiled by kisses because this strange, gorgeous woman didn’t need it.
‘Good evening, Vida,’ said Jake lazily, swivelling in his chair to greet the newcomer less intimately.
‘And good evening to you, Kazuto, my Japanese jewel,’ replied Vida zestily, reaching out to touch his high slanted cheek-bone. ‘I’ve been wondering how long I had to wait for you.’
‘Business, my dear,’ he shot back at her, grabbing her wrist and kissing its inner surface. ‘Some of us have to do a lot of tedious wheeling and dealing to earn our crust. We can’t all live the life of the creative elite.’
She’s been his lover! thought Deana, her instincts clanging. She felt suddenly excluded. What if she still is his lover? What does that make me?
And yet when the mysterious Vida turned towards her, Deana felt bathed in a warm glow of interest. The red-headed woman smiled, deep in her eyes as well as with her soft crimson mouth, and with a playful pinch of Jake’s dark cheek, she abandoned him and refocused her attentions.
‘Hello, I’m Vida Mistry. Who the devil are you?’ Eyes like chips of emerald bored deep into Deana’s embarrassment, reminding her where her fingers still were. The name was familiar now too. The woman was a writer, quite a notorious one. Deana even had some of her books!
‘Paws off, Mistry!’ said Jake easily. ‘Dee’s my protégée tonight. Go find some prey of your own!’
Wriggling anxiously, Deana had managed to ease her skirt at least partially down over her thighs and bottom. The movement, however, was uncouth and graceless and seemed to amuse the watching Vida enormously.
‘Oh yes, Dee,’ she said creamily, pulling up a chair and sinking down onto it, ‘he gets to me like that sometimes too.’
Before Deana could speak or even move, the other woman had reached for her hand and was kissing the sex-scent on her fingers.
‘Delicious,’ she whispered, her green eyes blazing. ‘Why not forget this loser and come home with me?’ She made an affectionate yet dismissive gesture towards Jake – who seemed as entertained as the rubber-clad authoress by Deana’s pinkstained cheeks.
‘Not tonight, Mistry,’ he said, rising suddenly and gracefully to his feet. ‘It’s getting late and I haven’t had Dee yet.’ His narrow hand dropped casually to his leather-covered crotch and the swell of his obvious erection.
Deana was burning up now, and trembling. She felt helpless, as Jake reached out with a deft, almost magician-like precision, and managed to urge her to her feet and straighten her skirt in one smooth unnoticeable action. Both he and the preposterous Vid
a were treating her like an object or a possession – and against her will she was loving it. It was insane, but at the moment he’d casually remarked he hadn’t ‘had’ her, she’d suddenly wanted him quite desperately. Her bare sex rippled as her skirt skated down on its lining and covered her; and she had a sudden, mindless urge to throw herself down across the table before them. She wanted Jake to caress her and take her, and she even wanted Vida to watch him.
‘Come along, my dear,’ he whispered in her ear as she considered her lunatic fancy. ‘We have very little time and I don’t think I can wait much longer to be inside you.’ He slid alongside her and discreetly pressed his loins to her hip. The bulge beneath the leather was no illusion; he was as hard as stone. As hard as he’d been in the gallery, and if it were possible, more so.
‘Goodbye, Dee,’ said Vida Mistry gaily as they drew away from her. ‘We’ll meet again soon.’ There was a glint in her eyes that rayed out in the room’s sultry gloom. A sharp, spiky shine that was both frightening and thrilling. Deana felt a lovely softness between her legs that shouldn’t have happened for a woman, and she was almost relieved when Jake propelled her firmly ahead of him with a hand on her leather-covered buttock. She sensed him turn and make some gesture or other to Vida, but she didn’t dare look around again herself.
As they left the house, the limousine slunk up to the kerb in front of them, even though Deana had seen no call of any kind made to summon it. Was Fargo a mind reader? Was Jake himself telepathic? Oh God, the prospect of that was terrifying!
‘What do you think of Mistry?’ he asked when they were sealed into the car and gliding away. It seemed he was a telepath. He’d read not only her confused feelings about the eccentric author, but the way his hands were already sliding up her thighs said he’d also perceived her desire. Her hot new yearning for him.
This time he was not so solicitous of her stockings, and she felt a volley of fine tickling runs, the sheer mesh popping as he grabbed her.
Gemini Heat Page 7