Carefully, so as not to crease her favourite dress, she undid the top button which was little more than a seed pearl. After that, she let the wide straps with their cool, silk lining slip down her upper arms.
Her mouth, which was as near perfect as her teeth, flashed a more obvious and wicked smile at the mirror.
‘A floor show,’ she cooed to the reflected brightness, pouting her lips as though addressing a potential lover. ‘A taste of things to come.’
As her dress slid slightly she cupped one breast in her hand, withdrew it from her dress and let it bide there, firmly uplifted by the rest of her bodice like a round, plump grapefruit, the areola surrounding her nipple darkly rich against the honey tone of her skin. Slowly, yet deliberately, she did the same with the other. She tossed her hair, cupped her hands beneath her precious assets and surveyed her handiwork in the mirror.
‘Don’t they look good like that?’ she asked the mirror in her sexiest voice. ‘See how firm they are, and how soft . . . ’ she murmured, running her fingers over the cool, silky flesh. Then she bent her head, pushed one breast up towards her lips, and licked her own flesh. She did the same with the other. She addressed the mirror again. ‘And they taste so good and so soft, like melting sorbet. Wouldn’t you like to taste them, too?’
The mirror did not reply. It didn’t need to. She could see the effect for herself.
Her breasts were poised there – higher than they would usually be, and rounder – trapped like two plump pigeons, and their nubs dark pink like the stamens of a tropical orchid. Proudly they pointed directly ahead at the reflective glass.
They did look good. She congratulated herself and gently ran her fingers over her plush pink nubs that darkened to deep mauve as blood raced through her body.
Like a platter of plump fruit, she thought to herself speculatively, like the offering of a goddess, her breasts strapped high and blossoming. The effect pleased her. What man could resist these? she asked herself as she pointed them like loaded pistols at the mirror.
But what if it wasn’t Alistair on the other side of the mirror?
It didn’t matter. She would pretend he was there and that his own bodily desires, too, were racing along with his blood.
In every woman there is that longing to be the one who makes a man override his usual habits and routine existence. There is also the narcissist in each one, and Penny was no exception. She liked to look at her body, liked to see what it was capable of.
Teasingly, she rubbed the index finger of each hand over her willing nipples.
It felt good, it looked good, and a wetness began to invade her rapacious pussy. She took one hand from her breast and raised her skirt. In the mirror, her sex was reflected like a dark forest among white, although her creamy tan did subdue that contrast. She opened her legs and dipped one exploratory finger into her humid well of juice. As she did so, she threw back her head and moaned, yet her eyes never left the mirror.
There, once she’d tilted her hips in that expert way she had mastered with experience, she could see her welcoming haven, the pink folds of satin wetness and the jewels of juice scattering among the dark hair like tiny seed pearls as she retracted her finger.
Her breathing was quick and deep; her trapped breasts quivered as they rose and fell.
Should she finish this now or go on down to dinner and save it till later? That would be hard, of course, but then there was no knowing what encounters might arise from the dinner table, now was there?
With a sudden pang of regret she wished she had tried harder with Gregory. If only she could have got him to lie with her, to cover her and to push his hard cock into her. Thinking of him suddenly made her lose interest in the mirror, and she dropped her skirt. She would save her arousal for whatever the later hours of the evening might bring.
As though they were golden orbs for occasional viewing only, she cupped her breasts again and pushed them back inside her dress. At first she did up the undone button. Then, with a rising of her eyebrows and a careless ‘So what?’, she undid it again, pulled the bodice down slightly and left her cleavage free to the world.
Nadine Beaumont and Alistair, her brother, were on the other side of the mirror. Nadine’s cloud-grey eyes watched and, as her mouth was wide, so, too, was her smile.
‘Well, well, my pretty pussy,’ she said in her low husky voice. ‘You certainly are something, aren’t you?’
‘She’s ideal.’
Nadine turned and looked down at her brother. Although he was a well-made man of average height, Nadine was exceptionally tall.
Her generous lips twitched a little in her unfeminine yet handsome face as she looked at him. Her thoughts were hidden. They had to be. It was at times like these that she wished she could do something for him – not control his sexuality as she did now – but in that moment of release, she sometimes wished that she wasn’t his sister and wasn’t the woman she was.
‘You find her attractive?’ she asked with a cruel edge to her voice.
He hesitated before he nodded.
Nadine laughed just a short laugh. How well she enjoyed his discomfort. How much she enjoyed being in control. Her hand reached out to him. She patted then gripped at his crotch as though to confirm he was wearing his tight-fitting rubber underpants, the ones only she could release – even if he only wanted to relieve himself, she went with him.
‘Then we will have to see, won’t we?’
She saw him swallow and knew instinctively that his prick was hard and rising in his pants, and knew that only she could release it and let him have what he craved.
‘Ariadne was telling the truth. She said she was ideal.’
‘Yes, she did,’ Nadine answered. At the same time, she checked the tightness of his waistband, running her hand around the tops of his thighs so she could also check that he couldn’t even get a finger up to his throbbing tool to relieve his obvious suffering.
‘How long do I have to wait?’
Nadine transferred her hand to his face. Her long, thin fingers stroked his cheek.
‘Until I say so, my darling brother, Alistair; until I say so.’ She sighed, and in a motherly kind of way tucked some stray wisps of hair behind his ear. ‘You know that’s the way you like best, my sweet dear.’
She tried to kiss his ear. He backed away. Reflexively she winced and consoled herself into thinking how much more delicious the torture would be later this evening. Yet again he would be just a spectator in the cabaret she had arranged for him. As always, she would be mistress of ceremonies.
Even Penny didn’t know as yet that she would be performing and, from what Nadine had seen so far, it wasn’t likely that their newest rider would object.
Ariadne had known. She had been well rewarded for setting Penny up and for keeping her mouth shut. But then, Ariadne had been a willing little bitch, ready for anything Nadine had thrown at her. Like all the rest. One year, and then away. That was the way it was, and that was the way Nadine intended it to stay. No morsel attained in order to entice her brother’s passion was ever allowed to stay longer than a year.
Only those who have known each other since childhood really know each other well, Nadine mused. With a little more than sisterly affection, she glanced briefly at her brother before she spoke.
‘She doesn’t like to be told that she can’t have something,’ said Nadine. ‘Ari said that. You know, the Barbie-doll type who you spent yourself with last time. That’s good, my darling brother, very good. She’s compliant, extremely sexual and very determined.’
The Adam’s apple in Alistair’s throat throbbed as if trying to escape. His gaze stayed on the mirror to the room beyond. It was empty now. Penny had gone, but his mind filled the void as he imagined what was to come.
Nadine watched him and saw the constriction in his throat. Just like his penis, she thought with perverse pleasure. How engorged it must be; swollen with need, yet unable to break free from its rubber prison, confined there until she decreed the time
was right.
Nadine smiled to herself. How was Penny to know that Ariadne had indeed had sex with Alistair? How was she also to know that – powerful man as he was, always giving orders, always having people standing in awe of him – he liked his urgings controlled . . . by his sister.
He had sex when she wanted. The rest of the time, he wore the rubber pants and was only allowed to watch and wonder whilst Nadine imagined his rising prick, trapped and unable to do anything.
And so, his passion was saved, accrued, and when he was released . . .
‘We’d better be off into dinner, my dear brother,’ Nadine said, stretching languidly, arms above her head so her fingertips were well on their way to the ceiling.
Suddenly, Alistair grabbed hold of his sister’s arm. The action took her by surprise. Eyes met eyes, and Nadine’s jaw clenched squarely as he spoke. ‘You know she’s going to do everything in her power to get me going, don’t you? She already knows these mirrors are two-way. She’d hardly have put on that exhibition otherwise now, would she?’
Nadine’s smile was undeniably cruel. She raked one black-painted fingernail down over his cheek.
‘Yes, brother. Ariadne knew she would. Knew she couldn’t resist the wager either. If she gets you, she also gets the stallion. Sweetly, deliciously ironic, don’t you think? Two stallions all in one.’
There were chandeliers in the dining-room, all starlike sparkle hanging from the high ceiling, which was predominantly Wedgwood blue but with swirls of ornamental plaster picked out in crisp gold and icy white.
The windows were like the ones Penny remembered from Alistair’s office: Georgian panes set in big sash windows that left little room for walls between the high ceiling and the blue-and-gold plush pile carpet. The curtains were gold damask with heavy tie-backs that hooked to the unusually pronounced brass phalli of flying cherubs.
The walls that were left were white, their expansive iciness relieved only with a dado rail of crisp blue and spine of gold. Large paintings also relieved the white walls. The frames were gilt, the subjects’ nude figures indulging in a variety of positions with more than one partner. Yet they were not piles of Titian flesh, all white and lumpy with small breasts and heavy hips. These were sleek women and well-honed and -hung men. These were today’s figures, firm and supple, uninhibited in their pleasures and healthy in their bodies.
The gold, the blue, the whiteness were reflected in a myriad shades from the overhanging chandeliers and duplicated by the lead-crystal wine glasses. Some of the glasses contained red wine, dark as warm blood; others were full with white wine, the liquid softly golden.
There were four people seated at the table: Alistair, of course; another man introduced as Auberon Harding, a fellow rider, young and good-looking; and another man introduced as Sir Reginald Chrysling, who was older, but had worn well and had an instant, if predictable, old-world charm.
‘Reggie,’ he corrected enthusiastically, his tongue licking over thin lips in a strong face. ‘My friends call me Reggie.’
‘Pleased to meet you,’ she said, and smiled sweetly at him as he eased himself up from his chair in an act of old-fashioned politeness whilst she took her own seat. Old-world charm had a certain attraction about it, but even if it hadn’t, Sir Reggie, although his hair was white, was a well-built man who’d obviously taken care of his body, and in his youth must have been quite something to look at. He still was now. His nose was slightly hooked and his eyebrows were dark and matched his eyes. How sensuous his lips looked when they smiled. I wonder how many other lips they have kissed in his lifetime, Penny mused, or how many breasts have been sucked to distraction between his neat white teeth.
Penny beamed at them all, for no matter who looked at her and what they said, tonight she was beautiful. Tongues confirmed what eyes already said. She radiated beauty and health, and with it, sexuality.
The other person at the table was a woman who Alistair introduced as his sister, Nadine. Vaguely, Penny remembered seeing her at Alistair’s side in the VIP lounges at championship events.
The two women exchanged greetings.
Penny was immediately hypnotised and discomforted by this woman. Something in Nadine’s manner and the cool look in her eyes seemed to flow out from her. Whatever the nature of this strange current, it made Penny’s limbs feel weak and her sex pliant.
With world-weary eyes, Nadine gazed at her with a curiously enigmatic expression and a half-smile on one side of her mouth. ‘I’m very pleased to meet you,’ she said slowly, elbow on table, chin supported in right hand. ‘Very pleased indeed.’ Her voice had a lazy buzz to it, like the idle droning of bees on a summer afternoon or the faint sound of a lawnmower.
It was not just Nadine’s voice that was unusual. Her appearance was dramatic, if not eccentric. Her eyes were grey, her jaw strong, her cheekbones prominent. Her hair was very white and very short – just bristles over her skull. Her skin closely matched her hair. Her eyes were lined with kohl, her lids with dark-grey shadow.
Perhaps it was the shadow that fell across her face, but Penny had the distinct expression she was being undressed with alarming familiarity by someone she had never met, but who seemed to know her and her body very well.
‘Another little jumper. Well, I shall soon put you through your paces, my dear, you can count on that,’ said Nadine. The trace of sarcasm was drowned with a sip of wine clasped in fingers whose nails were varnished black. Plush, thick lips pursed speculatively over a black cheroot. There was an exchange of looks between brother and sister that hinted at reproach.
‘Quite a good one, so I hear,’ Nadine added suddenly. ‘You have a good body, my dear. Fit, trim; ideal for what is expected of you.’ Now her smile was very wide and very warm. With the addition of more wine, her voice was deep, yet crisp as burned toffee.
‘I try to excel in everything, as much as is possible,’ returned Penny, unable to hide her unease that the wandering gaze inspired in her. Nadine had watched her behind one of those mirrors. She knew it instinctively. Determinedly, she declined to blush.
As she smiled at Alistair’s sister, Penny took a deep breath. Her breasts struggled against the half-open bodice. It was a provocative move, one designed to suggest that she was both knowledgeable and available.
Her eyes took note of their individual reactions. Auberon merely blushed, his eyelids fluttering like frightened butterflies.
Experience and familiarity won through. Reggie licked his lips and made no attempt to stop his eyes from settling on her cleavage.
Alistair, she thought, looked uncomfortable. It was as though he wanted to stare at what was on offer, but didn’t dare. There was an odd look in his eyes, a mix of desire and perpetual torment.
Only Nadine’s gaze was steady, her lips smiling. There was absolute boldness in her look coupled with an odd satisfaction. Her eyes narrowed through the halo of blue smoke.
Content that she had received admiration, Penny unfolded the crisp white napkin that smelt of fresh citrus and was stiff with starch.
Nadine was directly across from her. It is easy to study looks when the subject you are studying is facing you.
It was hard not to stare at Alistair’s sister. Penny tried to look away, to concentrate on the meal, sip less slowly at the wine, but Nadine surprised her. It seemed quite amazing that someone with such white hair and angular features could possibly be related to Alistair.
Nadine caught her looking and raised her blonde eyebrows towards the cropped hair that shone like silver beneath the lights.
From a distance, Penny guessed, the short glossy spikes could almost be mistaken for her bare skull. Jet earrings jiggled gently in her ears when she laughed as she did now.
Sir Reggie had cracked a joke. Penny hadn’t heard it, her mind too full of analysing these people, of surmising how they might fit into the overall picture of things.
So far since coming here, she’d learned little of timetable and other more sociable interactions; except for Greg
ory of course. But Gregory didn’t talk much – not that such a minor problem as that detracted from his magnetism one little bit.
‘I hope I haven’t offended you,’ said Sir Reggie suddenly, shattering the beauty and sheer sexuality of her thoughts as his hand landed on hers. ‘I hope you don’t mind being the butt of my little joke. I didn’t really mean it, you know.’
‘Not at all,’ she said, smiling brightly and wondering if the wine she had been drinking had affected her hearing. ‘I can take a joke any time.’ Then she laughed. What he’d said about her in any joke was of no interest to her; besides, she hadn’t heard him.
Her attention was drawn to Nadine whose hand reached over the table. Her palm rattled the glass and silverware as she brought it down heavily on the pure whiteness of the tablecloth.
‘That’s it, Penny darling. Take no notice of him. I’m sure you’ll be an asset round here, darling girl. My brother appreciates perfection – in everything.’
‘I won’t,’ she replied, her eyes catlike; her lips, glistening with the dark rich colour, slowly sipped her wine.
Their eyes met as Nadine straightened in her chair. For the first time Penny could evaluate just how tall Nadine was; six foot two at least, and clad from head to toe in black, its denseness only relieved with base metal bangles and a collar that looked to be made of dull marcasite and leather and a good two inches in depth – perhaps made for a bull mastiff rather than a woman.
‘No harm in that, my dears,’ chirped up Sir Reginald who Alistair had explained was a fellow director and business associate in the wide and varied group first founded by Alistair’s father before the Second World War. ‘Perfection is to be admired, my dears . . . cosseted,’ he added as his broad hand circled Penny’s back. She leant forward away from the harp-shaped back of the chair. His fingers spread downwards and slid over the roundness of her buttocks. ‘All perfection,’ he added with a low chuckle.
The Stallion Page 6