Sin Delicious

by Willow Sears

  “Next time,” she says, just before she leaves me, “you are going to lick me.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Hot and Cold

  And so lick her I shall. I have been summoned to Cas’s suite with my camera. My pink friend and I are serving ourselves up as his sexual hors-d’oeuvres. This time we are performing for him and there are no ropes or ties to let me have the pretence that I’m here under sufferance. Cameras and voyeurism means that the lights have been kept on. This isn’t as easy for me as it is for professional exhibitionists like these two. I might have ducked out altogether if not for the fact that I had spent all day wet between the legs and nervously expectant at what tonight could bring. I feel somehow beholden to them, like a servant, for what they have both done to me. I’m sure your average Jezebel would have considered being on the end of a bum spanking as no more than another tick in the kinky box. For me it is like a paradigm shift in life attitude. I am not used to being submissive. I am the force and the will. However, I am well aware that if not for their firm hand I would still now be enduring the torture of self-enforced celibacy.

  During this tour I have enjoyed elevation to the highest status. My company has been sought by the great. My views have been respected, my humour lauded, my word valued. I have been treated like royalty and no one cares that I am totally surplus to requirements. I am one of the stars – which, if not exactly fitting my personality, certainly fitted my desire to have power over my own situation. Today I have been like a mute serf around them, doing their bidding. I feel beholden and subservient, creeping around behind them as if desperate not to become too noticeable in case the subject of my spanking comes up. The promiscuous could easily shrug it off. Not me. I can just about endure the shame of it in the privacy of my head, but not out loud. Not in public.

  At least now I’ve been allowed the security of the blindfold, although I know it won’t last.

  “When it is my turn it has to come off,” she has already told me. I can’t argue. I’m not just her employee now but her maid. Normally I would fight my corner and stuff anyone who tried to oppose me. Now I have caved. You see, it’s not just the wanting them to keep what they have done to me under wraps; it’s the quiver-giving thought that at any time these two sexual powerhouses might simply take me and fuck me any way they want, and I might love every single second of it. So I have endured the fact that Sindee demonstrated limpet-esque tenacity in staying at his side all day, practically ignoring me even after what she did to me last night. I’d thought we would be closer than ever. I even thought Cas might find himself the one to be trailing around like a lost sheep today, not me.

  We are still here in England. It transpired that there were too many for the trip back to the chateau. Most of the band and lady-loves were put on the helicopter but Cas had us stay here for an extra night since, for us supposed bosom-buddies, this country is our home. The shows resume tomorrow, with two nights in Denmark split by three days off. Thereafter we head for Glasgow to start the British leg of our tour. Our extended party is now spread wide. We are here, obviously, due to fly out tomorrow. The All Stars and the guys of Death in Venus are still presumably in Deutschland, or en route to the northern border. One of the guys there has been tasked to ensure that we girls have all our stuff gathered up from the hotel room we have hardly been in, and taken along on the bus. We have our own private Bag Man! The Maori hunk himself has remained with us. It seems he is not so much the band’s bodyguard/odd-job man but Cas’s, sent by the record company to ensure their main man’s life is always kept incident-free. Most of the crew will be on the various roads of Europe heading to the venue. The rest of Thunderhed are now in France, chilling and boozing and womanising and perhaps, if time permits, doing some work in the make-shift recording studio at the chateau.

  We had a day to relax, which meant a lazy start. I was lonely. It was that special kind of isolation you get when you have made love with someone and then they are no longer there. You need the alone time to gather thoughts and so forth, but it is the acid test of how much you like that person: how much you wish they were immediately back there with you. Sindee, of course, was with him, feeling anything other than lonely. The afternoon brought a surprise outing. Cas decided he wanted to play a bit more the country gent and go riding. It had to be low-key so the whole thing had to be set up by the hotel management with a local stable.

  The day was warm. We all had jeans and T-shirts and the stables could lend riding hats, but that wasn’t good enough for Lord Cas of Casington Hall, oh no. First we had to have an outfitter visit with all sorts of hunting attire so that we could be properly kitted out. Hang the expense! Sindee decided that we girls only needed jodhpurs, tops and short boots but Cas got himself the whole kit and caboodle, including black hunting jacket, shiny knee boots and whip. My backside has never tingled so involuntarily in all its short, delightful life! He had his hair tied back under his brand new peaked riding hat.

  “I look the fucking bomb!” he announced whilst perusing himself in the full-length mirror. He’s spent all these years acting a rebel and now he wants to be the perfect toff. Actually, he looked a bit strange, what with the hair and the grizzled face and the rings, but in that same way he did in the fancy dress at the chateau. It was slightly ridiculous but awesome at the same time, especially given his size and the way he was packing out them breeches. Low-key it wasn’t. Nor was the arrival in the Range Rover with the blacked-out windows, driven by a huge be-suited bodyguard. Drug dealers travel in such cars, as do hit-men, royals, and other assorted VIPs. Ordinary people don’t. So the girls at the stable had that kind of stunned look about them as we leapt out in full kit, knowing that we must be somebody but not actually recognising who. You just knew they were treating us differently to any other clients. It was deference – even though for all they knew we might have been villains. It is rather addictive to be treated in this way. You can easily see how megalomania starts.

  I’d ridden a couple of times in the past whilst away from my real home but not to any degree of expertise. Cas seemed insistent on me being there, although Sindee seemed less keen on my presence, so I was happy to oblige. I can’t say I rode like an old hand. I lost my rhythm during one trot and got a bit of a bum-slapping off the saddle. It’s like kinky punishment is following me around! Sindee’s adeptness betrayed her posh roots and Cas was a cowboy in huntsman’s uniform, galloping fearlessly and recklessly about. It was good fun and rather sexy actually, but when are tight jodhpurs, knee boots and riding crops not?

  Sindee would have had him all to herself but Cas was as gallant as he is hairy and made sure I wasn’t completely left out of the conversation. He smiled at me a lot and Sindee frowned whenever he did so. He looked cool and hot all at once as he removed his hat and coat whilst the horses drank from the stream. He shook his hair out and then retied it, his chest tight under the crisp white hunting shirt. Those layers would have been too warm for most but his body was used to California temperatures. He looked fit and powerful. I had another between-thigh twinge – all too common around him now. I wanted him. No, that is not quite correct. I didn’t want to be just another in the line of females falling at his feet. I wanted him to want me.

  “He’s quite the hottie, your boyfriend,” I said aside to her as we perched together on the gentle slope down to the stream watching him with the horses. “He should be a rock star, or something.”

  Right on cue he scooped to get a double handful of the cooling water to splash over his head, making him give a quick whoop. The drips came off his mane, some of them wetting his top.

  “Careful,” my pink friend replied. “Next you’ll be telling me he’s cured you of your lesbianity.”

  I took this as a warning shot, cautioning not to think of straying onto her territory. She knows I’m not gay, although in truth she has no proof of it other than my sketchy thoughts on the matter. At that point the evidence of my complete homosexuality was pretty thin. Him in riding gear seemed lik
e too good an opportunity to waste.

  “Do you not feel like doing something dirty to him right now?” I asked, with an intentional inference that I certainly had the urge. She studied me for a while but I kept my eyes fixed on him. I could almost feel her mulling over the potential threat I posed. The Sindee of a month ago would have gleefully had us strip to take on her chosen man together. Things were different now.

  “So, have you brought your camera?”

  I was wearing tight black leggings and a powder blue polo shirt – which by the way suited my smaller bust better than hers did her tight pink version of the same top. I had no jacket or bag and she knew this. I was looking sleek and sporty, but not particularly storage-friendly. I thus adopted a look of sarcastic incredulity.

  “Yeah, of course – I got the horse to hold it.”

  “So how do we take pictures with no camera? That’s not very professional of you is it?”

  It was a slight and I bridled just a little at it. It was her nasty side bubbling up. She was reminding me that I was here to do a job, not here as her friend, which she’d previously had me believe. I remained calm, since she held most of the aces.

  “Well, unless you’ve got an oblong growth on your arse then I’d say your phone is in your back pocket. Can’t I take pictures with that?”

  She kept her gaze upon me just for a second or two and I guess her anger was still rising. Then she was undoing her boots and pulling them off.

  “Sorry, I forgot we were only here for your entertainment,” she said, now with a sarcastic tone of her own. She stood in front of me and stripped. It was done as hurriedly as she could and she glared down at me throughout. I kept the thin smile on my face, amused at any girl whose anger makes them take their clothes off. Her top and bra were removed without ceremony and then, without a breath, down too came her jodhpurs. As usual she had nothing beneath them. Cas was stood with hands on hips, still dripping, wondering what the hell was going on.

  “Little Miss employee of the Month here,” Sindee said to him whilst still staring at me, “thinks that we should do something for her.”

  “I’d do something for her,” said Cas as quick as a flash. It made me smile wider and her frown deeper. She actually looked genuinely irate, which is quite a sexy look for a naked girl. However, my light-hearted take on the episode suddenly changed when she marched over to grab the whip that Cas had left atop his discarded blazer.

  “Get on your fucking hands and knees,” she told me, brandishing the whip. I still don’t know why I did it. I am almost hard-wired to not do anything people try to command me to do. The shock shot through me. It all happened fast. There was fear of how sharp the whip would feel but still I did as she said, the shame already pinking my cheeks. She was there on her knees, peeling my top upwards until it was right over my head, feeling immediately claustrophobic in the warmth of the day. She left my top there, half off, tugging instead on my bra strap to ping it open, leaving it hanging loosely.

  “Let’s get those little tits of yours out, shall we? Although I’m not sure why we should bother – they are barely even a handful, are they?”

  Her hands were on them as she said this, the fingers finding my nipples to pinch them as hard as she could. I squealed. I should have got off my knees. I could have got up and slapped her and told her to stop being such a bitch, but I didn’t. I didn’t. I could feel the hard line of the whip being pressed across my behind. I could see nothing inside my cocoon of shirt. I could hear the speed of my breaths, coming hard. I braced, ready for the lifting of pressure at my rear end which would signal that the first strike was imminent. At least I had the material of my leggings to help reduce the sting. Would she be spiteful enough to pull them down? Maybe, but she wouldn’t want to give her man further enticement to want me. The guys all made it plain that my backside was an asset to this tour and I knew it annoyed her that she wasn’t given the same compliment. Her man had resisted me once but could he do it again, if I called out to him that I wanted it?

  The whip left my behind. I braced myself. Prickling, shrinking skin; hairs raised. Fluttering belly: that mix of nerves and anticipation. Chest heaving; mouth pooling with thick saliva.

  “You stay on your knees,” she spat, close to my ear.

  Again I did as she said, completely prone, never knowing when the first strike would land. I saw nothing. The shirt material clung to my face, the patch by my mouth saturated. I heard it all. I heard her telling him to come to her, the sound of the zip and the swish of pulled-down jodhpurs. I heard the sounds of her sucking on his cock, her joyful moans as she brought him to life in her mouth. I could make out when he entered her, right behind me, close enough for her to use the whip on my prone backside at any time. She had to be on all fours just as I was, that’s the picture I had in my head. The porn star in her gave me all the commentary I needed, telling him over and over to fuck her with that big hard cock of his. I could hear the noises of their rapid shag: the wet slapping and the rise of excitement. The sweat would be dripping off him, wetting his shirt in this heat, with the sun beating down and the frantic pace of his thrusts.

  “Reach back and put your finger in your ass,” Cas told her gruffly, to show that she wasn’t the only one adept at dirty talk. Her moan told me she had complied. It was fast and furious; so vulgar in its slapping, slurping urgency. She sounded every bit as drenched as I was. He came hard – the first time I had heard him do so. I’d heard her countless times before. My backside waited anxiously for the whip but it never came. I knew it was finished when I felt fingers at my back, fastening my bra again. I came off all fours, crouching with arms tight around my knees, almost too ashamed to pull the shirt back down and reveal my red cheeks.

  They, of course, took it all in their stride. It was done so it was all but forgotten. Cas had made himself decent and was sat idly combing through his hair with his fingers, already holding a lit cigarette. Sindee was still nude, lying there smiling contentedly, her hand down between her thighs. My face was blazing with humiliation and unleashed excitement but this didn’t even warrant a passing comment from either of them.

  “Take some pictures of me on the horse,” Sindee said excitedly, chucking her phone at my feet, forgetting completely that she had just been such a bitch to me. They hadn’t even cuddled. I don’t know how they can be so normal so soon after such a thing. They have no idea what effect these episodes have on me. It was like a rocket ride: white-knuckle; startling; exhilarating; unforgettable. It was already out of their minds. My insides were still tumbling. She was trotting around doing her Lady Godiva bit, with added sexy tattoos, which for most girls would surely constitute the most daring, thrilling thing they had ever done in their life, except that she had also just been fucked by one of the world’s most famous rock stars. All she could think about was where she could get something to eat.

  She rode most of the way back naked, just for fun. I don’t think she would have dressed even if we were in danger of meeting anyone along our route. He spoke about how much he loved our countryside. The whole frantic, filthy sex episode was indeed behind them, forgotten. I trailed in their wake, the mind’s-eye image of what had just gone on refusing to go away. She had purposefully tormented me again and given my desperate need no outlet. She was being cruel and it was making me want more of it. Even after this humiliation I was shamefully trying to get some satisfaction from the saddle as I rode.

  She was telling me in her own sly way that hanging around her and him was not going to get me what I needed. It would just lead to more of the same. She was trying to drive me away. I should be wise to take her hint before she turns me into something I don’t know how to handle. The trouble is I haven’t yet seen enough. The rudeness is becoming addictive and I want to witness his wild passion when she isn’t in control. I want to actually see him fuck her hard from behind, just like Russell did to that blonde girl in his hotel room – and it gets dirtier than that. I want to see him fuck her like Gio did to Raven Girl
in the maze. I want to see him in her derrière. I want to watch it from start to finish; see how she takes him; see in her face how his slide inside feels; hear how much she loves it. These are the dirty thoughts they have instilled in me. I want her to spank me whilst I am riding him, full of his cock.

  So that’s why I’m trailing behind them now, almost powerless, and why I didn’t raise a fuss when she took him off once we got back to the hotel, leaving me alone in my room to dream of being ridden down by the pack and used by hunky hunters and sexy foxes alike. That’s why I stayed there like a good girl and waited for her to be all sweetness and light again, once she wanted something more from me, and didn’t think to argue when I was summoned with my camera to their room.

  I could pretend to myself I was just there for taking pictures, but surely there is no doubt it will end in more. He wanted it or I wouldn’t be here. She wouldn’t want to give him any reason not to adore her. Sindee put me on the bed and he sat upon the low couch. All these big rooms have couches. It’s like they are designed for sex shows. I sit nervously awaiting my fate, not daring to form actual images in my head of what they might do to me in case they could somehow read minds.

  However, now that she has granted my wish for the blindfold and laid me down to do her stuff, it is becoming clear that tonight, once more, is not going to be about me. I am again essentially a pleasure provider, even though right now Sindee has me on my side and is spooning me, and her hand has gone down the back of my knickers so that her fingers can find their way inside me. I know this is not simply for my benefit because if it was then I would be bent over by now. My knickers would be down to show me off rather than conceal me. She would be encouraging her man behind me, telling him I wasn’t the lesbian I was made out to be.