by Judy Nunn
'I think we need to disappear, don't you?' From the look in Mayjay's eyes, her feelings matched his. 'I don't care where to,' she said, 'but somewhere, and quick.'
Mayjay had no compunction about where they did it or who saw them. In fact, when she was this turned on she enjoyed an audience. 'Let's go to the beach.'
'I know somewhere.' The boat shed, he thought. The key had still been in its hiding place the last time he'd visited, and even if it wasn't there now, the boatshed was old and ramshackle, it would be easy to break into. He took her hand and they stepped from the dance floor.
'Slag! Bloody slag!
'Go on Carol! Give it to her!'
Suddenly, with neither the blare of the music nor the cheers of the crowd to muffle it, a ruckus in the street could be clearly heard.
'Fight! Fight! Fight!'
*
Dozens started swarming from the Snake Pit to investigate.
'Come on, let's take a look,' Spud said, he and Ian appearing beside them. Spud handed Mayjay her sandals and evening bag. 'Better take them with you, they'll get nicked for sure if you don't.'
Spud was carrying his own jacket and shoes. He'd told Ian to grab the rest of the gear, but Ian hadn't. It'd been safe all the while they'd been dancing, he'd said, and besides, they needed to save their possie in the sand. Spud thought it was bloody stupid of Pembo to leave designer stuff like his just lying around, but then Pembo was always stupid when he had the pills in him, and the same went for Mike tonight. Serve them both right for getting stuck into the drugs, he thought, I'm not my brother's keeper. But he'd made sure he'd grabbed Mayjay's sandals and bag.
She took them from him, and the four were swept along with the general exodus out into the street.
On the opposite side of the road, a fierce wrestling match was taking place on the grass. Carol, the rocker chick, and the redhead, Miss Albany, were rolling about, grunting and cursing, arms and legs flailing, the gang members, encircling them, urging them on.
'Go on, Carol! Give it to her!' the chicks yelled, while the rockers set up a steady rhythmic handclap.
Miss Albany's flimsy summer dress was ripped to pieces and one magnificent breast exposed, while Carol's leather jacket weathered the storm intact. But appearances were deceptive. Miss Albany, whose name was Bev, hailed from the tough goldmining town of Coolgardie, and her five brothers had taught her every trick they knew. They'd kill anyone who messed with their sister, and if they weren't around then they'd make sure their sister could do the job herself. Carol had picked the wrong adversary.
Flashing a healthy expanse of lacy crotch, Bev flung a leg around Carol and straddled her, pinning her wrists to the ground. Where the hell were the bloody cops, she thought. She didn't mind her dress being ruined, but she wasn't going to let the tart muck up her face – she was a beauty queen, for Christ's sake.
Beneath her, Carol bucked, screaming obscenities, and managed to break one arm free. Bev rose quickly to her feet, backing away to gain some distance.
Carol also stood, her breathing laboured. She was running out of steam. But she nonetheless came in for the kill. Carol was desperate, she was losing face in front of the gang, and she charged, arms outstretched, fingers at the ready, determined to claw Bev's eyes out.
Bev had had enough. If the cops weren't coming she'd have to do it herself. She stepped neatly to one side and, as Carol charged past, she grabbed her arm and spun her around. She waited a second for Carol to gain her balance, then took her by both shoulders and smashed her forehead as hard as she could into the woman's face. Carol sank to her knees, whimpering, clutching her broken nose. The fight was finished before it had begun.
As if on cue, the police arrived and, sport over, the crowd quickly dispersed.
Mayjay, who'd found the spectacle arousing, was eager to pick up where she and Mike had left off. The pills were meeting the remnants of the coke, and she was ready for action. She was aware, too, that Ian, who had been standing beside her openly ogling the girls, had found the fight as erotic as she had.
'We're going for a walk, Pembo,' she said, her arm about Mike's waist, her body pasted against his, un-mistakably signalling that 'walk' was a euphemism for something entirely different. 'Want to come along for the ride?'
Neither Mike nor Ian, nor Spud for that matter, were quite sure they'd read the invitation correctly.
They had. Mayjay was quick to clear up any misunderstanding.
'The more the merrier,' she said, eyeing Ian off hungrily. It had been a while since she'd had a threesome and she liked group sex. What the hell, she could give Spud a treat while she was at it. 'Why don't you join us, Spud? You can watch.' She shared a special wink with him – she and Spud went back, after all. 'You might learn something.' It was a promise.
Spud recognised the same dare she'd offered when he was seventeen years old and she'd placed his belt around her neck. Mayjay liked to shock. She'd been playing with him then and she was playing with him now. She was playing with them all. Everything was a game to Ruby's little girl. And yet it wasn't. She was deadly serious.
Mike's laugh was forced. He found the joke a bit off, and he found the fact that Pembo was literally drooling even more so. Jeez, the two of them were spaced out, he thought, but not that spaced out, surely.
'She's joking, you stupid bastard,' he said, and he led Mayjay away in the direction of the boatshed.
'Is she?' Ian muttered to Spud as he watched them go. He hadn't thought so himself, she'd seemed to be coming on strong. But then he was pretty bombed, maybe it was wishful thinking.
'No, she's not joking.' Spud noted the look Mayjay cast back at them and knew she was hoping they'd follow.
'Shit.'
Ian didn't even think to ask Spud how he knew the workings of Mayjay's mind. Like a moth to a flame, he followed the pair as they disappeared into the sandhills. He wasn't sure what he was going to do, maybe he'd just wait his turn, but shit, he was in with a chance.
Spud, stone cold sober, knew that he should pull the plug right there and then. Pembo was booze- and drug-affected, and his groin was ruling his head. There was bound to be trouble. But he didn't pull the plug.
'Don't let Mike see you,' he muttered as together they followed the shadowy shapes in the distance. Spud couldn't resist. He wanted to know.
'She likes it kinky,' he said.
CHAPTER TEN
The night was cloudless and the moon near full, its reflection on the sea's still surface casting an eerie half-light across the beach. On the foreshore and dotted about amongst the nearby sandhills people were dimly visible, some huddled in groups passing around a joint or a bottle, some in pairs kissing and petting, one couple openly in the throes of sex. No-one paid the slightest attention to Mike and Mayjay as they made their way to the boatshed.
'Here'll do.' Mayjay halted. She didn't want to wait any longer; she wanted to rut in the sand like the couple they'd just passed. Her hands went to the belt of his trousers, her sandals, looped over her wrists, getting in the way as she fumbled clumsily with the buckle.
Mike stopped her, although he, too, was aroused. God, the woman was on heat.
'It's not far,' he said. 'A bit further down the beach.'
The rambling old boatshed stood on stilts several feet above the sand, a wooden ramp leading down from the side facing the sea. The big double doors allowing access to the ramp were bolted from the inside, and the entrance was via a single door at the front. Mike quickly found the key – it was where it had always been, under the broken ledge of the side window. But it wouldn't have mattered if it hadn't been there. The window was broken, they could easily have climbed in.
He led the way to the front, undid the padlock and slid back the bolt. The door creaked on its rusty old hinges as he opened it, and they stepped inside to the musty smell of wood.
Mayjay's eyes flickered about, taking in her surrounds. Two surf boats, highly polished and heavily adorned with sponsors' logos, stood ready for action, and
life-saving equipment hung from the wooden beams either side of the shed. Ropes and pulleys dangled from huge hooks, and from smaller hooks, balls of twine, coiled wire, tools. This was a masculine place, a realm forbidden to women. She was glad they'd come here, it was illicit and exciting.
Mike was about to close the door.
'Leave it,' she said, turning to face him. 'I want to see.'
Dropping her sandals and evening bag to the floor, she hauled the red mini dress up and over her head in one swift movement and stood naked before him but for her silk panties. She wore no brassiere. Mayjay not only wanted to see, she wanted to be seen. She never had sex in the dark, she liked to be looked at. Now, in the moon's dull glow through the window opposite her and the light that filtered through the open door to her left, she knew she could be seen, albeit dimly, by anyone who chose to peer into the boatshed. As she slid her panties down over her buttocks, she wondered whether the others had followed. She hoped they had; she was in the mood for an audience.
The sight of her body sent Mike's pulse racing and he quickly stripped from the waist down. As he reached for her, she stopped him, a hand on his chest.
'This too,' she said, slipping his open shirt off his shoulders. 'I want to feel all of you.'
Both of them now naked, she snaked her body against his, sliding his hardened penis between her legs, closing her thighs on him, undulating her pelvis, her breasts rubbing against his chest. But Mike was no longer in the mood to be teased. Their foreplay had been conducted on the dance floor. With a hand beneath her buttocks, he hoisted her off her feet, prepared to take her against the wall.
Mayjay wrapped her legs around him, opening herself for him. She liked it standing up, and she wanted it brutal tonight. It was then that she saw the shapes at the window opposite. She couldn't make out who they were, but she knew. Spud and Pembo were watching. Her audience had arrived.
'Wait.' She struggled free, diving for the floor, scrabbling about in the gloom for Mike's trousers and the belt.
Mike watched, bewildered. What the hell was going on? Would she prefer they did it on the floor? He was about to join her, but she stood, his belt in her hand, threading it through the buckle and looping it like a noose around her neck.
'Pull on the belt when I tell you to,' she said, backing against the wall, her eyes on the window. The thought of the two watching was the biggest turn-on of all.
Mike paid no heed to the belt dangling between them as he once again hoisted her onto his hips. He had no idea what she meant and he was past caring as he thrust himself into her.
Mayjay's eyes remained fixed on the window.
'Jesus Christ, does she know we're here?' Ian whispered. All they could see were the two shadowy shapes bucking against the wall, but from the direction of her head, Ian could swear she was looking right at them.
Spud didn't answer. Oh yes, he thought, she knew only too well they were there. He waited to see what she'd do with the belt. He'd been waiting to find out since he was seventeen years old.
Mayjay was steadily working herself towards orgasm. It wasn't far off now, and she was looking forward to sharing the thrill of it with her audience. Watch and learn, boys, she thought.
'Pull on the belt,' she hissed. 'Pull hard on the belt.'
But Mike didn't hear her, or if he did he, chose not to – he was lost in his own sexual drive. Pembo had been right about the pills, he thought as their bodies pounded together mercilessly – even at this rate he felt he could go all night.
She pulled on the belt herself, closing off the carotid artery, waiting for the delicious flood of trapped blood to the brain that would heighten her orgasm tenfold. But it wasn't working, she wasn't able to sustain a constant steady pressure, their sex was too violent, too disruptive. She needed a willing partner.
'Pull on the belt,' she urged again, but still Mike wasn't listening. Damn him, she thought, and reaching up her hand, she ran it along the wooden beam just above her head, searching for a hook or a nail. She'd done it before when a sexual partner wouldn't join in the game, tying a noose to the bedhead, often passing out at the height of her orgasm. That, too, was part of the pleasure – the look of shock on the man's face when she regained her senses.
Mike was distracted. She'd been matching him equally, but she'd broken the rhythm. What on earth was she doing?
She thrust the belt into his hand. 'Hang it from something,' she urged.
He hesitated, confused.
'Do it, Mike!' She started up her own rhythm, clenching her muscles, drawing him into her, then releasing, then drawing him deeper. 'It'll be good for you too, I promise.'
Locked together, he edged her clumsily along the wall, fumbling about above her head, the feel of her driving him on. It was bizarre, but if this was the way she wanted it . . . He found what he was after, and, discarding the ball of twine that hung from the rusty cup hook, he forced one of the belt's eyelets over it.
'Yes,' she hissed, 'yes,' and she pulled her head forward, the belt tight about her neck.
To Mike, the sight was disturbing but intensely erotic.
Spud peered through the grime of the window. 'What's happening with the belt?' he asked in a whisper. He'd seen her put it around her neck, but couldn't make out what was going on. All he could see was their frantic coupling.
'I don't know.' Ian didn't take his eyes from the pair. 'I think they've hung it from something.'
After the initial and impressive sight of Mayjay naked, Spud and Ian hadn't found the spectacle as erotic as they'd anticipated. It had actually been funny to start with, seeing Mike's buttocks thumping away. Now they were only too interested in what was going on with the belt.
'Come on.' Spud crept towards the corner of the shed, heading for the open front door. He turned back as Ian hesitated. 'They won't see us, you silly bastard. Christ, listen to them, they're going at it hammer and tongs.'
Even from where the two stood, they could hear the animal grunts that matched the increasingly urgent pound of bodies against wood. Seconds later, as they peered through the door, the couple inside was so oblivious to the intrusion that Spud and Ian didn't bother disguising their presence, but stood transfixed by the sight.
'Good God, she's strangling herself,' Ian whispered. 'Shouldn't we do something?'
'No.' Spud watched, fascinated. 'She likes it this way.'
Mayjay had forgotten her audience. She was writhing in an orgasmic frenzy. Her circulation cut off, the rush of pleasure overwhelmed her and she started to go into spasm. Waves of ecstasy were engulfing her, she was delirious. Any moment she would faint.
Mike could feel her body shuddering, her muscles clenching around him. The force of her orgasm was bringing him to his own climax.
The old wooden floorboards could take no more. They collapsed under the strain. And Mike, on the threshold of ejaculation, collapsed with them, his feet disappearing through the floor, Mayjay ripped from his grasp as he landed heavily on his backside.
The sight was so ludicrous that Spud and Ian couldn't help themselves – they burst into laughter.
Mike heard his mates laughing uproariously, but he took no notice. Mayjay's feet were right before him, her knees sagging. She was still hanging from the belt – he'd have to get her down before she suffocated. He hauled his legs out of the hole, amazed that she hadn't fallen with him, he wouldn't have thought the hook was that strong.
The moment he saw her face he knew she was dead. Her head was at a hideous angle, her eyes staring at him, her mouth grotesquely open, her tongue lolling out, clown-like.