Ultimate Sins

by Jean Roberta

  “There – oh yes, darling.”

  The words were mumbled against Catherine’s cheek as Lizzie gave herself up to her lover. Catherine could taste the saltiness of Elizabeth’s skin, hear and feel her fevered breath on the side of her face. Lizzie was moaning softly as Catherine stroked her body with one hand, her other still playing in the warm depths between her legs. Elizabeth’s hands clutched and moved, until in one moment she caught fire, her entire body pulsing as she orgasmed. For a minute she lay, panting, blonde hair falling across Catherine’s breasts, clinging to Catherine as if she couldn’t bear to let go. Catherine wondered, for one heart-stopping second, how many times they would ever do this again. But Elizabeth spoke, and the world receded once more.

  “And now, Kate, let me pleasure you…”

  Lizzie had lifted herself onto an elbow and was gazing devotedly at Catherine’s body; at the breasts with their small coffee-coloured nipples, down to the thatch of light brown curls that lay at the apex of her thighs. Catherine’s body tingled at the look, at the promise it held.

  “Lizzie?” she begged, as Elizabeth seemed lost in her admiration.

  Elizabeth laughed.

  “My impatient one!” she teased. “What do you want, Kate?”

  Catherine’s hands were reaching out to Elizabeth again, to pull her closer once more, but Lizzie leaned back out of range.

  “Please?”

  “I will, darling,” promised Lizzie.

  She drew one hand down the length of Catherine’s body, stroking her with a light, tantalizing touch. She laughed again at the expression on Catherine’s face.

  “You want more?”

  “Mmm.”

  Catherine’s bottom lip was gripped between her teeth, her head arced back to show her long smooth neck. It had been so long, so long…

  Elizabeth knelt over her and pressed a kiss to her lips. Her hands were on Catherine’s breasts, rolling and kneading them between her fingers.

  “That’s nice?”

  Catherine made a noise of appreciation, deep in her throat, and Lizzie smiled lovingly at her.

  “What if I do this?” she asked, one hand reaching down further, tickling the light curls between Catherine’s legs.

  It was wonderful and terrible – too much and yet not enough. Catherine thrust up towards Elizabeth’s hand, and Elizabeth allowed her fingers to wander lower, sliding one, then two fingers inside her lover.

  “Yes…”

  The word was gasped as Catherine’s hands reached up to touch Lizzie, pulling down on her shoulders to keep herself steady. The sweat shimmered on her body, pooling between her breasts. She wanted more – more – there. Shamelessly, she encouraged Elizabeth, her whispered words becoming steadily more incoherent as she came closer to the brink. Then – ah – Lizzie’s mouth was on her breast, her fingers never ceasing to move inside her; and Catherine climaxed; the world shattering, transforming, to be made anew more perfect than before.

  Sated, the two girls lay together on the bed, arms clasping each other closely, exchanging light kisses of thanks and happiness; of warmth, of caring, of love.

  If it was sin, it was a beautiful sin.

  The Spying Game

  by Roz MacLeod

  ‘Karl Smith.’ Control lit a small cigar. I stared at the projector screen. I saw a sturdy man, unruly dark hair, classical profile. Not bad looking for a scientist. He wore a long, belted raincoat and carried a newspaper tucked under his arm.

  ‘His mother’s Russian,’ Control continued, puffing at her cigar. ‘Just your type, Sandi.’

  I recalled my encounter with Oblonsky, a top communist agent. I had been the means of Oblonsky’s downfall. Life imprisonment with no chance of an exchange.

  Control fastened the top button of her pinstriped jacket, rose to her feet and switched on the light.

  ‘Bearing in mind your excellent impersonation of a whore, I would like you to role-play your way into Dr Smith’s affections. He’s working for us, but we are suspicious about his links with Moscow Centre.’

  ‘A double agent?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Same as before?’ I’d had such fun pretending to be a high class prostitute.

  ‘Not entirely. Dr Smith will be attending a scientific conference at Pensley Manor at the weekend. He’s giving a lecture.’

  ‘I know nothing about science,’ I protested.

  ‘You don’t need to. You’ll be attending,’ she stroked her tie, ‘as the cabaret – one of the dancing girls.’

  Since my parents had died at the hands of the Nazis, I was more than willing to play the game and do anything keep my country free and safe from tyrants. I stood, discarded my swing jacket and postured in my apricot blouse, my pencil skirt and red beret.

  ‘What sort of dancing?’ I began to gyrate my pelvis. Control would appreciate a private show.

  She pressed a button under her desk and narrowed her wicked eyes. ‘Striptease, Sandi.’

  I giggled and undid buttons on my blouse. My breasts swung forward, slipping out of their silk camisole. I was not wearing a brassiere, so my nipples bounced freely in front of Control’s eager face. I teased her, spinning round, unzipping my skirt, which slithered to the floor.

  Control’s cheeks went red. Her pants must be wet, I thought, my forefinger pressing my moist clitoris under my French knickers. It excited me to have such power over my boss. I let my knickers fall in a slinky movement. I stroked my auburn fur and invited her to put her hands right there.

  Her plump fingers tugged at my pussy, she found my hole and stirred in and around. My juices ran down my legs. I sat astride her, my wetness seeping into her trousers. Her fingers moved ever quicker, massaging my clit to an exquisite agony.

  I gripped her shoulders and convulsed so hard my beret fell off.

  ‘Good enough?’ I climbed from her soggy lap and bent down to pick up my beret and presenting her with my bare bum.

  She slapped me on my cheeks. I wiggled about for more, but she didn’t oblige.

  ‘I’ll let you know when I’ve watched your performance again this evening, Sandi.’

  I’ll say one thing for Control. She’s thorough.

  I must have passed Control’s test, because a couple of days later I received my invitation to the Manor.

  I climbed out of the taxi, carrying my weekend holdall. Pensley Manor rose before me, impressively large in the early evening light. The warm brick build, with its lattice windows, the wrought iron balconies, the glow of reception, filled me with wonder and delight. Above all, soared the ancient turreted clock tower, its point reaching high into the clouds as if it went on for ever.

  I signed in and was taken to my room. I studied my invitation card. ‘Reggie’s Red Ravers – modern dance – adults only.’ I grinned as I looked at my reflection in the long mirror on the wall. So that’s why Control had chosen me. Titian hair, green eyes, red pussy. Au naturelle. ‘God bless you, Dad,’ I said to myself.

  I heard a knock at my door. A ginger haired girl smiled at me. She wore shocking pink lipstick and a salmon satin dressing gown with a big sash at her waist.

  ‘Sandi? I’m Marigold. We’ve got a rehearsal. Ready?’

  ‘Anytime.’ I started taking out the costume Wardrobe had given me on Control’s orders.

  ‘Don’t bother with that,’ Marigold said. ‘Our leader wants us to do it naked. So he can see how we move unrestricted-like.’

  I swallowed. ‘I don’t have a dressing gown with me.’

  ‘Just come downstairs in your birthday suit, then. None of the delegates will arrive before dinner.’

  ‘Very well.’ I pulled off my blouse and skirt, then my frilly knickers.

  ‘Slim, hourglass figure,’ Marigold said. I could see she envied me.

  I ran down the maroon carpeted stairway, enjoying the freedom of moving my limbs without restraints. At the bottom stood a statue of the founder of Pensley. Clad in a long robe like an ancient Roman. I stopped, stroked the cool
marble and rubbed up against him like a cat. Marigold laughed.

  ‘For luck,’ I said, my vagina already twitching from anticipation. I slide a finger in my honeyed hole.

  ‘You’ll be a lot hornier when we get going,’ Marigold said, her gown slipping from her shoulders. She pointed to her ginger pussy.

  ‘Blokes go mad for this,’ she said. I could see it wasn’t her natural colour, but I didn’t say anything out of politeness. Her skin was far too dark, whereas mine is ivory pale. She was bigger boned than me, but curvaceous enough, the aureoles on her breasts dark. I leant towards her and pinched her nipples. She returned the compliment, her fingers sliding under my swellings. Then she bent down and sucked my breasts, first the left, then the right. I moaned with pleasure.

  She let me go, her breath panting.

  ‘Later?’

  I nodded. I didn’t think I’d have time, but I rarely turned down an opportunity.

  I followed Marigold into the hall. Assembled at the summit were the other four red-headed girls who made up the troop of ‘Red Ravers’. Undressed and ready to go. In front of them sat a middle-aged man, a bald patch at the back of his head, his hand resting on a gold-handled cane.

  ‘Reg,’ Marigold whispered.

  We took our places in the line of dancers. Somebody switched on the music. Reg raised his cane. ‘Now,’ he shouted, ‘remember, from the top to the bottom.’

  I copied the others. He meant we had to shake our top half, before wiggling our belly and our hips. It was quite easy. Two of the girls had waist length hair, so they made much play of this – tossing it back, twirling round their nipples, catching it in their teeth.

  The music increased in volume and quickness. We gyrated as fast as possible. Marigold winked at me and I started giggling. She moved nearer to my body. I pressed my pelvis against hers. Now we were moving together, breast against breast, pussy against pussy. The wetness flowed from my labia and down my thighs.

  The music slowed, but we continued nuzzling each other.

  ‘Nice,’ Reg said. ‘Good girls.’

  ‘He might give us a bonus’, Marigold murmured in my ear. She cupped a hand round my bum and fingered my anus. I groaned in delight. ‘Not too loud,’ she said.

  Reggie’s expression was full of admiration. ‘You two gotta lot of imagination, I must say.’

  In answer, I raised one of my legs for Marigold to lick my vagina. My back arched, I couldn’t help myself, my body jolted, I writhed and came in flood of orgasm. The other girls clapped. Reggie got to his feet, his face shining, the bulge in his striped trousers like a tent pole.

  ‘Well done. Best ever.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Do it again tonight.’

  ‘We will,’ I said, looking forward to it. At the same time, I wondered whether he knew I was here for another job really. Control never tells us. Except she gives us a phrase which helps.

  ‘Will the Earl of Pensley be dining tonight?’

  Reg looked confused. ‘Oh, I don’t think so.’

  It was the wrong answer.

  Back in my room, I showered and put on my costume. Three silver stars. I stuck two on my nipples. The third to cover my private parts, except it wasn’t big enough. I fixed it low on my fur. I lifted my arms and donned my emerald top, loose and open to the waist. It hung just above my cunt star. Heavens, I’d forgotten to bring the silk trousers! I searched desperately in my holdall, finally fixing on my amber necklace. I wound the glowing beads round my waist three times and wriggled until they rested over my thighs, meeting the silver star. Very pretty, I decided. I turned round and thrust out the creamy cheeks of my bare bottom.

  ‘Fuck you.’ Marigold stood at my unlocked door.

  I grinned. Evidently, she had forgotten her top, because her full breasts swung freely, with only the stars covering.

  ‘Thought I’d get in the mood.’ She cupped her mounds and danced, twirling her hips in their Turkish pants. I slapped her on the bum and she returned the favour. My clit trembled.

  ‘Wait for it,’ I warned. ‘We don’t want to go off the boil too soon.’

  ‘I’m never off the boil,’ she replied. ‘And neither are you, are you?’

  I followed her into the corridor. ‘Will the Earl of Pensley be dining tonight?’

  ‘Who?’

  The wrong answer.

  We trooped into the splendid dining room. Chandeliers hung at regular intervals over the tables, crystal lights like candles on a huge birthday cake. The mass of delegates swam before my eyes. Where was Karl? I couldn’t ask them all about the Earl of Pensley.

  Our music started. I took Marigold’s hand. Round and round we danced, faster and faster, and at each new movement, the girls removed items of their clothing, lastly, the stars. The delegates clapped and shouted, egging us on. Marigold pushed towards me, her fingers rubbing my clit, then in and out of my hot, wet, twitching quim. I began to thrash about, we collapsed onto the floor. She put her head down, I raised my legs and she sucked my pussy. My body spasmed and I came with a crashing orgasm, my necklace splitting apart, the beads rolling towards the delegates.

  ‘Me, too,’ Marigold squealed. I pulled her towards me, stroking her clit with one hand and squeezing her teats with the other. I put her breasts in my mouth and licked and pinched her nipples. Another one of the Reds danced up behind, caressed her thighs and stuck her finger up Marigold’s bottom. And another girl kissed her lips, her tongue forging towards the back of Marigold’s throat. A third ran her silver star down the length of Marigold’s body, then licked her ginger pussy, tongue grooving into her juicy hole. Marigold’s limbs convulsed. We all shouted to thunderous applause from the audience.

  Everyone was smiling and laughing. How good it felt to bring so much happiness to so many! Reg bowed and waved to the audience, pointing at us and clapping his hands at our performance.

  He presented us all with bouquets. Mine was russet chrysanthemums, my favourite flower. I pressed it to my breasts and saw the note nestling in the blooms. ‘With love from the Earl of Pensley.’ I glanced into the room – and caught the eye of tall, dark haired man. Karl Smith. He held up a handful of amber beads.

  By now I was hungry for cock. It’s all very well playing with the girls, and I’m sure Control likes me to have a good time, but there’s nothing like a huge cock to round off the day. Preferable Karl Smith’s cock. I had so little time to get to know him and discover if he had links with Moscow Centre.

  In my room, I squeezed into my basque. The lace at the top barely hid my nipples and my breasts stuck out like they were begging to be held. Would that be enough to snare Karl? Like Oblonsky? I powdered my skin and painted my teats lipstick crimson. The black basque contrasted against my lily white skin. The full skirt shone a brilliant sapphire, and my stiletto heels clicked down the passage towards the dining room. I wore no knickers, just a suspender belt to hold up my black silk stockings.

  By now, the delegates were very merry with pre-dinner drinks. I sauntered into the room carrying my velvet evening purse. They welcomed me with cat calls. I grinned and searched for Karl. A hand grasped my waist. I turned, my breasts spilling out. Karl pulled me close and my nipples grazed his business suit.

  ‘Let it all hang out,’ he said, bending over and taking my nipple in his mouth.

  ‘The Earl of Pensley …’ I began.

  ‘…is dining tonight and requests your company,’ he continued, licking my darkening aureole and making my crimson nipples swell and harden.

  I breathed a sigh of relief. From now on my path was clear.

  ‘Over here.’ He led me to a table by one of the wall tapestries. We sat down. Karl pressed his thigh against mine.

  ‘Tell me why you’re here. Good show, by the way. Is that what they teach you at London Centre?’

  I smiled, proudly. ‘Most of it I picked up myself. I’m Sandi. Control asked me to look after you.’

  His handsome face crinkled into a frown.

  ‘Why?’

  I lean
t towards him, my bare leg brushing his trousers. He moved his hand under my skirt, fondled my knee, stroked his fingers up my thigh towards my cunt.

  ‘That’s nice.’ I opened my legs as wide as possible.

  Karl renewed his pressure on my pussy. He fingered open my labia and began rubbing my clit. My stomach contracted. I caught my breath.

  ‘Other people,’ I warned, as a couple of delegates sat down at our table.

  He pulled his finger from my hole and licked it.

  ‘Juicy pussy – pussy my love, what a beautiful pussy you are …’ I smelt his masculine scent as he put his arm round my bare shoulders and pushed down my basque at the back. My breasts danced free for all to see.

  I swallowed a glass of cold white wine to cool my senses. The whole of my lower body felt on fire. I ached for cock to slide into me, to fill me completely. I glanced at the protuberance in Karl’s crotch. He looked big, long too, and raring to fuck me. Under the table I fumbled at his trousers and glided my hand into the slit between the buttons. He jerked. I held on tight. His mouth opened, his cheeks reddened, his breath came in short bursts. I took pity on him and let go his stiff.

  Just as well, because our first course was served – asparagus soup. Karl poured me another glass of wine.

  ‘Control is very kind to send you, but tell her I can look after myself.’

  ‘It’s not that,’ I murmured, ‘there are other agents here – communists and anarchists who would die to know our nuclear secrets.’

  ‘Does she think I’m going to tell them in my lecture tomorrow?’

  ‘Not at all. She believes they may kidnap you and force you to tell them.’ This was the story Control had asked me to convey to Karl. ‘So I am to sleep with you tonight in case they try to break in. Don’t worry – I have been schooled in martial arts.’