Afghan Bound

by Henry Morgan

  By the time it arrived Emily was ready in a blue cotton suit, the skirt stopping respectably just below the knee, and her jacket sporting square padded shoulders. Her underwear consisted of a tight basque with suspenders clipped to seamed stockings, while her white blouse concealed cups that squeezed and lifted her breasts. Black stilettos, a velvet choker, jet earrings and a brooch completed her stunning appearance.

  The taxi driver spent most of the precarious hilltop drive with his eyes glued firmly to the rear view mirror, prompting knowing smiles from both David and Emily, especially when he dashed around to open her door when they arrived. David gave him the time for their return journey, and then guided Emily into the elegant restaurant.

  Once he’d finished ordering it was time to set Emily her first test. He excused himself and went to the toilets. Unlike the cottage, here she would have access to telephones and the opportunity to speak with other people. She did nothing but remain in her seat awaiting his return. David was pleased to find his trust was well founded. He sat at the table and told her to remove her jacket. A waiter immediately appeared and offered to take the garment to the cloakroom. While he hovered he couldn’t help but notice the nipple pins distorting the line of her blouse. It ensured them first class service throughout the evening.

  Towards the end of the meal, and after several glasses of excellent wine, it was Emily who needed the lavatory, and although David considered escorting her, he deemed her earlier display of loyalty should be repaid. She had been gone only a minute or two when a man approached from a nearby table to inquire politely if David had a light – his own having packed up on him. David answered in the negative and the man made to return to his dining companions, but stopped and turned back.

  ‘You’re the chappie who bought the old sea captain’s house, aren’t you?’ he asked. ‘Camelot, I think you’ve called it.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ answered David, a little cautiously. ‘How would you know that?’

  ‘Ah ha,’ said the man, trying to be enigmatic. ‘We have a mutual acquaintance. The estate agent we bought the hotel through; he’s dining with us, over there.’

  ‘Oh,’ David sighed with relief, happy there wasn’t a more sinister reason. ‘So you own the hotel?’

  ‘Yes. Me and my business partner, Paul. My name’s Marshall by the way – John Marshall. Perhaps you and your good lady wife would care to join us?’

  ‘David Harper.’ He offered his hand. ‘She’s not my wife actually. Thanks for the offer, but we’re just having a quiet meal, so if you don’t mind. Perhaps another time.’

  John Marshall nodded. ‘Can’t say as I blame you – it’s a bit flat on our table. It’s a sort of stag evening for Leonard, but he only wanted a quiet meal too. Wish I’d hired a strip-o-gram now though.’

  There were four men sitting at their table, all easily in their fifties.

  ‘It’s his third marriage – you’d think he’d have learnt by now,’ John was still talking. ‘Well, better get back I suppose. If you fancy a drink after the meal we’ll be in the residents’ room.’

  ‘Thanks,’ smiled David. ‘We might just do that.’

  ‘We’ve empty rooms upstairs, so you’re welcome to stay if it drags on a bit.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Emily returned to find the waiter serving cheese and biscuits and a fresh bottle of wine.

  The door to the resident’s lounge opened with a weary groan of its iron hinges. It was a large high-ceilinged room, dimly illuminated by a pile of logs blazing on the hearth. Books crammed the shelves that lined the walls, their spines reflecting the flames onto several studded sofas and chairs whose red leather was worn and cracked. In a recess in one corner, above a snooker table, three one hundred watt bulbs cut a pyramid of light through the cigar smoke to reveal only the legs of the men who played on the baize. The sedate click of ball striking ball and the mumbled acknowledgement of a good shot were the only occasional sounds to accompany the crackling and spitting of the fire.

  ‘Let’s watch,’ urged David.

  Eyes peered from the shadows beyond the pyramid of light at Emily’s shapely calves and ankles. Her stockings whispered to the faceless men as she sat on a stool and crossed her legs.

  ‘Ah, glad you decided to join us,’ welcomed the disembodied voice of John Marshall. ‘Would you care to play a few frames? Doubles. Leonard and Roger aren’t having much luck. They haven’t won a game yet.’

  David weighed and chalked a cue, and Emily’s eyes widened at the semblance it bore to the cruel sjambok that had taught her so much. ‘Love to,’ he said, handing Emily a cue. She took it tentatively, thankful of the darkness beyond the boundaries of the table in which to hide; she had never played the game before in her life. She removed her jacket and hungry eyes watched her white blouse strain to contain her promising figure.

  She was the last to have a shot, and used the waiting time to study their actions; the way they held the stick and sawed it between finger and thumb. The size of the table was quite daunting. Her time duly arrived. She expected David to offer advice, but he didn’t. She failed to pot a red, but was only too pleased to have hit one at all. She hadn’t embarrassed herself, and the game continued. Her confidence grew. She became quite enthralled in the tactics and technicalities of the contest, so much so that she failed to notice the men gathering behind her whenever it was her turn, watching her bend over the table – calves straining, bottom jutting, waist dipping, breasts brushing the baize.

  As the game continued Roger nipped out to fetch a few bottles of champagne, feeling the introduction of the two newcomers had lifted an otherwise dull party. Conversation between the men began to flow, and Emily soon learned that Leonard was to be married the following Saturday.

  ‘We’re honeymooning in Goa.’

  ‘That’s in Italy, isn’t it?’ said Paul. ‘I had a friend who went there once.’

  ‘India, actually,’ Leonard corrected. ‘West coast. All unspoiled and quiet. Daphne’s into that sort of thing.’

  Emily leaned across to line up a red.

  ‘You’ll love it over there,’ said David. ‘The women really know how to treat a man.’ There was a lecherous cheer from the other males before David added: ‘They do, believe me. And once you’ve sampled it first hand you’ll know what I mean.’ He eased the tip of his cue between Emily’s legs and slowly raised it. She remained bent over the table. Her skirt rustled enticingly. The atmosphere grew electric and fell silent as all eyes followed the cue’s ascent. David inched it higher until the darker bands at the top of her stockings peeped from just below the hem of her skirt. The shadows on her inner thighs teased the open-mouthed men, and promised of secret delights just a few inches higher. The heavy cigar smoke swirled beneath the light and hovered just above the shiny balls. Emily’s elbow glided forward and a red rattled around the jaws of a pocket. She moaned her disappointment that it didn’t drop. David removed the cue from its snug hiding-place, and she retreated into the shadowy sanctuary without another word.

  Paul slipped his chalk into his pocket and furtively adjusted the swelling in his pants so he could bend a little more comfortably to play his shot.

  ‘Have—’ John coughed a little to clear the slight tremor in his voice. ‘Have you been to that area?’

  It was David’s turn at the table, and he talked while he checked his angles and looked for a snooker. ‘Not that particular place, no,’ he admitted. ‘But I’ve travelled in both Pakistan and India where they hold certain beliefs.’

  ‘And what about Emily?’ persisted John, turning to her. ‘Have you travelled to these places?’ There was reason to his question and everyone in the room knew it.

  She didn’t answer, not knowing what the right thing would be to say, not knowing what David was up to, but David had set the game afoot and he made the rules.

  ‘She’s learned a lot of their ways,
’ he spoke for her. ‘She’s aware of their beliefs.’

  The conversation was an extension of the tactical war being waged on the battlefields of the snooker table.

  John leaned into the light. ‘Are they religious beliefs – solemn vows?’

  ‘Let’s not get too deep,’ said David. ‘Your shot.’

  John took his go in silence, miscuing the ball totally.

  ‘Good shot,’ chuckled David. ‘Perhaps now’s the time for a little side-bet.’ He gathered the balls in the triangle and began removing the balls from the side pockets. ‘What if we play you and Paul, or Roger and Leonard, in a little competition?’

  ‘What if we win?’ said Roger. ‘How much do we get?’

  ‘You won’t be playing for money.’

  ‘Well, what then?’ asked John hopefully, having already guessed where this might be leading.

  ‘If you win, Emily will remove a piece of clothing.’

  ‘Sounds interesting,’ said Paul. ‘And if we loose?’

  ‘Ay, there’s the rub,’ quoted David from his schoolboy Shakespeare. He became a little more serious. ‘You all look like well-heeled gentlemen. Shall we say fifty quid a piece?’

  There was a brief conference, during which the huddled men peered at Emily’s curves and rubbed their chins. Agreement was reached, the balls re-racked, and a coin tossed.

  The only one of the group unsure of the situation was Emily herself. She whispered in David’s ear: ‘Master, I’m not very good at this game. We’re sure to lose.’

  David smiled reassuringly. He saw this as another important piece of her learning. It was another way for him to gauge her loyalty and obedience under the most trying of conditions.

  ‘We’ll lose, and I’ll be naked amongst these strangers.’

  ‘Then you’d better hope to win.’

  The blouse was the first to go. Soft breasts bulged over the top of the basque every time she bent to play a shot, and four men yearned to take the place of the cue; gripped in her fist and rubbed back and forth against the welcoming warmth of those breasts. Four mouths drooled and four pairs of eyes were glued to her perfumed cleavage.

  David and Emily lost the second frame by forty points, and she removed her skirt.

  The start of the third frame saw Emily walking around the table in basque, stockings, and high-heels. Without knickers the labial restraints were clearly visible whenever she took her turn. She was passing the test with flying colours, but David wanted to push as far as she would go. It was the only way he could know his training had really worked.

  Emily’s concerns had lessened, and she was definitely beginning to relax, and perhaps even enjoy herself. The initial humiliation had turned to simmering excitement. She could detect the same excitement building in her competitors. When on the opposite side of the table they were only really visible from the waist down, but secret glances told her that four pairs of expensively tailored trousers were distorted at the front. Was David excited too? How far would he take this?

  The next game saw the removal of the basque. Emily was virtually naked, and her cheeks glowed. The men mumbled compliments at her pierced nipples.

  Her next shot was a difficult one, and saw her struggling to hit the cue-ball. She had studied the men playing during the evening, and decided the only way to cope was to lift one knee onto the table-edge to ease the cueing position. The tension increased. Paul coughed awkwardly, as though in a library. Emily’s position placed her pierced mound in full view of the watching men. Her naked bottom, underlined by black stockings, looked spectacular in the orange glow and shadows flickering from the fire, and in the glowing red light her silver labial rings glistened.

  The sight was too much for Roger. ‘John, do – do you think we should – um – lock the door?’

  ‘We won’t be disturbed,’ answered John without peeling his eyes away from the smooth straining legs and raised buttocks. ‘Most of the staff will have already gone home.’

  ‘It might be a good idea – just in case,’ urged David. He knew full well his response had given the men permission to proceed. He backed quietly away into the shadows of a corner and lit a cigar.

  The door was secured.

  ‘Come on Leonard,’ encouraged Paul. ‘It’s your stag night.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ He licked his lips and ogled Emily lowering her leg and peering inquisitively over her shoulder at him. ‘No, it wouldn’t be right… would it?’

  ‘Go on man,’ Paul coaxed again. ‘Make the most of it – it could be your last chance of happiness. It’s the ball and chain for you come Saturday.’

  Leonard conscientiously replaced his cue in the wall-rack, and then stood close up behind Emily. Her fragrance filled his nostrils. Her closeness was breathtaking. His erection nestled between her buttocks, and even with the safety barrier of underwear and trousers to dull the sensation, he had to close his eyes and concentrate until the critical and potentially embarrassing moment passed. His voice trembled when he eventually spoke softly in her ear. ‘I… I’ve noticed a fault in your – um – in your cueing.’ He reached around her and adjusted her hand positions and grip on the cue. Her soft hair tickled his cheek. Emily was sandwiched between him and the solid table. ‘Bend forward, and line your shot down the cue.’

  The three spectators edged a little closer.

  Emily followed his coaching, and felt his shirt rub her back as he leant over her, covered her hand with his own, and showed her how to cue smoothly.

  ‘Keep practicing that,’ he said hoarsely. ‘And it helps if you try not to move your head.’

  Without tearing his eyes from the erotic scene unfolding, Roger fumbled his cube of chalk onto the edge of the table, missed, succeeded the second time, but it toppled to the floor as soon as he let it go. The sound disturbed no one.

  Leonard’s fingers started to move lightly over Emily’s skin, until he cupped her swaying breasts and felt the pierced nipples prod into his damp palms. ‘Bloody hell, you feel good!’ he panted in her ear, and pressed harder against her delicious bottom. He covered her flat stomach with one hand and pulled gently. ‘Stay down as you are,’ he continued to prompt. ‘Just step back away from the table a little.’

  The two shuffled back, and Leonard tapped her ankles apart with his toe. He straightened himself, squeezed her buttocks and prised them apart. ‘Keep on cueing… that’s it… good girl.’ As he quietly spoke he inched a hand between them and released his erection. He heard Emily sigh as it sprang free and lay throbbing in her deep valley. The shiny glans pulsed over the lovely dip in the small of her back. Emily’s cueing slowed and then stopped. Leonard gave her a sharp slap on the buttock. She gasped and the arm promptly started sawing back and forth again. He eased his hips back a little and aimed his cock at her unprotected sex. She was already moist. He watched the cue travel smoothly towards him, and as it paused and started to slide forward he slipped easily into her. Emily’s back arched and the cue rattled on the slate top. She pushed back at Leonard and they were joined as one. He covered her back again, squeezed her breasts, and began to pump vigorously against her, mumbling incoherent encouragement the whole time. Their legs crumpled and they slumped against the table. Emily was folded over its edge. The cue was forgotten, but her blindly clutching hands found a blue and a green ball and squeezed until her knuckles turned white. Her hot cheek squashed against the baize. His hands were trapped under her breasts. She groaned and he panted with each strong thrust.

  ‘Yesss…!’ Leonard stiffened and held himself deep inside Emily as he erupted. He slumped on top of her, and the two lay breathing heavily as they recovered their senses.

  Eventually Leonard left her to receive the congratulatory pats on the back from his admiring friends. John passed him a glass of champagne, which was gratefully downed in one.

  David remained in the shadows. Only the occasional orange g
low from the tip of his cigar as he drew upon it lit his face.

  Roger took off his tie and waistcoat as though preparing for a fight. He placed himself behind the still sprawled Emily. She tried to rise as she sensed his closeness, but a hand between her shoulders stilled her. Without ceremony Roger opened his trousers, gripped her hips, and thrust home. Emily shuddered instantly, the orgasm that Leonard so nearly induced finally ripping through her. She flopped forward like a doll, but Roger withdrew, spun her round, and lifted her easily onto the edge of the table. He pushed into her again. Her legs wrapped around his waist, and her head lolled onto his shoulder as he thrust to his own release.

  ‘Paul,’ said John. ‘Would you bring her over to the sofa?’

  By the time Paul had done as his friend had asked John was sitting with his trousers undone and his erection standing straight and tall. Paul guided her to her knees, and without further encouragement she leant on the sitting man’s thighs and her warm mouth closed over his helmet. Paul knelt, nudged her legs apart, and entered her as Leonard and Roger had done.

  Emily grunted and slavered around the rigid column as she was shunted back and forth between the enveloping men.

  John watched his partner closely, and as Paul’s face contorted he released himself into Emily’s sucking mouth.

  David smiled at the wet sounds Emily was making. She had done well. He was pleased with her, and proud of himself. He emerged from the shadows and all five men smiled at each other – words were not necessary.

  The five men lounged around the fire sipping more champagne and nibbling cheese and biscuits fetched from the kitchens by John. Each felt relaxed and replete. It had been an extremely good evening.

  ‘She certainly is a saucy young lady,’ John eventually broke the contented silence. ‘Is she prepared to do everything you ask?’