And now, the final blow. I stand with the two Coca Cola bottles in hands protected by washing up gloves, the base of each bottle having been broken off with a sharp smack on the bar edge, the remaining glass forming a tube.
I stand over her bleeding and glass filled body, astride her; powerful and ready to rid the World of her. She locks eyes with me. Good. I want to see the fear, the remorse for her ways, I want to see her wish she had done differently and know that she never can now.
‘Last FUCKING Orders’ are the final words she hears from me as I plunge the jagged edged glass bottle-cum-tube into each side of her neck, effectively letting the remainder of her blood pump out of her carotid arteries. She cried not a jot, just gargles and bubbles as I watch the life flicker out in her eyes.
Some passers-by pass by, slurring and laughing. The pub is darkened and will appear as vacant as Jo Smithers’ lifeless eyes. And so all is quiet in the bar.
Chapter 41
It’s February 2000, and it is damn cold. Bloody cold. We’re walking around Kensington Gardens, trying to find the address that we’d secured on the phone earlier. We applied, we sent our photos and then all is shrouded in secrecy until the day of the night of the orgy. You are then given the address and that’s what we’re trying to find now.
‘We’ consists of an existing couple that have been to the ‘Fervent Parties’ before, the male of whom knows my partner in crime for the night, Lucy. Lucy and I have fucked a few times but it never went anywhere and we’ve made our peace with that. Tonight we are pretending to be a couple to get in, as they have a policy of not allowing single men.
Lucy has been bi-curious for a while, and I want to play. Lucy is petite and very lovely (of course), and would make girlfriend material if that’s what I was into or what I was looking for right now. But I’m not. Only one girl has come close to that, and I screwed that one right up, somehow. One day I’ll hopefully find out what I did, as I really don’t remember. My bloody blackouts striking again. This time it hits harder, though.
I feel the gnawing in my belly start when thoughts turn to Elektra, and I do my best to quell it. No, no more going to the dark place. I remind myself of what is going to happen tonight. An actual orgy of beautiful people. If that can’t take my mind off of things, I don’t know what can. Christ knows I’ve been screwing my way through beautiful girl after beautiful girl to erase the pain of losing something before it started. I know it’s partly wanting what I can’t have, but it’s the fact that I had felt something. There was a shift happening, and I can’t help but feel it would have made me a better person. She would have made me a better person.
It wasn’t to be though, and no amount of letters, cards, emails, flowers and even CD singles had changed that. She would not talk to me. Not actually talk to explain what I had done to change everything so dramatically, so quickly. Just that I had shown a side of myself to her that she didn’t like. That’s all I could get. Naturally, by persistent endeavours to contact her and occasional drive by’s her flat at night had made me a stalker in her eyes. Really, all I needed was an answer to get some closure, but she would not budge.
She was a strong one and held her resolve. And that broke me.
There followed a binge of drinking, smoking and drug taking. I couldn’t concentrate properly at work and yes, I was sleeping with as many women as possible to make myself feel better. But it didn’t worked. Then maybe it did. I’m lots better now, but still have that pain occasionally return, that only the heartbroken can feel. But it’s less now.
I look at Lucy, with her arm linked through mine. Poor girl. She really got me at a bad time, and it’s testament to her that she’s stayed buddies with me. Fuck buddies occasionally, but mostly just buddies. We joke sometimes about whether it was her dealing with me when I was down that has garnered her burgeoning bi-curiosity; but after some rib tickling she always insists that it was always there, dormant inside her.
She just hadn’t been in a situation to explore it before this came up. This amazing thing.
And so here we were, masquerading as a couple, shivering in the cold with me in my Paul Smith corduroy suit and her in a very classy yet easily removed flimsy little black dress. I knew she would have the tiniest of g-strings on and no bra, for her breasts were perfectly perky and not too big so that gravity got a hold. I was looking forward to seeing them again. All of her, in fact, if it came to that.
‘Here it is’ Marcus said, the male of the couple, accompanied by Sian, his striking and stunningly androgynous girlfriend. They had been to two ‘Fervent Parties’ before and had told us what to expect. Sian had explored fully her curious side, and Marcus explained that he had watched at times, and had been allowed to join in a couple of times when Sian had hooked up with a single girl. I wanted some of that, please.
Couples and single girls only. Those were the rules. Respect of boundaries being another that they emphatically stressed. Good. Manners and sex with multiple partners sounded like a great way to spend a Saturday evening. Right up my alley.
We look up at the Brownstone four storey apartment block that is the allocated venue. Very swanky. We buzz the buzzer and wait for the door to be opened, all in quiet anticipation in our separate thoughts about what was to come.
I unlink my arm from Lucy’s, and put it around her shoulders and squeeze her towards me, she looks up with her smokily made-up eyes, then winks at me. Whatever was between us, friends or whatever, it didn’t matter. What we knew lay beyond this door created a constant undercurrent of sex. Yes, we were going to have some fun tonight.
The door is finally answered and we are ushered in, checked against photos and names and then ticked off. A hostess called Sasha then greets us, takes our coats and leads us away from Marcus and Sian and through to the kitchen of what proves to be a massive muti-million pound apartment. Sasha is drop dead gorgeous, olive skinned, possibly Arabian looking and also in a little black number. She has a serene smile and seems to exude sex from her every pore. There is definitely a vague Middle Eastern accent, but I still can’t quite place her. Whatever, does it matter, I ask myself.
And then we walk through to a very large inner hall that has entrances to various rooms, and people are everywhere.
‘Wow’ we both say as we survey the scene before us. Everywhere we look are beautiful people dressed elegantly and seductively, engaged in low level chatter. Some are in groups, some in couples and some girls stand alone looking nervous. Everyone seems to be drinking nervously.
Soft music is being played that would be at home at Café Mambo in Ibiza, adding to it the air of being a normal party, one where nobody knew each other. Sasha is encouraging us to explore after grabbing some drinks, explaining that there are several ‘play areas’ consisting of beds, or seating; and then there is the main bedroom area, that has several beds pushed together.
As she takes us by the hands from room to room, she is smiling and chuckling at our faces as we take in the scenes in front of us. As we walk through, she explains that some people only come to watch, some join in and some watch their partners join in. There were no constraints outside of the strict house rules, and no judgement from anyone.
When she leads us finally to the main room, we see an expanse of crisp sheeted beds, already with some naked forms at play. At a glance among the normal one on one sex, there are two women in a 69 with couples stood around them watching, there is a threesome of two men and a woman in full swing, as well as a foursome of two men and two women. Soft lighting and cool music set a tone of normality to the unusual scene before us. Here and there are bowls of condoms and everywhere people are kissing or fondling whilst watching others. The air is charged with sexual chemistry, and Lucy and I keep exchanging glances and smiling.
Sasha has one final room to show us, a huge bathroom that she takes us into. She locks the door behind us and looks at us both in turn.
‘You guys are lovely, I can tell. Delicious too.’ She says looking Lucy up and down and the
n myself, ‘What are you looking to achieve tonight?’
‘I want to experiment with a girl. Maybe a boy and a girl at the same time’ she shoots a sly look at me when she says this. It is news to me. Very good news.
I look at Sasha, tall, leggy and olive skinned, long brown hair and deep brown eyes. Then I look at Lucy, petite, stunning, also long dark hair and amazing body, and I respond with ‘I want a threesome more than anything. A double blow job would blow my mind, and a triple would mean I could die happy’. I laugh and looked at them both expectantly.
‘Sorry guys, I’m off limits. I don’t play as I’m with Pete, one of the organisers’ she says, and my heart sinks. A sly smile comes on her face though as she walks up to Lucy, puts her hand round the back of her neck and pulls her face close to hers and breaths ‘..and I definitely don’t kiss anyone’ as she proceeds to kiss Lucy passionately.
I watch as Lucy’s initial surprise turns to lust and she responds ardently, and I grow harder all the time. I put my glass down on the marble surrounding the sink, and walk over to them. Sasha grabs a handful of my shirt and pulls me in to her, unlocking lips with Lucy and hungrily kissing mine. Her tongue probes me urgently as Lucy starts kissing my neck, as I have a hand on each girls’ fantastic and pert posteriors. My erection is bulging in my trousers and I ache for one of them to touch me.
We kiss, and kiss. I groan. Pure passion. Lucy moans. Sasha sighs, then pulls away, planting a massive and final sloppy kiss on Lucy’s plump lips, reaches down and briefly grabs the girth of my erect cock between thumb and forefinger, while she puts her other hand up Lucy’s dress to press her palm flat against her moistening flimsy underwear, and says;
‘Off limits, guys, sorry’ she explodes into deliciously dirty, throaty laughter, turns around with a flip of her flimsy dress and a flash of black underwear on tanned , toned thighs; then unlocks the door and leaves.
‘Oh my god’. I say, head pounding, dick throbbing, ‘what was that?’
‘Shit, Robbie’, Lucy breathes, grabbing her drink off the side and swigging hugely from it, then slamming it back down, ‘will you please lock that door right now and then come right over here.’
I lock it, turn around to see that Lucy had shrugged off the two items of clothing she had on, a dress and tiny red knickers, and she is stood beckoning me, pert tits, flat stomach and shaven pussy, framed in the tan lines she has from her September trip to Ibiza. She has kept her high heels on and has a hungry look in her eye.
‘Come get me, Robbie. Fuck me. Then we can go and fuck the rest.’
‘Fuck, yes’, I say, grinning, and drop to all fours, then crawl towards this little naked tanned beauty, stood with legs apart, toned and perfect in her high heels with a fire in her eyes. It’s a sight that makes me salivate, as well as making me very, very lustful indeed.
Chapter 42
Bryan had been a barista for a while now, nearly two years, in fact. He knew a lot about coffee. In fact, what he didn’t know about coffee wasn’t worth knowing. He was extremely good at what he did, he knew it and his returning customers knew it too. Shit, his coffee was awesome! He snapped his fingers sassily in his mind’s eye. Yeah, girl, he was GOOD.
The problem was, his degree wasn’t in making coffee. His degree was in Fashion and Textiles and so was his heart. Of course he wanted to be a fashion designer. He wanted to be a stylist. Hell, he’d be a personal shopper at a decent store, even. A decent one darling, something like Harvey Nicks, he was prone to saying in his little bitchy clique to his equally bitchy friends.
He had no shame in that, none of the Bitch Bunch did; they all loved to be bitchy. In fact their friend group was based purely upon and subsequently held together by the glue that was bitchiness, back stabbing and generally being mean. Hence the name. They consisted mostly of bitter queens of varying ages, none of whom fancied each other, with a few fag hags thrown in for good measure. There was always fag hags where there were fags! He smiled at that, despite the gloomy mood that had been over him all day.
Bryan didn’t really do happy. Not very often. The coffee shop saw to that, even though as far as anyone was concerned he ruled it. ‘The Costa Queen’ was the nickname he’d been tagged with by the Bitch Bunch, despite the fact that they would always be in there for their freebies. Them and of course the boys that had more of a chance of putting a smile on his face. Oh yes, the boys came to see the Costa Queen and they got served more than a double espresso at times.
In spite of his mood, he barked a little laugh at that, prompting some funny looks from the queue behind him, all patiently watching him deftly work the gleaming silver machinery, starting the majority of their drinks with the espresso shots being pumped into the little glass shot glasses. He looked again over his shoulder, and noticed the queue had grown by a few more people, two of which he recognised. There was Jeanne smiling at him, she was the longest serving fag hag in the Bitch Bunch. She was a good laugh, LOVED the gays and had a filthy laugh and a voice suited for a telephone sex line. She was mostly straight but loved to tell the clique the sordid details of when she’d ‘go a bit gay’ as she liked to call it, and try out her bi side.
He winked at her sardonically and she visibly perked up at the attention. With you in a minute, he mouthed at her. Behind her was a rather attractive guy, a bit too smooth looking for Bryan’s tastes, though. He was dressed well and smiling at something on his mobile phone. The dimples were nice, Bryan noted, but he was way too vanilla for the Costa Queen. And he reeked of being straight too. He exuded it from his every pore. Then two more people behind him was one of Bryan’s boys, at the end of the queue. It was Graham. Short, stocky, shaved head and a beard; and he was a right filthy bastard.
Bryan had had a few runs-ins with him, out in clubs and a couple of times in the toilet at the back of this very coffee shop. Graham got a big smile and a salacious wink from him. He reciprocated, and Bryan felt his spirits rise a tad. Hopefully that wouldn’t be the only thing rising today, he smiled. He felt a thrilling shiver run through him, and his thoughts went to the last time Graham had come in, much later than this, and they had rushed into the toilet and wanked each other off urgently, staring each other in the eye and not saying a word. It had been SO horny. He felt a hard on starting and tried to change his train of thought. He steamed the milk, the heat and the white spray not lost on him in its aptness.
‘Two cappuccinos to go’ he sing-songed loudly in the effeminate voice he was rather proud of, and turned round to face the queue of seven people that had been only three when he started the two drinks. He realised sullenly that the lunchtime rush was approaching and he was on his own on barista duties. There should have been two on coffee today and one server, but that veggie bitch Beth had rung in sick.
His mood darkened again realising that he had just over ten hours of making every single fucking drink until his shift ended. Fine when it wasn’t busy and manageable, hellish in the rush peaks. Breaks would be minimal and swift too. Definitely no sneaking off for a mutual masturbation session with Graham or any other Bears that cared to wander in with a gleam in their eye and a taste for his slender physique, hungry kissing and big cock.
Yes, he still had it. He took care of his body, kept the weight off by watching what he ate. He still had a noble and effeminate face, big generous lips and long lashes. He was androgynous, and he was ok with that. The hair was receding a bit, but his wide hairband that had become his trademark saw to that. Overall, he was a pretty good catch and the Bears couldn’t get enough of him. At least that was a positive, he assured himself.
He handed the cappuccinos to the outstretched and needy hands, then turned round to start the next lot, scribbled on the piece of paper on the ‘to do’ spike. Each time he filled an order, that piece of paper was thrust onto the ‘done’ spike. It was a simple system, but it worked and it allowed the boss to have a paper trail of the day if needed. What didn’t go on either spike was the freebies, of course. He started Jeanne’s skinny latte while
he did the other order, that way no one noticed.
A thought struck him, and he started to make a drink for Graham too, hazarding a guess as to what he wanted. It was one of two – a double espresso or a skinny cappuccino with an extra shot. He plumped for the former, and decided he would write a little note on the thick card of the cup; inviting him to maybe meet up at the end of his shift. Yes. That’ll make the day end nicely. He subconsciously licked his lips as he thought of sucking Graham’s thick circumcised dick, and felt himself stiffen again. His thoughts were interrupted by Emma, on serving duties
‘Bry, I need to collect some cups, darling. All the orders are taken up to the old lady behind the fit guy in the suit. Queue’s getting big though’
‘Perfect’ Bryan replied moodily. He glanced over his shoulder and could see another three or four added to the end of the queue, although there was also another friendly face in there too. He threw a wink. It was Stephen, another bear he had trysts with on occasions. This could get interesting, he thought, and ran an image through his mind of a cock in each hand later. Oh god, yes. He’d sneak a drink to Stephen too, a little invite scribbled on the side. Stephen always had a coffee, black and straight. Like his men. It was his joke, ha-ha.
Manners Cost Everything (Manners Trilogy Book 1) Page 13