Alleyn, Fredrica (22 page)

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Nicola stared at the loofah Framboise was holding in her right hand and her bound body arched away from the other woman, her stomach almost disappearing as she tried to protect her sensitive skin.

'Stand up straight,' said Franchise, tugging on the girl's nipples, amused by their immediate reaction. 'That's better. Now, let's see if you like it as much as I do.'

Nicola didn't, at least not at first. The loofah was hard, and the granules of salt in the scrub were rough, particularly where her skin was at its thinnest. Frangoise began on her stomach and that quickly started to burn and itch so that Nicola found herself writhing helplessly beneath the onslaught, but when the loofah moved higher and she realised that it was going to be used on her breasts she cried out; begging Franchise not to touch her there.

'But this is the best part,' said the Brazilian woman, and then the loofah was moving over the whole area, not even avoiding the painfully tight and vulnerable nipples.

At first Nicola thought she couldn't stand it and she kept crying out, beseeching Fran^oise to stop, but slowly the strange burning heat that she'd already experienced on her stomach started to permeate her breasts as well and although they were hot they were throbbing too; throbbing with a hungry desire for further touch, more stimulation, anything to release the dreadful tension she was experiencing.

Franchise knew that if she continued to work on the breasts long enough Nicola would climax, but she was a consummate judge of when to stop, and just as Nicola felt the initial pulsations between her thighs the loofah stopped its work and once again her body was left right on the edge of satisfaction while Frangoise stood back and watched the girl accept the fact that she was again to be denied release.

When she judged that the moment of danger had

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passed, Frangoise untied Nicola and pushed her through into the bathroom where she stood her in the tub and then used the shower head to hose her down, removing every trace of the scrub. After that she directed a stream of ice cold water at Nicola's spine and let it cascade up and down her body, hearing her gasp with shock and watching the way her buttocks and thighs shook with arousal.

When she turned the shower off she wrapped Nicola in a huge fluffy towel, warm from the heated towel rail, and very softly patted her body dry, her movements in total contrast to those made by the harsh loofah and the slight scratchiness of the body scrub.

Poor Nicola's body no longer knew what was happening to it, and she let herself be led back into the bedroom and tied flat on her back on the bed without a murmur. 'This will soften your skin beautifully, just to finish the whole treatment off,' Frangoise murmured, and then she was spreading a cool, lavender scented lotion into the flinching skin that rippled beneath her touch.

When Frangoise's hands moved between Nicola's thighs and carefully massaged the area surrounding her vulva, Nicola began to buck and cry out, but this time with urgent desire. Very gently Frangoise parted the girl's outer labia and she saw her copious secretions and the darkening pinkness of the tissue within.

'You need to come don't you,' she said with deceptive kindness. 'Perhaps, just one little climax would be all right.'

'Oh, please, yes. Yes, just one!' Nicola implored her, no longer caring how shameless she sounded so great was her need.

Frangoise plucked a few threads of cotton from the discarded bath towel, licked them and then, holding the girl's outer lips apart, drew them with practised precision across the tip of the clitoris.

Nicola felt her whole body gather itself together and her fastened legs moved restlessly as she began that wonderful ascent. She was almost there, the scarcely perceptible touch of the threads was all she was aware of, all that she needed, and with a grateful cry she moved her pelvis higher in the air.

Frangoise stopped moving her hand and threw the threads to the floor. 'On the other hand, perhaps not,' she murmured. 'The baron might not like it.'

Nicola, her whole body engorged, swollen and frantic with need, burst into tears. She hated the young woman who'd been playing with her so ruthlessly and vowed to get her revenge one day.

Franchise walked away into her dressing room. Tears bored her, but the girl had provided her with a delightful afternoon and she couldn't wait to see her when she actually reached a climax later that evening.

The baron lay on his bed, still wearing the light grey suit, white shirt and silver-grey tie that he'd worn to his meeting and replayed the very last part of the video he'd been watching on his screen.

Cassandra was lying beneath Giovanni Benelli, looking up at him, her dark eyes still clouded by desire and her voice was soft with emotion as she spoke:
'You were wonderful. Really, Giovanni, it was incredible.'

Her voice, soft and tender, sounded exactly the same the second time he heard it as the first, and with a frown he let the film run on for a few more seconds.
'You too,'
responded the Italian - whom Franchise had indicated was some kind of heavy-handed over-enthusi-astic stud, not the eager-to-learn sexual athlete the film had shown.
'For me that was something very special to be treasured always.'

The baron frowned. It wasn't what he'd expected to see. None of it had amused him; on the contrary, he was feeling decidedly irritated, and he knew that if he wasn't careful he was going to get annoyed. It was irrational and out of character, but he could feel the anger lurking just below the surface.

Despite this, he played the whole tape through again, studying the way Cassandra had so skilfully helped the young Italian to improve his technique until their roles reversed and she became lost in the sheer sensuality of what he was doing to her.

Not that the baron normally minded her being lost in sensuality with any of his friends. No, it wasn't that that was troubling him, it was the way the two of them had seemed to come together so well, like two halves of one person fusing with ease and grace. And then, to add to his annoyance, they'd even begun to curl up close, as though their emotions were as involved as their bodies had been.

Cassandra had swiftly sent him away of course but then she had known, as the Italian had not, that they were being filmed. If they hadn't been, or if Cassandra had been in ignorance too, then the baron suspected it would have been a different story.

He tried to distract himself by changing videos and watching Nicola's body suffering through the endless permutations of arousal and denial that Frangoise had designed for her own entertainment, but it didn't help. He couldn't concentrate, and in any case the girl would be beneath his hands that evening and he could enjoy her then. No, it was Cassandra who kept reappearing in his mind; her and her Italian lover. Swiftly he turned off the monitor and made his way to Cassandra's room.

She was just about to take a long bath before changing for dinner. They always had an extra special menu on the day Rupert and Frangoise arrived, and she took even more care than usual with her clothes. When her door opened, Cassandra thought that it was Monique who had come to help her and didn't turn her head as she continued searching through her clothes cupboard.

'Run the bath please. I won't be a minute,' she said casually.

'I'm surprised you didn't take your bath the moment you and Giovanni had finished together. It seemed a fairly strenuous bout of lovemaking,' drawled the baron.

A warning bell sounded in Cassandra's head. He had never before discussed any sexual act that he'd witnessed between her and one of his chosen friends in anything other than amused tones. There was no amusement in his voice now but there was an edge to it that cautioned her to think before she spoke.

'Well?' he persisted, closing and locking her bedroom door behind him.

She glanced over her shoulder and smiled briefly at him. 'It
was
quite strenuous; Franchise was right, he's got a lot of energy.'

'And skill.'

'He improved,' she conceded casually.

'You told him he was wonderful; that sounds like a definite improvement.'

So he'd already watched the video, thought Cassandra; watched it, and disliked it. 'I thought I was supposed to help him. You don't do that by telling someone they're hopeless. Isn't he here to learn some finesse?'

'He's here as a guest; if he learns some finesse during his stay that's fortuitous for the girls he moves on to once he's left. It's not the same as Nicola you know.'

'I never imagined it was. What shall I wear tonight, Dieter? The fawn silk or . . . ?'

'I don't care what you wear tonight,' he said shortly. 'You liked him didn't you?'

Cassandra sat on her bed and her dark eyes were puzzled. 'Yes, I liked him, but I like Rupert as well. Is that wrong? Am I only meant to go to bed with those friends of yours that I don't like, men like Nicola's father for example?'

'He's falling in love with you,' sneered the baron.

Cassandra felt very nervous. 'Don't be ridiculous! He only arrived here this morning, and I don't think he's anywhere near ready to fall in love with anyone except himself.'

'Really? I think you're lying to me. I think you know very well that he's already besotted, and you gave a very good impression of a woman who felt the same about him.'

'Then obviously my acting is improving, along with my sexual skills.'

'This game is about Nicola; it does not concern Giovanni. He is simply a player, someone to take a turn in making it more fun.'

'I know that,' responded Cassandra, suddenly realising that the baron's eyes were roaming over her in a way that suggested her bath might very well be delayed.

'Take off your slip,' he said curtly.

Cassandra sighed. 'Dieter, I'm tired, it's getting late and I have to be changed for dinner soon.'

'Tired out by Giovanni, or tired of me?' His voice was dangerously low.

'It's been a long day,' she said placatingly. 'We've got a busy evening ahead and I just want to be alert for that.'

'I said take off your slip. Do you want me to fetch one of the maids to do it for you?'

Now Cassandra was getting annoyed. He'd been the one who'd told her to take Giovanni for the afternoon, and now he was cross because she'd done her job too well. 'I'm certainly not going to do it,' she retorted, and got up to move towards her bathroom.

He caught her by the arm, turned her to face him and tore the silk slip off her by ripping it straight down the middle. It was the first time she'd seen him genuinely annoyed, with none of the amused nonchalance with which he usually disguised his displeasure.

'Dieter, don't! This is silly. All I did was

'I saw what you did,' he muttered, pushing her back onto her bed and forcing a hand between her thighs as she tried to close her legs against him. 'You loved it, you loved everything he did to you.'

'It's your game!' she shouted. 'You make up the rules.'

'You played it badly/ he retorted, and then he was taking off his own clothes as he kept her pinned to the bed with his legs. When he needed to remove his trousers he stared down at her. 'If you move while I stand up I shall get Sophie to come and tie you down,' he warned her.

Cassandra had no intention of moving. She simply lay there, waiting for whatever was to come and wondering what she should have done when Giovanni had started making love to her so well.

A few seconds later the baron was lying heavily on top of her, his hands thrust up into her long hair as he kept her head pinned between them.

'I'm going to make you come for me like you did for him,' he whispered softly, his breath warm against her face. 'I want to see you helpless, lost in your pleasure, totally out of control, and until that happens we'll stay here even if it means missing dinner and leaving our guests alone for the evening.'

'Dieter, I can't,' she pleaded. 'Not so soon after Giovanni and . . .'

'You've had plenty of time to rest. What's the matter? Do you like him better than you like me?'

Cassandra had never seen him like this. He never showed any signs of lack of self-confidence, never asked her what she thought of him or how she liked to be touched. He'd always known instinctively, or so she'd assumed. This change in character frightened her. The game was hard enough as it was. She was fighting to keep this man, to remain with him for as long as possible, and now suddenly he'd turned on her for playing her allotted role with Giovanni too well.

'I hardly know him/ she protested, and the baron's fingers tugged at her hair so that her eyes filled with tears.

'What was so special about him? Why did you . . .'

'Why did I what?' she asked, needing to know what it was that had antagonised him so. But the baron couldn't reply; couldn't explain how the soft, contented look in her eyes had hurt him to such an extent that he'd felt an ache in his stomach and his hands had trembled with unexpected jealousy.

'I'm going to make you come and come,' he whispered again, and then he reached over to the side of the bed and took out a small jar that Cassandra knew only too well.

'No, please don't, Dieter. Not now; not this early in the evening. It's too much, you know how it affects me.'