Sexual Solstice (18 page)

She looked up at Cecil, despite the upper crust name and neighbourhood he hailed from, again she saw him as decidedly working class––something about the stubble, the line of hair down his torso, and his deep set eyes, said this man was a mongrel––to his credit––and not one of the well-bred with over accentuated features that characterised their lot. In a word it made her hungry for something rough, like this, the voracious appetite that accompanied the drive to be sated. “Let him fuck you,” said Ashley between licks. Gillian raised her eyebrows. “Go on, let him fuck you. We’d both love it. I can’t tell you what a turn on it is to watch.”

“She’s right, don’t worry I’ll be gentle. Ashley loves to look at me from afar, don’t you dear? She loves to watch me tighten my ass and release and she gets all hot at the idea that my fat headed dick is tickling someone’s cunt and driving them wild, just the fat head, that’s all. Just the fat head of my fat headed explosive dick inside you, pleasuring you, tickling you, finding your g-spot, making you wetter than ever, while Ashley plays with her pussy for us to watch. Maybe she’ll even let you lick her tits.”

Cecil’s words were driving Gillian wild, even the thought of Ashley’s tits somewhere nearby while Cecil fucked her, even that, or the thought that Cecil would lick Ashley’s nipples while his eyes rolled back in his head. All of these thoughts made her heart race. “Okay,” Gillian said, “I’ll be a good girl, if you’re a good boy. And Ashley I want you to behave. I want you to keep those gorgeous tits under control. Careful how you unleash their power.” Gillian moved to the other arm of the couch, where she bent over, with her back to Cecil. Ashley sat on the other side of the fireplace, her breasts fighting once again to be released from her baby dolls. Gillian felt Cecil come up behind her, and she gently took his cock––the large spongy head––in her hands and guided it. She felt herself willingly and warmly open to the touch, and Cecil gently applied pressure until Gillian gasped as it shifted into her. Gillian’s voice was low and long. “Oooooh my Gawwwwd.” She hung her head low as the feeling spread. She turned and looked at Ashley who was entranced at the amount of pleasure Gillian was exhibiting. “I’m getting over a drought kiddo,” she said to Ashley. “With any luck you’ll never have to experience anything like it. Oh my God this is so good.”

Ashley sat on the opposite loveseat and opened her legs and immediately started to play with herself.

So much seemed to be going on in Gillian’s mind, all of which had to do with the moment of course, and she was caught in a whirlpool of pleasure. And speaking of whirlpool, Gillian was fighting a tempest of feelings now, having connected with Cecil in a primitive way, she held her behind high while he came under her to get the better part of his cock up and inside. This angle, for Gillian, seemed to make his entry that much more intoxicating. Feeling Cecil’s hands on her hips as he rode her, gave her a sense that she was the tour guide, she was taking him to places that he hadn’t been. “Oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah.” Cecil was in a whole new state of bliss completely different from the earlier moment when his cock was being so thoroughly sucked on. The light sensation of in and out on the head of his dick was making his breath light and shallow, like he was trying to get into a tub of hot water. It was torture and magnetic all at once––a pleasurable pain. He had also managed to find one of Tracey’s special, g-spots, at this point she wasn’t sure how many she had, but the amount of discovery recently had led her to believe that her vagina was an extremely powerful conduit for pleasure. She could no longer focus on Ashley and dropped her head to concentrate on taking in the wide stimulation of Cecil’s dick-head. She had rarely taken this position and could now see and feel the farreaching benefits.

Finally Ashely let out a squeal and as far as Gillian could tell she was in the midst of an orgasm or being ravished by a ghost. In a fit of sensuality, she was shoving her tits to her face with one hand and licking them and driving herself crazy with the other hand. She was glistening with sweat, and laughing and weeping. But Gillian had entered the trance of the long orgasm, and grunted with each new push. She wanted to tell Cecil to just fuck her hard and long, but she knew it was not the moment to be rammed, so she played his game of tickle the nether regions which kept both of them on the verge, until, until, until, “ahhhhhhh,” Gillian was launched into another dimension and no sooner than this unfamiliar climax, did Cecil pull out his cock and clutch it with one hand and move the other hand to take the place of his cock in her and then he ejaculated all over Gillian’s ass, she felt the warm semen fly across her behind, as Cecil choked out a growl of pleasure. Then he gently took Gillian, held her from behind, placed his hands on her now steaming and sensitive breasts, and held her against his front. Ashley came over to the two and kissed Gillian, and then long and lasting, kissed Cecil, while Gillian was faced with the huge orbs of Ashley’s more-or-less perfect breasts. The three draped themselves on the sofa by the fire for ages, nodding off, sipping bubbly and cuddling and touching, when the urge suited them. Finally Gillian rose. “I should go back to my room,” she said.

“No, please stay?” Ashley asked.

“No. You guys need to get some sleep and I’d be too tempted to not sleep, if you know what I mean.” Gillian was being polite, she knew that Cecil’s dick was a once-in-a-while thing, not to be taken advantage of, as was being fawned upon by Ashley. She didn’t want any jealousies to surface; she didn’t want to be around Cecil and Ashley long enough to get mixed up in any emotional dynamic. And all that attention by a younger woman made her slightly self-conscious; the young Ashley made her think of her own young self with her Edgar, once upon a time. She buttoned up her pyjama top and kissed the two of them, got them to their bed, and amid thank you’s and hugs, tucked them in.

Back in her own room, the beds were empty, neither Val nor Randy were back and most likely wouldn’t be until morning. Gillian lay her tired self down, and for the first time since London, felt truly alone.

Chapter Nine - Coming Clean with the Kidnappers

“
R
ise and shine, folks, rise and shine.” Gillian heard Randy in the hallway. Her face was still planted in the pillow and she doubted she had moved since falling asleep. She opened one eye and took in a disheveled Randy, looking fresh but a little messy, in the doorway. “Chad is making coffee––grinding the beans as we speak.”

“I have a feeling you were bad.”

“Of course I was––and very good I may say. A model guest. Where’s Val, by the way?”

“I think she hit it off, or is hitting it off, with the banker.”

“Good news, Randy has gotten you a flight outta here.”

“What do you mean? Aren’t I under some kind of house arrest? He’s bailed me, but I doubt I can leave the country.”

“They found Edgar. Or they’ve seen Edgar. He’s in Mauritius. You’re free as a bird. If I were you I’d get my ass down to some warm weather.”

Everyone convened in the kitchen for coffee, freshly brewed courtesy of Chad, juice, freshly squeezed courtesy of Cliff, warm croissants, and hot gossip, or at least implied gossip. What had gone on behind closed doors was definitely open to speculation but everyone seemed to be wearing a smile regardless of the attire worn or shed the night before.

“Cliff and I can take you to JFK. There’s a flight to Barbados with a short layover in Miami. Just think, you’ll be under the palms by this evening, and Edgar, well, he may have something to answer for. Scotland Yard never likes to be sent on a wild goose chase.”

Gillian did her best to seem enthusiastic about her freedom and chance to get out of the cold and into the heat, but she felt lonely, had to put on a brave face. Going somewhere by herself had never been the plan, even if it was on Edgar’s arm. Sitting alone over a nice Viognier watching the sun set over the Caribbean wasn’t exactly her idea of a good time. But then she’d had a fairly good time in New York and all of it had been beyond what she had ever imagined it could be. She smiled. She looked at Cecil and Ashley who were feeding each other torn bits of croissant, Cliff and Chad who had sandwiched Randy in between them, and Val, who was on her banker’s knees while he read the Wall Street Journal. Val rolled her eyes, as if to say it wouldn’t last, not with a banker, but it was certainly fun.

S
o the gang saw Gillian off at the departures and were on their way in various directions. Cliff and Chad suggested they might end up seeing Gillian down south, if they could arrange it. Even Val and Randy suggested something of the sort. So there she was the lucky girl on her way out of the mayhem, jail, and all the stress that goes with not knowing what has become of your husband in the blink of an eye. She needed time to reflect, maybe even be a bit sad. Business class for a couple of hours to Miami would do her good.

But wind and winter weather being what it is, the flight was delayed and it would be a squeeze to change planes, which, in plain English meant there would be less time for the cocktail lounge while the Miami winter sun set. Once she had settled into her seat on the plane, and was going through her bag, the card the old woman had given her seemed to surface like an inflatable toy, out of her purse. She looked at the card, pondered it and its words: Mesmerize, All Potential, True Self. Odd, somehow the words spoke to her, made sense now. She had found an effect she had on men and that was indeed to mesmerize. She had cut through the bullshit with Edgar to find her true self, and she felt like there would be time to understand her true potential, as Val and Randy had. She dozed and thought of her encounters at Cliff’s parent’s home. A parade of bodies passed before her eyes, male, female, dominatrix, bimbos. She woke with a start as the plane touched down.

Gillian did her best to make it to the lounge for the brief layover, for a moment, until she was paged to the information desk. She gulped her champagne cocktail, gathered her things and headed to a house phone, to find out where in hell the information desk was.

Back on the departures level, outside of security, which she would have to tromp through again, she figured there would be more questions about Edgar. It wouldn’t do her good to try to ignore the request and escape on a flight that everyone in the world most likely knew she had a ticket for. Comply, comply, comply, she said under her breath as if more of a curse than a mantra. At the desk, stood a man and woman, both in suits and both grey in complexion and demeanour. Obviously more detectives. The grey woman spoke, “Ms. Pritchard, if you could come with us, this won’t take long. We simply want you to identify a photo of your husband, and then you’ll be on your way. We’re just parked here at the curb. So dreadfully sorry to disturb you.” The two presented themselves as CIA or perhaps acting on its behalf. When they got to the car, everything happened quickly: Gillian was shoved head first and then suppressed rapidly and quietly. If a sound was made it was not heard because of the heavy weight pushing her head into the seat, and a burlap bag over her head. All she sensed was that the vehicle was moving quickly and then she sensed nothing.

Gillian woke to a warm room. There was silence, sounds from above. Two generous lengths of chain were attached to her, one towards a bathroom and one towards the bottom of a stair banister. The smell of mildew overwhelmed her, everything, the air, the blankets on the bed. And it was so quiet. Had she gone deaf? The chain jingled. No, she hadn’t. But all sound coming to the room seemed muffled. Other than the bed, there was no furniture. Now what? Had Scotland Yard or the CIA abducted her? The police? Was this yet another arrest? What the hell was going on? Was she about to see Edgar?

A door opened from above and there were steps creaking in descent to where she was. It was the silhouette of the woman from the airport. She was making it obvious that she was carrying a revolver. “Ms Pritchard? Are you awake?”

“Please put the gun away, unless you intend to use it. I am obviously tied up for the moment. You’ve taken all my belongings. I don’t have so much as a nail file with which to protect myself.”

“I’d like to, but I’ll have to keep it out. I just can’t trust you. I hope you understand.”

“Why am I here? Did I overspend on my duty free? Credit card finally maxed out? Just kidding, of course.”

“We’ve kidnapped you, that’s all. Simple really. We are asking for thirty million.”

“Thirty million what? My husband––”

“Your husband can easily afford it.”

“Well no, he can’t. Unless he sold a few rotting estates. But that won’t happen.”

“We’ve given him seventy two hours.”

“Then?”

“Then. In the meantime we’d like to make you comfortable. Feed you.”

“Fatten me up for the kill? Good luck getting your money. My husband stopped loving me years ago.”

“Your husband is a public figure. If he fumbles, the world will know.”

“Well, I wish you all the best. Obviously. Not to trivialize your mission.”

“Can I bring you something?”

“Some air freshener, it’s more than a little musty in here, wherever here is, and I’d love to finish that champagne cocktail I was having in the airport lounge, and since I’m going to be here a while, how about a good game of scrabble, or a scrabble tournament. We’ll have time for a few games I imagine.”

“I can’t guarantee champagne but I’ll get you some food. There’s a TV in the corner if you like.” The woman pointed to a dark corner. “The remote is by the bed. This chain reaches to the bathroom, as does the one around your ankle. You won’t get any further than the bottom of the stairs or the bathroom, so don’t try. I know it’s a pain but it’s the only way we can be sure you won’t stray.”

“Gee, thanks. Listen if you want to come down and watch some TV feel free. I could use the company––it might get a bit quiet down here.

Though the day had started out promising more than being kidnapped, Gillian was now faced with the harsh reality that the gravy train was probably over. She was also angry that she had been the mute accessory for a man who would likely not pay her ransom. Who on earth is worth thirty million? The remainder of the day was spent surfing television channels to see if there was news of her abduction, and listening to people come and go up above her. Periodically the woman would call down to see how she was. This was how she spent Boxing Day, and the day after. Most of the time she felt sorry for herself, she had moments of anger but was just hoping that they would get on with it, whatever it was. Partway through the second day she was watching BBC World when a headline finally came across about her disappearance. Thirty million ransom, and a reward offered by Edgar––ten million. Ten Million? She would be the laughing stock of the crime syndicate. No one would find her. He wouldn’t pay the thirty million ransom. People disappeared all the time, down holes, into oceans, swamps, dumpsters. There were millions of places to deposit a body.