Star Slave (22 page)

He pulled out his handkerchief and offered it to her, feeling embarrassed by the unbridled display of emotion. ‘Here,' he said. ‘You don't need to upset yourself. I've no intention of going anywhere near her again.'

She took it, dabbed at her eyes, sniffed, and then blew her nose loudly. She handed it back to him, keeping her head down. ‘Thanks, but I wouldn't bank on that.' Her flat voice sounded resigned. ‘I don't think she'll let it go at that.'

Michael let her keep the hanky, not through any real chivalry, but because he didn't fancy putting it back in his pocket after she'd filled it. ‘I told you,' he replied hastily, alarm bells beginning to sound. ‘It certainly wasn't rape, in spite of what happened. She didn't fight me off. No way.' He was startled by the tearful, dark eyes which lifted to meet his, naked in their hurt and appeal.

‘I know that!' she cried tormentedly. ‘You don't have to rub it in, you sod!'

He wondered what on earth she meant. The tears had started again, but she made no attempt to wipe them away. Her frame shook with a convulsive sob, then she made a great effort to stem her fit of weeping.

‘Look,' she said, in a surprising contrast of tone, as though she was now making casual conversation. ‘Would you like to fuck me... now?'

‘Eh?' He gawped at her blankly.

‘I think you heard me. Would you like to fuck me, here and now? Do what you like with me. Anything you like at all.'

His mind raced. ‘What on earth for?' he said stupidly.

She scowled fiercely. ‘What the fuck do you think for? Because you fancy me. Well?' She glared at him. ‘I'll even fight back if that's your kick.'

He blushed deeply. Could she know about him and John? No, it wasn't possible. And yet her cute precociousness, the defiant jut of her chin, her boyish hips and breasts, all combined like a taunting challenge flung down to him; a gauntlet to his doubtful masculinity. He felt rage and desire spark simultaneously. ‘I'm a man, love,' he spat viciously. ‘I don't shag lesbians.'

‘You shagged Stella!' She sneered insolently. ‘Who knows? I might even like it like she did! And you might like shagging a
queer!
'

‘You little bitch!' He started forward; did she know or had she inadvertently hit a nerve? She flinched a little but stood her ground, with that contemptuous smile.

‘A bit of rough stuff first, eh?' she goaded. ‘That turns you on, does it?'

‘Get your kit off,' he said tightly.

The smile remained as she slowly crossed her hands and pulled her shirt off over her head. Beneath it she wore a sleeveless vest, plain white, like a boy's. She sat on the edge of the long sofa, and spent an age unlacing her boots and tugging them off. Then she stood and pushed down the clinging jeans. As Michael expected, her briefs were very plain too; white cotton like the vest. It was all she wore now, save for the thick woollen socks of speckled grey, which hung in folds about her ankles.

‘Very sexy!' he sneered, and felt a mean sense of triumph as he watched her look down at herself, and the redness that spread up from her slim throat.

‘Bastard...' she whispered, and, quickly as she could, pulled off the socks and underwear and stood before him naked, her hands clenched into fists, stiffly at her sides. Her breasts were extremely small, with tiny immature nipples. Her narrow hips were in keeping with her wiry frame, and he stared at the curve of her mound, devoid of hair, with only the faintest suggestion of a shadow to indicate that the pubis had been shaved. The upper peak of her labial lips stood out, the smooth swell of the tight divide lacking any substantial folds of tissue, thus enhancing the impression of youthfulness.

‘How old are you?' Michael demanded involuntarily.

‘Old enough,' she snapped. ‘I've been around, don't you worry. I know what to do and what goes where.'

‘Do you?' he snarled. ‘Right then.' Their eyes met, and held in competition to outstare each other as he quickly slipped off his jacket and tie and tossed them aside like a hasty stripper. Shirt and vest followed. He sucked in his stomach, aware of the muscled curves of his torso, but then he had to stoop and fumble clumsily as he dropped his pants, pulling off his shoes and socks, hopping slightly as he dragged the last off his feet.

She was studying him as intensely as he had her. His prick curved out, thickened in semi-erection, the helm protruding from its ring of foreskin. He was bigger than John, he thought suddenly, then blushed at the idea that had sprung into his mind unbidden.

Her dark eyes were wide now, and he was savagely comforted by the look of fear he could plainly read on her young face. But at the same time he too experienced a wave of apprehension as he wondered whether he would be able to perform; the last few days had been pretty traumatic, to say the least.

She cleared her throat. ‘Do you want to go to bed?' she asked huskily, sounding extremely uncertain. She was still standing rigidly to attention, hands clenched at her sides.

He felt his prick lurch and stiffen slightly, responding to her nervousness. He gave an ugly grin. ‘No, this'll do fine. I don't want any dyke's den to fuck around in.' He saw her flinch at his cruel words, and savoured the reaction. He stepped forward and sank into the soft cushions of a wide armchair, lewdly letting his legs loll wide apart. ‘You know enough about pleasuring another dyke. But do you know anything about pleasing a man?'

Another dark flush swept over her features, but she knelt at once between his thighs and rested her elbows on them. ‘I told you,' she whispered, ‘you'd be surprised.' She pursed her shining lips in a blatantly sexual provocation and took his penis between both palms, rolling the column between them. The muscles of the shaft throbbed and it leapt within her touch. The neat fingernails scratched lightly along its veined length, and it beat strongly, the helm swelling to an engorged purple. She bent forward, and Michael suppressed a moan of weakening pleasure at the feathery caress of her tongue. She lapped at the glans, over its spongy surface, tracing the flanged edge where it joined the shaft, then down towards the yeasty bag of his balls. His belly lifted automatically, his prick rearing like a lance, painfully roused and pulsing against her nose and damp forehead.

‘Jesus!' he gasped, while she licked at him feverishly, from root to the tip.

She grasped it firmly near its base, and guided the seeping helm to the O of her lips, which slid over the slippery dome and drew him in deep, a gagging snort coming from her working throat. There was a loud plop when she finally slid her mouth up to release him and gasp for air. She swallowed him again, and again his belly rose to meet her and he moaned in helpless joy. He felt once more that insidious surrendering of himself, and the reminder of what he'd done with John evoked a sudden swell of rage and shame that gave him the strength to drag her away from his erection, just in time to forestall the premature eruption he knew was so near.

She cried out in confused alarm as he spun her round and, lifting her bodily, flung her down with her face buried in the sofa, her dipped back raised. He clung like a limpet and eyed the raised and narrow buttocks, deeply pronounced as they tightened in trepidation. In his mind, he saw again the slim desirability of John's supple frame.

His prick reared against the taut rounds and his fingers scrabbled hungrily, pressing them apart. He thrust his column into the divide and stabbed at the tiny anus. There was a muffled protest. He squeezed a hand around her hip, seized her hairless mound and manipulated her sex lips. With finger and thumb he spread them and felt the slipperiness of her inner slopes, and nuzzled his penis into the entrance of her vagina, which gripped him with an uncomfortable tightness. Uncomfortable for both of them, for he heard her gasp, and then felt her instinctive reaction to his deep thrust. He felt that tightness yield, felt himself sink deep, felt the soft embrace of the moist passage. Highly stimulated by the clenching buttocks that nestled into his groin, he drove on aggressively to the explosive bliss of a quick climax.

He withdrew at once from her collapsed body, leaving a glistening trail of fluid across the fold of her buttock and thigh. The cheeks of her bottom hollowed and her hips ground in compulsive rhythm. He watched her hand squeeze between her tummy and the sofa. He watched the elbow pump rapidly. And he watched her fingers in the squelching wetness he had just vacated, until there was a wailing cry and she slumped in sobbing exhaustion, her head buried in the crook of her other arm as it lay limp amongst the cushions.

 

When Reeves appeared in the foyer of the hotel, Felicity was already waiting for him. She was standing by the large raised circle of a marbled flowerbed with its exotic array of greenery. Her face was pale, and she could not quite hide the expression of pain as she walked, a little stiffly, towards him.

‘Can we go right away?' she asked tightly. He smiled and nodded, offered his folded arm with old-world courtesy, and they made their way slowly back outside.

In the spacious rear of the car she shuffled uncomfortably, trying to keep the pressure off her bottom, where the vivid weals of the caning were still burning fiercely. She tried to rest on one hip, leaning sideways, and bit her lip at the throbbing ordeal. Reeves was eyeing her in the rearview mirror. The glass partition was lowered.

‘Had a rough time, miss?' he asked sympathetically. When she blushed he smiled reassuringly. ‘It's okay, miss. I know a fair bit of what goes on. You don't have to worry, I won't breathe a word. I'm too well paid to risk stepping out of line. But I take a lot of the girls out to rendezvous like this one. And they often come back in a similar state to yours. You can take your things off if you like; make yourself comfortable. There's some stuff in the fridge there - cold cloths and a packet of those wet-wipes. Takes the sting out of the tail, if you get me.'

She blushed even more, but nodded appreciatively. ‘I've already bathed my bum once. Up in the hotel room. But it's still sore.'

‘What did he use? A belt or paddle, or what?'

‘A cane. Six of the best, in time-honoured tradition.' She managed a brave attempt at a laugh, grimacing as she did so. ‘And they weren't on my bare bum, either. But God! They don't half sting.' She inhaled sharply and gingerly lifted up the skirt. The corselette was still unfastened at the crutch and draped open, so her bottom was bare. The thin lines of the beating showed in irregular parallel stripes.

She knelt awkwardly on the luxury upholstery, the skirt gathered up around her hips, and dabbed gingerly with the blessedly cool cloth.

‘Like me to do that for you, miss?' Reeves asked casually, with that same friendly grin. ‘I've had a fair bit of practice.' He chuckled.

‘Why not?' She tried to match his light tone as she felt a tremor of excitement, ashamed though she was by it.

‘I'll turn off a mile or two on. There's a quiet stretch I know.'

He had obviously done this before, she thought. Her arousal was simmering, in some weird way intensified by the steady throb of pain in her bottom. She wasn't taking much notice of where they were going. She remained crouched, bum in air, the skirt and the flap of the corselette raised over her back, enjoying the sensation of cool streams of air on her nakedness. Presently she felt the well sprung vehicle bouncing over rougher ground, and she saw they had turned into a kind of wooded parkland, with narrow tracks wide enough for one car only. He continued for quite a way, penetrating further into the quiet of the woodland, the wheels sinking into the softness of the damp earth, before he drew to a halt.

She was surprised at the strength of her excitement, despite her recent sexual activity. Ashamed of it, too. What was it about this kind of purely physical sex with complete or virtual strangers that turned her on so? And since taking up with Magda, she found the contrasts between the kind of loving she shared with her beloved mistress and the often aggressive coupling she'd experienced with her male partners more wonderfully stimulating than ever. Which was why, right now, as she lifted her bottom while Reeves dabbed gently at those enflamed welts, she could feel her sex pulsing imperiously in its need for fulfilment.

Would he oblige? she wondered, trembling at the thought. She'd imagined that any such contact would be strictly forbidden. Reeves was so much a part of the unique regime at Burnopside. Besides, he had always been so formal and correct in his demeanour. She had scarcely spoken to him, except to exchange polite greetings and thanks. Yet she knew now that if he made the slightest move towards some sort of sexual liaison, she would not be able to refuse him. And would she be capable of keeping it secret from Magda? She had a strange feeling that she'd be compelled to confess all, even if it meant another painful chastisement. Maybe even because of that, her inner honesty prompted, with embarrassing self-awareness.

She gave a little flinch of pain, though his touch was as delicate as she could wish. ‘He laid it on pretty thick, didn't he?' Reeves murmured, with one last touch. ‘There we are. That should take the sting off soon enough.'

She remained kneeling on the seat, her behind thrust towards his face. ‘Who was he?' she asked, glad he couldn't see her face.