White Moon Black Sea (10 page)

“I remember an article I once read in
Vogue
about Southampton, about you and your house. It said that the privacy of Rashid Lala Mustapha’s compound was assured not only by the high wall of hedge running along Gin Lane and down the sides of the estate to the sea, but also by magnificent bronze gates, gatekeepers, and security men who patrolled the area twenty-four hours a day, every day of the year.

“The estate is elegant, serene, and —”

“Oh, do shut up, Cynthia,” he interrupted, and sealed her lips with a kiss.

She pulled away reluctantly, cleared her throat, and carried on.

“As I was saying. It is claimed Southampton society considers the season officially open when Rashid Lala Mustapha arrives for the first time during the summer and he is greeted at the front door of his house by his butler, Basil, who is backed up by the line of staff behind him in the spacious and elegant entrance hall.

“Basil, the elderly English butler who was once an underbutler in one of Rashid’s father’s residences, is the most sought-after majordomo in the town …. One of the world’s most eligible bachelors, with a number of extraordinary houses around the world, Mr. Lala Mustapha when in the United States prefers to receive houseguests in Southampton rather than in his suite at the Carlyle Hotel in Manhattan. The staff is well trained to cater just as easily for heads of state as for his small and very private parties, sometimes labeled notorious by the gutter press.”

“You rattled that off as if you had memorized the article, although I don’t believe it was written as mockingly as you have interpreted it.”

“The style is not difficult to mimic as you go along,” Cynthia said.

“So why do you mock me and my life-style, yet accept my hospitality? I would have thought that unworthy of you.”

They had reached the open glass wall to the living room and stood in the dark just out of reach of the soft warm light from the room. Cynthia was flushed with embarrassment and at the same time tipped off balance by the sexual charisma of the man. The way he looked at her was like rape. The way he questioned her stripped her of her defenses.

“You are quite right, that was unworthy of me.” Then, feeling compelled to answer his question, she continued in a low, throaty voice that enchanted him. “I was mocking you without reason. It was a sort of defense mechanism. I instinctively feel I must protect myself from you. I don’t want to fall for a notorious lover and end up another broken corpse on your well-known heap of ladies lost in
love. I suppose like many before me I think I am worth more than that.”

Rashid liked her frankness. He placed his lips upon hers, kissed her lightly, licked her lips with his tongue, and pressed his kiss deeper. Their lips parted and their tongues touched. They sucked a passion into their kisses, and Rashid slipped his hands through the sleeves of her dress and fondled her breasts. Her body gave in to him, and pathetic little sighs escaped from her.

Rashid then released Cynthia slowly and, caressing her hair, he said, “It doesn’t have to be like that for you if you are clever and don’t fall in love with me. It can be like our kisses and much more. It can be sexual ecstasy for a night, maybe two, maybe even more, as long as you understand that I can love you, care for you in the throes of erotic love. But it can last only as long as it lasts because the true love, the lasting love women want from me, is not the kind of love that excites my interest. You do well to protect yourself from me if that’s what you’re looking for. But, frankly, I don’t believe it is. I believe what I saw in the mirror earlier: an erotic soul that wants to mate with mine. Think about that, and stay by me this evening, and let me know when you are ready for us to try for paradise, if only for a little while.”

With those words he took her sandals from her hand and, bending down on one knee, lifted first one foot and then the other and brushed the sand from her feet and between her toes, then he slipped her sandals on. Raising her dress above her ankle, he placed a kiss upon it with such tenderness Cynthia almost cried out, her pain of pleasure was so great. He adjusted the top of her dress for her and arranged her slightly disheveled hair. With his handkerchief he wiped away a tiny smudge of lipstick. For several minutes they remained where they were, watching the other guests and listening to the sensuous sound of flamenco music from the Spanish guitarist and singer who were there to entertain.

Unnoticed, they quietly stepped back into the room and together found seats among their friends. The musicians were delighting their audience and easing them into a
sensuous romantic mood. As the evening wore on, the lights were replaced by dozens of white candles. By their light the party drank Roeder Christal from priceless antique Venetian goblets filled with tiny white peaches. A free spirit descended like an angel upon them, and both the men and the women rose one at a time from their chairs, interpreting the music from their souls with every movement of their bodies. All who performed, in their own way, enchanted and seduced their friends. When Rashid danced he removed his dinner jacket and his tie, and slowly he changed the entire atmosphere in the room. Even those there who had seen him dance to flamenco music before succumbed yet again to his call to eros. Suddenly sexual ecstasy was imminent.

He returned to sit next to Cynthia. She waited for him to touch her, whisk her away. He did neither. He gave her only a smile calculated to torture, because it was filled with promise and a sensuous silence that pounded in her ears.

Beautiful Sabrina Colefield was the next to take the floor. She was magnificent. One could feel her reach down to the depths of her secret being and dance to it. An inner eroticism hidden by her healthy California look surfaced and smoldered before their eyes. The interplay between the musicians and Sabrina’s provocative dancing only intensified the seductiveness of the music. Together they changed the atmosphere in the room to a sophisticated yet tantalizing raunchiness that escaped no one.

Rashid was the first to join her and be led by the rhythm of her body. He gazed into her eyes and slowly untied the loose knot on her hip so that her sarong fell to the floor. He placed his hands on her naked hips and they continued. Paul Jarret took the floor. Standing in back of Sabrina, he too picked up the rhythm of her movements. He reached around her to untie the wraparound blouse and slowly slid it from her shoulders and down off her arms. For some time the naked Sabrina danced sandwiched loosely between the two men.

Rashid returned to Cynthia’s side and sat down next to her, never taking his eyes from Sabrina. He finished his glass of champagne in one swallow and then ate several
dark, rich, chocolate-covered cherries. Turning to Cynthia, he gave her a lascivious, demanding look that inflamed her even further. He whispered softly, “Open your mouth.”

She obeyed, and he fed her a chocolate-covered cherry. The chocolate cracked open in her mouth, and the buds on her tongue opened and tingled with the taste of bittersweet chocolate and the succulent, natural, sugary yet sharp juices of the cherry. A confectioner’s seduction of the taste buds, bound for a split second to deliver ecstasy for a gourmet chocolate addict such as Rashid. It was not lost on Cynthia. Orgasm, that was all she could think about, the taste and delight of orgasm. Rashid and Cynthia stared into each other’s eyes and, although Cynthia felt frightened, she demanded, “Take me to bed, Rashid,” in an almost inaudible whisper.

He bent forward and whispered in her ear, “Not yet,” then bit the lobe quite hard, enough to bring a tear to her eye, and a drop of blood on her finger when she touched it. He smiled and licked the blood from her finger and turned his attention back to Sabrina.

She danced alone once again keeping her audience enthralled. At some point Rashid was able to read the need in her face. He knew what would come next. He had seen her dance like that several times. Before she had a chance to call out to him for the pair of large, lifelike amethyst dildos, he rose to his feet and went to her. Again he allowed his body to move with hers and once they were in tune he caressed her shoulders, first one and then the other, and kissed her gently on the lips. He signaled to the musicians, with a movement of his head and a look, to cool down their sensual rhythms. They obeyed slowly and with a practiced discretion. For some reason, this evening he didn’t want Sabrina’s performance to turn into an orgy. That would have been inevitable had he not stepped in as he did.

Sabrina, dancing while moving the pair of amethyst phalluses in and out of herself, would have been an irresistible turn-on for the men in the room. They, he knew, would take her two at a time, as they had done on
other occasions, while the women joined in on her with mouths and hands and tongues, at her demand. When Sabrina let go sexually, all she wanted was to be devoured, to die in her own orgasms. She was an outrageous nymphomaniac, whose secret was known only to very few.

Cynthia watched Rashid fondle Sabrina’s breasts and slowly squat down, while kissing them and her belly, to bury his face for a brief moment in her mound of blond pubic hair. She wanted to dash to him and rip him away from Sabrina, so painful was it for her to watch him with another woman.

He gathered the sarong up from the floor and, tying it around Sabrina’s hips, kissed her on the cheek and whispered something in her ear. Her eyes shone with a wild passion, and she threw her arms around Rashid and said loudly, “Oh yes, yes, please,” and laughed. Several of the others joined them, with hugs and kisses and a great deal of admiration for Sabrina’s dancing. Without a glance or a word to Cynthia, Rashid and Sabrina left the room together.

A short time later, when Rashid returned to the living room, only Cynthia was there, disconsolately listening to romantic Spanish love songs. He thanked the guitarist and the singer and bade them good-night. Then he went to Cynthia and, taking her hand in his, kissed it and pulled her up from the soft chair.

“I thought you were going to stay with me all through this night, never leave my side? Why didn’t you follow us?”

Cynthia was incredibly happy to see him. He had come back for her. That was all that mattered. He wanted her and she wanted him. She didn’t give a damn about pride or playing games with him. Passion was loose in her voice and her eyes when she said, “I died a thousand deaths waiting for you to come back for me.”

“A thousand? Surely that qualifies you for at least one night of paradise.” He kissed her and felt her tremble to his touch. It was not a tremble of fear but one of excitement
and expectation. He pulled her to him and kissed her again deeply, with great passion, and he felt her yield into him.

“You’ll die many more deaths before morning, those small deaths that come from orgasms that take you out of this world. Are you sure that’s what you want, to let me do as I wish with you to transport you there? I’ll make you my sexual slave this night, and all I’ll promise you is ecstasy, nothing more.”

She made no reply, but simply removed her dress and stood naked before him. She placed her arms around his neck and he picked her up in his. Bending his head to her breast, he sucked on a large pointed nipple as he carried her across the room and behind the boulder stone fireplace wall to his private wing.

It was an effective concept — to walk through the massive stone wall with a huge fire burning in it and have it seal up behind you. This was achieved by having the last eight feet of each end of the forty-foot wall constructed as stone steps. Pressure on the third stair caused a portion of the stone wall to slide silently open to reveal the master bedroom.

The three solid walls of antique pine paneling took one’s breath away. An enormous collection of original erotic black-ink drawings by Picasso, signed and dedicated to Rashid, hung there. Two figures in several of the drawings were unmistakably Rashid and Humayun in their younger days. The fourth wall was made of glass and slid open on to a sand dune which rose above the beach and the ocean. Sunk into the dune was a private swimming pool. There were walks of wooden slats bleached by sun and wind lying on the sand around the pool. Great, thick, wooden railroad sleepers had been pounded into the dune to form an elegantly rustic curved staircase to the beach below.

The bedroom was stunningly stark in its furnishings: an enormous bed in the middle of the room covered in soft beige suede which draped on to the floor; many large soft pillows covered in black-and-white calfskins. The white marble floor had black panther skins and a rare white tiger skin scattered over it. On either side of the bed was a pair of transparent glass cubes, and on them Lalique vases with
four dozen extremely long-stemmed, blood-red roses in each, and a pair of Chinese pedestaled dishes from the Han dynasty, offering a pyramid of white Belgian chocolates filled with fresh mocha cream. Against one wall, a seventeenth-century ivory coffer with many small drawers, whose fronts were inlaid with occasional rose-cut diamonds, was set on its original stand. Placed on top of the coffer were a silver champagne cooler chilling two bottles of Krug, and a pair of Steuben champagne glasses on a silver tray. The bedroom looked dramatic, sensual, and invitingly sexual. The scent of the roses mingled with the salt air drifting in through the open glass door to augment the lust enclosed in Picasso’s lines that pricked the erotic senses with every glance.

Rarely had she known such ecstasy, or a man who could tease her senses as Rashid did. With every act of erotic passion he heaped upon her she drifted off into oblivion, only to be wrenched back by him and her desire for more. He used her cunt as a vessel and drank champagne from it; he nibbled and ate at her genitalia until he could drink her orgasms as he had the vintage Krug he had filled her with. And all through the night and the dawn there were other erotic preludes to his fucking her. Cynthia was mesmerized by his beautiful penis. She felt his magnetism draw her flesh around him as he worked his way inside her, kissing her with his cock. To sense his moving in and out of her with tenderness and passion, and at times with unbridled wildness, drove her into a kind of sexual frenzy.