After Hours: Black Lace Classics (27 page)

Still, he was obviously a more considerate lover than she had expected him to be – and she was determined to do him an extra special favour after this, to return the compliment. The big red dildo sucked and pushed and thrust at her like the cock of a giant; her wetness flooded her now as with every mad push from Jamie her breasts shook, her stomach clenched, her fingers clawed at the brass bars her wrists were tied to. This was heaven but it was also hell. Satisfying though the big dildo might be, what she really wanted was hot, surging, living cock, not turgid plastic. And oh, it was big. So incredibly, hugely big. Bigger even than Robert Fielding had been, and she had been on top that time,
in control of the situation. The dildo was perched on Jamie’s phallus above her, filling her to almost indecent lengths, causing her darts of wild excitement and a sensation that was almost, almost pain.

So as she came, screaming and crying with the intensity of it, she was also shouting out the words that would get her released from this bondage.

‘Naked flame!’ she sobbed out. ‘Naked flame!’

But Jamie was out of control now. Oh, he did stop fucking her with the dildo; he pulled out of her instantly and threw the sopping-wet thing aside. But with equal speed he nosed his cock back inside her, eager to feel her heat and wetness against his own shaft, his own glans, eager to feel her womanliness against the male core of him.

Jamie was pushing and thrusting and slapping against her with greedy enjoyment now, and to her shame Venny felt her second orgasm build to almost obscene heights as he blatantly ignored her pleas to be released and all but raped her.

Heaven, she thought, but also hell.

Heaven in the hard thrust of his cock and his balls against her. Hell in the soreness that the huge dildo had caused her, causing her to wince at his crazy lunging.

But soon it was over anyway. Jamie was far too turned on by this sort of game to wait for long. With a shout of satisfaction he threw back his head and these final thrusts he gave were even more violent, more uncontrolled in their wild passion, than those that had gone before. And Venny came again.

And again.

Heaven and hell, pleasure and pain.

‘Naked flame,’ she sighed limply, feeling faintly ashamed of the extent of her own arousal now. Jamie pulled his wet penis out of her. She watched it wavering like a one-eyed cobra about to strike as he leaned up over her and freed her from her bonds.

‘You wanted that,’ he said smugly as he flopped back onto the bed beside her.

‘I asked you to stop. We agreed,’ said Venny with a touch of sullenness.

‘Yeah, you asked me to stop. But you didn’t want me to,’ said Jamie.

And he was right, of course. Also very wrong, because they had agreed what they would do, and he had broken that agreement. He was mad, bad and dangerous to know, like Lord Byron, and although she had enjoyed him very much, she thought that in future she would leave his sort to Dani, who was pretty wild herself.

‘So who’s going to be the man in the ice sculpture?’ she asked him, feeling replete and well content in spite of all her misgivings.

‘Hm?’ Jamie looked at her with those acute grey eyes. They were sort of icy themselves, those eyes. ‘Oh, I thought Micky Quinn.’

She found Micky over at Flora and Caspar’s flat later that morning, enjoying an early lunch with them on their balcony. He answered the door at her ring, wearing
a towel around his waist and nothing else. Venny looked him up and down in surprise.

‘Venny!’ Micky was already pulling her inside, his blue eyes twinkling with pleasure at seeing her. ‘Come in, sweetheart. Have you come to make up?’

Well, had she? Venny wondered. All right, she had behaved like a prude when she’d discovered he’d been balling Dani after their split. It was true.

‘Yes,’ she said simply. ‘And to tell you that I sat for Jamie’s ice sculpture this morning. His take-off of Rodin’s
Kiss.
And he tells me you’re going to be the man in the sculpture.’

‘That’s right.’ Micky had closed the door and was leading her across to the balcony, from where she could hear Flora chatting away in her high cultured voice to Caspar. ‘He’s been sketching me at Beurre Blanc.’

‘He’s been doing more than that at Beurre Blanc,’ said Venny.

Micky stopped walking and turned to look at her. ‘Like what?’ he asked with a quick frown.

‘Like stealing your chef’s blowtorch and maybe your knife too,’ said Venny. ‘I saw the blowtorch at his studio.’

‘The light-fingered little git,’ said Micky.

‘I’d put it down to experience if I were you,’ Venny advised him. ‘Jamie’s really not worth upsetting. He’s a bit unstable, I’d say.’

‘I guess you’re right,’ said Micky, and although he didn’t look too happy about it, he let it go.

‘Sorry to interrupt your lunch,’ said Venny.

‘No, come and join us,’ invited Micky, and he pulled off the towel at his waist and tossed it aside.

Venny had thought they were out there on the balcony in bathing trunks and bikini, but Micky to her surprise was naked. She stared down at his revealed cock and it started to raise its head as if about to return her stare.

‘We’re having a naked lunch,’ explained Micky with a grin. ‘No one can see us out there – at least, not without a high-powered telescope, and if they’re going to go to that sort of bother then they’re welcome to a peek.’ He turned and led the way out onto the balcony.

Strange days indeed, thought Venny as she walked out onto the balcony while watching the twitch and roll of Micky’s naked butt.

‘Oh, hi,’ said Flora warmly, sitting there in the sun with her massive tits slathered in sunblock. Her nipples were drooping perilously close to her salad, Venny saw with a tiny feeling of amusement and a large measure of burgeoning excitement. Goodness, that woman could turn any strictly hetero woman into a raving lesbian overnight!

She couldn’t see what Flora was wearing on her bottom half because the food-laden table blocked her view, but she guessed that it was absolutely nothing. She felt her cunt throb hungrily. And it throbbed even worse when she glanced at Caspar’s naked upper half, and started conjecturing about what lay beneath the table on his side.

Micky sat down beside Flora to resume his meal and dish up for Venny.

‘Hello, Venny. Come and join us,’ said Caspar encouragingly.

Venny was about to sit down when Caspar held up an admonitory hand. ‘House rule. Naked lunches mean naked. That’s all the participants, latecomers included.’

They wanted her to strip too. And why not? She quite enjoyed the thought. She was clean from the shower, she had exchanged the clothes she had worn to Jamie’s for a more casual aquamarine crop top and tightly clinging stone-coloured shorts, and sneakers. She felt cool and comfortable in this ensemble, but right now she was itching to join in the naked fun with these three. Micky was dishing her up a plate of salad and a slice of quiche. Caspar and Flora were drinking and laughing over some absurd joke they’d heard on the radio. No one cared that she was about to get naked, and she felt quite easy about the situation herself.

She pulled the dainty little crop top over her head, allowing her nude breasts to spill out. She tossed it aside onto a spare chair. Then she unbuttoned and unzipped her shorts, and deftly pulled them down around her ankles and stepped out of them. She tossed those too onto the chair. Aware suddenly that conversation and movement had ceased on the balcony, she kicked off her sneakers and put them neatly to one side.

Naked, she stepped forwards and took the chair next to Caspar. She sat down, nude breasts swinging, and Caspar approvingly poured her out a glass of red wine.
She picked up the glass and sipped the wine. She hoped she wasn’t dampening Flora’s beautiful seat cushion too much. This felt exceedingly erotic. And now that she was sitting beside Caspar, she could glance down while she was talking to him, and see that he was just as well hung as his brother, and that his thatch down there was black like Micky’s, and that his balls were pleasingly big.

She looked up and realised that Caspar had caught her staring at his naked cock. ‘Sorry,’ she said with a rueful smile.

‘Don’t apologise,’ said Caspar. ‘It turns a man on something rotten, having a woman ogling his tackle. As you can see.’

Venny could. His penis had roused up and was now standing erect, as if curious about their lunchtime meeting and eager to join in.

‘I’ll get the pudding,’ volunteered Flora, standing up. Both men looked with interest at her lushly curving body, her ginger pubic curls, her outrageously heavy breasts.

‘Your wife’s gorgeous,’ sighed Micky to his brother.

‘I know,’ said Caspar proudly. ‘Venny is, too.’

‘Thank you,’ said Venny.

‘Pleasure,’ said Caspar, and it was clear from the expression in his dark, brooding eyes as they looked at her that pleasure was exactly what he intended.

Flora returned shortly with summer pudding and cream on a tray with some pudding dishes and spoons. She bent over the table beside Micky and placed the tray upon it. Micky stood up to help her, displaying a
vast erection. As Flora busied herself with slicing up the raspberry-coloured pudding which oozed fruit and rich juices, Micky stepped behind the luscious redhead and leaned past her to pour out the cream. That accomplished, he pushed the head of his rampant penis down between her bumslit, found her vagina, and thrust up into her.

‘Sorry,’ he said as he pushed up further into his sister-in-law’s very willing body. ‘Couldn’t wait. It’s all these bare tits. Too much temptation.’

‘You’re right there, brother,’ said Caspar, leaning across to tweak one of Venny’s nipples. It hardened obligingly as he did so. Pleased with the effect, Caspar reached for the cream and dipped his finger into the jug. He smoothed the cream onto Venny’s turgid nipple, leaned across and proceeded to lick it off.

In delight Venny clutched at Caspar’s dark head while his lips and tongue worked industriously at her breast. Her eyes met Micky’s over Flora’s shoulder. Micky’s hips were pistoning busily. She looked at Flora, whose eyes were closed in ecstasy as she clasped the edge of the table to steady herself against Micky’s thrusts. The redhead’s breasts were swinging steadily as she was taken from behind. Venny felt suddenly so wet that she wished Micky was in her, not Flora. But there was always Caspar.

Dropping her hand from his head, she guided his hand to her succulent crotch, leaning back in her chair so that he could gain access to her wet folds. Caspar seemed very happy to do this, and before long she had
his fingers exactly where she wanted them, rammed up inside her so that she was being as effectively fucked as Flora was, and she could look across the table at the copulating couple, and imagine that Micky’s cock was up inside her, instead of Flora.

And so lunch passed in a cheerful and enjoyable medley of eating and fucking and sucking and drinking. Later, after pudding, Micky and Caspar changed sides, and Micky was able to shag Venny to a standstill; while across the table his brother pulled Flora down across his lap so that she straddled him, and then fucked her with abandon.

Later still, they all retired to bed with another bottle of wine, and the two men watched while Flora and Venny enjoyed one another – and became so aroused by the performance that they fell upon the women again, and fucked them, and brought them to rapturous orgasms until late afternoon, when the four of them were sated and exhausted, and fell tangled together into a soft, refreshing sleep.

Do you ever wonder whatever happened to Bill Thompson?’ Micky asked Venny as she lounged in a brief yellow bikini in a wicker chair out on the verandah of the hut at Whitstable.

‘What?’ Venny didn’t even bother to open her eyes beneath the protective shades she wore. Bill Thompson? She should care. She was having a blissful day off, the sea was swooshing up onto the pebble beach with a sound that was gently soothing her into sleep, and the sun was beating down on them while a refreshing breeze blew softly against their skins. This was bliss. Tomorrow was the day of the Blue Ribbon awards ceremony; she was trying to chill out here, for heaven’s sake. What would she be worrying about Bill Thompson for?

‘Bill Thompson. You remember? That useless chef you used to employ, the one with the taste for all things Italian?’

‘Well, of course I remember.’

Venny sat up reluctantly, and pushed her shades up onto her head. She looked across at Micky, who was sitting at the other side of the little verandah in the other wicker chair, wearing brief black trunks and nothing else. He was looking tanned and healthy and devilishly attractive, she thought, with his feet lazily propped up, ankles crossed, on the little hitching rail at the front of the verandah. He was looking at a copy of
Caterer
magazine.

Venny had told Micky all about the departed – and unlamented – Bill Thompson. How he had wanted to go into partnership with her (Micky had winced a bit at that, because he had suggested the same thing), how he had taken all her staff with him, how they had parted on the worst possible terms.

‘Why do you mention him?’ she asked.

‘Oh, no reason,’ said Micky, idly flipping through the pages. ‘Only I thought he threatened to set up close by as serious competition?’

Venny let out a noise halfway between a laugh and a snort. ‘The words “Bill Thompson” and “serious competition” don’t exactly go together,’ she said with asperity. ‘Both you and I know that restaurants open and close in London all the time. Even if he had set up on my doorstep, he’d probably be out of business by now, and we wouldn’t even have noticed his going. Or his coming, for that matter.’

‘Yeah, you’re right.’ Micky tossed the mag onto the deck.

‘What’s up?’ Venny looked at him curiously. ‘Getting
edgy about the awards at last? I thought that was my bag.’

Micky blew out his cheeks and leaned back, staring out to sea. ‘The best man – or woman – will win, right?’ he asked her. ‘There’s a new Italian place called Fantoni’s, that’s all. It’s getting good write-ups.
Very
good, actually.’