Asking For Trouble (30 page)

And as the gum-chewer fucked and cursed, my second crisis started shivering up. And when someone clambered eagerly on to the bed, I barely registered who it was. I just saw that a guy was kneeling before me and his cock was bared and erect and he wanted me to suck. So I did.

With a cock hammering into my cunt, another into my throat and Ilya below, skilfully frigging, I climaxed again, my cries desperate and muffled.

‘Oh, man,’ drawled Tony. ‘That’s some wild little bitch you’ve got there. Oh, fuck yes.’

His voice exploded in my blissed-out mind because its tone was so alarmingly different from before. That snide detachment had gone and, instead, he sounded genuinely enthused, fired up with passion and wonderment.

From the corner of my eye, I saw him tugging his shirt over his head. He was pale, and muscular in a skinny kind of way. On his upper arm there was an ugly tattoo – a dagger wreathed in swirls.

‘Get off her,’ he barked, stripping urgently. ‘I’ve got to fuck her arse, see? Jesus, let me fuck that whoring little arse. Someone get me some lube. Now!’

The men around me fell away, spitting curses and muttering under their breaths. I felt terrifyingly isolated, and when Ilya traced a gentle stroke along my thigh, the feeling intensified.

‘Get on the bed, on your back,’ snapped Tony as he shed the last of his clothes.

Long strands of his hair had come free of their band and his pixie-like face was slightly reddened. His eyes were narrowed and bright and I simply did what everyone else had done: obeyed him at once. The prospect of his losing control scared me stupid. I imagined him flipping, flying headlong into maniac mode and becoming a man no one could reason with.

As Tony bounced on to the mattress, Ilya grudgingly chucked several packaged condoms and a tube of K-Y beside us. So he was the medicine man, was he?

I shot him a look, wondering if he was also responsible for the grotesquely large dildo. He just answered with a covert wink, but he did not smile.

Tony positioned himself in the gap of my parted thighs, sat back on his heels and roughly grabbed one of my ankles.

‘Ow,’ I protested, as he hooked my leg high on to his shoulder.

‘Take it easy, Tone,’ said Ilya, but his warning carried no threat. It wasn’t going to have any impact.

Tony squeezed a generous amount of lube on to his fingers then slapped his hand into the split of my buttocks. Grinning with energised fanaticism, he rubbed and rubbed, mumbling obscenities before driving a bundle of fingers hard into my anus.

‘Oh, God,’ I wailed as my pinched muscles were suddenly forced to yield. ‘Oh God.’

‘Yes,’ hissed Tony, plunging rapidly. ‘Nice and slippy. Still tight, though.’

He snatched his fingers from me.

‘Fucking lovely,’ he snarled, rubbering up with lightning speed and slathering lube on to his shaft.

Horniness tore around my veins as Tony’s knees nudged under my arse-cheeks. He hitched me up the slope of his thighs and I couldn’t stop myself from moaning and writhing. I was so greedy for the power of buggery.

‘Oh yes,’ he rasped, and he manoeuvred my other leg so both were resting on his shoulders. ‘You are fucking hot.’

His bulbous cock-tip pushed briefly at my anus. Then, with a heave and a lunge, he surged past my closure and his stiff, solid flesh slithered into me.

I cried out, my arse crammed to capacity.

‘Oh, angel,’ he said hoarsely. ‘Yes.’

Reaching his hands forward, Tony clawed at my tits, then he clasped my hips and started fucking into my narrow hole. A halo of pain burnt around the pleasure as he shoved his thrusts deep. Strings of his hair stuck to his sweat-damp face, and his quick breaths grew spittly as his tempo increased. He powered remorselessly, his face lit up with craziness, and I sobbed in delight.

‘Oh fucking yes,’ he said. ‘Oh, baby, how much cock can you take?’

Then suddenly he stopped, shifted us a fraction and lunged for the dildo. One of my legs slipped from his shoulder and I let the other fall, too, arching my back in a bid to keep him deep.

‘Shall we see, eh?’ he said, grasping the huge black tool and flashing me his deranged grin.

‘No,’ I squeaked as my cunt fluttered hungrily. ‘It’s too big.’

But already he was rubbing the vast rounded tip along the wet seam of my folds.

‘Tone,’ came Ilya’s voice, now threaded through with threat. ‘You’d better take it easy.’

‘Nah,’ piped up someone else. ‘She’ll fucking love it. Gagging for it, she is.’

‘Yeah,’ growled Tony, leaning back.

He levelled the cool dildo head at my vagina and, with a gentle twisting motion, he edged an inch or so of the beast into the mouth of my slippery orifice. The opening of my cunt strained round its girth, hugging violently, more stretched than it had ever been.

I released a long, shrill wail, managing somehow to cry out words.

‘Yes, yes, yes,’ I was saying. And I carried on wailing as, with exquisite slowness, Tony fed the unyielding phallus into me, easing in its big black length until it would go no further.

I gasped frantically, my head rocking on the bedspread as I tried to accustom myself to its gloriously brutal size.

Tony held the position, my legs splayed round his waist, my back slanting down the angle of his thighs. His prick was lodged deep in my arse and several thick inches of the dildo were sticking out from my pussy-lips.

‘Take a look at that,’ he said proudly, tilting his torso back.

I cried without restraint because my lower half was so dense with sensation. It scarcely seemed to belong to me. I felt as if a section of my body, from my belly down to my thighs, was levitating away. My stuffed-solid orifices melded into one massive intensity. I could not distinguish my arse from my cunt. I was just a thing congested with other things. It was heaven.

‘See, Travis,’ said someone. ‘Told you she’d fucking love it.’

‘Yeah, Mr Boyfriend,’ gibed Tony, starting to thrust into my anus again. ‘Come and join the party. Why don’t you spunk over her? Load her tits up. Yeah.’

Tony grasped the dildo end, half thrusting it, half rotating it, as his cock pumped in and out of my arse. I was crying, sobbing, groaning, but I caught Ilya’s flat answer.

‘No,’ he said above the noise.

‘Well, I fucking will,’ said a voice, and the bed dipped as someone scrambled on to it. Then again, another person.

I was hitting orgasm – loudly – my muscles clenching on the great ebony shaft. The two guys on the bed bared their cocks and started wanking furiously. They squeezed
and mauled my breasts as Tony, eyes bulging wildly, rammed into me with dick and dildo.

And then there was banging at the head of the bed. Someone in the room next door was hammering on the thin wall and shouting, telling us to fucking well shut up.

But what did I care? What did anyone care?

I was coming again and so was someone else. Their fluid splashed warmly on to my tits, and Tony, his hair plastered in chaotic directions, his neck taut and sinewy, fixed his insane eyes on my semen-splattered flesh. His mean, scraggy face was crimson; blue veins snaked on his temples.

‘Yes, yes, yes,’ he was spitting. ‘You’re mine, see? You slut, you slut. You’re fucking mine.’

His lunacy chilled me. Moments later he threw his head back, climaxing with a blood-curdling howl.

Hardly pausing for breath, he started urgently fretting my clit, glaring wide-eyed at my face, beaming his broad, psychopathic smile.

‘Come on, come on,’ he panted, his hand shaking away. ‘Come for Uncle Tony. Come on, queenie. Fucking come. Fucking come.’

His rapid friction pushed me towards the brink. I gulped and sobbed, terrified and abandoned, as he began waggling the dildo in my depths, levering it up and down, pushing it in and out.

My orgasm crashed, wave upon wave, my cunt contracting on the slipping hardness, my whole body shaking. I screwed my eyes tight, wanting to shut out the image of Tony’s wild, exultant face.

‘Oh, yes, yes, yes,’ he raved. ‘That’s my girl. A big fucking comer, see? That’s my girl. Oh, yes. She is for me. She is mine.’

My orgasm shuddered to its close and I heaved for breath as the dying pulses sapped my energy. For a long, long time, I kept my eyes closed. I didn’t even look up
when more semen splashed on to my neck. I just lay there, inert, trying to block the sound of Tony’s mad mantra.

I wished I were a million miles away. I wished I knew what the score was. Was Tony a man who you just had to get used to? Or was he frighteningly demented and you wouldn’t want to bother? And who were his friends? And when could I go home?

I felt someone get off the bed. Gradually, Tony calmed. He withdrew from me and pulled the dildo from my aching sex.

Reluctantly, I opened my eyes just as Tony threw the glistening phallus in Ilya’s direction.

‘Catch!’ he barked, and, deftly, Ilya caught.

Under his olive-dark skin, Ilya was ashen. He said nothing. He just gazed at Tony.

‘That’s for you,’ Tony said to him. ‘Leftovers. Suck on it if you want.’

A couple of the men sniggered.

Ilya shook his head in astonishment rather than refusal.

‘I want to get dressed now,’ I murmured, pushing myself from the bed.

Tony flung himself alongside me, drawing me back down. He brought his face close to mine, our noses almost touching, and brushed a bedraggled length of hair from my face. Then, smiling faintly, he stroked a gentle line along my jaw. It was truly scary.

‘But, sweetie,’ he cooed. ‘Tony doesn’t want you to get dressed. Tony likes you undressed. And what Tony says goes. See, baby?’ He drifted his finger down my neck. ‘Now why don’t you trot across the room, pour me a whisky and fetch my cigarettes? Mmm?’

I nodded dumbly.

‘That’s my girl,’ he breathed.

I moved slowly – the way police do when they’re trying to persuade a madman to hand over his weapons. Except I was moving away from one.

The room was very quiet.

I padded over to the coffee table, where the near-empty bottle of whisky stood, found a glass on the floor and collected them both. I looked around at the scattered cigarette packets, trying to recall which brand was his. I didn’t want to upset him.

I glanced across to the dressing table and that’s when I saw it. My heart twisted in shock. A gun. It was just lying there, small, black and angular.

I’d never seen a gun before, not in real life. It was casually pointing into the centre of the room, its tip a dark shadowy O. Bullets come out of there, I thought. Then they whizz into someone’s body. Kill them.

‘Oh fuck,’ I said, staring at it, half fearing it would go ‘bang’ any second.

These people were serious trouble, far worse than I’d imagined.

‘What is it, queenie?’ gasped Tony, sitting bolt upright.

‘It’s a fucking gun,’ I breathed, turning to him accusingly. ‘You . . . Get it out of here. Get it away from me. I swear, I’ll do anything you want. You don’t need . . . Just . . . Oh God.’

My words melted to silence.

Tony uttered a stream of mad cackling laughter, raising his hands in a show of innocence. ‘Not mine, sweetie. Not that one. That one belongs to Mr Boyfriend.’

My eyes darted to Ilya.

He gave me a jittery smile. ‘It’s OK,’ he said. ‘It’s not loaded.’

I stared at him, speechless.

‘What’s all the fuss?’ taunted Tony. ‘I thought you two were close. Doesn’t he let you play with his weapons, then?’ He flopped back on the bed, chuckling to himself and rubbing his pale chest. ‘Ho-hum,’ he said. ‘Naughty Ilya. Keeping secrets.’ Then he sat up again and grinned at me. ‘So you don’t like guns?’

I shook my head. ‘I’m not overkeen, no.’

‘Then you’d be better off with me,’ he said brightly, angling his head. ‘Now I’m not saying my cupboards are empty of the things. Oh no. But if I were you, queenie, and I really didn’t like them, then I wouldn’t stay with a man who deals in thousands of them. It might make you unhappy, see? Thousands and thousands. Day in. Day out.’

Then he threw himself back on the bed again, laughing manically and gazing at the ceiling.

I looked at Ilya.

He held my gaze and raised his brows, putting on a guilty little smile.

‘Sorry,’ he mouthed, shrugging his shoulders.

‘Thousands and thousands,’ sang Tony. ‘Thousands and thousands.’

TONY WAS EXAGGERATING.
Of course he was. Ilya wasn’t equipping a goddamn army.

I sat with him in one of the seafront cafés, dunking my teabag into a cup of milky water.

Ilya had refused to come to my flat because there were too many eyes watching him. I’d refused to go to his B and B. Full stop.

Local radio was playing in the café and there weren’t many people around. Nevertheless, we spoke in low voices, hunching towards each other across the plastic-topped table.

‘So what sort of guns?’ I asked morosely.

Ilya shrugged. ‘A lot of Russian stuff: AK-47s, Tokarevs, Makarovs. Czech gear’s good too, popular, especially Skorpions. Then there’s –’

‘Whoa,’ I said quietly. ‘Will you say that in English, please? You know, do they go bang-you’re-dead or ack-ack-ack?’

Ilya grinned. ‘Sorry,’ he murmured. ‘Not much call for bang-you’re-dead. Automatics. You know, assault rifles, sub-machine guns, handguns.’

‘Christ,’ I breathed, searching my mind for more questions.

Ilya, for once, had promised me absolute honesty. I had the freedom to probe, and that freedom was tyrannical. It made me feel obliged to ask, ask, ask, and yet I wasn’t sure if I wanted answers.

‘So how does it all work?’ I frowned, toying with a sugar sachet. ‘I mean, where do you get them from? Who do you sell them to? How do you . . . What if . . .’

My questions dried up.

‘Look,’ said Ilya in a hushed tone. ‘There are loads of firearms floating around Eastern Europe. And really good stuff – fucking top-notch, quality war guns. They –’ He broke off and glanced over at a table where an elderly couple sat munching.

‘Stocks aren’t controlled,’ he resumed, his voice even lower. ‘Certificates get faked. Stuff’s crossing borders left, right and centre. And the amount of weaponry the Russian army just, just loses, it’s . . . Then there are factories churning out gear that the military can’t afford. Someone’s got to take up the slack. Ends up on the black market. And, like I said, I don’t work alone. We’re part of a chain. We sell to someone who sells to someone else. My role’s more setting things up in Prague, Sofia, Budapest, then making sure it’s all smooth at this end.’