Beyond Temptation (16 page)

Her question was answered when she stroked the cool tip of her index finger against the searing skin. Her sex was sodden and she was unable to stop herself sliding the finger deep into the moist confines. The sensation of being penetrated was glorious. She had needed to feel something between her legs since she first saw Yale.

Finally, enjoying the act her body had longed for, she groaned.

As she slid the finger ever deeper into the velvety folds her cries grew loud. Ordinarily she would have died before allowing someone to hear her enjoying the bliss of solitary pleasure but her feverish desire for Yale had changed that. She could picture her cries interrupting him and his lover. She could envision the pair of them rushing into her room to see if she was all right.

The image was delicious.

In her mind’s eye, the pair of them had burst through her bedroom door and caught her in the throes of ecstasy as she finger-fucked herself to a climax. In her imagination they were both naked and their frowns of consternation became knowing smiles.

Then they walked slowly towards her.

As the fantasy took over, she slipped a second and third finger into the eager, slippery wetness. Her body was already racked by the first spasm of pleasure. She writhed in the twisted sheets, sliding the fingers slowly in and out as the climax washed over her.

Between her legs, her pussy demanded more. She felt so wet and pliant it had been a simple matter to slide the three fingers inside. As she rubbed them back and forth between the swollen lips of her sex her body insisted she deliver more punishing pleasure.

Robyn moaned as the fourth finger pushed easily into her straining hole. The sensation was satisfying, if not as fulfilling as a lover could have made it. Her wrist already ached from the uncomfortable position. But that realisation was faraway and unimportant. The knuckle of her thumb rubbed against the pulsing ball of her clitoris. The gentle friction sent her dizzy with elation. As she rubbed purposefully against the swell, another torturous orgasm wrenched its way through her body.

She supposed that even this could have been seen as a crime in Harold’s eye. Admittedly she hadn’t taken another man into her bed. But, from the perspective of her imagination, Robyn was now screwing Yale. She knew he was really in the neighbouring room. She knew he was riding powerful thrusts into the model with the cruel smile. But, in the fantasy world where she currently resided, Robyn was entertaining Yale as her lover.

And he was proving every bit as satisfying as she had expected.

She tried to shut the artist from her thoughts but it was impossible.

Still needing more, Robyn slid her thumb underneath the rise of her clitoris. Her labia were already stretched tight as four fingers moved slowly in and out of her sex. With a determined effort she slid her thumb alongside the rest of her hand and into the tight wet passage.

This time, as the pleasure swept over her, Robyn didn’t whimper – she screamed. As she revelled in the heady pleasure of sliding her entire hand into the tight hole the cacophonic shriek of her climax rang in her ears. When the waves of joy began to subside, she realised that, despite the smile of elation, she was sobbing softly.

Wiping the tears from her eyes with her free hand, she started to ease the fingers from her cleft. The prickle of excitement as they slipped out of her left her panting. Within a moment of releasing her hand she pressed one finger back against the hot, sodden flesh. Her body was stricken by the need for another orgasm and she knew it was going to be an endless cycle that could only result in one of two outcomes. She could either wank until she eventually collapsed from exhaustion, or she could give in to her body’s true needs and visit Yale’s bedroom.

With an unhappy sigh, she teased the tip of her finger against the trembling lips of her pussy. Once again, she drew slow circles around the pulsing bud of flesh. The touch of the slippery finger brought a sigh from her lips and she bitterly realised it was going to be a long night.

* * *

In the room she shared with Christian, Bernice couldn’t hear Robyn’s screams. If the house had been silent, she would have heard them clearly enough, but Yale and Amelia were making more than enough noise to cover any other sound. A posse of burglars could have ransacked the lower half of Holbert Manor and she knew she wouldn’t have heard the noise above the passionate roars of pleasure from Amelia and Yale. Their voices carried effortlessly through the adjoining wall. The sounds of their lovemaking were like the backbeat of a nuisance neighbour’s intrusive party music. Bernice realised that, like her, Christian was trying fervently to ignore the sounds.

‘How is it now?’ She nodded at his lap.

‘Do you think someone could take the pain away, but leave the swelling?’ he joked glibly.

She passed him a weak smile and glanced at the bottle beside his bed. The cap had been replaced loosely and a chalky residue of spilt calamine lotion had trailed down its brown neck. ‘Are you ready for some more of that?’

‘I can do that myself. You’re employed as Yale’s model, not my nursemaid.’

Smiling, Bernice climbed from her bed. She was naked and she didn’t doubt the sight of her bare body would arouse him but she and Christian had modelled together so often she felt confident and comfortable being near him. Also, after enduring the torture of a night alone in bed in the motor home, she didn’t want to go through the same upset again this evening. She felt sure Christian wouldn’t make her suffer as she had underneath Amelia’s hand.

Placing her bare backside on the mattress close to him, she reached forward and tugged the sheet away from him.

‘Ooh,’ she whispered, studying his cock. ‘It looks very painful.’

‘It is,’ he murmured ruefully.

Reaching for the calamine lotion, Bernice adopted a no-nonsense approach. ‘You need some more of this,’ she told him firmly. Pouring a fistful of the thick cream into her hand, she began to massage the calamine into his length.

Christian groaned. He glanced down and watched as she worked the viscous pink-white fluid against the raging red of his bruised and battered cock. His body trembled. He held his breath and then released it in a long-drawn-out sigh.

Bernice smiled at him, pouring more calamine into her palm. ‘Why is Amelia such a bitch?’ she asked quietly.

‘I guess she needs to be a bitch to be Yale’s principal model,’ Christian replied. ‘And she’s a pussycat compared to Yale’s previous principal model. But Yale needs to have a bitch of one type or another for his paintings.’

‘Couldn’t he just use someone who was pretending to be a bitch?’

She rolled the wet palm of her hand over the purple dome of his cock.

Christian’s reply was broken by a small groan. ‘He says not. He maintains that he’s painting the models, not fantasising about them. He needs to paint a bitch being a bitch, not some woman just pretending. He says that would spoil the truth in his art. Then he rambles on about the dichotomy of truth in art and it all descends into university-level arty-farty bullshit.’

‘You don’t think it’s necessary?’

He shrugged and placed his hand on her shoulder.

‘I’m not sure if I believe Amelia needs to be a bitch. But Yale believes that and he’s the one who calls the shots.’

Bernice worked on him for a moment longer, stroking her hand up and down his stiff shaft. The silence between them was warm and comfortable. For the first time since she had started working with Yale and his models, Bernice realised she had made a genuine friend within the entourage.

The thought was warming.

She glanced at Christian’s face. When their eyes met Bernice looked hurriedly away. She needed to say something that did not relate to the intimate act they were sharing.

‘What was this other model like?’ she asked. ‘She and Amelia had a relationship, didn’t they? Was the woman really worse than Amelia?’

A bitter smile twisted his lips and she felt the cock in her hand soften slightly.

‘The word cunt doesn’t do her justice. She was a nasty, manipulative, maladjusted creature. Gorgeous to look at. But as twisted as they come.’

Bernice shivered, unsettled by the description. ‘Nobody mentions her name. What was she called?’

He opened his mouth. The name hovered on his lips. He closed his mouth and shook his head. ‘Yale insists that we don’t mention her name,’ he explained. ‘It’s one of his rules.’

Bernice frowned but accepted this explanation. She continued to work more calamine into his cock, coating the rigid length until it was smeared with globules of the creamy residue. When she felt sure she couldn’t apply any more, she poured another generous handful into her palm and reached for his balls.

‘Please be careful as you do that,’ he told her, shrinking from her touch. With a shy tilt of his head he added, ‘They’re really sensitive.’

She nodded reassuringly and cupped his sac with wet fingers. Working the calamine into the short scrub of his pubes, she began to massage his sac gently.

‘Why are you doing this, Bernice?’

Bernice frowned and glanced at the calamine-coated hand she was rubbing against his length. ‘You needed some of this. I was just …’

He shook his head. His smile was gentle and understanding.

‘Why are you here? Why are you working as one of Yale’s models?’

She laughed softly and moved her hand away from him. ‘If you ask most people why they do their work, they’ll tell you they’re doing it for the money. There’s few people lucky enough to enjoy a vocation. I’m one of the lucky ones.’

He studied her, a doubtful expression on his lips. ‘This is a vocation?’

She smiled at the uncertain note in his voice.

‘Tell me it’s not the same for you, and I won’t believe you. You’re besotted with Yale – just like I am – just like Amelia. The money is piss-poor, the hours are horrendous and the living conditions are a joke. Tell me it’s not a vocation for you and I’ll call you a liar.’

Grudgingly, he nodded. Bernice moved her hand back to his length and began to massage another cool fistful of calamine into his stiff shaft.

‘Do you enjoy the punishments?’ he asked.

‘I prefer the pleasure,’ she said honestly. ‘But sometimes I think that pain is the ultimate pleasure. If you’re really enjoying something, a little pain can make that even better.’

He smiled with eager agreement. ‘That’s how I feel too. I sometimes pity those two because they’ll never know the pleasure of servility. I don’t think they realise what they’re missing.’

Listening to the violent sounds of Yale and Amelia making love, it didn’t sound as though they were missing out on many of life’s pleasures. Bernice prudently kept the thought to herself as she rubbed her hand up and down Christian’s stiff cock. Another silence fell between them as they listened to the guttural explosions from their neighbours. Even though there was a wall between them they could hear the conversation as though Yale and Amelia were fucking on a bed in the same room.

‘Stop trying to be someone you’re not,’ Yale grunted.

Amelia made an outraged sound. ‘That’s unfair,’ she panted.

‘It might be unfair. But it’s true. Stop trying to be
her
. Beg me for forgiveness. And then perhaps we can be friends again.’

‘You arrogant cunt! I wouldn’t beg to you!’

Yale was laughing. The sound was cut off by the sound of a hand slapping flesh.

Bernice and Christian exchanged sharp glances. Neither of them dared to break the silence for fear of missing something. Her wrist continued to work back and forth along the sticky length of his shaft. The muscles in his thighs were stiff with the exertion of staving off his climax.

Amelia made a shocked sound, making them both think that Yale had retaliated in some way. Her cry of anguish turned into a shriek of elation.

Bernice and Christian smiled at one another.

Whatever the argument had been between Yale and Amelia, it was now resolved.

‘If you won’t beg for forgiveness, you can at least do the other thing I asked,’ Yale declared. ‘You can stop trying to be
her
.’

Amelia’s response came in a soft and reasonable tone.

Christian and Bernice had to strain to hear what she was saying.

‘I don’t need to try and be
her
,’ Amelia assured him. ‘I have ways of hurting you far worse than she ever managed.’

Together, Yale and Amelia began to laugh. Their protesting bedsprings squealed as the tempo of their lovemaking increased.

Bernice and Christian continued listening as she rubbed more calamine into his shaft. They gave one another comfortable smiles, content to listen to the radio melodrama being played out for them. It was only when Christian began to make soft sounds of protest that Bernice spoke again.

‘Would it take your mind off the discomfort if you had something to do while I did this?’

He treated her to a wry smile and encouraged her to continue.

‘Your hand’s on my shoulder at the moment,’ she pointed out. Her cheeks were blushing hotly. ‘Perhaps you might not be thinking of your discomfort if you moved your hand a little lower?’

He grinned and drew his fingers slowly down her chest. His touch excited a warm line from her shoulder to the swell of her breast. He traced a circle around the tiny areola and began to caress her pierced nipple. Occasionally he pushed the edge of his fingernail into the small metal ring, gently teasing the tip of her breast.

Bernice worked her calamine-coated hand more vigorously against his scrotum.

Christian sighed. The sound came from somewhere between pain and pleasure. Despite the fact she was trying to be gentle, Bernice knew it was impossible to avoid hurting him altogether. Amelia had been cruel with the thistle and, while the scars she left behind were only shallow, they looked maddeningly sore.

Easing her breast away from his fingers, she slid down the bed so she could examine his cock. Her hands continued to rub calamine into his sac, coating the hairs with the thick fluid. ‘You look ravaged down here,’ she murmured. ‘What did that bitch do to you?’