Cooking up a Storm (17 page)

He spun closer, his head snapping for each turn the way a ballet dancer’s will. The spotlight followed him and she realised then what errand had stolen Horace away.

Leaping to a standstill before her, Ivan looped the long veil around Abby’s neck. She gasped, nerves glittering as he slowly pulled it free. ‘Does the slave’s humble dance please the mistress?’ he asked with sly, downcast eyes.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Very much.’

‘Good!’ Before she could protest, he pulled her off the table and into his arms.

The music changed as soon as her feet hit the floor. It became a sultry saxophone piece, perfect for slow dancing. Ivan was a wonderful partner. He practically carried her through the steps, their bodies pressed close by the hand he’d clamped beneath her buttocks. That hand grew tighter and tighter the longer they danced, urging her groin to his until her softness rode the thrust of his desire. His erection burnt through the sheer cloth of his black harem trousers. With each movement of the dance he rubbed the ridge against her naked flesh, bending his knees now and then to drag it through the generous wetness between her legs.

Oh, she was dizzy with lust, a wonderful, sweet hunger. Finally, she had to throw back her head and laugh. ‘This is so much fun,’ she said.

Ivan didn’t smile. Instead he lowered his head and kissed her, a teasing, twisting kiss that quickly became a part of the dance. Each turn earned her a lick, each dip a probe, each sway a stinging nibble on her lower lip. She learnt the steps, began to anticipate the next and beat him to it. Then he opened his reddened mouth and went deep, deep inside. He tasted smoky and sweet. He smelt of sweat and young male musk. Abby stumbled over his foot. He lifted her and set her feet on his own. Now this was flying.

They kissed; they kissed. Ivan’s arms twined round her, alternately roving and squeezing, supporting and exploring.

Ten minutes later, Horace broke them apart by clearing his throat. Ivan hugged her close a moment longer. ‘I’m mad for you,’ he whispered, hot and fierce. ‘I’ve dreamt of dancing with you since the day we met.’

Abby stroked the back of his short, ash-brown hair. ‘Right now I’m mad for men in general.’ He released her and nodded, understanding her warning. The dignity of his bearing inspired a quick decision. ‘I want this slave,’ she announced in what she hoped was a ringing tone. She pointed at Horace. ‘You will prepare me for him with your mouth.’

Horace bowed. ‘It would be my pleasure, mistress.’

She strode to the centre of the Persian carpet, then lowered herself on to the soft, plush wool. She lolled back on her elbows, her thighs gaping, her breasts high. The men looked at each other, then at her. They were shocked by her imperious pose, but hardly put off. Their eyes were avid, their erections pulsing beneath their robes.

‘All of you strip off,’ she ordered.

The men hesitated a moment, then complied. She noticed they snuck glances at each other, their eyes catching on cocks and balls before veering away. Ivan was by far the hardest and the highest slung. He was the youngest of the trio and, unlike Peter, had not had any release this night. His shaft was a bright, rosy pink. His balls — a plump, joggling handful beneath his cock — had the interesting distinction of being hairless. Abby noticed the other two looked most often at him.

The interplay sent heat rushing to her belly. They were curious about each other, but it seemed to her they hadn’t indulged that curiosity. She wondered if she might be able to change that. Shivering with a pleasant frisson of anticipation, she watched Horace lumber into position between her thighs.

‘You.’ She snapped her fingers at Peter. ‘Kneel over me. I wish to suck you while I’m being sucked.’

Peter’s eyes widened but he quickly obeyed.

‘And me?’ Ivan said quietly.

‘They are preparing me for you. But if you wish, you may hold my hand.’

She was glad he accepted because she soon needed something to hold on to. Horace’s assault on her pussy was nothing short of devastating. He used his lips, his tongue, the flat of his teeth. He opened her with his thumbs. He blew on her. He nuzzled her flesh with the delicacy of a snake.

‘My goodness,’ she said, clutching hard at Ivan’s hand.

Peter took her exclamation as a signal to press his thick, red cock into her mouth. She writhed with pleasure, scarcely able to encompass all the wonderful sensations. He was just the right size for this, a solid, satiny mouthful. Sucking this hot, wet, living flesh stirred such a primitive satisfaction. She bore down farther then pulled back, tugging him with the pressure of her mouth. He groaned with enjoyment and a burst of pride warmed her chest.

She could grow to like this, she decided, especially with Horace’s spectacular ministrations to reward her for her efforts.

He had pushed back the hood of her pearl and now his tongue fluttered over the tiny rod. The tip of his tongue was stiff, its rhythm marvellously quick. A sharp spangle of feeling sparked through her sex: not an orgasm, but something like it. Almost painfully pleasurable, it made her open her mouth and gasp for air.

Peter’s hands tangled in her hair to keep her sucking. Yes, remember Peter, she told her addled brain. As she returned to the task, Ivan kissed the palm of her hand, then the inside of her wrist. His moist, nibbling lips crept up her arm, making her tongue quiver in reaction against the neck of Peter’s cock. He sighed and thrust carefully deeper and — oh! — Ivan nipped the back of her neck.

She could not scold him for leaving his designated post. Delicious sensations swamped her, soaking through her from the mouth that stroked her pussy, from the cock that stroked her mouth, from the warm chest that swept from side to side across her back. The pleasure was too much. She would come. She couldn’t stop it. She cried out as she started to slide. ‘Oh, no. Oh, stop. Stop!’

The men ceased what they were doing, Peter last of all. He rubbed his swollen glans round her lips one last time before pulling away.

‘I am ready for the slave,’ she said shakily, knowing she’d have to compensate for this interruption later.

Ivan came round her and knelt between her legs. He stared at her pussy, breathing hard. With both hands he stroked his already hard cock. His eyes were glassy with arousal. He looked like a man possessed. Abby was glad she’d saved her orgasm for him.

Horace offered him a condom from a marble dish on one of the tables.

‘You put it on,’ she said.

Horace hesitated a moment before ripping the package open and seating the condom on the head of Ivan’s cock. Horace squeezed the air out of the tip with two thick fingers.

‘Just do it,’ Ivan snapped, but she noticed the other man’s performance of the intimate task had not discouraged his erection, or Horace’s. For his part, Peter spread a squirt of latex-friendly lubricant over the sheath. His initiative pleased her, though she didn’t let it show.

‘Balls, too,’ she said.

Already on his knees beside his friend, Peter bit his lip and shuffled closer to do it. Ivan’s eyes screwed shut. He moaned through gritted teeth as Peter’s big, strong fingers worked the lube over his balls. From the sound of the moan, they were tender from his long, unassuaged arousal. Peter was not intimidated. He made a thorough job of it, coating every inch of pink, hairless skin, and even working back behind his scrotum to the sensitive pad of his perineum. Ivan’s hips jigged up and down through the entire process, telling Abby just how intensely he was enjoying this even if it wasn’t his idea.

‘I love watching his hands on you,’ she said, low and husky. ‘It really makes me hot. In fact, I’m dripping with honey right now. It’s trickling out of me right this second. And there’ll be more when you come inside me. Lots more.’

‘Jesus,’ Ivan said, going pale then red at her words.

The sight of his torment almost sent her through the roof. She made a sound. Ivan’s eyes snapped to hers. His gaze heated at what he found, then narrowed. Abby knew he wouldn’t last much longer.

‘Now,’ she said, just as he shoved Peter’s hand away and dipped forwards on his knees.

‘Now,’ he agreed. His hands hit the carpet above her head. He probed her mons with his penis, uttering a small pained cry at the first instant of contact, his aim true, his crown pressed inside her tender mouth — and stopped. He drew a small circle just within her. His eyes slid nearly shut. ‘Oh, yes,’ he sighed and pressed inside. His entry was easy, so easy, but it seemed to last a long, long time. There was more of him, and more and then, yes, the give of his abdomen met the give of her mons.

‘I’m about to come,’ she whispered.

He shivered and kissed the arch of her neck. He drew back slowly and thrust, another long drive and another long pull. Again she marvelled at the difference between her lovers. How lucky she was to be able to sample this feast. How very…

He pushed again.

‘Oh!’ The first quivers of orgasm caught her and shook her. Ivan doubled his speed, intensifying her orgasm and then, abruptly, driving her up the rich, red incline to the next. Ooh, she wanted it, another good hard one. Her pussy clenched. She held her breath and pulled at his cock with all her strength.

The contraction destroyed the last of Ivan’s control. He muttered a curse, his taut little buttocks churning, his cock going this way, that way, some primitive body sense all that kept him from pulling loose. His strokes were as long as they were crazed, down to the root, back to the tip. His pubis banged her clit. His balls slapped her buttocks. Her orgasm hovered, started to break. He fumbled for her hands and gripped hard. His head snapped back, dripping sweat. He gulped for air and stiffened and swelled and thrust incredibly deep and — oh, yes! — came through her second volley of achy-sweet spasms.

‘Mm,’ she said, totally replete.

But Ivan was still hard. His thrusting slowed but did not stop.

‘Enough,’ Peter said, dropping a brotherly hand to Ivan’s shoulder. ‘You’ll make her sore if you keep at her like that.’

With a wistful sigh, Ivan disengaged.

‘Don’t worry.’ She dropped a conciliatory kiss to the tip of his cock. ‘The night’s not over yet.’

Storm drove to Provincetown to a gym he’d spotted the day he’d met Abby’s supplier. Judging from the number of people inside, it was a local hot spot. It even had a message board for singles. A cursory glance told him most of the customers were interested in same-sex unions, but that was just as well. He was here to work out — period.

He bumped into the woman as she left an aerobics class. She was small and blonde and head-to-toe muscle. She wiped the sweat from her face with a neon orange towel, complimented him on his upper-body definition and invited him to meet her after her shower.

What the hell, he thought, with the fatalistic feeling he used to get ordering the one last beer that would guarantee him a hangover. What the hell.

Within the hour they were in her apartment and he was in her, pumping slow and deep just the way he liked. A cunt was a cunt, right? They were all warm. They all got wet and slurpy if you treated them right.

He used all three of the condoms he’d had the foresight to keep in his holdall. He didn’t experience the urge to blurt out French endearments, and he made each engagement last. He took her from behind first, with her leaning over a Lucite chair that looked more like modern art than furniture. She had a beautiful arse, as high and round as a long-distance runner’s. Her body was still hot from her workout — inside and out. His cock felt pleasantly steamed as it probed her intimate folds.

Next he took her in her bed. She had a canopy of gauzy white mosquito netting — quite atmospheric. She was also very flexible. At the end, she locked her ankles behind his neck and came with a funny gasp, almost a sneeze. The position and the depth he achieved as she quivered in climax almost made him spill. He controlled himself with an effort and pulled carefully free. They moved to the shower. They kissed some more and played games with her sandalwood soap. When he judged his arousal had abated to a manageable level, he took her standing up against the tiles with the water pounding over their bodies in lukewarm needles of spray.

Only then did he allow himself to come. There was nothing wrong with his orgasm. It was as deep and intense as he knew how to make it.

‘When can I see you again?’ she asked as he sat in the strange transparent chair pulling on his shoes.

His usual diplomacy deserted him. He shook his head.

‘I get it,’ she said. ‘You’re a one-night-stand kind of guy.’

He grimaced and pushed his left heel into the trainer. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘No, no.’ She smoothed her platinum hair — dyed, he now had reason to know. ‘Better you should tell me the truth than promise to call. Anyway–’ she flashed a too-bright grin ‘–that was pretty stupendous for a one-night stand. You can really cook.’

Storm sighed to himself. She didn’t even know he was a chef.

*   *   *

He got home late. The cottage was dark. He stood in the cool grass and stared up at Abby’s window. His throat hurt and a strange pressure burnt behind his eyes. Pictures of her rolled through his mind: the curve of her breast; the way it swayed when she bent to pick up her clothes; the little smile she wore when she palmed his groin and found him hard, as if she’d discovered something sweeter than chocolate but didn’t want to let on.

He didn’t think. He didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the trellis and pulled himself up between the thorny branches. Twice the roses pricked him to the point of bleeding, but it was worth it, or so he thought until he peered through the window and saw her empty bed.

He climbed down in a huff. Where the hell was she? He glanced towards Marissa’s room, but that was dark, too. Come to think of it, he didn’t remember seeing Abby’s car when he drove in.

He would have gone straight to bed and brooded if he hadn’t spotted the note taped to Marissa’s door. Without a qualm, he ripped it off and opened it. ‘Just so you know,’ it said. ‘I’m meeting some friends at the Chamber of Commerce. I shouldn’t be late, but if I am, please help Storm do the inventory tomorrow morning. Thanks. Abby.’

Storm looked at his watch. Who would she be meeting at the Chamber of Commerce at this hour, and what could they be doing that would last through till morning? Knowing Abby, she’d probably got suckered into volunteering for some charity board. Or a quilting circle for vampires, he thought with a doubtful snort. Whatever the reason, who knew how careful she was being?

It couldn’t hurt to make sure she had an escort home.

He found a map to the Chamber of Commerce in the minuscule Picker’s Hollow Business Directory. He broke a few speed limits getting there, but didn’t actually peel the rubber from his tyres. When he arrived, he found Abby’s car parked outside along with a BMW, a van and a dusty black racing bike. That struck him as odd. What sort of group met in the middle of the night with so few people?

No lights shone behind the porticoed front door and no one answered his knock, so he followed a pebbled path to the back. There he found a door marked
BALLROOM
. The knob turned when he tried it. Shrugging to himself, he stepped inside.

His end of the cavernous room was dark, but the opposite end blazed with light. A stage set of some sort had been erected. A painting of a Greco-Roman temple decorated the backdrop. Music played. It sounded Indian. A low male laugh cut through its ululating melody. That’s when he realised there were people on the stage, naked people. His legs moved in a state of nerveless shock across the bare wood floor. One of the naked people had a familiar mass of sunny blonde hair. Abby. He walked faster. He stopped just out of reach of the footlights and stared until his eyes hurt.

She was down on her hands and knees, in profile, on the carpet that covered centre stage. A man with a big belly was taking her from behind. At first Storm thought he was taking her in the arse, which inspired a flash of anger since he had yet to take her that way himself. But the penetration was vaginal. The man had merely picked the best position for keeping his stomach out of the way.

At the moment, he was reaching forwards over Abby’s back, hastily braiding her hair.

The only explanation Storm could imagine for this was that the man wanted to see what she was doing. Another man lay on his back in front of her, perpendicular to the line of her body, his feet towards the front of the stage. Storm watched the man’s toes curl and uncurl with pleasure. Abby was lapping the very tip of his erection, which was one of the longest he’d ever seen. It was so brightly pink it glowed — and no wonder. He’d called her kittenish, but in truth her tongue moved like a cat’s, now teasing the head with the point, now dragging across with the soft wet flat.

Storm’s own groin tightened in sympathy. His cock moved inside his jeans, still soft but lengthening.

A third man crossed the stage, a tall, sturdy blond. He ripped a condom open with his teeth, knelt, and rolled it over the supine man’s cock. He looked familiar. Yes, it was the beach-boy-muscleman he’d met in front of the inn his first morning here, and these must be the friends he’d been sitting with.

Muscleman’s hands slid down Tallboy’s cock and squeezed his balls. Tallboy groaned. Big Belly laughed. Abby’s breasts jiggled with her quickened breaths.

She likes this, Storm thought, unconsciously cupping himself through the worn denim of his jeans. She likes watching them touch each other. Knowing this made him harden more fully, and made him aware that he was groping himself. If he were caught, he’d look twice the fool. But he didn’t want to stop. The room smelt of sex, of male sweat and female honey. The blood pounded in his groin, urging him on. He was not one to turn away from an unusual arousal, whatever the cause. He squeezed his balls, much the way Muscleman had squeezed Tallboy’s, then scratched one nail in a circle around his glans.

The touch made him twitch. His skin was as sensitive as if it had an electric current running through it.

‘I’m starting,’ Big Belly announced. He drew back and made his first thrust. He sucked in a breath. ‘Everyone synchronise your watches.’

Abby laughed and put her hand over Muscleman’s. Now they both massaged Tallboy’s scrotum. Tallboy’s feet twitched. Muscleman leant towards Abby. He nipped her pouty lower lip, then the upper, and then settled in for a deep conversation of tongues. Tallboy’s cock bobbed an inch beneath their chins, straining upwards as if it, too, wanted kissing. The rhythm of their mouths was unmistakably sexual, and intensified by Big Belly’s slow push-pull at Abby’s back.

After a minute of the hypnotising ebb and flow, Abby broke free.

‘I need some help, Peter,’ she said, nodding at the supine man’s cock. ‘I’m no Deep Throat and Ivan here is no shrimp cocktail.’

The man named Peter grinned and licked his lips. ‘You take the head. I’ll see what I can do with the rest.’

Storm was interested to see how they managed — more than interested, actually; his buttocks had been clenching in time to their rhythm, pushing his now rigid penis tighter to his palm. He held his breath and leant closer. Peter lay down on his side and pillowed his head on Ivan’s hip, extending his throat until he could reach the long, rosy shaft. He touched the skin tentatively with his tongue, then his lips. Then he swallowed hard and wriggled closer, taking to the task in earnest as he alternated between lapping and sucking the swollen rod. Ivan’s groans of pleasure sounded as though they were wrenched unwillingly from his gut. Storm realised these men weren’t used to interacting this way. They were doing it to please Abby and discovering they liked it more than they expected, perhaps more than they wanted.

Apparently, Peter was aroused by Ivan’s dilemma as well. He wrapped one hand around his own cock and began to masturbate in tight, get - down - to - business pulls.

‘Curl up towards me,’ Abby said, her voice jolted by Big Belly’s continuing thrusts. ‘I’ll help you.’

When Peter drew his legs up, she twined her fingers with his and joined his strokes. As soon as she touched him, he began to quiver as though her caresses were his personal Spanish fly. A flush spread from one of his nipples to the next, each a stiff, ruddy point. Storm experienced a strange urge to crawl up on the stage and suck them himself. Instead, he thrust one hand beneath his sweaty workout shirt and pinched his own nipple. The twang of sensation shot straight to his cock. He was going to come like a train wreck before this was over. He only hoped he wouldn’t make too much noise.

‘Oh, God,’ said the big, blond man. ‘Your hand is so little. Your skin is so soft. Go slow, Abby. Go slower.’

‘Lick him,’ Abby ordered in an imperious voice that made Storm flush. ‘I want to see your tongue on his cock.’

Peter’s skin shivered as he moved his head back to Ivan’s waiting shaft. Abby’s sigh oozed from her throat like honey. Her eyelids drifted downward, lowering but not closing at the sight of the big male tongue lapping back and forth, back and forth. With a dreamy smile, she captured Ivan’s hot pink glans between her lips.

Storm took an involuntary step forward just as Ivan moaned. No one heard his footfall. No one had the least idea he was there. He was cloaked by the darkness beyond the footlights: the perfect voyeur.

He watched her swallow one inch, then two. Peter opened wide and licked her lips at the same time as he licked Ivan’s shaft. Ivan cursed, his knees jerking so wide the dark pucker of his anus was exposed to view. His plump pink balls joggled between his legs and again Storm imagined himself joining in.

Crazy images flashed through his mind. He would kiss Ivan as they kissed Ivan. Their tongues would duel up and down that long, rigid cock, fighting for room. He would tickle the dark, secret entrance between Ivan’s legs. He would make Peter suck his own cock until it glistened. Abby would watch. Abby would run wet and silky with admiration. She would take him in her soft little hand and press his bursting glans against the tiny pucker of Ivan’s arse. He would guide their heads up and down Ivan’s cock. He would roll his hips forward and press–

‘Abby,’ Ivan moaned. ‘Suck me deeper. Suck me hard.’

She took him deeper, then sucked back towards the head. Peter’s tongue followed her withdrawal, lashing the other man just under his crown where the sensitive little wrinkles drew together.

‘Ooh.’ The man’s hips heaved upwards in an ecstatic quest for more. ‘Ooh, Peter, let her do it. Let her do it right there.’

Peter chuckled but he let Abby reclaim her territory.

Meanwhile, Big Belly was claiming his own territory. His upstage hand roved back and forth between Abby’s swaying breasts and his downstage hand burrowed through the golden hair of her mound.

She cried out sharply as he pinched her clit and began tugging it outwards from her body. Gripping her between forefinger and thumb, he pulled and let it slip free, pulled and let it slip free, a steady motion timed to match his thrusts. It was a nice little trick, one that Abby seemed to like. Storm wondered if he dared try it himself.

‘Mm,’ she moaned around her shared mouthful of cock. She arched her back, opening herself to the big man’s increasingly forceful drives. She wriggled the globes of her arse against him. He began to pant — as did she, a breathy, moaning expulsion of breath.

Storm knew what those sounds meant. She would come soon, and come hard. Unable to bear the pressure behind his zip, he ripped the tab down and shoved his hand into his briefs. His glans was lodged down over his balls but he didn’t pull himself free. He wanted the constriction, the feeling of being tightly surrounded. Widening his stance, he worked three fingers over the head and rubbed it hard. The sensation was sharp, almost too sharp, but by this time his urgent need to come overrode such concerns.

Abby was still moaning as she bobbed further down Ivan’s shaft. Her arousal had relaxed her. Her mouth joined Peter’s in a kiss low on the base. Her throat worked. Her cheeks drew in as she sucked back upwards. Ivan began to kick a little, his feet scrabbling on the rug.

‘Oh, man,’ he said in pre-orgasmic panic. ‘Oh, man.’

His arm swung down. He caught the back of Peter’s head with his hand and started in surprise. Clearly, he’d meant to catch Abby but was too far gone to care. With a moan of surrender, he shoved his friend up tight against the root of his cock. His fingers kneaded the thick gold waves in clear, feline enjoyment. Then he brought his other hand to Abby’s head and pressed her closer, too.