Gemini Heat (10 page)

As the last spurt flew in an arc, and the two men seemed to crumple in ecstasy, both the stage and the house lights were killed. In total, velvet blackness, Deana could almost taste the sex in the air, feel it vibrating around her in a multitude of strange, hidden ways.

It was like being in limbo, but as her eyes began to adjust she saw evocative movement all around her. She heard hushed sighs and groans. She half expected Jake to reach for her, but when he didn't she resumed her self-fondling - overcome by the warm, sexy darkness.

The tenderness of her clitoris made her sob, but she could no more stop touching it than stop breathing. She felt her consciousness ascend again, soaring up on a steep curve of pleasure. And as she handled her own sticky body, she sensed Jake, nearby, attending to his. She imagined his penis released from its leather confinement as he stroked it to fulfilment and relief. Her memory displayed her the balcony scene, and she saw
him
climbing over
her
back as the blond pederast had mounted his black victim. Bizarrely, she also seemed to 'remember' her sister's experiences. Being licked and touched. The tantalising 'did he, didn't he' of wondering whether he'd really been inside her.

Then it was back to being herself again, and being fingered and displayed in the limousine. She whimpered at the enormity of it, and the shaming. And how much that shame had intensified her climax. Her finger rode hard on her painful bud and she came again in a long wet burst - just as the house lights started phasing back on again. Deana's vision was blurred with pleasure, but it didn't stop her seeing quite a sight . . . Her so-called 'lover' being kissed by another woman!

The embrace was something of a shock, and even more shocking was the sensation that came along with it. The long brown curve of Jake's bare throat - as he craned backwards in his seat to be kissed upside down - was as erotic in its own way as anything that had happened on the stage. Intellect told Deana she should be jealous, but instead she felt only titillation. The kisser was stunning; an elegant, pale-skinned woman dressed in a shirt and jeans of silk-smooth black latex rubber. Her hair was a brilliant zinging red, and styled in a long thick plait, a great living hank that hung forward over her shoulder, trailed down across Jake, and lay on his heaving chest like a shimmering rope of blood.

Good God, she's almost raping him! thought Deana, aroused anew - and against her will - by the sheer animality of Jake being kissed and taken by force. The woman had complete, albeit temporary control of him and her long white hands, bejewelled with many rings, were a frame for his dark face and jaw. Her bold pink tongue was clearly visible as it darted its way deep into his mouth.

At length the clinch dissolved, and the woman straightened up like a flower uncurling to the sun. Her lips were moist, Deana noted. And naturally, deeply, and flawlessly red. There was no lipstick there to be spoiled by kisses because this strange, gorgeous woman didn't need it.

'Good evening, Vida,' said Jake lazily, swivelling in his chair to greet the newcomer less intimately.

'And good evening to you, Kazuto, my Japanese jewel,' replied Vida zestily, reaching out to touch his high slanted cheek-bone. 'I've been wondering how long I had to wait for you.'

'Business, my dear,' he shot back at her, grabbing her wrist and kissing its inner surface, 'Some of us have to do a lot of tedious wheeling and dealing to earn our crust. We can't all live the life of the creative elite.'

She's been his lover! thought Deana, her instincts clanging. She felt suddenly excluded. What if she still
is
his lover? What does that make me?

And yet when the mysterious Vida turned towards her, Deana felt bathed in a warm glow of interest. The red-headed woman smiled, deep in her eyes as well as with her soft crimson mouth, and with a playful pinch of Jake's dark cheek, she abandoned him and refocused her attentions.

'Hello, I'm Vida Mistry. Who the devil are you?' Eyes like chips of emerald bored deep into Deana's embarrassment, reminding her where her fingers still were. The name was familiar now too. The woman was a writer, quite a notorious one. Deana even had some of her books!

'Paws off, Mistry!' said Jake easily. 'Dee's my protegee tonight. Go find some prey of your own!'

Wriggling anxiously, Deana had managed to ease her skirt at least partially down over her thighs and bottom. The movement, however, was uncouth and graceless and seemed to amuse the watching Vida enormously.

'Oh yes, Dee,' she said creamily, pulling up a chair and sinking down onto it, 'he gets to me like that sometimes too.'

Before Deana could speak or even move, the other woman had reached for her hand and was kissing the sex-scent on her fingers.

'Delicious,' she whispered, her green eyes blazing. 'Why not forget this loser and come home with me?' She made an affectionate yet dismissive gesture towards Jake - who seemed as entertained as the rubber-clad authoress by Deana's pink-stained cheeks.

'Not tonight, Mistry,' he said, rising suddenly and gracefully to his feet. 'It's getting late and I haven't had Dee yet.' His narrow hand dropped casually to his leather-covered crotch and the swell of his obvious erection.

Deana was burning up now, and trembling. She felt helpless, as Jake reached' out with a deft, almost magician-like precision, and managed to urge her to her feet and straighten her skirt in one smooth unnoticeable action. Both he and the preposterous Vida were treating her like an object or a possession - and against her will she was loving it. It was insane, but at the moment he'd casually remarked he hadn't 'had' her, she'd suddenly wanted
him
quite desperately. Her bare sex rippled as her skirt skated down on its lining and covered her; and she had a sudden, mindless urge to throw herself down across the table before them. She wanted Jake to caress her and take her, and she even wanted Vida to watch him.

'Come along, my dear,' he whispered in her ear as she considered her lunatic fancy. 'We have very little time and I don't think I can wait much longer to be inside you.' He slid alongside her and discreetly pressed his loins to her hip. The bulge beneath the leather was no illusion; he was as hard as stone. As hard as he'd been in the gallery, and if it were possible, more so.

'Goodbye, Dee,' said Vida Mistry gaily as they drew away from her. 'We'll meet again soon.' There was a glint in her eyes that rayed out in the room's sultry gloom. A sharp, spiky shine that was both frightening and thrilling. Deana felt a lovely softness between her legs that shouldn't have happened for a woman, and she was almost relieved when Jake propelled her firmly ahead of him with a hand on her leather-covered buttock. She sensed him turn and make some gesture or other to Vida, but she didn't dare look around again herself.

As they left the house, the limousine slunk up to the kerb in front of them, even though Deana had seen no call of any kind made to summon it. Was Fargo a mind reader? Was Jake himself telepathic? Oh God, the prospect of
that
was terrifying!

'What do you think of Mistry?' he asked when they were sealed into the car and gliding away. It seemed he was a telepath. He'd read not only her confused feelings about the eccentric author, but the way his hands were already sliding up her thighs said he'd also perceived her desire. Her hot new yearning for
him.

This time he was not so solicitous of her stockings, and she felt a volley of fine tickling runs, the sheer mesh popping as he grabbed her.

The slim leather skirt went back up.

'I ... I think she's very . . . um . . . impressive,' she stuttered, her words broken up by the rough way he opened her thighs then rummaged through the curls of her sex.

'She wants you, that's obvious!' he said, taking her clitoris in his fingers just as Vida herself might've done.

'No!'

It was a squeal, a panicked squeak of denial, but denial of what, she wasn't sure. The pain in her over-pleasured clitoris? The gorgeous rush in spite of that pain? The fact that a dominant lesbian wanted her and she wanted that woman in return?

'Yes, pretty Dee.' There was a laugh in his voice as well as desire. He was playing with her love-lips now, pulling and stretching at them, creating more small pains which only made her nectar run thicker.

'I'd like to see you with a woman,' he said almost absently as he rubbed and dabbled and worked, jiggling at the soft, rude place between her legs.

'I wonder what you'd do,' he whispered. 'How you'd go about it. . . Christ, this is no good!'

Jerkily, without any of his customary smoothness and finesse, he rolled back to sit on the seat and opened his leather-clad thighs. 'It's going to be another quickie, my sweet. Duty calls. I'm flying to Zurich tonight, but I want to come in you before I go.' He grinned at his own small joke, his hooded eyes narrowing sensually as his hands went to down his belt. Without looking, he flipped open the buckle, whizzed down the slick expensive zipper, then eased out his naked, swollen penis. It stood in the close, expectant air like a tower. A fat red tower rising between twin rows of shiny vicious teeth. Deana saw no evidence of any kind of underwear, but the potential hazard to his manhood seemed to trouble him not one bit. In fact, as he began to rub himself, it almost seemed as if he enjoyed the danger, and that the threat from the zip had made his erection grow harder than ever.

'Get astride,' he said bluntly, abandoning his masturbation to jerk up her skirt even higher. Then, taking her firmly by the hips, he helped her lever herself into position.

At last! At last! At last! she screamed inside as his glans pushed up into her haven. Rocking to and fro, she powered down onto it. She closed her eyes as she sank, and the length and girth of him seemed to go up and infinitely into her. She felt the exposed zip dig into her labia as she settled right down, but she no longer felt pain in the face of such overwhelming fullness. It seemed as if she'd never had a man so deep inside her. He was pushing against her womb with his cock-head, and the stretch of her inner flesh around him felt like silk cords pulling tautly on her clitoris. She didn't want to move. She didn't want him to move. She just wanted to be there, astride, with her hot female centre impaled on him.

When she felt his hands on her bodice, her eyes flew open, and she witnessed a scene of destruction. Oh no, not her pretty, sparkly top! Sequins popped and flew as he wrenched it roughly down to her waist and exposed her berry-nippled breasts.

'Hey, you bastard! Look what you've done!' she shouted, angry in spite of their joining.

'I'll buy you a hundred tops,' he snarled, gripping a breast in each hand and squeezing. 'God, lady, you're so beautiful!' He twisted each soft, aching mound and she screamed, her stretched quim convulsing and fluttering. The silver-silk cords had tightened now, as if connected by magic to the flesh he was mauling.

As she orgasmed, Deana looked out over Jake's shoulder into a dark void of physical ecstasy. The night streets were flowing by her as normal, yet she watched them with a goddess-like detachment.

A middle-aged woman tried to stare into the car as it passed, then appeared to frown at Deana's half-naked body. Further on, a young boy waved and whistled as if he really could see what was happening . . . and the flesh of Deana's sex seemed to answer with a ripple that made love to the man lodged inside it.

When the car pulled to a halt at a set of red traffic-lights, Jake groaned, kissed Deana passionately, then jerked like a puppet gone crazy as his warm seed pulsed out against her womb.

Some time later, in another world, the traffic-lights changed back to green again. But as the black car fired up and moved forward, the couple on its back seat didn't notice . . .

Chapter Five
Home Comforts

It was madness to look out of the window, but Delia couldn't help herself. She had to see Jake, she just had to. Even if it meant the game was up before it had properly begun.
t was madness to look out of the window, but Delia couldn't help herself. She had to see Jake, she just had to. Even if it meant the game was up before it had properly begun.

'What's going on, Delia? What the hell's going on? Why don't you want to meet this man?'

Peter's voice, just behind her, made Delia nearly jump out of her skin. She'd been expecting him to ask questions, but this vehemence was a total surprise. To hear his usually mild and husky tones made sharp and clipped by anger was a shock, but indefinably and inexplicably a pleasant one. It was like seeing a fat pet cat grow sleek and mean and beautiful when it put back its ears and snarled.

Slightly shaken, she dropped the curtain back into place and turned away from the window. She'd probably missed Jake and Deana anyway.

Peter. Bless him. He was always around when they needed him: with the metaphorical cupful of sugar and any other favour they might ask for.

'It's a long story, Peter,' she said, still puzzled by his unexpected anger. 'But if you've got an hour or two, I can tell you the gory details.' Even as she watched, his irritation faded. The frown

left his thin but quietly handsome face and made way for his usual amenable expression.

'Even better, Delia.' He grinned and he was good, kind 'Pete' again. 'I've got a whole evening, a flat that needs some female company to brighten it up, and a batch of my gooseberry rocket-fuel that's just perfectly aged for drinking!'