Going Too Far (20 page)

‘She is, mate. Tight but soft, magic muscles. Don’t you want to swap?’

I lapped up the way they talked as though I had no say in the matter as eagerly as I lapped at Robbie’s prick.

‘No, I think I’ll come in her mouth. I suppose she swallows?’

‘What doesn’t she do?’

Red’s comment came with an increase in the intensity of his thrusting. He pulled me hard back on to him as Robbie’s hands gripped mine harder. They were both nearly there.

‘Tell you what, mate, leave her for me to finish, if you don’t mind?’ That was Robbie.

‘No worries,’ said Red breathlessly and groaned as he came. ‘Jesus.’

Robbie’s arms were trembling as his hands slackened and tightened rhythmically over mine and I knew he was nearly there. I took him as deep as I dared and in less than a minute he spurted into me. Red had lied, of course – I never swallow – but instead I dribbled it slowly out of my mouth so that it spilled down to my breasts. As Robbie unclasped his hands from mine and sank to his knees I rubbed his warm cream into my tits. His last remark would have sent me completely over the brink if only hands-free orgasms existed.

I expected him to get up and come round to the bed but he stayed where he was.

‘Sit down, Bliss.’

I sat back, still facing him, wondering how long he was going to make me wait till he let me come. Suddenly his arms came through two of the bars, grabbed my legs purposefully and pulled them through. They were uncomfortably far apart and my sex gaped, framed by the brass rails.

I had fallen on to my back, my head against Red’s knee, reminding me of his presence. Robbie hadn’t forgotten him, though.

‘Hold her down, Red, with her arms above her head. Close your eyes, Bliss. I want you to concentrate. Red, keep your mouth shut.’

The sudden silence in the room, my anticipation and the fact that Robbie didn’t touch me for a full half minute reminded me of waiting, bound and gagged, for Carlos. Of course I’d told Robbie about how agonisingly exciting that had been and he was trying to recreate it for me. I concentrated on what I must look like to him, my pink lips plump with desire, my slit creamily expectant, flaunting itself through the bars like a monkey pressing her arse to the cage.

His tongue caressed me with a delicacy that sent shivers through me. As gently as he had kissed my mouth he kissed my pussy, licking and probing slowly. It seemed forever before it touched my clitoris, but when it did I felt overwhelmed with the need for release. Winding my legs behind him I tensed my muscles ready to come but he replaced my legs in front of the bed, leaving his hands on my thighs. His tongue continued to lick my swollen bud slowly, too slowly for me to come, a delicious torture. Once again he moved to my molten slit, where his tongue replayed its action in my mouth, thrusting harder inside me. My breathing was getting more and more shallow and then his warm mouth moved down, lapping away from my overheated sex, and then started softly rimming my anus.

I don’t know if he heard the sound that escaped my throat but Red took Robbie’s earlier instruction for silence to mean me as well. Without a word he placed his free hand over my mouth.

Robbie’s tongue moved back up to my pussy and then to my clit and I knew this time he would let me come. As he started to increase the pressure his hands moved from my legs and one finger of each hand pressed gently in a circular motion just above and each side of my clitoris. His tongue needled my inflamed clit with rapid but firm strokes and then he swept it broadly up and down and increased the pressure with his fingers. It was totally out of my control and my own enforced passivity and blatant exposure jarred my body into the violent reaction I’d been waiting for.

‘Nice one, Rob,’ commented Red as my orgasm subsided, bringing us back down to earth. My hands and my mouth were my own again.

‘How do you know?’ I asked, though my voice was weak. ‘How do you know I came?’

They both snorted with laughter. ‘The bloody bed vibrated with it, for one thing,’ said Red. ‘Even your face tensed up. Your legs twitched. Your fanny bucked.’

‘You can’t see my legs or my fanny. I hate that word. Don’t use it again.’

‘Yes miss. I’ve seen them loads of times.’

I pulled my legs through the rails and grinned at Robbie. ‘Anyway he was right, it was a nice one. I was a bit put out when you turned down the offer to swap places, but you more than made up for it.’

We had a group hug on the bed. Just the sort of thing Mum used to go in for when I was a kid – though not post-coitally, you understand, but fully dressed and with her consciousness-raising group. OK, I was disappointed that Robbie hadn’t technically fucked me, but figured that we still had something to look forward to.

A
fter two days on Chiloe I stopped waiting for Carlos to tie me up and threaten me if I didn’t tell him what Red and Robbie were up to. Maybe he wasn’t as unscrupulous as I’d allowed him to become in my imagination. Yes, he’d had me followed but for my own protection, as he said. The boys’ warnings, not to mention the Bond-type drill I’d been put through before leaving them, seemed preposterous.

I’d been made to learn two e-mail addresses, though my request to eat the paper they were written on afterwards met with slight exasperation. One address was theirs and one belonged to the anonymous contact on Chiloe, who I teasingly christened Moneypenny. After checking that Carlos wouldn’t know whether I’d had one before they gave me a mobile and made me learn its number as though I’d had it for years. They programmed in Moneypenny’s phone number, though that was only for emergencies. If I needed urgent help and couldn’t talk I was to phone him, call him Steve, an old friend, and ask him if he could get Mum to put some money into my bank account. Moneypenny would try to make himself known to me by introducing himself as ‘Franco, as in General’. So already he had three names; serious espionage or what?

But in two days of sightseeing on the delightful island nothing more sinister had occurred than listening to Jorge’s edit of my tape while looking at my slug photos. He had sent me a note via Carlos to say he was going to exhibit the pictures at the end of the month with the tape on continuous loop; would we be able to go? Sadly I would be in Patagonia but Carlos said he would try to get there.

The slug pictures were good. Mid-slither I looked pretty impressive, wrapped up in my transparent mummy outfit and a quite amusing look of determination on my face. I have to say though that the ones on the massage table were more sleazy porn than erotic art. Not that I minded much.

Carlos played the tape at full volume on the first night we spent together in the rather nice house he was renting. I couldn’t relax and appreciate it because the maid was bustling in clearing the remains of dinner and fetching the coffee. At least I managed to get the photos out of the way.

‘Can’t you wait till she’s gone?’ I hissed, embarrassed. Exhibitionism has its place and frankly before a middle-aged female servant just wasn’t it in my book.

‘She doesn’t understand English,’ he assured me, though as she had returned with the coffee just at the moment where I was describing rather loudly and thickly that Ulla was fondling my arse, cunt and clit I felt myself blush. Even I knew the Spanish for the first two. Apart from anything, my voice sounded exactly like the voice of someone on the verge of an orgasm. However she seemed completely oblivious to the sound effects, her lined face bent in concentration over the tray.

My embarrassment deepened for different reasons when I heard myself describing sex with Carlos and even worse with Red and Robbie. He was obviously taken aback by my enthusiastic description of the size of Red’s cock. Jorge had left out his questions about the guys and ended the tape with me coming. You know I would have sworn I either shut up or shouted but I was groaning and moaning just like, well, like the American girlies. I wondered if I was always like that or whether I’d put it on a bit to avoid Jorge’s spytrap, but I could hardly ask Carlos.

I liked it better when he replayed it later after he’d dismissed Maria. He took the part of Ulla, touching me when she did, and as you can imagine also tying me to the table. As he brought me to orgasm in sync with the voiceover I self-consciously gritted my teeth and came in silence. But though listening had turned me on it didn’t seem to affect Carlos; after he had made me come he untied me and said he wanted to wait for me. It wasn’t the first time, so I shrugged and went to bed.

We had our own rooms, which was fine by me. Bed was usually the only place that lent itself to sex when you’re camping, but in a big house with a secluded garden and swimming pool, the next week was going to present plenty of opportunities

So I thought on night one. However the ensuing two-day tour of the island gave us little time to ourselves at all, never mind time to indulge in a relaxed screw. Carlos drove all over the island; he genuinely seemed interested in my reaction to the place as a potential holiday destination. He explained that parts of the island had been spoiled by logging operations, so it could only be improved. Some of the beaches on the populated east coast were good; the towns were attractive and the people were friendly. We ate superb seafood in quaint wooden restaurants set on stilts over the sea and picnicked in the national park on the west coast, on the longest, whitest, sandiest beach I’ve seen in my life.

Red and Robbie often went on about deforestation and for the life of me I couldn’t see why a holiday park would be worse than a neglected forest. I had to point out to Carlos, however, that I myself hate formula holiday resorts and wouldn’t have visited the island if there was any danger of being forced to go on tours with jolly bus drivers handing out bingo cards.

‘This isn’t going to be that tacky, Bliss. But you know millions of people do want organised tours and on-site entertainment. Look at the Caribbean. Most people who go there are in tourist complexes. That’s what people like.’

Well, I couldn’t argue. Even friends of mine who used to rough it in India and Morocco had taken up packages to new resorts in Salvador or the Dominican Republic. It was so nice, they said, to have everything laid on and not have to spend all your time with your nose in guidebooks deciding which were the best places to go and the cheapest hotels to stay in. But it made me realise that Red and Robbie were right; those Caribbean compounds surely weren’t owned by local businesses, but by multinational corporations. I even wondered if maybe the dangers of travelling freely in the Caribbean islands hadn’t been exaggerated by those same corporations to frighten people into staying in the compounds, buying their food and drink and souvenirs there. And what had the boys said about importing the food and drink as well?

I decided not to run that one by Carlos. After all I was supposed to be gathering information, not trying to dissuade him from getting on with the job.

He promised we would spend the next day relaxing by the pool, though my first encounter made me anything but relaxed. The gardener was trimming a hedge – not too surprising, as I didn’t see Carlos brandishing a pair of shears, though I bet he’d pounce on a roll of garden twine – and greeted me with a ‘
Buenas días, señora
’. Then he added in English, ‘My name is Franco, as in General.’

‘Oh, good. I mean, hello, Franco.’ Was I supposed to say anything else?

He smiled and moved to the other side of the hedge. I quickly figured that there was no point having a code unless you suspected someone might overhear or maybe even that the garden would be bugged – can you bug a garden? Well, I suppose if you can bug the president of the United States, there’s no limit. I feared I was being a hopeless spy and stopped peering at the hedge for a hidden microphone and sat by the pool.

I guess I was supposed to be comforted by the presence of Franco/Moneypenny/Steve but, although I had dismissed the idea of Carlos doing me any harm during the last two days, I was uneasily aware that unless both the guys and F/M/S were nuts, there was obviously some danger involved here. But as Carlos joined me dressed in nothing but blue swimming shorts I rationalised my reawakened fear. F/M/S was also intelligence gathering, just like me. Just because I had his number in case of emergency didn’t mean that they thought Carlos was out to harm me, but that they were taking unnecessary if rather sweet precautions. It was a bit like my dad’s insurance policy, a well-meaning but extravagant safety net put in place just to show they cared.

Carlos and I had fun racing each other – his crawl was better but my breaststroke is quite honestly superb – and rubbing each other with suntan lotion while we talked non-stop. Maria appeared with a salad lunch and a couple of beers and then Carlos said he had to work but he could do it at the poolside. It was fine by me because I had neglected my postcard duties for weeks so I settled down to the ones I’d bought in Castro the previous day.

Carlos looked up from his laptop as Maria came out to ask if we wanted coffee. We didn’t, but I seized the interruption to ask him what seemed to me to be a key question.

‘I thought we were going to be relaxing in other ways here,’ I said with a raised eyebrow to illustrate the sort of ways I meant. ‘There’s this terrific garden, the pool, a great big house; but there’s also Maria and the gardener.’

‘Franco,’ said Carlos automatically. I nodded. I hadn’t known whether he would know that I knew his name. ‘So? You want to involve them?’