In Too Deep (6 page)

And why not?
she thought, her hormones in overdrive, making her reckless. Why
not have him, this arrogant, successful man? He was looking at her
as if he wanted her, and all other sensible considerations fled
from her mind.

His hand
closed on hers and his grip was like steel. 'Shall we?' he asked,
and she knew exactly what he meant. He moved upwards, cupping her
elbow and leading her out through a door with a light above it
saying EXIT. He knew his way around, it seemed, and walked her down
a short corridor and through a door on the right. It led into a
storeroom, a place illumined by a single small window.

They didn't
speak and he guided her between cardboard boxes, stacking chairs,
an industrial vacuum cleaner, a mop and bucket, a folded
stepladder, towards a table at the back. As they walked he had his
hands under her bodice, adroitly unclipping her bra, lifting both
and working on her bare breasts. She gripped the top button of his
waistband, undid it and pulled his zip down. He wasn't wearing
anything underneath, his cock springing into her hand, and then
they could go no further, blocked by the table.

Arlene reached
up and he lowered his face to hers, taking possession of her lips.
She put her tongue in his mouth, tasting him. There was the faint
flavour of wine on his breath. She felt as if she, too, had been
drinking, intoxicated by the bizarre situation, his hands on her
breasts, her fist closed round the solid column of flesh poking
from his fly. She was actually about to fuck Marty Blake! Her rival
in the field of fashion, admired, even adored, lionised by the
press and public alike.

He took his
lips away from hers, and then caught her under the buttocks,
lifting and seating her on the table. He pushed her legs open and
reached under her skirt. She gasped and heaved against him as he
fingered her cleft, pushing her panties to one side and sliding
into her wet depths. She was ready, teetering on the edge, excited
beyond measure by the breathtaking glitz of the show, the glory of
the fabrics and now - this! Blake represented all the most
glamorous, romantic and fantastical elements of the rag trade. It
was as if by screwing him she was taking the whole of it into her
being.

He could have
been selfish, but he wasn't. He moved his finger faster and she
moaned as the exquisite sensations rose, lifting her towards a
powerful orgasm. It broke, filling her with shuddering, lusting,
absorbing pleasure. She lolled back, resting on her straight arms,
opening her eyes to see his swollen cock standing up from his open
flies, his deft fingers rolling a condom over the straining stem.
Protected now, he guided his thrusting prick into her slippery
vulva and pushed all the way up her hungry channel in a single,
powerful stroke.

'Oh yes,
yes!
'
Arlene cried, lifting her legs and locking them around his waist,
pulling him even deeper inside her.

'I'm going to
fuck you harder than you've ever been fucked,' he warned,
propelling his cock with forceful thrusts of his hips.

'Yes, do it,
do it!' she urged.

Using all his
considerable strength, Blake withdrew to almost the full length of
his shaft, and then plunged back into her. She lost her grip on
him, her legs falling open. He snarled and pounded into her, again
and again, grabbing her bottom to hold her steady to meet those
ravaging thrusts. It wasn't love or even affection, simply
mindless, animal passion, a savage meeting of two virile creatures
intent on getting every ounce of sensation from the act.

He worked his
hard cock into her relentlessly, as if it was as much an instrument
of torture as pleasure. Then he gasped, flung back his head, his
body jerking with the overwhelming force of his orgasm. Arlene
revelled in the sheer magic of feeling his cock spasm, buried deep
inside her.

He bent over
her, rested his head on her shoulder for a split second, then
pulled out, the teat of the rubber filled with his spunk. She
regained control, her breathing becoming regular, her heartbeat
slowing. Blake straightened, removed the condom and left it lying
on the table. He tucked in his shirt and zipped up. He was composed
and quiet, recovering his control. Watching him, Arlene entered
that lonely place which always awaited her after casual sex. It was
chilly and barren, and she never had come to terms with it. She
slipped down off the table, adjusted her knickers and skirt, then
tucked her breasts into her bra and rearranged her bodice. Neither
of them spoke.

Then, 'I'll
leave first and you follow after a moment or two,' he said. 'Don't
want people seeing us together and getting the wrong idea.'

'Of course
not,' she replied, an edge to her voice. 'That would never do.'

There were a
dozen things she could have said, like, 'Shall I see you again?'
but this would have been playing against the rules. People like she
and Marty Blake didn't do that kind of thing. She watched him
leave, then gathered up her bag, her length of devoré and her
carrier and let herself out into the corridor.

When she
crossed the hall, it was to see him surrounded by a gaggle of
admirers, cameras flashing. Staring straight ahead, she went
through the vestibule and stepped out into sunshine, the street
bright and new-washed by the downpour. She walked briskly, found
the nearest underground station and took a tube to her
workshop.

'What happened
next?' Arlene demanded, seated at the kitchen table, all ears as
she listened to Julia.

'It was very
normal, well, as normal as an interview with a celebrity tends to
be,' Julia replied, running her hands through her hair, still
shell-shocked by the turn of events.

'No more sex?'
Arlene went to the counter and re-filled their coffee cups.

'Not a
whisper. Everyone became ultra professional. Theona was a perfect
person to interview; chatty, informative, and witty. And she posed
so naturally for pics, fully clothed, of course.'

'And Gus?'
Arlene brought back the cups and perched on a stool, long legs
crossed at the knee, tiny skirt riding back over her thighs.

'He was sent
about his business, as were the bodyguards. It all went like
clockwork and, when we'd finished, Will's car was waiting outside
for us. Roy had been dispatched to fetch it. We went back to the
hotel, occupied our separate rooms, and left after breakfast this
morning. You know the rest.'

She had told
her story reluctantly, her face red, her body aching with
remembered pain and pleasure. Arlene had been insistent and, in a
peculiar way, Julia found it arousing to voice what took place. She
had been too shy to discuss it in the car on the drive back to
London, and Will, though smirking at her every now and again, also
kept quiet. It was as if they had never seen each other nude, or
indulging in sexual practices. He dropped her at her house in
Notting Hill, and Arlene, home from work, immediately pounced on
her, wanting to know every last detail.

'D'you mean to
tell me you kept your cherry through all these shenanigans?' she
said sceptically, sipping at the mug held between both hands.

'It's true,'
Julia answered earnestly. 'I'm still a virgin.'

Arlene nearly
choked on her coffee. 'Oh yes, very virginal, I should say so!' she
scoffed. 'I'm sure you're as pure as the driven snow. Come off it,
Julia. Been brought to climax, gave a guy head. Is this virginal
behaviour?'

'It's true. No
one has penetrated me.' Julia rushed from defence to attack,
pushing back her cup and standing up. 'I thought that you, at
least, would believe me.'

'Oh, don't get
so uptight. Sit down. Okay, I believe you're still technically a
virgin. But you haven't told me yet... did you enjoy what you
did?'

Julia
fidgeted, unsure of herself. 'Some of it. I don't know about being
slapped and belted. I haven't made up my mind if it's really my
thing. Anyway, enough about me. What have you been doing?'

Arlene grinned
and said, 'Only shagging Marty Blake at the Cloth Show, that's
all.'

Julia focused on her, his name ringing a bell. 'Isn't he the
one who was voted Top Designer of the Year recently? I tried to get
him to talk to me, wanted a piece for
Hi
Life
, but he was awfully rude.'

'That's Marty
Blake. An arrogant, chauvinistic pig.'

'And you went
with a man like that? I thought you were into girl-power.'

'I am, but
Marty has a cock to die for. Besides, he may be able to give my
career a nudge in the right direction.'

'Are you going
to see him again?' As usual, Arlene had managed to steal her
thunder, but Julia was genuinely interested. Her friend was so
talented and dedicated that she deserved to do well.

'Nothing was
said, but yes, I expect we'll bump into each other in the course of
our work. Stop looking at me like that. It was a fuck, that's all.
It didn't mean anything to either of us.'

'That's
dreadful.' Julia could feel all the conventional attitudes of her
middle-class background rising in a tide. The shame of her recent
abandonment made her want to find a convenient scapegoat.

Arlene laughed
and tossed back her wild hair, green eyes sparkling with mischief.
'Julia, you're a hypocrite. D'you know that? Giving me grief when
you're no better yourself. Come down off your high horse, lady.
It's time you got to grips with reality.'

Julia could
feel tears behind her eyes. She was worried about what Denise would
have to say. She and Will hadn't exactly carried out orders. It was
a relief to be home, the house enfolding her the moment she opened
the front door. It was much as it had always been. From early
childhood she remembered the brown and cream chevron tiles in the
hall, the stained glass panels in the porch, the dark dado, so
practical for hiding finger-marks, the plaster-work of the
cornices, the central carved rose in every room holding fancy
electric fittings. Her aunt had told her that once upon a time
these had housed gas-lamps.

She knew she'd
been extremely lucky to be left this place, which was worth a
fortune on the current market, but would have much rather had her
aunt alive. She couldn't remember her parents, only two when their
flight to Italy met with disaster. There were no survivors.
Great-aunt Mary had taken in the orphaned Julia. There had been no
one else. She had been middle-aged then, Julia's father's aunt, but
had done a splendid job of rearing her. Rather old-fashioned in
outlook, she had been scrupulously just, loving, and ever kind,
proud of this child entrusted to her. Julia missed her deeply, but
blushed to think what she would have made of last night's
episode.

'You'll do as
you're told, Tina,' shouted the handsome, foreign-looking man
wielding the whip. It cracked across her bare backside and she
yelped. 'I expect absolute obedience, d'you hear?'

He brought it
down again, making her spin, honey-blonde hair flying. She
struggled against the bonds tethering her wrists to the hook
securely screwed into a rafter. Her arms were drawn awkwardly above
her head, her breasts lifted high and she scrabbled for a purchase
on the floor, but her toes only just touched it. Not entirely
naked, her silk blouse hung loose, nipples hard with excitement,
raising it in two sharp points. She wore no skirt or panties, only
a pair of smoky-grey stockings with lacy hold-up tops.

'I can't
betray her,' she whimpered, tears coursing down her cheeks and
dripping from her chin. 'She's given me a chance, helped me out
when I was down on my luck.'

'And I
employed you once, Tina, remember?' Blake said, watching her from
where he sat on a nearby couch, legs apart to ease his erection. It
excited him to see his partner, friend and sponsor chastising the
girl. He did it with such finesse.

Everything
Vincent Gabor touched turned to gold, each venture flourishing.
They'd been drawn to one another like steel to magnet, Gabor
appreciating the value of Marty's talent and prepared to invest in
him. Not only that: they shared a similar need for sexual
activities that went beyond the norm. Gabor's personality was that
of a dominator. Both in business dealings and his personal life, he
had to be the master.

This secluded
basement in the foundations of his Highgate mansion was equipped
with every device imaginable for the enhancement of pleasure gained
through pain. Dimly lit, sumptuously furnished with deep couches
and armchairs for an attentive audience, it contained a low stage,
a whipping-post, a high bench, and another lower one from which
chains dangled. A glass fronted cabinet held riding crops,
bullwhips and rattan rods. Further along, hooks held leather
clothing, hoods and masks. Gabor smilingly referred to this place
as 'the playroom'.

'Don't listen
to the silly bitch,' he said unpleasantly, and replaced the whip,
selecting a black malacca cane instead. He rolled back his
shirtsleeves, his sinewy arms bare to the elbows, took up the rod,
made a few practise cuts through the air, then brought it down with
a crack across Tina's backside.

She screamed
and jerked as he hit her again, new welts forming to join the
criss-cross stripes left by the whip. 'Oh stop, please, master!'
she begged.

For answer,
Gabor laid on four more, till her bottom was flushed and blotched
with angry purple bruises. 'Why are you making so much fuss? I may
have to gag you,' he grunted, a savage light in his peat-dark eyes.
'It's not your first beating, and I know you get off on it.' He
thrust a hand between her legs, then withdrew, his fingers
glistening with her dew, adding triumphantly, 'You see? You're
already wet.'