Star Slave (23 page)

‘Can't say, miss,' came the smooth answer. Can't or won't? she wondered. As though reading her earlier thoughts, he went on, ‘You don't have to worry about any of this. I mean, me and you, like this. Miss Magda's told me. If ever I have the chance to fanny around with any of the girls, like now for instance, I can go ahead. That's if they're willing.' She felt his hand on the back of her thigh, very lightly stroking its inner surface. ‘Are you willing, miss?'

She turned carefully, kneeling still, keeping her bottom away from contact with the seat. ‘Please,' she said, with a shy smile, ‘call me Felicity.'

He shook his head firmly. ‘Oh no, miss. That wouldn't be right. Just as I'm always Reeves. That's as it should be.'

She smiled ironically. ‘So, it's all right to fuck me but not to use my name, is that it?'

‘That's about right, miss. Now, if you wouldn't mind stepping out for a sec I can slide the seat forward. It makes a very comfortable bed.' He helped her out of the car, and she stood there while he arranged the rear seat into a surprisingly accommodating bed. ‘I'll be as gentle as I can,' he assured her while he worked. ‘So as not to hurt your bottom, miss.'

‘Thanks,' she said inadequately. He helped her back in and carefully laid her down. With great competence he removed her blouse and skirt, then unhooked and unlaced the tight corselette. The wired garment had left little red marks on the undersides of her soft breasts, which he massaged tenderly until she shivered with delight. She wore only the sheer stockings now, but he wasted no time in rolling them slowly off her lovely legs. ‘I'd like to see you naked, too,' she breathed huskily.

‘Of course, miss,' he replied, as though be found her request eminently reasonable. He knelt tall and methodically removed his clothing, religiously placing it neatly over the front seat. She saw how darkly hairy he was, all over his body, with a touching lack only on his head, the top of which gleamed immaculately. And from the forest of curls clustered about his belly, stood a cock of splendid proportions, already proudly erect and a fiery red at the dome. It quivered, as though in anticipation of the delights to come, at his every measured movement.

‘I can see you're ready,' she sighed admiringly. ‘Plenty of time,' he said regimentally. ‘Old John Tom knows how to wait. Mustn't be greedy.' As he spoke he took her in his arms and dipped his head to her welcoming breasts. His tongue flickered around her tingling nipples, and she writhed gently and moaned her encouragement. She reached dreamily for that rampant prick, feeling it pressing against her thigh. But he grasped her wrist. ‘Relax, miss. This is for you. You've done your work for today. It's time you were treated to a bit of pampering, I reckon.'

Felicity lost the power of coherent thought as he made considerate love to her with his tongue, lips, teeth, hands and fingers, while a thumb expertly strummed her engorged clitoris. She burst into sobbing cries for mercy and release, and wrapped herself tightly around him.

She screamed in torturous bliss as he sank home, sensing every gliding millimetre of the pulsating shaft driving into her rapturous cunt, riding with him all the way to that shooting climax of perfection that took the soldered bodies soaring.

And the car stood anonymously in the lonely forest glade in the damp December dusk.

 

In an even more luxurious and more traditional make and style of auto, Lord Burnopside settled back in the soft padding of the upholstery and stroked Magda's stockinged thigh with absent-minded delectation. ‘Do you think she's ready yet?' he asked.

Magda felt the rub of the discreet ring on his little finger. He wore it only when acting in his capacity as chief of the select group that made up the spear-side of the Whores of Babylon, known as the Whore Masters. All the members wore rings, which appeared to a casual observer to be identical; an oval of jet in a gold setting, with the letters WM engraved in flowing script. But each ring's impression was as individual as a fingerprint. Some of the exclusive membership argued that it was an unnecessary elaboration, for the society's numbers were few and impostors easily identifiable. However, their numbers were growing, albeit slowly, and the current Grand Master, Lord B, envisaged the time, not too distant, when both Masters and Daughters would be too numerous, and in too many locations, to be known at once by their fellow constituents.

Magda was cautious. ‘I don't know, my lord,' she answered thoughtfully. ‘We'll see how today went. Signor Ricciardi can be a very rough fellow.' She chuckled. ‘I think our little Felicity will be shuffling about on her chair at dinner tonight.' Then she was serious again. ‘I'm still a little worried,' she continued carefully. ‘She's so well known now. It could be a great risk, making her one of us.'

His lordship's fingers dug into her flesh with increased enthusiasm. ‘That's the whole point, my dear. She'll be our first disciple out there, in the great wide world. Just think of it. Such a face, such a personality, known to the whole world, and all the time she's a Daughter - a Whore of Babylon!' His voice betrayed the pleasure he derived from such a notion.

‘But there will be so much more temptation to betray us,' Magda argued.

His hand slid up the muscled curve of her inner thigh, to the very top, his fingers caressing the gauzy nylon, feeling the hard edge of the little shield of her cache-sexe beneath. ‘We have her with us for another month. She must be initiated by then.'

Magda knew by his tone that no further discussion was possible, and put aside the private doubts that assailed her.

‘Now, let's enjoy ourselves,' he said, confirming the end of the brief debate. ‘Debbie's such a delightful girl. I know everyone's looking forward so much to seeing her in action. You've done such a splendid job there, my dear. As always.' He pinched the firm flesh and quivered with anticipation.

Soon the car's headlights swept over the bank of trees which led up to the tall gates of a large house, tucked snugly behind high walls and security cameras in the stockbroker belt.

In a room on the ground floor greetings were exchanged, and the select audience, all males except for the voluptuous figure of the Grand Mistress, settled down on comfortable sofas and armchairs, before a wall comprised almost entirely of a window which gave a view of the room beyond. It was as brightly lit as a theatre set, with a wide bed devoid of any covers standing centre stage.

Debbie lay in the small compartment beyond that room.

She shivered as a tall blonde in a white tunic massaged perfumed oil into her brown breasts, and gave a dark nipple a final tweak for luck. Debbie was stretched naked on a massage table, and her svelte brown skin gleamed all over with the slick lotion that added to its lustre. ‘He's an absolute stallion,' the blonde breathed in her ear. ‘You'll love it.' There was a faint buzz and the girl slapped Debbie lightly across her flank. ‘Go get it!'

Debbie went through the door indicated, and found herself in a room so brightly lit that she involuntarily blinked against the glare. A huge bed seemed to occupy most of the space. There was no other furniture at all. The walls were white, and the carpet was white. No windows, no pictures or ornaments of any description. No bed linen, except a dazzling white sheet stretched over the deep mattress. And, on the far side of the bed, an entire wall composed of one huge mirror.

She stood uncertainly, staring at her reflection. She had expected to find the room occupied by the man who was to be her partner. She had no idea what he would look like. She knew she must not speak, unless invited to do so, nor should she take any initiative in the sex play, but merely be ready to follow her partner's lead. She wondered whether he'd be old, and felt an inner dread that it might be someone like Judge Fairlie, with his parchment-like body, who was no longer capable of maintaining an erection and had to be teased and cosseted for hours before he could achieve a climax. Most of the Whore Masters were of an advanced age, and though she'd not been called upon to service any of them, except for the Grand Master himself, which had proved to be no hardship for Lord B was more virile than many a younger man she had known, she was well aware that the duty of a Daughter might well be to provide relief for any or all them.

She was pleasantly surprised, therefore, when the door opened and in stepped a figure with the muscled build of an athlete in his prime. The man was of African race, his hairless skin of an ebony blackness far deeper than her own brown complexion. He too gleamed with a film of oil.

He flashed her a brief smile. Not a word was exchanged as he advanced and took her in his arms. Their lips met, opened, stayed together, while their tongues entwined, and she felt her breasts crush against the chiselled hardness of his body. He scooped her up in his arms, carried her the two paces to the bed, and spread her out, carefully arranging her, before he lowered himself and knelt between her outspread thighs. For a long while he concentrated on her upper body, lingering over her sensitive breasts, gnawing at each erect nipple until they ached with desire, before his mouth and lips traced her quivering stomach and his tongue dipped into her navel. He moved on, over her belly, the scrub of pubis, to the already wet divide of her labia, which he peeled back with thumbs and fingers, exposing her running hunger, the fissure glistening, and the fluid flowing in response to his gentle kisses and licking tongue.

Without warning he swivelled round and knelt over her head. His potent phallus swung rigidly above her entrapped face, and the fecund testicles hung just above her spellbound eyes. She knew what she had to do. She squirmed a little, allowing his dipping head access between her splayed thighs, while she lifted her slender neck, twisted a little awkwardly, and sucked the huge plum of his prick between her moist lips.

They ground against each other until she was moaning around the stalk impaling and stretching her mouth, her face covered with a sheen of perspiration. She felt the approach of orgasm and strove desperately to hold it back. His mouth left her and the rearing prick was snatched wetly clear of her straining attentions. He knelt again between her thighs, took her by the ankles and turned her slightly so that, for a brief instant, she could see herself in the mirror, legs bent back and the whole gleaming area of her vulva exposed.

He folded her back until her toes were on either side of her head, the curve of her loins uppermost. With balletic grace he knelt across her as though she was a fulcrum, placed his hands flat beside her feet, and took his weight on his straightened arms. He eased the bulbous helm inside her, then sank, centimetre by slow centimetre, his erection like a sword ritually piercing its victim through to the vitals. With pistoning smoothness his hips started to rise and fall.

Debbie's toes curled into the white sheet. Her desperate bucking, and the rising urgency of her cries, indicated her climax was near, and then upon her. As the convulsions of orgasm swept through her he began to move faster and harder, thrusting into her remorselessly until he hastily withdrew, scrambled to her side, and held his penis over her like a weapon. He pumped it in his fist a few times, and then his semen jetted powerfully from its tip and spilled in an abstract pattern of shining pearl on the lovely upturned face beneath.

 

‘Just a scratch, honey. Won't be a mark left in a day or two.' Magda finished her inspection and tapped Felicity lightly on her rear. She straightened up, and Magda pulled the naked figure down playfully onto her knee. ‘Did you come straight back afterwards?' she asked casually.

There was a fatal microsecond of hesitation before Felicity murmured that she had. Even as the fib left her lips she knew she'd blundered.

‘I think not, sweetheart.' The strong fingers pinched at her thigh, still playful, but with enough force to make her flinch. The tears welled up in her eyes, and she felt a deep hurt at Reeves' apparent betrayal of trust, and his lies.

‘I'm sorry - I mean - we did stop a while, it's true.' Her words came out a little rushed, with the guilty need to explain herself. ‘He said - he said he'd soothe my bum for me.'

‘And is that all he did?'

‘No,' Felicity admitted sheepishly. ‘After we... he fucked me.'

‘So why did you lie to me, baby?' Magda crooned, cradling her close, and Felicity flung her arms around the broad shoulders.

‘I'm sorry, Magda.' She shrugged hopelessly. ‘I don't know really. He said it was all right - that you'd said he could have some fun with any of the girls.' She stopped talking, near to tears.

‘Are you like any of the girls?'

Felicity sensed the significance of the pause, without properly understanding why it was so. She swallowed and cleared her throat. ‘I'd like to be,' she breathed, aware somehow of the deeper meaning behind her words.

‘Do you really mean that?' Magda held her away from her a little, staring into her eyes.

‘Oh, I do!' Felicity pressed her face against that of her lover, her mouth open, giving herself fully to the passion of the kiss, which left her breathless.

Magda seemed to be pondering her enthusiastic answer. ‘Get over the bed, honey,' she murmured, almost absently. ‘Lie across the end. Stick your backside up.'