Star Slave (6 page)

‘Don't,' she flustered, even more adolescent in her confusion. ‘Please - you're embarrassing me.'

‘Come on, sugar,' Magda purred, ‘you must be used to guys drooling all over you. And gals, too,' she added, to another chorus of polite laughter. ‘If not, you'd better get used to it pretty quick, baby. Especially the girls, after
A Woman's Touch
hits the screen.'

There was yet another burst of mirth.

‘I hear they're thinking of renaming it,
A Woman's Crutch
,' quipped a chubby, red-faced individual.

Felicity felt the arm tighten about her waist, drawing her even close. ‘Don't be so beastly, Sir Hugh,' Magda chastised. ‘I'm sure it'll be lovely, and not at all the sort of thing dirty old men with coats over their knees toss themselves off to.'

‘No need for the coat,' Sir Hugh answered, undeterred by the challenge. ‘It'll be seen in the privacy of their own sordid hovels. They can stand stark bollock naked waggling their dicks at the screen.'

Felicity was surprised at the respect paid by this collection of wealthy men to the tall figure who was holding her protectively to her side. Especially as the other girls, in spite of their wonderful looks, were extremely deferential, and voiced no opinions of their own, responding only when called upon to do so. So much so that Felicity had soon begun to wonder whether they were employees of his lordship, in spite of their elegant grooming and stylish clothes.

In fact, this whole weekend was turning out to be full of surprises already. For a start, she had assumed that Stella, and the other principals from the cast of
A Woman's Touch
, would all be there. But, much to her new lover's disgust, a last minute engagement over in Paris had cropped up for the blonde star. She had tried to postpone it, but without success. The clincher had been when Lord Burnopside himself had telephoned.

‘So sorry you won't be able to make it down to the Hall this weekend, but some other time, eh?' he'd said. ‘I really think you ought to do this Paris thing. It'll be a great boost to the show. Make sure we get full European coverage. Our French friends will be dying to get their hands on it. Especially after seeing you on
Spectacle de Samedi
.'

There was only Ally from the cast, as far as Felicity could see. And Ted Davidson, the chief cameraman, whom she had loathed almost on sight, and been given no reason to change her opinion through the months of their necessarily close and intimate association. The knowledge of his steadfastly observing her unclothed body, and even arranging it, manipulating the entangled limbs of herself and her lover like some lecherous puppet master, had upset her greatly at first.

Paradoxically, things had improved once she and Stella had become lovers off screen. Or perhaps Ted's lecherous manner just didn't get her goat any more. Past caring, Felicity had gone along with Stella's idea that they should declare their relationship. Should come out, as it were.

‘As long as Michael doesn't find out,' she'd temporised urgently.

‘No, just for the crew, angel,' Stella had crooned. ‘Any rumours get around outside and we'll swear it's just PA trying to gain some kudos. But it'll be one in the eye for Tosser Ted and his merry band.'

So, that day they had both appeared on set without their robes, arms linked in a manner that went beyond the suggestive. ‘Felicity's decided at last,' Stella announced, with a dazzling smile. ‘If you can't beat ‘em, join ‘em.'

And that would appear to be that. Felicity still worried a great deal about Michael, though. As circumspectly as she could, she had tried to prepare him for the explosive release on screen in the coming November.

‘It's pretty searing stuff,' she'd told him, choosing her moment as auspiciously as she could, as they lay in post-coital tranquillity in his bed. ‘They've even got me having an orgasm on screen, God help me.'

He did his best to take it in his stride, but she could see how uneasy he was about the whole thing.

‘You won't let it make any difference to us, will you?' she pouted, winsomely. ‘It's only acting, darling. This is the real me. Nobody in the whole world's ever seen me except you.' As she spoke, she reached under the blankets and captured his penis, which stirred at once from its limp reclining across his thigh. Her dark head dipped lower, disappeared beneath the sheet, and she felt the satiny touch of his helm leap to meet her kiss. However unquiet his brain might feel about her bodily exposure in public, his prick had not seemed in the least bit reluctant to show its admiration...

Felicity's gaze encountered the coolly amused stare of her cousin, part of the group they had joined. That was another surprise, finding that he was included in the invitation to Burnopside Hall.

‘I didn't know you even knew Lord B,' Felicity had marvelled when, two days after Michael had once more vanished into the northern wilds on business for the week, his place in her bed and between her thighs had been taken by John once more.

He'd lifted his head from her flat stomach, and grinned. ‘I don't. Apart from meeting him at that launching do for your porno flic. And on the set that time. Perhaps he just wants to keep it in the family.'

‘Keep what?' she'd wondered, then gasped as her cousin's skilful hand sought out the sticky folds of her labia and prised them open to insert a wickedly knowledgeable finger into her ready crevice...

She gasped again as Magda's large hand slid over her hip to stroke the contours of her taut bottom within her white jeans. They had been worn as a last minute gesture of independence when, making arrangements over the phone for her and John to be collected by car, Lord B had chuckled, ‘And be sure to wear that outrageous little frock you wore at the launch, my dear.'

Too many people seemed to be running her life at the moment, Felicity thought mutinously. She was still inwardly smarting at the way Stella had taken total control since they'd become lovers. She was showing all the tendencies of a bossy paramour, even down to selecting Felicity's underwear for her. However, the frock in question was in her suitcase upstairs and she would put it on for dinner later. Just now that hand casually resting on her backside and steering her across the room was causing her far more concern.

‘Let's go and powder our noses, sweetheart,' Magda whispered. ‘Away from all these panting men folk. You'll give them a coronary if you're not careful. We'll let them cool off a little.'

In spite of her embarrassment and uncertainty, Felicity giggled in complicity.

Upstairs, in a large and splendidly appointed bathroom, the tall figure astonished her even further by saying, with an uncharacteristic and enchantingly demure look, ‘I say, honey, would you mind just turning away for a moment? I'm full of hang-ups, and I just can't pee if someone's watching. Just for a sec.'

Felicity blushed and obligingly turned away, trying not to look at the blurred reflection which showed up in the comer of her eye from one of the long mirrors. She heard the soft rasp of silk sliding over skin, then the startlingly loud sound of rushing liquid hitting the pan. Another rustle of adjusting clothing, then the flush of the lavatory.

‘There!' Magda gave a throaty little laugh. ‘You can look again, sugar.' She was respectably covered in the black dress. She stood at the washbasin and nodded at the toilet pedestal. ‘Your turn. I won't peek either, I promise.'

‘Oh, don't worry, it won't bother me,' Felicity answered, far more breezily than she felt. ‘I've shared too many cramped dressing rooms in various flea pit theatres up and down the country to retain any false modesty.' Nevertheless, she could feel herself pinking as she unbuttoned her jeans and wriggled as she lowered them to her thighs, before sitting on the still warm seat.

She finished and remained seated while she reached down between her thighs and carefully wiped herself with a wad of the quilted toilet tissue. Suddenly Magda was standing directly in front of her, so close that their toes touched and Felicity could not stand up.

‘I'm glad about that,' Magda said, her stirring voice deeper than ever. She reached down and took hold of Felicity's hands.

The trapped girl stared up helplessly. ‘I'm not gay,' she said, her voice trembling. ‘Despite what you might have heard. They're only rumours—'

‘That's not what Stella Priest says,' Magda interrupted, and Felicity crimsoned. Tears filled her eyes at her betrayal. ‘It's nothing to be ashamed of, sugar,' continued Magda. ‘I'm delighted to hear it.'

‘I'm not - I've never...'

‘Oh yes, you have,' purred Magda, with that treacle laugh. ‘And you enjoyed it. But I can give it like you've never had it before. I'll make that blonde tit sucker look like a girl scout who's just found out there's another hole besides the one you piss out of!'

Tears dripped from Felicity's chin onto her T-shirt, where they spread as though soaking through blotting paper. ‘Let me go,' she said weakly.

Magda pulled her to her feet, and Felicity felt her jeans and tiny knickers tangled about her knees. Her T-shirt came down to her tummy button only.

‘Don't fight it, sugar,' Magda urged. ‘Just relax and revel in it.'

Any strength or will to resist drained from Felicity.

Magda took her in her arms and gently laid her down on the cold tiles. She lifted her limp legs and eased the jeans and briefs clear. The thong sandals fell off as she did so.

‘Don't... please...' Felicity whispered, gazing up, the tears shining in her eyes. ‘I can't fight you. You're too strong.'

‘Relax, baby,' the seductive tones murmured. ‘Magda won't hurt you. Magda will show you heaven.' She reached behind, drew down the zip of her tight dress, then stood and wriggled to ease it down over her hips and thighs.

Felicity stared up, captivated by the statuesque beauty exposed to her. The long thighs were full, rounded with muscle, yet tapering in perfect harmony with the shapeliness of the splendid limbs. The breasts jutted proudly over her, held in the satin confines of a black bra, the lace edged cups of which plunged deeply to show the pale contours of the upper halves of the gorgeous mounds. The long expanse of midriff led to a small triangle of black briefs which hugged the promising swell of a generous mound.

‘I want you, sugar,' Magda breathed, the smoky voice thrumming with powerful emotion. Then the figure swooped and smothered Felicity, who surrendered her mouth to the searing kiss that claimed her. A hand delved and pushed up the flimsy cotton shirt, baring the breasts that had no other cover. The large warm palm cupped them. The thumb and forefinger plucked and rolled at the throbbing nipple, while another hand slid between their warm bellies and embraced the whole curve of her vulva. The heel of the palm pressed against the moaning girl, deliciously thrilling her with its pressure, so that her thighs parted in blind obedience to the needs of her flesh.

The rich dark hair fell over Felicity's belly and thighs as Magda bent, lowered her head in triumph and in homage to the fluid centre of Felicity's blazing hunger, where, timeless ages later, the lapping tongue, the nipping teeth, and those conquering fingers, brought her to a climax that made her body stiffen, then thresh, her heels hammering on the floor in an ecstasy which engulfed her.

 

John Keynes eyed the privileged gathering expectantly. There was a hidden tension, despite the relaxed appearance of those around the long dining table littered with the remnants of the excellent meal. On the surface it was simply an assemblage of rich and interesting people, a modem day equivalent of the country house parties of long ago. Their host was charming, the surroundings the height of luxury, the urbane conversation sparkling, the girls lovely.

The girls. That was enough to arouse his suspicion. They were all prick-raisingly beautiful. And all so unlike the thrusting girl power aggressive types which abounded these days. They did nothing, except to exhibit their beauty. They were watchful, as he was, knowing when to smile and when to murmur a suitable rejoinder. And that was it. If they hadn't been so restrained he would have guessed they were high class tarts or girls from some exclusive escort agency, ready to go along with, and as far as, this bunch of influential rich dogs wanted them to go.

There must be something in the atmosphere. Even his coz had been transformed; as quiet as any of them now, sitting there showing off those sexy little tits of hers through that muslin-like dress, and looking as though butter wouldn't melt in that mouth which she knew how to put to such deadly uses. Clearly, she had gone overboard on this lesbian kick of hers. She had been gone so long with that giant Magda bird - the most fascinating female of all, he acknowledged - that everyone had noticed.

Ever since then she'd been as quiet as a mouse. And he could guess why. He could recognise that slightly bemused air, since they'd so spectacularly been getting it together. The vaguely unfocused quality of those dark eyes. Yes, he'd be prepared to bet that, in some secluded comer of this venerable pile, she'd had a good seeing to at the hands and other things of the exotic Magda.