Suzie and the Monsters (2 page)

Although it is still early, there is a queue outside Comatoes, but attractive young girls without men don’t obey the usual rules of queuing, this early in the evening anyway. The bouncers know me so we get in without either of us having to show our fake IDs, hers claiming improbably that she is already twenty one, mine claiming that I am only twenty two. That age is a distant memory to me.

Comatoes is mostly popular with people in their mid- to late-twenties from the nearby finance district. If you sit on the toilet for long enough you’ll get high off all the coke in the air. Cleo and I both look out of place, especially Cleo with her unashamedly pink jacket and accessories which have attracted quite some attention, including from a couple of guys sitting with their mates in an alcove nearby. Before Cleo flees outside in search of a more suitable venue, I take her hand and lead her over to the alcove.

‘Hi, guys,’ I say brightly, sounding like a chirpy tour guide in my need to be heard over the music. ‘Mind if we sit with you?’ There are five men sitting on the bench around the table, smartly dressed in dark suits and white shirts, no ties. They look at each other for a moment, then one at one end of the bench gets out and goes to get himself a stool, while the others bunch up until there’s room for first Cleo and then me to slide onto the bench. Pressed close against her like this, I am able at last to identify her subtle scent as the exquisite new L’Eau D’Issey Gold Absolute. God I want to kiss her.

‘Have you ever made love to five guys at once, Cleo?’ I shout in her ear instead, and although the music is loud my voice carries around the table. Cleo gasps and jabs me hard in my side, but I barely feel it through the corset. The sexual tension around the table is thick, and Cleo’s face is red with embarrassment. She has five men, all five maybe ten years older than her, not bad looking either, examining her.

‘You,’ I say to the man on the stool. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Ben.’

‘Well, Ben, why don’t you go get us all a round of drinks, and we’ll see where the night takes us.’ He looks amused, and heads off to the bar.

Cleo looks too terrified to speak, but she’s also not making any attempt to escape or to deny any possible interest in what I have suggested. I work my way around the table asking names. Derek with fair hair, too skinny for my liking. Charlie, red hair and freckles, grinning widely. Robert, built like a rugby player, looks like he’s done this before, and who knows. Tom, sitting next to Cleo, can’t keep his hands still. He looks like he’s desperate to get his hands on her, while Cleo looks determinedly away from him, her nervous eyes flickering between the three other men. I ask them in turn if they they think Cleo is beautiful, this girl barely a woman, a vision in pink and black, and of course they say she is. I tell them about Jenny, sweet Jenny, licking me to orgasm not twenty minutes ago, and I ask them if they like my new leather boots. It’s clear they do.

Ben returns with drinks, large glasses of house white for Cleo and me, beer for the guys. Cleo downs hers in one go, and finally starts to relax. ‘God, you’re a bitch,’ she says to me and laughs, and the tension and worry dissipates from around the table. They still don’t know what will happen later, but now they’re ready to find out. I can’t stand cheap wine, so I give mine to Cleo and head off to the bar to look for something. As I leave, Ben slides into my seat, sandwiching Cleo, and starts to unbutton her jacket. She doesn’t object.

With no one paying attention to me, I walk past the bar and downstairs to the dance floor with its insane volume of beats and synthesised whistles making conversation impossible, but the hundred or so gyrating bodies made visible by strobing lights are here to dance dance dance with no thought beyond the moment and a chance of meeting somehow a kindred spirit.

I work my way methodically around and across the room, studying faces. There are a few I recognise from previous visits to Comatoes and other nightclubs in the area, and there’s the fat American who once tried to pay me for sex. Instead I gave him a strip show, having first hypnotised him into believing the hundreds in his fat wallet were only ones, and that’s not all I took from him. I blow him a kiss but he doesn’t recognise me. The face I’m looking for isn’t here. I return upstairs and walk around, examining faces at tables. I see the woman whose jeans I am wearing. She lost them in a bet, but got something pretty mind-blowing in return. She winks at me as I walk pass, and I pat my bum playfully. But he’s not there, the man I need to find. I’m tired of hanging out in nightclubs, sexual adventures notwithstanding.

I complete my circuit to find the men hustling Cleo out of the club. Catching up with them outside I grab Cleo’s arm and drag her to one side. ‘You really want to do this?’

She nods. ‘I’m eighteen today. I’m up for some real fun.’

‘Guys,’ I say sternly, ‘there are rules. As soon as Cleo says “Stop” you stop, understand?’ They nod. ‘No penetration without a condom, okay?’ Another nod. ‘And no — repeat, no — anal sex without Cleo’s express permission.’ More nodding, but not quite so sincere this time. ‘I’m serious. Anyone even touches her there without me first hearing her yell “Fuck my ass!” will discover exactly why you should never piss off a girl in stilettos.’ Cleo’s staring wide-eyed at me. The men nod more convincingly. ‘Okay,’ I say, and lead Cleo down to the nearby taxi rank.

‘Fuck,’ she says as we get into a taxi. ‘Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What the fuck am I doing?’

‘You can back out any time. I’ll keep you safe, whatever you choose.’

She studies me for a moment. ‘I believe you, but you scare me a bit.’

‘Good,’ I say.

Ben and Tom climb into the taxi with us, Tom shouting out an address in the north of the city somewhere, a good twenty minutes away, and I shuffle over to let them sit either side of Cleo. It’s not long before Ben and Tom are each sucking on one of Cleo’s exposed breasts, their fingers playing with her dark-haired pussy. I didn’t see them take off her bra and knickers. Maybe she took them off in the club. Maybe she never had any to begin with, although I believe she did. The driver is half-watching this in the mirror. I wonder how often he gets treated to a show like this. Cleo comes at least twice during the ride, and has to cling to me for support when we arrive at Tom’s house. A second taxi pulls up as we are waiting for Tom to unlock and open the door, and Derek, Charlie and Robert are quick to follow us inside.

I’m relieved to see the place is reasonably clean. A quick scan of the rooms reveals that the kitchen and bathroom are professionally fitted, while the rest of the place is mostly Ikea, which makes me think previous owners installed the kitchen and bathroom. Tom’s priority, on the other hand, is the Bang and Olufsen entertainment system in the living room, which is where I find Cleo, naked, on her knees in front of Ben, pulling his trousers down, his boxer shorts following swiftly to release his hard, eager cock. She pauses for a moment to admire it, then takes the head into her mouth and slowly descends the shaft. I see she is no stranger to blow jobs.

Charlie is the first to strip, his proud cock not especially thick but surprisingly long. He quickly rolls a condom along its length, kneels behind Cleo, and drives deep into her, making her cry out, but Ben’s insistent cock in her mouth is demanding attention. Derek and Tom grab hold of her bouncing breasts and tease her nipples. The men must have been really excited, because it’s not long before they come, Charlie holding fiercely to Cleo’s hips and driving as deep as possible, his face and body in painful tension as his orgasm tears through him.

The four change places, Derek presenting a thick, hungry cock to Cleo’s mouth, Tom awkwardly applying a condom before thrusting into her waiting pussy. Ben and Charlie go and sit on the sofa with Robert who is looking at me. ‘What about you?’ he asks.

‘This is Cleo’s show,’ I reply. ‘Satisfy her, and I may join in later. Right now I need a drink.’ Tom grunts something about wine in the kitchen, so I go to explore. It’s mostly supermarket stuff, but I decide to try the Chianti Classico Riserva, and I’m not disappointed. I check to see the men are behaving themselves, and head into Tom’s bedroom to explore a little. In a drawer near the bed I find another pack of condoms and some lubricant. There’s also some fairly serious bondage equipment, which we definitely won’t be using tonight, and magazines in a similar theme.

I return to the living room and relax to watch the action, sipping my wine. I’m amazed at the way Cleo has embraced her inner porn star, but despite her youthful energy, she’s getting tired. She rests her arms and head on the sofa and lets Tom pound away at her until he comes with a roar like a lion. I can see the men still have plenty of enthusiasm. Cleo’s not enjoying this as much as she could, I realise, so I strip off completely, which is tricky with these boots and the corset, and place my clothes neatly on a chair. Then lying down I wriggle under Cleo and push my head between her thighs until I can see Ben’s cock slamming into her. I lick around, mopping the delicious juices from her thighs, then I lick around her clitoris, and spell her name with my tongue sweeping across that sensitive bud, again and again, maintaining a steady pattern and pace, until suddenly she is screaming ‘Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!’ over and over, until she collapses on top of me, breathing heavily, her breath warm against my own pussy.

Ben is still hammering away at her, faster and faster, Derek’s thick cock is hard again, and Robert — Robert is pushing his monster of a cock into my pussy. Damn. I reach down to make sure he is wearing a condom, and warn him to be gentle at first. He ignores this, and I cry out at the sharp pain.

‘She’s a virgin!’ Robert says in awe. ‘Tissues! Give me tissues!’ I’m not a virgin, but for me every time is the first, and that is why I generally avoid sex with men. It hurts.

Ben finally finishes with Cleo and Derek takes over, although I’m fairly sure she has fallen asleep. ‘Hey, guys,’ I say. ‘Let’s get Cleo to bed and you can all take a turn with me.’

Together they lift her off me and carry her to Tom’s bedroom, giving me time to finish off my glass of wine before they’re back, attacking my breasts and pussy with their hands and mouths.

It’s at least an hour of non-stop fucking before they all give in to exhaustion and switch the TV on, deciding eventually on the latest Die Hard, and I have to agree with them that Maggie Q is ‘fucking hot’. It’s another hour before they’ve all dozed off. I switch off the TV, lower the lighting, straddle Robert and start whispering in his ear, which wakes him up and he looks at me in confusion, looks into my eyes and is captured. I repeat this until all five men are in this suggestive state, and check on Cleo to make sure she is asleep.

Then to each man I say, ‘I’m going to kiss you. It won’t hurt. The mark you will have on your neck is just a harmless love bite, but it’s embarrassing and you won’t show it to anyone.’ With sharp, sharp teeth I bite into his neck until a trickle of blood, just a trickle, runs into my mouth. I suck at the wound, drinking slowly, savouring the rich delight.

Just a few mouthfuls from each man, but it’s enough to satisfy me more profoundly than all that night’s many orgasms. I make sure the bites have stopped bleeding, and clean the blood away. Then I get dressed and pick up Cleo’s clothes, and send them all into a proper sleep.

I wake up Cleo and explain that we need to go, and help her to get dressed. ‘My mum’s going to kill me,’ she mutters, and falls asleep again on my shoulder. God. Her mother. Cleo’s mother might not kill her, but if I take her home like this, barely able to walk and stinking of sweat and sex, I doubt she’ll ever be allowed out to play again.

I phone for a taxi, and fortunately we don’t have to wait more than a few minutes, which is how long it takes me to get Cleo out of the house and to the road, the taxi appearing around the corner almost at once. Ten minutes later we’re outside my flat, and Cleo is still half-asleep on my shoulder as I take her up the stairs and inside to my bedroom. I strip her clothes off again before I let her retreat under the covers, and as soon as I have extracted myself again from boots, corset and the rest, I climb under the covers with her. But I can’t go to sleep without tasting her gorgeous pussy again, so I work myself between her legs and caress the sensitive lips with my nose and mouth until I feel orgasms coursing through her loins, and she rolls over away from me whispering, ‘Stop. Please stop.’

Satisfaction Guaranteed (Saturday)

The girl in the doorway, well, the woman in the doorway, judging by the stylish suit and shirt and the professional no-nonsense hair, gives Mrs Lane no chance to hug or, more likely, berate the girl half-hiding behind her. ‘I’m so sorry to be returning Cleo so late, Mrs Lane, but we all stayed up half the night watching DVDs. I slept through my alarm and now I’m desperately late for a meeting.’ The woman checks her watch, but discovers her wrist is bare and frowns anxiously. ‘I’m so sorry, but do you have the time?’

‘It’s ten thirty, Miss ah...?’

The woman winces. ‘There’s no way I’ll make the meeting.’ She sighs, then frowns again and turns to Cleo. ‘You told me you phoned your mother.’

‘I thought you phoned her,’ Cleo replies innocently, a hint of a smile playing about her lips.

‘We really have to work on our communication skills, young lady.’ The woman turns back to Mrs Lane with a look of embarrassment. ‘I’m so sorry, again. I’m Suzie Kew, Jenny’s mum.’

‘Susie Q?’

‘Kew, K-E-W.’ She hands over a business card which Mrs Lane studies intently. Deciding finally to accept the story, Mrs Lane relaxes and invites Mrs Kew, me, in for coffee, which I accept with a smile and follow her through to the kitchen at the back of the house, overlooking a sunlit garden with recently cut grass edged by tulips and rose bushes still recovering from the winter. Cleo races up the stairs, probably to change out of her new Armani jeans and Jimmy Choos before her mother notices them. The jeans were in exchange for her pink jacket. The Jimmy Choos are a couple of sizes too big for me, a failed experiment with internet shopping, and I’ll never wear them, but they fit Cleo perfectly. ‘You’d better wake your brother and his new girlfriend,’ Cleo’s mum shouts after her.