The Ninety Days of Genevieve (14 page)

'Nothing that she doesn't approve of, James,' Zaid warned. 'I want to see pleasure, not fear.'

The vibrator tip moved to the base of her spine, tracing patterns, moving lightly over her buttocks. Genevieve relaxed. When Sinclair probed her again she let the tingling tormentor have its way. Sinclair was surprisingly gentle and she parted her legs to let him explore. It was a strange sensation. She did not find it as exciting as the clitoral stimulation he had provided earlier, but when she opened her eyes and saw Zaid watching her with obvious delight she felt it was worthwhile. His reaction aroused her more than the vibrator's moving pressure. But Sinclair did not continue. He noted that her response was not wholly enthusiastic and slowly withdrew it.

'You're stopping, James?' Zaid sounded disappointed.

'Miss Loften isn't quite sure about this treatment/ Sinclair said. 'And this isn't the time to teach her how to appreciate it.' Genevieve felt her body returning to its original horizontal position and then her hands and feet were untied. 'I know what you want to see, Zaid. Trust me.'

'I want to see this beautiful woman begging for an orgasm/ Zaid said softly. "The most exciting sight in the world. English women are usually so cool and self-possessed, I love to see them loose control. Show me this, James. Show me now.'

Genevieve felt strong hands turn her over, and re-tie her wrists and ankles. The couch was adjusted so that her body was almost flat and her legs bent and apart.

The spiky tips of her pale-grey heels dug into the dark green leather.

Through half-closed eyes Genevieve stared up at Sinclair. It was impossible not to be aroused by his expression. Possessive, slightly mocking, and totally self-assured. Even before he touched her she felt her body respond. When he moved his hands over her breasts and rolled her half-erect nipples between his fingers, the combination of discomfort and erotic pleasure made her gasp.

He worked on her silently, using his fingers, the palms of his hands, and his lips and tongue. He moved from her breasts to her stomach, circling her navel, and then to her thighs. One hand reached for a lever and the couch forced her legs still further apart, allowing him to kneel between them. His hands moved under her buttocks, lifting them, pulling her towards him. His tongue found the swollen bud of her clitoris, his lips sucked her.

Looking down and seeing the top of his head moving between her thighs was almost as arousing as the sensations he was giving her. She strained 'against the scarves, not because she wished to get free, but because it was impossible to lie still while he held her so expertly on the brink of release. Her hips pushed towards his face, but he simply moved back, dug his fingers harder into the firm flesh of her bottom, and teased her with more activity from his tongue.

She groaned in frustration and twisted her head sideways towards Zaid. She realised in surprise that he was not looking down at Sinclair. He was watching her face, watching her expression as she fought for control, enjoying the inarticulate noises she was making as Sinclair continued his delicious torment.

Sinclair's tongue moved faster. Genevieve thrust her body upwards, trying to force him into applying the pressure needed to trigger her response. As her head threshed from side to side she saw Zaid smile.

'Beg him,' Zaid's voice was hoarse with excitement. 'Beg him. Let me hear you. Beg him.'

'Please...' Genevieve moaned, as much for herself as to please Zaid. 'Let me ... make me ... please.'

She felt her body shuddering, slipping out of control, and knew she was going to come, whether Sinclair intended it or not. Her back arched and she strained at restraints that held her.

'Oh ... yes,' she cried. 'Oh ... yes, please, now ...!'

Her orgasm was intense and prolonged, subsiding gradually so that she was still panting and shivering with pleasure long after Sinclair had moved away from her. With her eyes half-closed she looked drowsily up at his tall figure standing over her, and then turned her head sideways to glance at Zaid.

The Arab was relaxing back in his chair, smiling contentedly. She realised that she did not know if he had masturbated while watching her, but she had a feeling that he had not. His pleasure seemed to come, as he claimed, from watching her facial reactions, from seeing her metamorphose from a cool, self-possessed woman into a sexual creature frantic for orgasmic release.

Strange, she thought. You would think this would be the easiest erotic fantasy to fulfil, and yet it was probably one of the hardest. His money could buy him a hollow performance from professionals, but how many women could he trust to behave as naturally and uninhibitedly as she had just done? Clearly Zaid had to be careful with whom he allowed himself to be involved. His need for discretion was probably greater than hers. He had to be certain he could trust both the woman and the man.

She hardly felt Sinclair untie her hands and feet. She lay drowsily on the couch, her body relaxed, almost unaware of her nakedness until she realised Zaid was staring down her.

'Do you realise how beautiful you looked, Genevieve?' he asked softly.

She smiled up at him. 'I never thought about it.'

'Don't you enjoy seeing a man loose control? Don't you enjoy knowing that you've given him this pleasure?'

She saw Sinclair standing behind Zaid. 'Sometimes,' she said. Her eyes held Sinclair's for a moment. 'It depends on why I'm making love to him.'

'A woman like you only makes love becouse she wants to/ Zaid said. 'That's why it's such an intense pleasure for me to watch you. I know it's genuine. Believe me, I'm an expert. I know you were not faking.' He smiled, and again she was reminded of Sinclair. 'I shall not forget you. If you ever need anything I can supply, you have only to ask. James will tell you how to contact me. I don't pretend to be of any particular importance, but I do have some influence in certain spheres. You won't forget? There is no time limit on this promise.' He ran his hand over his jet-black hair and tugged at his immaculate jacket. 'And now I must go back to my guests. There is a bathroom and also some food and wine if you need refreshments.' His dark eyes lingered on Genevieve's face for one last moment. 'Don't forget, beautiful lady. Anything within my power. Any time.'

After a quick shower Genevieve dressed and followed Sinclair into an adjoining room, simply furnished, where a gourmet buffet had been laid out for the two of them. As she sampled the delicacies, Sinclair poured her a glass of wine.

'You impressed Zaid,' he said. 'But I knew you would. I know his tastes.'

'You've done this before?' she asked.

'No,' he said. 'Zaid and I had talked about it, though.' He glanced at her. 'It isn't easy to find the right woman.'

'I'd have thought under certain circumstances it would have been harder to find the right man. I know you kept your clothes on, but what if your friend had asked you to provide a more basic form of stimulation?'

Sinclair shrugged. 'Fuck you properly you mean? I'd have done it.' He grinned faintly. 'I'm quite capable of it, you know.'

'I thought men didn't like performing in front of each other.'

'Whoever gave you that idea?'

'I read it somewhere. Something to do with masculine pride.' She sipped her wine. 'I mean, you might be embarrassed because yours isn't as big as his.' She saw Sinclair begin to grin. 'Or something/ she added.

Sinclair's grin turned into a smile of genuine amusement. 'There aren't many men as big as me/ he said smugly. 'You should know that.'

'You really are a conceited bastard,' Genevieve said.

'It's true though, isn't it?'

'I wouldn't know,' she said. 'I'm not a connoisseur.

'A modern woman like you?' he mocked her, gently.

'I'm just an old-fashioned working girl/ she said. 'And I don't do it for my health.'

His smile disappeared. 'That's right. I forgot. Anyone who presses the right buttons can get a reaction. Or should I say, anyone who offers you a good business deal?'

She kept her temper. There was no way she was going to admit that no-one had ever given her as much pleasure as he had. What would he make of an admission like that? She had an idea that he probably wouldn't believe her.

'You suggested the deal/ she said, coolly.

'And you accepted/ His smile returned. 'I'm not complaining. So far you've met all my expectations. Let's hope you continue to do so in the future.'

A few days later two parcels were delivered to her door, with a letter. She opened the largest first. It contained the music box she had recently admired. She lifted the lid and listened to the delicate chiming notes of 'Danny Boy.' The letter said: I CONFESS! WHEN I KNEW YOU LIKED THE MUSIC BOX I SIGNALLED TO THE SALES ASSISTANT TO SAY IT WAS SOLD. BUT ZAID INSISTED ON PAYING FOR IT. MY PRESENT IS SMALLER BUT MIGHT GIVE YOU JUST AS MUCH PLEASURE. She opened the second package. It contained the ivory-coloured vibrator.

Chapter Four

' T A 7
"hen are you going to play in the league again?'

V
V
Genevieve turned and saw Bill Hexley standing behind her. She smiled. 'Bill, I'm a working woman. I simply haven't the time.'

'Lots of us work,' Bill said. 'We make time.'

'Maybe next season,' Genevieve said.

Bill walked beside her. 'It's such a waste. You're a darned good squash player.'

'For a woman?' she teased.

He laughed. 'You're never going to let me forget that, are you? All right, I was a male-chauvinist pig a few years ago, but I've changed. My wife has reformed me. Everyone knows that.'

Genevieve remembered the amazed gossip that Bill's marriage had generated. For a start no-one could understand what a woman as pretty as Jackie Harwood saw in the paunchy Bill. The archetypal bachelor, Bill had degenerated from a fairly fit squash player to a very unfit smoker and drinker. His house, friends told Genevieve, was like a rubbish tip. He only washed up when he had ran out of clean crockery. He spent most of his evenings in the pub and he boasted that his main exercise was switching the television set on and occasionally watching a league squash game. It was on one of these occasions that he had made his disparaging remark about Genevieve.

Then, within a few months of meeting her, he married Jackie Harwood and slowly the overweight beer drinker had turned into a health-conscious vegetarian who took up squash again and bored any smoker he could find with the story of how he gave up instantly, with no ill effects and knew that anyone with an ounce of self-control could do the same.

'You ought to get married,' Bill said. 'All work and no play, you know? And it's a waste of talent too. Find some lucky man and make him happy.'

'It's not that easy,' Genevieve said. 'You and Jackie were lucky.'

She suddenly realised that walking with Bill she had taken a wrong turning. 'Hey, I don't want to go to the ice rink. I'm going home.'

'Sorry,' Bill said. 'Jackie's skating. I said I'd meet her.' He stopped Genevieve as she turned to go back. 'Here, cut through the fire exit. It'll take you past the fitness centre and you can get to the car park that way. But don't let the staff see you.'

'I never knew that,' Genevieve said.

'Legacy of my lazy past,' Bill grinned. 'I know all the short cuts. And while you're passing, take a look in the weights-room. It's lady's night. There's a couple of women in there who give me an inferiority complex.' He mimed a body building pose. 'You won't believe it.'

There was rock music beating out of the weights-room when Genevieve approached. Curious, she pushed open the double doors and looked inside. Most of the women using the various fitness machines were working with looks of intense concentration. A couple were standing talking. Over by the mirrored wall, Genevieve saw two women whose bodies, if they hadn't been wearing stretch Lycra that accented their breasts, could well have been taken for men. Muscles bulged in their arms and thighs as they worked out with free weights. Their veins stood out like cords. Their skin glistened with sweat.

It was the first time Genevieve had actually watched women body builders working out. Having imagined that women who went in for this kind of sport would be butch types with cropped hair and tattoos, she was surprised to see that both of these women were attractive. They had strong, muscular bodies, but their faces would have not looked out of place in a cosmetic advertisement. As she watched them straining to lift weights that would have given some men problems, she wondered why they wanted their bodies to look so unfeminine.

'Awful, isn't it?' A male voice said.

She half turned to see a young man she did not know staring into the weights-room. 'Why do they do it, do you know?'

'The same reason that men do it,' Genevieve said. 'They think it makes them look good.'

'I think it makes them look grotesque.'

"That's because you've got a stereotyped idea of what women should look like,' Genevieve said.

The young man looked slightly shocked. 'You'd like to look like that, would you?'

'No,' Genevieve said. 'But that's my choice. Developing muscles is theirs.'

'Lezzies,' the young man said, contemptuously.

A woman standing near to the door had obviously heard their conversation. Now she looked up and grinned. 'Don't let Tess's boyfriend hear you say that. He's a body builder too.'