In Too Deep (7 page)

He gave her a
short respite, crossing to her other side, then sent the wicked
length of cane singing through the air. It landed across her back
with a sharp crack. She screamed again and tensed in her bonds, her
mouth wide open in shock and agony. The strokes descended like a
staircase of pain across her white buttocks. She gabbled for mercy
between each one, before the next blow deprived her of breath. Her
slender body, her tangled golden hair, the utter helplessness and
humiliation of her bondage satisfied every dark fantasy secreted in
the heartland of Gabor's psyche.

Blake could
wait no longer, going over and twining himself round her suspended
form. She moaned with agony and desire. He bent and buried his face
in her scalding flesh, kissing her buttocks, his tongue flicking
over the stripes. He sought her tight crease, prising it open,
dipping inside and tonguing her furrow, lapping where the wiry hair
fringed her sex-lips. She tasted of perfume and sweat and bodily
emissions. Her moans became more urgent and she bore down, her
pudenda pointing towards him. His tongue-tip flashed over her
swollen clit, and then he closed his lips on it, dragging at the
tiny button of plump flesh.

Gabor laughed,
balancing on widespread legs, the cane held lightly in his strong,
beautifully manicured fingers. 'You see how randy she is, my
friend?' he asked harshly. 'She's your slave as much as mine.'

'Love me,
Marty, love me,' she cried. 'You did so once, till you got tired of
me.'

He rose,
looking at her contemptuously as he said, 'Love you? Are you mad?
You think I really loved a stupid tart like you?'

'Why are you
so cruel?' she sighed, reproach in her tear-drenched eyes.

'You adore it
when he's mean,' Gabor scoffed, and holding her with one arm,
loosened the chains. She dropped to her feet, staggered and would
have fallen had he not supported her. 'Now then, darling,' he
murmured seductively, his hands fondling her breasts. 'You want
Marty?'

'Yes.' She
clung to him, hope lighting up her elfin features, a slim
twenty-year-old with long pale hair and cornflower-blue eyes.

'You shall
have him if you promise to do as he asks.'

She shuddered
and heaved a deep sigh, shaking her head even as she capitulated.
'All right. But I don't want her to know I had anything to do with
it.'

'You have the
key?'

'Yes,' she
muttered quietly.

'That's all we
need. Give it to me and I'll have a copy made.'

He took her to
the couch and bent her over one of the arms. Marty, unzipped, stood
behind her, angling her so that her bottom was raised to meet his
prick. He reached for her slit, spreading the copious juice over
and around her anus, and then opening it with his fingers. She
grunted, forced forward by the pressure, accepting the invasion.
Blake wriggled his fingers inside her nether hole, and then
replaced them with his stiff weapon, pushing hard till the muscles
expanded to take him further. The feeling was exquisite, her
sphincter closing round his shaft like a velvet glove. No virgin
could have offered such delight. He drove a hand beneath her,
finding her clit and massaging it as he propelled himself in and
out, panting hard, feeling orgasm gathering in his groin.

He was so
engrossed that he didn't register what Gabor was doing for a
moment. But coming into contact with a world other than his own
lust-crazed need for relief, he was aware that he was in front of
Tina, trousers open, his cock aimed at her mouth. He grabbed her by
the hair, dragging her towards his crotch. It became a duel, with
Tina wedged between the two protagonists. Who would come first? The
settee shook with the force of their frantic, two-way coupling,
Blake plunging into her tightness, his cock like a ramrod, his
balls tight, and Gabor, his head back, the cords straining at his
neck, receiving her worshipping attentions as she sucked his
organ.

Blake felt her
quiver, his finger sensitive to the throb of her clit as she came.
This was enough to send him over the edge and he surrendered to a
powerful climax, his semen spurting into the condom. At that moment
Gabor exploded too, into Tina's mouth. He withdrew, wiped his cock
in her hair and looked down at the still linked pair with evident
satisfaction.

'That's
settled then,' he said, rearranging his trousers. 'When do you want
it done, Marty?'

'As soon as
possible,' Blake said, withdrawing, disposing of the rubber and
buttoning his chinos.

May had begun
cold and wet. There had even been blizzards in the north of
England. It looked fair set to be disastrous for the sale of spring
and summer clothing.

'I don't know
how much longer I can carry on,' Arlene said to Julia before they
set off to their respective places of employment a few days
later.

'I'm sure
you'll get lucky soon,' Julia assured her, looking as charmingly
innocent as ever, despite the revelations in Cornwall.

'I certainly
hope so,' Arlene replied, hefting up her bag and making sure it was
closed, preparing herself for the jostle of the underground, where
one had to be doubly careful against pick-pockets.

The new
century had brought neither safety nor peace. Everyone seemed so
greedy, vicious and amoral, all the old standards fading fast.
Arlene could cope with this, just about; a feisty girl with a
caustic tongue and lots of attitude, but it was hard to always be
on the alert. No one could be trusted, even in her beloved clothing
business.

She let
herself into her cluttered workshop above a Pakistani store. The
air was faintly spiced with delicious odours from below; curry
pastes, lentils, and a hundred and one eastern ingredients. Music
formed a continual background - flutes, tambour, the sitar - sounds
to which her ear had become so accustomed that she barely
registered them.

She had other
things on her mind, seriously worried. The bills were piling up.
She was owed money for made-to-measure garments, but saw little
hope of payment from some of them. How could she get heavy with a
recent bride whose gown she had made, when the pregnant girl had
been left at the altar? Her groom's wife turned up at the church
and he was being sued for bigamy. There were other cases, too,
where despite her bravado, she couldn't bring herself to make
demands.

Her stock
hadn't sold, hanging fire in the small dress shops she supplied on
sale or return. The big boutiques were unaffected by the vagaries
of the weather, their customers buying for holidays abroad. The top
designers, and this included Blake, had nothing to fret about,
their clothes bought for the United States, following their
prestigious shows.

The
smouldering embers of ambition flared and she swore to be up there
with him one day soon, maybe even bigger and better than he was.
She was certain he'd recognised her. There had been an interest
there not entirely sexual. She recalled spotting him among the
judges when she entered some of her designs to be paraded down the
catwalk at a recent charity function. She gained a prize - a
Certificate of Merit when she would rather have had a cheque. Had
she made an impression on him then? She supposed she must have
done, unless it was his habit to pick up women and shag them in
broom cupboards.

For some
reason she couldn't fathom, his cavalier treatment continued to
rile her and she paced her domain like a caged lioness, glancing
impatiently at the cotton jersey and synthetics that constituted
the bulk of her run-of-the-mill orders.

She grabbed up
the length of green devoré and held it against her body, studying
the effect in the mirror fixed to one wall. She tingled, the fine
hairs rising on her limbs, her pussy aching with want. Few things
made her more horny than an unsullied bolt of fabric. It rivalled
the smell, feel and taste of men. True to his word, Sam Watney had
sent her samples, and she had ordered several metres of the green,
keeping her fingers crossed that her credit card would cope. He had
phoned her repeatedly, until she programmed the answer machine to
pick him up. The parcel duly arrived, and the phone calls dwindled
in frequency. She hoped he'd got the message, the thought of his
flabby hands and slack lips making her feel sick.

The texture of
the velvet sent a frisson of excitement through her fingers, up her
arms, along her shoulders and into her nipples. Echoing thrills
shot down to her sex, setting a warm pulse beating. She focused on
the embryonic garment she imagined creating, and promised to
indulge herself, partly for the sheer, voluptuous pleasure of it,
and partly to keep her mind off the daily grind. The devoré called
for something space age and intensely sexy. Pictures drifted across
her brain - a show of her own where important buyers, movie stars,
royalty and the doyens of magazines devoted to the industry who,
with a few well-chosen words, could make or break reputations,
would see her collection.

It was very
quiet in the workroom. Her assistant had rung in sick. Alone and
undisturbed, Arlene stripped off her denim skirt and white T-shirt.
Braless, she quickly removed her panties and posed for her own
enjoyment. The devoré cascaded over her body and slithered down her
legs, gathering in a verdant puddle at her feet. Her trainers
looked all wrong, so she unlaced them and stepped into a pair of
court shoes dug out from under the table. This was better, the
heels adding to the length of leg seen through the semi-transparent
material.

'Brunettes
suit green,' she heard Blake say, and she frowned, annoyed by the
way the memory of him made her clit throb.

Her hand
wandered down to her dark pubes and traced over the slit between
them. Her pulse raced and she shifted position, opening her legs
slightly, braced on those elegant, impractical heels. Her labial
lips were swollen with need. She eased her finger up and down,
lifting the fabric so that she didn't stain it with her juice.
Pleasure welled in her loins, fanning out in her womb. She fingered
her nipples with her other hand, loving the way they lifted the
velvet as they peaked. Slowly, she pushed it aside, baring breasts
and pubis, caressing the soft hairy lips and petting her protruding
clit-head.

She eased back
the tiny fleshy cowl that guarded the ultra-sensitive tip and
wetted it with the dew welling from her vulva, working round it,
watching herself in the mirror, wanting the feeling to last. It was
too good, however, the urge for completion too strong. She couldn't
help massaging it firmly.

She gasped,
moaned, twisted her head from side to side, fingers plucking at her
nipples, first one then the other, as her middle digit moved in
swift arousal of her clitoris. She closed her eyes, bright light
blazing against the blackness of her lids, a roaring in her ears as
her climax welled over. It lifted her to glory and she was totally
into it, part hidden by a screen that separated her from the long
cutting table, the sewing machines, the rails of garments and
shelves filled with materials.

She nearly
jumped out of her skin when a man stepped into sight,
wolf-whistling quietly as he admired her. 'Eugene!' she gasped.
'You scared the hell out of me!'

'Sorry, baby, but
wow
, that's classy!' he exclaimed, his
eyes filled with that bubbling sense of humour which made him so
good to be with him - Eugene Cooper, their link was a strictly
professional one, to date.

'My treat to
myself,' she replied, a spasm of renewed heat warming her pussy
when she realised he had been watching her masturbating. She
glanced down and saw the thick bough of his cock straining against
his stonewashed jeans. It was exciting to know he'd been getting a
hard-on seeing her playing with herself.

'Sure, and why
not?' he agreed, and came closer, staring over her shoulder at
their mutual reflection.

He was tall
and broad, spending his free time at the gym. Dark-eyed and
dark-haired, his genes where not entirely British, despite his
cockney accent. He wasn't exactly handsome, but had striking
features, white teeth and an infectious grin. A market trader, he
had recently approached her with an offer to sell any of her
leftover clothes. He had a van and an 'in' to most of the major
London markets. From the start he'd made no bones about the fact
that he wanted to screw her, and now she felt herself being borne
along on an unstoppable tide of lust.

She looked
into his mirror-image eyes and said, 'I'd better get dressed. I'm
supposed to be finishing a job,' but she made no move to leave
him.

Instead, she
pressed back and brushed her hips against his muscled belly. His
response was an automatic lift of the pelvis, bringing the solid
bar of his prick in line with her bottom crease. She wriggled and
his arms clamped round her waist, pulling her closer, one hand
snaking over her shoulder to cup a breast.

She sighed,
watching them in the mirror, like a voyeur getting kicks from
seeing a couple fornicating.

'Yummy,' he
returned, and nipped her ear.

Shards of ice
trickled down her spine and she could feel further moisture pooling
at her opening, already wet from orgasm. Eugene's cock felt
absolutely huge as it tried to force its way through his jeans.
Most promising, and she'd not hungered for sex with such urgency
since her encounter with Blake.

'You're
different,' Eugene murmured into her hair. 'What's happened? You've
never given me the come-on before. It must be that fabric. You look
wicked in it.'

'Maybe,' she
murmured, drawing in a sharp breath as his broad thumb revolved on
her nipple.

'Did something
happen at the Cloth Show?' he asked, looking at her in the glass as
he pulled the velvet tight over the cone-shaped teat and flicked it
mercilessly.