Act of Exposure (17 page)

'I want you to
testify that Stephen is very much heterosexual.'

'I do not
think I care to, darling.'

'Don't you
care about his reputation, his career?'

'Not really.
He was a cock passing in the night, and I was a safe harbour to
berth in. That's all, darling.'

Abby eyed her
quarry with something more than professional appraisal. She wanted
to hit the smug deceit off her perfect lips, her perfect face. She
imagined Stephen heaving his pelvis against that of this woman, his
hands grappling for what there was of her breasts. Fiona Platter
did indeed have small breasts and wide hips. The fact pleased her.
Was she jealous? She pushed the thought from her mind.

She heard the
rasp of silk stockings as Fiona arranged herself on a grey leather
sofa, and crossed one silk-clad leg over the other.

Her dress was
as grey as the sofa she lay on, yet silken with wide bands of blue
and pink around the V-neck and the cuffs. It was designer, but not
immediately recognizable.

Abby was in no
mood to be intimidated by some spoilt little bitch who took
advantage of a man's body but cared nothing for the rest of him.
And especially when she herself cared so much for him. It was
becoming ever clearer that she did, but at this moment in time, she
dare not fully admit it - even to herself.

'I think you
should consider this very carefully, darling,' Abby said, her smile
as hard as her intent. 'You were seen rolling in the stable with
him, your bottom all silver in the moonlight. You even managed to
turn round on him without his cock falling out of you. Quite a
sexual athlete, aren't you? What would your Sloane buddies think of
you if they saw your backside spread across the front page of the
tabloids?'

Fiona's big
blue eyes fluttered nervously. 'What a fucking bitch you are,
darling.'

'Yes,' replied Abigail through gritted teeth, 'takes one to
know one. But I should warn you, I can be much more of a fucking
bitch,
darling
, if
given the chance. Do you want to take that chance or
testify?'

A slow smile
came to Fiona's face and she leaned forward, her expression
speculative. 'Are you having an affair with him?'

The question
took Abby completely off guard. She could not help but hesitate
before she answered.

'What's that
got to do with it?'

Fiona's blue
eyes glittered like chips of broken glass. With a wicked smile on
her broad face, she lay back on the sofa and slowly, so slowly, she
began to caress her breasts and her belly.

'Everything,'
she said, the word drifting from her mouth. 'I can see the emotion
in your eyes. You want to clear him. But it's more than that, isn't
it? You care for him. You care a lot, Abigail Corrigan, you and
your spotless reputation designed to make men think that you never
sin, never love, and certainly never screw. But that isn't the
whole picture, is it? There's more to you than meets the eye, and
you want Stephen Sigmund in the frame with you.'

Now it was
Abigail's turn to blink. True, she was feeling these emotions. But
were they that obvious? Was she wearing her heart in her eyes as
opposed to on her sleeve? She pulled herself together.

'Will you
testify?'

Fiona leaned
forward again and stroked Abigail's black stockinged knee with her
blue painted fingernails. 'Yes, darling. But only on condition that
you do something in exchange for me.'

Bisexual
, Abigail thought to herself
with slight panic.
She's bisexual and wants
me to go to bed with her
.

It came as
something of a relief to find out that was not quite the case.

'I like
watching too,' said Fiona excitedly as she leaned towards her and
touched her hand, her eyes wide like a small child at Christmas.
'But only with men. I like to see a man putting it inside someone
else. Do you like that too, darling?'

Relief must
have shown in Abby's eyes. It certainly did in her voice. She even
managed to laugh.

'I must admit,
my experience in that particular field is sadly lacking.' It was
true. Varied as her sex life had been, she had never performed
before an audience. She wondered what Stephen would say; decided he
would approve, and anyway, it was for his benefit.

Initially,
Fiona was surprised at her lack of experience, then she was
suddenly all brightness, all excitement. 'Then we must do something
about it.'

She picked up
a mobile phone and dialled a number.

'Send Julian,'
she ordered. She glanced again at Abby and winked. 'Oh, and send
Dominic as well. I've got a friend visiting and she's got quite an
appetite.'

Abby was
worldly-wise, but she still looked at Fiona a mite quizzically. 'Am
I right in thinking you have just ordered two men?'

Fiona shrieked
with laughter. 'You bet. One has to be so careful nowadays. The
beautiful can so easily be tarnished. These studs are guaranteed.
Clean and trim. And they're all yours - at first!'

She laughed
again. Her laughter was infectious and Abby couldn't help feeling
excited at the prospect of having two young men procured for
her.

Fiona was as
infectious as her loud laughter. It was easy to see why Stephen had
gone with her. Her upper-crust exterior was as brittle as a sugar
coating on a chocolate drop. Beneath her haughty veneer, she was
sexually honest and open to suggestion.

While they
were waiting, the two young women consumed half a bottle of wine
and took most of their clothes off.

Fiona wore a
white satin basque with half cups. Over the top her nipples peeked
like two pink eyes. From between her legs, her pubic hair erupted
like an April shower.

Stephen,
Abigail decided, had very good taste. There was nothing cheap or
nasty about Fiona. She was all peaches and cream, English rose
complexion and English pear shape. There was a friendliness about
her that was hard to ignore once her Sloane Square exterior had
been breached.

The two young
women eyed each other like gladiators weighing up the strengths and
weaknesses of their next opponent. Except they weren't opponents.
They were two women of similar tastes and similar sexual appetite.
Each had an outer persona that hid a different one beneath, and
strangely enough, each knew it.

Abby wore only
black stockings and matching suspender belt. Responding to how she
was feeling, her nipples were hard and her breasts pert.

Fiona gazed at
her with delight, her eyes dropping from her breasts, over her
belly, and to the lips that smiled from between her thighs. Her
eyes opened wide and her voice was full of amazement.

'My, my
darling. I see you shave your pussy. May I touch it?'

She seemed
genuinely enthralled.

Abby smiled
and nodded her assent. She had decided to shave recently, knowing
that her disguise as Carmel was better protected without the
telltale signs of such silvery blondeness below. Fiona's long,
white fingers reached and touched her. Tremors of pleasure erupted
where her fingers gently stroked the silky flesh. There seemed to
be no sexual intention, but a genuine curiosity to know exactly how
shaved lips felt.

Fiona sighed.
'Your skin feels very soft. Is pleasure more intense without
hair?'

Abby shook her
head and suppressed her desire to press herself further onto
Fiona's knowing fingers. The feeling passed as Fiona retreated.

'I wonder if I
should shave mine off,' said Fiona thoughtfully as she ran her
fingers through her abundant nest.

'Oh no. Don't
do that.' Abby reached out and touched the long silky hair that
hung a quarter of the way down Fiona's inner thighs. It feels like
a real pussy,' she said wistfully. 'Like a Persian cat, luxuriant,
intriguing.'

Their mutual
admiration was based purely on friendship. Granted, sensations were
aroused by their caresses, but such touches served only to ignite
their desire, which was for men, not for each other.

Obviously, the
Spanish maid was used to seeing her mistress lounging around
half-naked. She was also used to answering the door to handsome
young men and signing a delivery invoice even before they crossed
the threshold.

Silently, she
escorted the two young men into the room, then quickly left.

'Darlings!'

The two young
men both embraced Fiona. She threw her arms around each of their
necks, and stood on tiptoe so she might kiss their lips as well as
their chins.

'Come. I have
an assignment for you.'

For the first
time since taking her clothes off, Abby felt suddenly vulnerable.
Could she really go through with this for Stephen's sake? She
decided she could.

Holding the
hands of each, Fiona brought Julian and Dominic to her. They were
smiling, and as their eyes travelled over her, she could see that
they liked what they were seeing.

'This is Abby,
and that,' she said, nodding towards a white door whose panels were
etched in blue, 'is my bedroom. Come.'

The bedroom
had white walls, white ceiling, white floor. On one wall a large,
frameless painting hung, its abstract design a mix of various
whites. Like a sudden rainbow, bottles of perfume and pots of cream
sat before a gilt-framed mirror, and curtains of heavy muslin hid
the questionable colours of the world outside.

'Make yourself
at home, Abigail, darling.'

Fiona's voice
was soft and kind as she led her to the bed.

Regardless of
Fiona's kindness, Abby's heart was thumping and an odd sort of
guilt was whirling in her mind. Sex was entering her professional
world, and she could not stop it from doing so without forfeiting
information that may prove useful in Stephen's defence.

'Lie
down.'

Abby slipped
her feet out of her shoes and slid onto the cool satin of the white
bed.

Clouds of
white mist seemed to swim before her eyes as she eyed the two young
men who were pulling their shirts away from smooth, tanned chests,
and sliding their trousers down muscular legs.

These, she
decided, were men who liked their work, whose chosen career was a
vocation more than a job.

Their eyes
still smiled. One had dark brown eyes and blue-black hair caught in
a leather tie at his neck. The other's eyes were hazel and his hair
was predominantly dark brown, though streaks of sun-kissed blond
ran from his forehead to his shoulders.

Old, familiar feelings were surging and whirling inside
her.
I want them
,
thought Abby to herself.
I want them and
nothing will stop me from having them
.

Realization
came quickly. No longer was she doing this just for Stephen. She
was also doing it for herself.

Fiona stood at
the foot of the bed as the two warm bodies stretched out on either
side of her.

'Relax,' said
Julian, the one with the dark eyes and dark hair.

'Leave it all
to us, baby,' said the guy with blond streaks whose accent
suggested Southern California.

Only once did
she glance at Fiona who was still at the foot of the bed, her hands
kneading her breasts and her fingers tweaking her nipples. Then she
lay back, closed her eyes, and let her body take over.

Their palms were warm upon her breasts, their flesh hot
against her. Against her hips, she felt the moist, hard heads of
their erections.
Like battering
rams
, she thought,
nudging against my defences, pushing them over before they
rush through the gate
.

'Give me your
mouth, baby. Kiss me.'

Dominic
squeezed her cheeks as he forced her mouth to face him. She could
have drowned in his smell, been consumed by the suction of his lips
and the probing of his tongue.

Other lips
kissed the hollow between her neck and her shoulder. Hands, then
fingers manipulated her breasts, rolled her nipples, pulled them,
squeezed them, and caused her back to arch and her legs to
open.

Breathless
beneath their lips, she raised her hips as if inviting them to suck
other lips, to probe a different mouth. She ached for them to do
that, longed for their fingers to pull her lips apart, to slide
along her flesh and burrow into her portal.

Just when she
thought about wrenching herself from their grasp, pulling her lips
from them and saying - no - demanding what she wanted, other lips
kissed her shaven lips, and another, more gentle tongue slid over
her most sensitive flesh.

The probing
tongue, the gentle lips, retreated as male hands took her body as
their own.

Men surrounded
her, men were over her, and men would shortly be in her.

Lost in
pleasure, she kept her eyes closed as the firmness of their hands
and fingers explored her belly, dived between her legs, and
separated one silken lip from another.

First one
finger entered her, then two. Would they take her now? Would they
force her to climax even before they had pushed their hard
erections into her ever-willing hole?

Tightly closed, keep your eyes tightly
closed
. It seemed the best thing to do.
Without seeing what was happening to her, she could at least
surmise, even fantasize.

Fiona, she
assumed, was again standing at the foot of the bed, her fingers now
embedded in her own vagina, sliding along her own greasy lips
rather than hers.

And these men.
Their bodies, so hot, so hard against her. They were forcing her
legs wider, cupping her buttocks, and at the same time, peeling
back the leaves of her sex, invading her vagina as though it were
no longer hers, as though she had given it to them of her own free
will.