Black Lipstick Kisses (18 page)

‘I'm quite capable of doing it, Angel, here and now, whether your friend's watching or not, and yes, I will take your knickers down.'

It was my turn to blush as Snaz went into a fresh fit of giggles. I laughed too, then stopped abruptly as I realised he was serious.

‘No, Stephen, that's not funny . . . it's not, really!'

It didn't stop him. He came on, grinning. I was wagging my finger at him as I backed away, protesting but simply unable to keep the laughter from my voice.
Snaz was still giggling, and obviously just thought it was funny. I turned to speak to her, and suddenly he had me and I'd been lifted clear of the ground, around my waist, as if I weighed nothing. I gave a frantic squeal of protest, but too late as my jeans were hauled down, panties and all. My bare bum was showing to Snaz, and my mouth came wide in outrage, then screams as he laid in, spanking me furiously hard. She was laughing crazily as I went into a frenzy of kicking and scratching, for one awful moment I realised that she could see every detail of my pussy from behind, and then he'd dropped me.

I sprawled on the floor, bum up, gasping and swearing at him, struggling to sound serious, but I still couldn't keep the laughter out of my voice. Snaz just laughed all the louder and, as I struggled to pull my jeans and panties back up, I didn't know whether to be angry, or turned on, or hurt or what. Stephen had stood back, and was looking unsure of himself as I got up, unsteady, clutching my hot bottom, my head spinning with drink.

‘Bastard!'

It was the best I could manage, and for just a moment Stephen really did look worried. Snaz did not help.

‘Fucking priceless! You should have seen yourself, Dusk, what a fucking hoot!'

‘I'll give you the same in a minute!'

It was the best I could do, my cheeks burning with embarrassment for all the irrepressible urge to laugh. She got up, as unsteady as me.

‘Don't even think about it girl . . . I've got to go, I've really got to go. I've wet my pants laughing. I'll leave you two lovebirds at it.'

She was still laughing as she staggered across to the door. I let her go, too far gone to worry about the fact that she was wearing my clothes, or anything else. My bottom felt warm, my pussy ready. Stephen mumbled some stupid apology for some reason and was biting his lip as the door closed behind Snaz.

‘Are . . . are you all right, Angel? I . . . I didn't mean to.'

‘Oh shut up, Stephen . . . stop worrying about it and fuck me.'

I flopped down on the bed, pushing my jeans and knickers back down the moment I hit. Stephen just stood there, trying to make sense of what was happening.

‘I think you're rather drunk, Angel.'

‘Just fuck me!'

I rolled over, sticking my bottom up to let him see my red cheeks.

‘That's what you like, isn't it? Just put it in, you dirty bastard!'

He swallowed hard, but it was too much. As I stuck my bottom higher to let him see my pussy he was struggling with his fly, wrenching the zip down, snatching his dick free, the shaft already swollen with blood. I moaned as he climbed on top, his cock was probing at me, between my cheeks, right on my bottom hole and then in me, deep up my pussy. He began to pump into me and I was immediately clutching the sheets, pushing my bottom up and trying to twist round to kiss him all at once. As his mouth met mine he went deeper still, his taut belly slapping on my bottom cheeks, his hands snatching at my breasts.

We clung together, fucking like two wild animals, me squirming on his cock as he rode me, harder and
faster, kissing until he broke away, panting, then gasping. His hands locked on my breasts, squeezing hard and I was gasping too, breathless as he pushed into me in a wild flurry of hard thrusts, and came, deep in me, holding himself there as I wriggled beneath him, right on the brink of orgasm.

‘Lick me, you bastard, now!'

It took him only a moment, his penis slipping free as he gasped for breath, his hands moving lower, to take my hips, lift me, and bury his face in my bottom. My eyes and mouth went wide as his tongue touched my aching sex and he was doing it, lapping up his own juices and mine, from my pussy, between my bottom cheeks and on my clitoris. I was screaming seconds after he began to lick, brought back to the edge of orgasm, and over, writhing my bottom in his face, snatching and chewing at the sheets, gasping and swearing. Peak after peak hit me, Stephen still licking, until at last my pleasure broke and I was begging him to stop.

He obliged, taking one last lick from me all the way up between my bottom cheeks and letting go. I slumped down, done, and he rolled onto the bed beside me, gasping for breath and sighing in pleasure. At last I summoned up the energy to pull myself close and kiss him, before it all became too much and I collapsed.

Stephen was still with me in the morning. I did not feel good at all, and gratefully accepted his ministrations as he propped me up on my pillows and made me coffee and toast. My head hurt and my throat was dry, while I could feel the dull ache of bruising on my bottom and one hip. I was surprised Stephen was even
there, let alone fussing around me like an old mother hen, but that really wasn't my problem.

By the time I'd washed and changed Snaz's clothes for some of my own I was feeling at least vaguely human. Stephen had gone into the main body of the church to look round, but came back while I was making the final adjustments to my make-up, speaking immediately, with the same nervousness in his voice as when he'd been trying to get around me to go across his knee.

‘Yes, I can see why you would be keen to see the interior preserved. There are some unusual features there, no doubt unique. If only current budgetary prioritisation . . .'

‘Stop talking bollocks-speak, Stephen. What's the matter?'

‘Nothing . . . well, a little. I was concerned that you might feel I was a little rough with you last night.'

‘I'm not made out of china, Stephen. It was good, as it goes.'

‘I mean er . . . spanking you like that. I really shouldn't have, but . . . but you were rather teasing. You didn't mind too much, did you?'

‘Forget it. I was pissed, and I was winding you up.'

‘Good . . . good. Still, I shouldn't really have done it, especially in front of your friend.'

‘I said forget it.'

‘Good.'

He went silent and I returned to my make-up, wondering if I could do anything with the brilliant scarlet lipstick Snaz had left, perhaps blend it with a black outline to make it look as if I had fresh blood in my mouth. Eventually I decided to postpone the effect for
a more appropriate moment. I was surprised Stephen was so nervous, but then I could imagine the headlines if it came out that he was into kinky sex. They'd have a field day. I wouldn't have told anybody, because at heart I could never be that much of a bitch, but it did occur to me that it was a good time to ask for his help with my experiment into communion.

‘Stephen?'

‘Yes?'

‘I am cool with the spanking business, but I would rather you didn't do it in front of my friends, or at all really.'

‘Oh.'

The disappointment in his voice was painful.

‘Well, maybe occasionally, but it . . . it fucks with my head a bit. It just makes me feel as if we're unequal, and I can't handle that.'

‘Oh no, it's not like that at all. Nothing could make me think more highly of you, I assure you. Believe me, I live in awe of your ability to cope with your sexual feelings. It's a generational thing, I know, but still . . . Besides, if, as your friend . . .'

‘Snaz.'

‘. . . as Snaz suggested, if you wanted to ah . . . um . . . get even, then I would accept your right to do so.'

‘Thank you, that's sweet, and it does make a difference, but for now, do you remember I wanted a special favour if I won the pinball game?'

‘Yes, of course. Something to do with a graveyard wasn't it? As I said, I'm all yours, just so long as it doesn't involve me in any professional risk.'

‘Great. Thanks.'

‘It doesn't have to be in Lbndon, does it?'

‘No, not at all.'

‘Good, because I've got just the place. It's . . .'

‘Don't tell me. The less I know about it the better. I do need you to choose the cemetery, but not just any old cemetery. It has to have the tombs of some significant people, people I can find out about. One will do, but you must choose, take me there blindfold, late at night, and just leave me. That's really important. I need you to go away, to somewhere just within earshot, and leave me undisturbed.'

‘I see . . . yes. I don't mind doing that. May I ask why?'

‘No.'

‘Fair enough. When?'

‘Not just yet, it's . . . it's an awkward time. Perhaps at the weekend?'

‘Fine. I tell you, even a cemetery is more cheerful than my house at the moment. The Designer Mannequin is on a diet. I told her she was risking anorexia, which was a bad mistake. She's not even speaking to me, that's why I came back early at the weekend. The meeting was just an excuse.'

‘Ah, yes, Mrs Councillor Goulding. What an old bat!'

‘She is something of a virago, yes, but whatever possessed you to vandalise the back of the Community Centre!'

I was not going to admit I'd done it to get at him.

‘It's a hell of a kick.'

‘A kick!? It's a hell of a risk!'

‘You seduce young women. I go out writing. Same deal.'

‘Well, yes, I suppose so, but you can hardly compare your need to scrawl graffiti with the human sex drive?'

‘No. Sex is better. That's why I quit, sort of. The other night was . . . what d'you call it? Retrogressive
behaviour. It's all to do with why I want you to take me to a cemetery, and I'm not going to explain. So the weekend's booked, yeah?'

I knew I couldn't do anything before the weekend as I would be on my period. Sure enough, it started the next day, putting an end to my mood swings and providing the perfect excuse for not fucking with Michael until I was ready. He took it as casually as ever, suggesting I should give him blow-jobs instead in the same easy manner he might have asked for tea instead of coffee.

He got what he wanted, most of the time, in between modelling sessions. With the Goat of Mendes now polished to perfection he was less specific in his needs, posing me in all sorts of ways, often wonderfully strange and just as often rude. He seemed just to be building up a portfolio, but I didn't mind posing and could never tire of admiring the end results. The money also came in useful, allowing me to invest in my renewed interest in graffiti.

Snaz had asked me to come out with her, delighted to have finally found a female artist. She was also fed up with Biggy, who was good, but was now working and starting to dislike the risks. I didn't get a chance during the week, although we talked plenty, either because I was with Michael or Stephen, who cooked me dinner on the Wednesday. He'd chosen a place, and seemed to be quite into the idea, leading me to give him the same favour I was dishing out to Michael.

We went for Saturday, to avoid the evening worshippers. It was warm and dry, allowing me to dress properly, in a short black dress, hold-ups and boots, with
every piece of esoteric jewellery I could lay my hands on. It was a strong image, no question, Gothic to the edge of Satanic, and could scarcely fail to provoke a reaction. I took black candles too, the rest of my stock, and a bag of flour to mark out the pentacle. The moon would be a waning crescent, not bright, but appropriate.

I spent the morning in the church, letting the atmosphere fill my head but not allowing my thoughts to go in any particular direction. Stephen came in the early evening, nervous but in control, with everything organised. He was pleased with whatever choice he'd made, and had the whole thing planned out like a campaign, with a folder full of maps and notes, even a schedule.

He'd bought me a cap, black with a long peak, which he pulled down over my eyes as soon as we were in the car. I settled back, content to let him have complete control until I was actually kneeling in front of the tomb. When I made to talk he shushed me and put on music, a classical piece I didn't recognise.

We set off as soon as it was dark and drove for what must have been an hour or more, first with the yellow lights of London streets flickering across what little I could see of the car's interior, then in blackness. I had no idea in which direction we were going, and was unsure even of the time. When we stopped it was absolutely black outside, and as the noise of the engine cut off, silent.

I'd been growing slowly more nervous as time passed, and was trembling slightly as Stephen tied a thick scarf over my face as a blindfold and helped me from the car. It had grown cool too, but the air was still and smelt of autumn leaves. There were sounds, animals nearby or in the distance, the faint hum of a
motorway, not city sounds. I was out of my element, and felt it, with a vulnerability that increased as Stephen put his coat around my shoulders.

‘I'll lead you.'

‘Yes.'

His hand found mine and I walked forward, cautiously, my feet on leaves and twigs, then grass. There was a stile, which he guided me over by carefully placing my hands and feet, and with not a little attention to my bottom. Ever more vulnerable and ever more receptive, I let him steer me as he pleased, across thick, springy grass, then short turf. Already I could feel an atmosphere building around me, the sweet sadness of a graveyard. I caught a dull, metallic groan as Stephen opened a gate. He helped me through. I knew we had arrived. Just a few steps and he stopped.

‘Here?'

He answered in a husky whisper.

‘Here, yes. Don't worry, it's absolutely safe.'

‘OK. Now, do exactly as I say. In my bag are candles and a bag of flour. Use the flour to draw a pentacle on the ground, big enough for me to kneel in the central space.'