Gemini Heat (22 page)

She was hot in Delia's stupid dress. Hot, in Jake's ridiculous perverted idea of underwear. Hot, because the man himself was just inches away, and all she wanted to do was close the distance and get him inside her.

Half-dizzy with it all, she had the weirdest idea. Had he impregnated the leather of the basque somehow? Steeped it in an aphrodisiac potion that was passing through her skin into her bloodstream? Each time she'd met him she'd wanted him, but tonight it was out of all proportion . . .

Jake wore very little leather tonight, which Deana thought strange given his usual, almost fetishistic fondness for it. His shirt was made of heavy black silk, and he wore it tieless but primly buttoned up. His trousers were Italian, also black, and cut with a gorgeous fluid bagginess that was breathtakingly sensual. As a kind of afterthought, the whole lot was topped off with a natty figured satin waistcoat in a black on black shadow print. The only leather item he was wearing was a narrow belt with a discreet silver and black enamel buckle.

'You're rather quiet, my sweet,' he whispered, leaning close and kissing her throat. The gesture was surprisingly affectionate, and as he made it, Deana breathed in his fragrance. It was heavy and sweet and spicy, drifting out from his sleekly bound hair in a wave so potent it stunned her. To her chagrin, she swayed against him, her giddiness doubling and redoubling at the unyielding strength of his body.

'You're not feeling uncomfortable, are you?' he enquired, his long eyes narrowing but in no way diminishing in radiance.

She thought 'Bastard!' but she said, 'No, not in the slightest,' and had another stab at cool, unruffled airiness. 'Why on earth should you think that?' She even managed a small insouciant smile.

'You just won't be "easy", will you?' he replied, moving infinitesimally closer, parting his moulded lips and running his tongue across the upper one. He looked as if he were a wolf about to savour his dinner ... or the feeding of some other strong appetite.

'Easy for who?' Deana felt the hair on the back of her neck prickle, like a sensor scanning for danger. He was testing her somehow, she realised, but her natural urge was to rise up, challenge him, and try some subtle tests of her own.

'Easy for us,' he said, still closing, still insolent and still resolute.

'And who might "us" be?' she persisted, her heart revving up in a deep adrenalin produced pound that seemed to bounce it up and down in her chest.

He was within millimetres now, though she couldn't have said how he'd got there.

'Dee . . .'

'What?'

'Shut up!'

And then there was no gap between them. No gap between their pressing, sucking lips; no gap between their bodies as he forced her back against the seat and explored her. His hands moved quickly and roughly, travelling across her body in a grope that was almost adolescent. He was checking for the presence of the corset, she realised, his fingers pressing at her whale-boned waist and her securely cupped breasts - squeezing and testing the elasticity of both flesh and the constraints he'd put upon it.

She wanted to say 'Yes, you swine I'm wearing your sodding corset!' but she couldn't because he wouldn't let her. He was filling her mouth with a tongue that seemed twice its normal size, and that stifled any last shred of protest.

Almost flat on her back on the lushly upholstered seat, she felt his fingers sliding beneath her, then grabbing at her buttocks where they jutted beneath the edge of the corset. She gasped when he took a round of flesh in each hand and pulled and circled it lewdly. The tension between her bottom and her sex was suddenly intimate and maddening; tiny connected muscle groups tugged furiously on her soft pulpy membranes and made her clitoris stiffen and swell. The nubby little organ came alive in an instant, grew stretched and hot and ready, rising up for the touch of its master.

But just when Deana thought she was going to scream into his mouth, Jake pulled back and away from her. His eyes were like lapis lazuli in the darkness and he stared down at her limp, sprawled body. 'Let's see if you've obeyed me . . .' His voice hoarse, his eyes bright, he pushed crudely at her pretty silk skirt.

'Bad girl,' he said, touching her pubis through the sheer white panties she'd put on in blatant defiance of his instructions. His finger burrowed in cruelly and poked at her clitoris without gentleness or finesse, punishing the most sensitive part of her body by callously stirring it to pleasure.

When her hips bucked in response, the prodding hand was snatched away, and through a haze of frustrated lust, she saw him reach across to the console beside his seat and press impatiently at one of the buttons.

'Pull over,' he rapped and immediately the car began to slow.

'No/ she moaned, anticipating Fargo's eyes again, so cold and blank and dismissive as he studied her naked genitals.

'Yes,' said Jake calmly, but when retribution came it was not in the form she'd expected.

Lying on the seat, she couldn't see out of the windows, but she sensed they were in a quiet but well-lit street. Frozen by excitement and desire, she waited for Jake to summon his robot-like servant around to the back passenger door and was surprised when instead, he wound down the dividing glass and simply said, 'Your knife, please, Fargo.'

Apprehension gripped her and her innards churned.

Then she heard the words 'drive on' and the hum of the dividing glass rising.

'I specifically asked you not to wear panties.'

Jake's voice was terrifyingly ordinary, and his free hand surprisingly gentle as he pushed her tight, ruched skirt up to her waist and lifted the elastic of her panties away from her body and the basque. There was a small ripping sound, and then another, and it was then that Deana understood the purpose of the blade.

He'd said 'no panties' and he'd meant it; so now he was slicing them clean off her body and chopping them up into ribbons. He was perfectly calm and almost unconcerned, as if he carved up lingerie on a regular basis. Maybe he did? she thought suddenly. He seemed capable of just about anything.

When her panties were destroyed, he snapped the knife-blade back into its guard, laid the weapon aside, then gathered up the scraps of white cloth. Most of these he stuffed into his waistcoat pocket, but several he continued to fidget with; absently winding and unwinding them around his left index finger as he were thinking intently and considering his next act of outrage.

'Let's see,' he said matter-of-factly as he toyed with the ruins of her knickers. 'I shan't punish you, sweet Dee, because we're going to the house of someone who'll do it far better than I ever could.' He let the thin strips of cotton unfurl, then hang like tiny fluttering streamers in the heavy luxurious gloom. 'But we must mark the event somehow.' Another pause . . . Another narrow, menacing grin. 'Take off your dress.'

'What?' Her sex throbbed again in delicious horror. 'Are you insane?' ~

'Not quite. Now kindly take off your dress, Dee . . . Or shall I chop that up too?'

She
wanted
to take off the dress, and her mind offered a perfectly rational reason to do so. It was one of Delia's favourite party frocks and she'd be absolutely furious if it were damaged.

Proudly, Deana turned away from him, inclining herself forward as gracefully as she could and reaching around to hold her hair off her shoulders.

'My zip, please,' she said quietly. He wasn't going to get the better of her. She wasn't going to be fazed. Even though the corset reached only to her navel, and to lose the frock that covered it would be to show him her belly, her sex and her bottom - all rudely framed in suspenders and sheer, smoked-beige stockings.

Slowly and carefully, Jake complied, the deft way he unzipped her an indicator of how many dozens, nay hundreds, of other women he must also have undressed. She imagined them as she was, stripping for him in cars and being coerced into unthinkable acts. She recalled her visit to club 'Seventeen' and the men and women there who'd been little more than chained and naked slaves . . . And she knew then, with absolute certainty, that Jake had taken bound women there himself. The thought made her clitoris throb and her sex-lips pout and engorge.

But that isn't you, Deana! her mind protested as she wriggled out of the dress and tried to look coolly unconcerned.

Ah, but it is, whispered another sly, internal voice as she folded the pink silk mass and set it neatly on the seat beside her. Her thighs trembled feverishly as she fought an almost overpowering urge to cross her legs and hide her wet sex from Jake.

You want to do it, don't you? the hidden submissive persisted. To show yourself. You'd do anything for him, admit it. Walk down the Mall nude. Be smacked and fingered by strangers. Open your legs and masturbate in broad daylight in a crowded room. Doesn't just the thought of it make you cream? her devil's advocate taunted her. If Jake stopped the car again right now, and had Fargo screw you on the bonnet, you'd be coming before that icy, hard-faced bastard had even got his trousers off!

'Open your legs, please, Dee,' Jake said pleasantly, still twirling his little strips of cotton.

Deana obeyed him, acutely conscious of her own stickiness as she did so. She didn't look down, but she guessed that her dark curls were glossy with the fluid of sexual excitement and that her marshy, blood-filled folds would be standing proud and crude and announcing her condition to Jake. Even as she shifted her thighs, she felt a dangerous little twitch in her clitoris. If he touched her even once, she'd have a huge, shaming orgasm in an instant.

But he didn't go anywhere near her clitoris.

Instead he tied the ends of the strips of her torn panties into a knot and pushed that unceremoniously into her vagina, leaving the white tails dangling outside.

It was a humiliating badge of 'disobedience', and somehow the bundle of small white streamers made her crotch look ten times as bare and drew critical attention to her wetness.

'That's to show that you've been naughty,' he said, uncannily echoing her feelings. 'When I walk you into Vida's presence, she'll know straight away that you're due for a well-earned punishment.'

'Vida? We're going to see Vida Mistry?' The thought was exciting and Deana's stuffed and decorated vulva seemed to pulsate in a hot flush of yearning.

To see Vida again, be paraded before her . . . Oh God, that would mean getting out of this car half naked and with the shreds of her torn-up panties hanging down between her legs.

Jake's grin was pure, beautiful evil. 'Yes . . . You're going to have to walk through the foyer of Vida's building just as you are. Bare-bottomed, and showing your curls and your streamers to the world.' He leaned over and kissed the corner of her trembling mouth. His saliva was cool on her lips as he licked his way gently around them. 'You've been a bad girl, Dee. Disobedient. And now you have to be shamed for it. But don't worry, I'll cover your eyes and plug your ears. You won't see who's looking at your sex and your arse . . . and you won't hear them calling out what they think of your pussy and your bottom. And your pretty little dangling ribbons.'

'I can't,' she croaked against his skin, her body sweating heavily in the corset and the ripples of a tiny fleeting orgasm threatening to dislodge her white cloth rosette.

But the words she spoke were a lie. She could do it. She even wanted to . . . She'd passed through the barrier now, gone over the borderline between her world of the natural and normal, and his of dark sweet deviance. The two realms were as different as night from day, but suddenly she was happy in the shadows.

To walk through an apartment block foyer with her naked crotch on view was quite acceptable and expected in Jake's world. An everyday occurrence. It was up to Deana now to conduct herself accordingly.

As the car turned a corner, she wondered how many more minutes' grace she had. For the first time, almost, in the whole of this strange, lewd drive, she looked out through the tinted glass windows. They were speeding around a crescent shaped road that ran down along the riverside, but within seconds, the car turned once more, and pulled into a large spacious forecourt. Looming above them was an imposing modern apartment block - its facade unmarked, discreet and anonymously opulent. It was a place where only the very richest people lived, but then again Vida Mistry was reputed to have a substantial private income on top of her earnings from her books.

As the limousine slunk to a halt, Deana's courage faltered and she looked pleadingly at Jake. He smiled at her and nodded, his face full of mischief and his eyes like twin blue stars. For the first time in their short but strange relationship, Deana wondered how old he was. Delia would know, from office gossip, but she'd never spoken of it and Deana herself couldn't even begin to guess.

His hair - shining softly in the light from the building's frontage - was as black as a raven's wing and showed not a single strand of grey. His body was fit and lean, superbly athletic and limber, and he moved like a man at the leading edge of his prime. His face was clear-skinned, his eyes always bright, and yet - up close, in the instant before kisses - Deana had seen that it wasn't unmarked by time. He had character-lines, crinkles at the corners of his strange eastern eyes that came only from years of smiling. The man was a beautiful enigma; and without knowing why, she knew she'd do anything he asked of her. No matter how weird or appalling it seemed, or how much it went against her nature.