Gemini Heat (23 page)

Even as she thought this, he was flipping open a glove compartment and taking out some intriguing but now necessary items: a tiny pair of foam earplugs, a black velvet eye mask - and causing a shock of exquisite terror in Deana's pounding heart - a set of shiny, lightweight steel handcuffs.

'We must always do things properly,' he said softly, snapping them on before she could protest, securing her hands in front of her rather than behind as they did in the cop shows.

Her first urge was to pull at the cuffs and struggle, but after a couple of seconds a peculiar change took place. A shift of perception. A metamorphosis: She felt safe in her bonds, all responsibility sloughed off like a skin, and that was a condition that suited her. Suddenly her body felt soft and loose in its constraints, strangely peaceful, all the hassle of making choices beyond her. Jake was her sexual arbiter now, and even the simple act of leaning forward for her blindfold brought a fresh spark of pleasure in its wake.

'Trust me. I'll guide you,' he whispered in her ear before inserting the small sponge earplugs and creating for her a zone of dark quiet.

A breeze of slightly cooler air indicated that the car door was open, and then strong male hands and arms were assisting her out onto the pavement. The same hands led her across an expanse of several strides in length, then over a threshold and onto some hard, unyielding surface that she deduced was either marble or tiles. She could hear vague voices, and pick out Jake's distinctive tones . . . but she couldn't tell whether he was conversing with the taciturn Fargo, or whether some boggle-eyed commissionaire or thunderstruck passer-by was even now staring at her naked, be-ribboned pubis.

The thought of that inflamed her, and as the guiding hands indicated she halt for a second, she instinctively parted her legs to give the unseen oglers an improved perspective on her sex. Quite wild to display herself, she flaunted her hips, then felt a pair of cool lips settle just below her ear and mouth the single word 'slut' against her neck. The sound was barely audible, but its severity cut her skin like a brand. One of the previously gentle hands grasped her naked buttock and squeezed in a long steady pinch the whole firm pad of muscle. She moaned softly, heedless of watchers and listeners, her clitoris trembling with a spasm of forbidden delight. Even his insults were gorgeous to her now.

A faint, slightly familiar vibration came up through her feet, and seconds later she was pushed into a lift car - driven on by the vicious grip on her bottom cheek, and then by an indecent swooping finger that prodded her tight anal furrow.

As the car began to rise, she tried desperately to send out feelers of sensation and divine whether they were alone or accompanied. The small space was hot and intensely claustrophobic. She could feel only - presumably - Jake's hands on her, but that didn't mean there weren't others near by.

She imagined herself in the centre of a dozen lusting men all watching as her tormentor fingered her. He was stroking the groove of her bottom now, tickling the tiny rose-hole, and she couldn't keep her itchy hips from weaving or her thighs from flexing and splaying. A hand swept into her sex from the front, a fingertip settling on her clitoris as another pushed hard into her anus. She was speared from two directions now, and she gulped and gasped uncouthly. The two internal foci started rocking her reciprocally, prodding her back and forth in an steady but syncopated rhythm.

As she orgasmed heavily and wetly, there was a swish that said the car door was open. Still controlled by the intruding finger in her bottom she staggered out onto some landing or other, horridly suspicious that there were people all around her to witness and take pleasure from her shame.

'Please,' she begged incoherently as she was goaded down an unseen corridor, or perhaps into the foyer of a spacious penthouse flat.

After a few yards only, the quality of the atmosphere around her seemed to change and she heard a variety of faint sounds to the front of her.

Laughter and greetings. Voices. Jake's and one other, a familiar one that she'd heard only briefly, but recently . . .

Chapter Ten

Sweet Mistry

ow charming, Kazuto my darling,' said Vida Mistry with genuine warmth as gentle fingers prised the foam from Deana's ears. The sound was bright and exciting after the semi-silence, and she found herself anxious to be able to see again. To see the famous authoress with new eyes, and with a vivid new insight on her work. There were no good fairies here to answer Deana's prayers, only demons, but even so it seemed that
they
were listening. Within seconds the blindfold was removed. A hand remained shielding her eyes, but a moment later that went too, and she could look out into the room and see how many were observing her shame.

There were in fact only four people in what appeared to be the lounge of an extremely luxurious flat. Herself, still handcuffed. Jake, beside her and siailing. An unknown young woman dressed in a strange and stylised maid's costume. And finally the near legendary Vida Mistry, a vibrant and brightly clad figure in a room full of cream and beige furnishings.

Striding forward with graceful confidence, Vida looked every bit as beautifully weird as she had in 'Seventeen'. Her long, crimson hair was wound into a high, crown-like knot, and she was wearing high heels

and an attractive, but unusual trench-style satin evening coat. Without its belt, it would have looked a bit like what used to be called a 'duster coat', but Deana doubted if Mizz Mistry had ever dusted in her life. She looked like a woman who either commanded or coaxed other people into dealing with such matters . . . while she existed only for pleasure. That and looking absolutely fabulous.

The shiny, cinch-waisted housecoat was a zingy peach-orange shade which should've clashed hideously with Vida's bright hair. In actual fact, it looked marvellous; perfectly emphasising the magnificent pallor of her skin, the glint in her large green eyes, and the wine-tinted lushness of her lips. The woman was an event, a total sexual happening from the glistening corona of her flaming red hair to the tip of her shiny black narrow-toed stilettos. Deana felt her vitals stir dangerously, and thought of her sister's surprising new discoveries. Also with a woman . . .

It's in us both, thought Deana, quivering anew with a hard and stomach-clenching arousal. Delia succumbed to Elf, and now I'm turning on for Vida. What is it that Jake de Guile starts in us? Has it always been there? Or is it just a spell, something that'll go away when he does?

The thought of Jake leaving was a nasty one, but happily there was no time to debate it.

'How kind of you to remember my birthday, Kazuto,' purred Vida. She was kissing Jake prettily on the cheek, but somehow managing to watch Deana out of the corner of her kohl-rimmed eye. 'I didn't expect such a delicious present as
this.'
She spun away from the kiss and turned. 'A brand new toy to play with. I presume that she
is
for me?' She was touching Deana's blushing cheek now, but this time looking sidelong at Jake.

In another world, Deana would've spat defiance, rebelled, and told the pair of them to go to hell. She was a grown woman with a mind of her own and she couldn't just be 'given' to someone. But this was their world and their mindset, and all she could do was just stand there in her corset and handcuffs, her body awash with excitement.

'She's yours, my love,' replied Jake, his voice extraordinarily breathy and tender. Deana was embarrassed by her own flush of jealousy, and suppressed it. For her, now, the emotion was inappropriate. A 'thing' couldn't be jealous of its owner; a play-toy had no status and no rights. No claim on either Jake
or
his fabulous literary mistress. Deana's only role now was to serve them . . .

'Why thank you, my darling,' answered Vida, squeezing Deana's breast very gently, then abandoning her altogether and virtually wrapping her body around Jake's.

It was one of the most sensuous and showy embraces that Deana had ever seen, easily out-steaming any film or TV clinch she could remember. The mouths of Jake and Vida seemed to coalesce, their lips pressing, nuzzling and nibbling, while their tongues darted and dove and visibly duelled. Vida slid one hand up Jake's chest, shoulder and neck, then burrowed her fingers in his bound black hair, dishevelling his immaculate pony-tail and threatening to destroy it altogether. Her other hand settled comfortably on his crotch, squeezing at his fast-growing erection and massaging his sex through his trousers. Deana watched, entranced, as his slim hips did a bump and grind against Vida's circling palm. She could almost feel the sweet, rising surge of his penis. Would he come in his pants? Would he cry out and slump against Vida, his lust jetting freely yet concealed, his release inspired and provoked by those flexible red-nailed fingers?

Even as she watched them, Jake's hips bucked furiously and he detached his lips from Vida's. His head fell back, his handsome face contorted and his brown throat taut and working as he groaned out a long cry of pleasure. And as he stiffened and convulsed in her arms, Vida's red mouth fastened on his neck, sucking like a vampire, her white teeth biting his flesh.

It was this Dracula-like kiss that seemed to galvanise him. He shook Vida gently free of him, then held her at bay with a strong hand clasped lightly around her silk-clad upper arm. 'You crazy witch!' he hissed. He wasn't angry with her, that was obvious; his expression looked far more like wonder. Deana could see his whole body shaking, and his full mouth darkly bruised from Vida's kisses. On his smooth brown neck there was a small ring of deep, purple teethmarks.

'And will
you
also serve me?' enquired Vida silkily, circling her fingers around his throat, drawing her nails across the scar she'd inflicted.

'Not tonight, Vida,' he answered quietly and seriously, 'but soon . . . Soon I'll need it.'

For all her almost trance-like state, Deana was deeply intrigued, and with no warning a stark vision filled her mind. She saw Jake locked in bondage and submissive. His strong body bowed to the will of the imperious Vida, his sex humiliatingly exposed. Without thinking, Deana sobbed with dark pleasure . . .

'Methinks this little one wants some attention,' drawled Vida, turning to her. The authoress's voice was plummy and mannered, but there was a fresh leap of fire in her eyes. They glittered like emerald darts, pinning Deana against the wall of her own outlandish new desires.

'Have you had her yet tonight?' Vida continued, slinging one strong hand around Deana's waist, while her other dipped down into her sex. Deana felt her flesh being probed by knowledgeable fingers, her juices tested for quantity and consistency, then stirred and slicked and scooped.

'No . . . Not yet,' Jake answered, just at the moment that Vida brought her sticky fingers to her lips and sucked them.

'Hmmm . . .' she mused, her pale face thoughtful and concentrated like a wine connoisseur testing a vintage. 'Delightfully wet. And very savoury. Almost as delicious as you, Lord Kazuto.'

Trembling and delicately stimulated, Deana felt a small glow of real-world contentment. It
was
true then. The story in the book had once been real. If only she were in a position to ask questions . . .

Jake nodded and smiled but said nothing; and Vida continued her examination of her prize. Her birthday gift, Deana remembered, feeling faint with the effort of trying to retain just a fragment of her dignity while Vida's hands went everywhere and spared nothing.

It was eerie that their birthdays were so close. That this vibrant and sensual woman with her peculiar clothes and even stranger desires, was a Geminian like herself and Delia. Deana thought of what had happened on the night of
their
birthday. How good white wine and an attitude had got her down on her knees and begging for sex at Jake's outrageous exhibition. It seemed such a long time ago; she'd gone through almost evolutionary changes to bring her to where she was now.

'Shall we begin, Vida?' enquired Jake, moving smoothly to stand behind Deana. His hands grabbed her buttocks and jiggled them, just as his satin-clad accomplice worked her breasts free of the white hide corset, and arranged them like a pair of overripe peaches on the platform of the folded down cups.

'Yes, let's,' said Vida, running her pointed pink tongue in a slow, moist circle around her lips. 'She's so tasty, Jake. A real prize ... I can't wait until she loses control.' Her eyes wild, she squeezed Deana's nipples in a hard pinching grip, and laughed softly when her victim groaned and fell back into Jake's vulgar hold on her bottom. 'Bentley, the door if you please?' she rapped out to the silent, unmoving maid, who Deana had forgotten existed, but whose presence now added more shame.

Her legs were barely working any more, but somehow Deana managed to move forward, propelled by

Jake's strong hands on her bottom, and by Vida's guiding touch as she lifted her victim's wrists with the cuffs and led her forward as a mistress leads a slave. Which was what they now were. Dominant and plaything. Goddess and worshipper. Power and submission. But where, oh God, did Jake fit into all this? Was he an observer or a participant? A part of the scene or just a watcher?

'Welcome to my sexuarium, Dee,' announced Vida with a flourish as they entered a softly-lit, potently scented, and extremely bizarre room indeed.

Half bedroom, half boudoir and entirely outrageous, Vida's 'sexarium' was a lush tumble of several luxurious furnishing styles that blended into one harmonious whole. Deana could've spent hours just studying the individual facets of the decor, but there were certain very particular items of furniture that commanded her awestruck attention.