Gemini Heat (3 page)

'Yes, Dee, do it,' he urged. 'Stroke yourself, you know you want to. The picture's turned you on, hasn't it? Touch yourself, Dee, touch your clitoris. I can hear your pussy crying for it. . . Go on, Dee, caress yourself. Do it!'

His words compelled her as much as her yearning body did. The situation was unreal, surreal, not of this world - and in this altered erotic state, there seemed no valid reason to defy him. Bunching the cotton of her dress, she drew it up past her knees, her thighs, then her belly. Clutching it inelegantly at her waist, she put her free hand to her groin and pushed her fingers beneath the lace of her G-string. Her sex-lips were puffed open in readiness and the whole of her groove was awash with hot wet slickness.

'Are you wet, Dee?'

Weak at the knees, she nodded and stirred gently at her own thick fluids.

'Show me.'

She felt her sex pulsate beneath her touch, then shiver with need as she raised up her fingertips and held them shimmering before her own face and Jake's.

'Taste yourself,' he ordered.

Her flavour was pungent, salty, oceanic, and as she licked her fingers hungrily, she was astounded how much she savoured it. She'd tasted her own juices before, but never with such relish, or for a man.

'Now give
me
your taste.'

She reached down again, scooped up her nectar on two fingers and lifted it this time to Jake's lips. He leaned forward, his chin over her shoulder, and as he sucked the aromatic offering, she caught an intoxicating whiff of his cologne - a heady floral blend that for a moment even drowned out the odour of her sex. She smelt lavender and lily of the valley, so strong and stupefying that she swayed backwards, pressing harder against him, her nether cheeks dividing around the unyielding bulge of his prick.

'Yes,' he purred, then sucked like a baby on her fingers. Almost swooning, Deana had no way of knowing if it was her flavour he was applauding or the pillowy caress of her bottom. As he ground himself against her, she felt his tongue move mockingly against her fingertips, licking and darting in a sly imitation of cunnilingus.

'Look at the picture, pretty Dee,' he whispered as he reached up, took her hand, and drew it back down to her groin. Guiding her, he made her touch herself again, press her fingertip against her clitoris as he slipped two fingers of his own into the swimming channel of her vagina. 'Look at it. Isn't that what you want? Right here? With me?' His fingers waggled slightly and she moaned, the sound echoing betrayingly along the narrow balcony. Any second now some curious soul might turn the corner onto this deserted level and find a woman being vigorously masturbated, a man's hands moving at her breast and her sex.

This was bizarre. An hallucination. It had to be. She'd met this man literally minutes ago and now she was fingering her own body for him, rubbing herself at his command, giving herself pleasure to please
him
- while his own fingers were deep inside her. She rippled around him while her mind fought to believe what was happening. Her clitoris leapt beneath her touch, a throbbing blip, a promise of even better things to come.

'Yes, Dee, you do want it.' His voice was very quiet but utterly triumphant. The tiny, beautiful pre-orgasm had given her away completely. 'And you shall have it, my sweet girl. There against that little wall over there. Just like in the picture.' He lifted his hand from her breast to her chin, tilting up her face so she could do nothing but stare at the unbearably stimulating painting. 'Say yes, Dee,' he cajoled, flexing his supple wrist and plunging even deeper into her.

Her mind, her better judgement was screaming, 'No! Break away! Slap his face and run!' But she heard herself sob a faint, broken 'Yes'. Nothing else seemed possible . . .

'Come with me then.'

She expected him to remove his hand, take his fingers out of her body. But she blushed with mortification when he led her to the parapet just as she was: still penetrated, still immolated. Edging her towards the low wall, he almost steered her by her sex, his thumb taking control of her clitoris, using little dabs of pressure to guide her.

It was humiliating, but she couldn't help responding. Responding with a fervour she'd never felt in her more egalitarian sexual encounters. She'd always had the upper hand with her men, either by her wiles or the sheer force of personality. But here, with Jake, she was simply a hungry female creature he could manipulate. An object. A body. Flesh for his amusement. She'd never felt more alive and ready for sex in her life. She was sandwiched between his hand and his prodding erection and both of them enflamed her.

'Lift your dress,' he instructed when they reached the waist-high, white-painted barrier. Below them the glittering assembly still laughed and drank and tried to be blase about the red hot art on the walls - all the time totally oblivious that a far more outrageous tableau was being enacted above them.

Someone was going to look up, she was sure of it; and even if they could only see the upper part of her, the motion of lovemaking, the jerking, the leap of a body being thrust into, were all things that were impossible to mistake. How long, she wondered wildly, could she and Jake hope to remain alone?

'Please, no,' she pleaded, her voice hoarse.

'Please, yes,' he hissed back at her, a core of steel in the soft, sibilant sound. 'Lift your dress, Dee. You know it's what you want.' She made a murmur of protest when he reached down to begin the process himself; but nevertheless, she took hold of her full flowing skirt and raised it hesitantly to her waist.

'All of it, Dee.'

Handling the cloth clumsily, she managed to get it all out of the way, deeply embarrassed that the miniscule G-string was her only garment beneath and that the fruit-smooth rounds of her bottom were now on full display.

'Sublime . . .' She felt a fingertip trace its way across one full globe, dip into her uncovered crevice, then slide out again and delineate the other firm cheek. Without warning, he hooked his thumbs through the elastic at her waist and began teasing it downwards. In a couple of seconds he had the silly, ineffectual garment right down around her knees, and with his own knee, he nudged open her legs, stretching the scrap of black lace into an obscene elasticated bridge.

In her mind's eye she saw her own silky-skinned bottom, gleaming pale and nude like the woman's in the picture. There were no cane marks on her, but already she felt branded in other ways. This man had laid hands on her, had his fingers in her, and deep in some secret recess of her heart she knew she could never be the same again.

She felt a simmering heat both without and within her; her sex-flesh was naked now and shining wet. A trickle of love-juice ran like honey down her leg, and she could feel its slow explicit track as it crawled across her skin. Behind her, Jake would be able to see it, dribbling in plain sight down the smooth inner sweep of her thigh. She'd never seeped like this before, and she knew - without knowing why - that Jake himself was fully aware of the fact.

He was light on his feet, but she sensed him step closer. His hands gripped her bare buttocks and mounded them, just as he'd mounded her breasts.

'Beautiful,' he sighed into her ear, squeezing the taut •resilient flesh, then shifting it and massaging it in slow insulting circles that made her weep with shame . . . then climax with forbidden excitement. The sensation peaked unbearably when he opened her cheeks almost painfully wide and seemed to peer at the rose of her anus.

'Beautiful,' he whispered again, the word so tangible it seemed as if he'd touched her there, right on the tiny quivering hole.

She knew then that the woman in the picture was being buggered. It wasn't shown, it was just ancient female instinct that told her. The same instinct that told her Jake knew it too, that he had some special knowledge of the painting and its origins - and that he wanted to reproduce it, make it real on this balcony.

'No! Oh, please,' she gasped, but he was already too close, already unzipping: the sharp rasping sound a raw threat. 'Please, not that! Not here!'

As he leaned over her back, she was forced forward against the parapet and had to take her weight on one hand because the other was still clutching at her skirt. Beyond speech, she made a tiny mewing sound, a squeak of perfect fear.

'It's all right, my sweet Dee,' he reassured, his gentle tone more menacing than harshness would have been, 'Not here. Not now. But soon though . . .' She felt his penis sliding across her soft rear furrow, teasing the orifice that trembledig^temrr^oinis entry. He felt so big, so slippery r^'"!"The velvet skin of his glans was hot even to her, the one who should've felt it as cool. Repeatedly and wickedly, the rounded bulb probed impudently at her bottom, and as the mass of it pressed and almost entered, then slid away down her long juicy niche, she felt an irrational twinge of regret.

She'd been so scared he'd bugger her, scared of the pain, and even more scared of the huge loss of dignity; but now it wasn't going to happen she almost wanted it. It had been some years since she'd been a virgin, but suddenly with this strange new man, this vision, this presence from out of nowhere, she wanted something fresh to give. Something new and untouched that Jake could have the first bite of.

But before she could properly analyse her feelings, he was taking her, his long stiff penis forcing its way into her vagina, her satin membranes yielding exquisitely to his hot living bulk. Inclining her body forward, she felt faint, disorientated, aware only - for several long seconds - of his member pushing in, in, in; its entry long and sweet and total as his fingers crept down across her belly, then plunged into her bush, seeking and finding her clitoris. Her flesh jumped around him as he touched it, her inner walls twitching and caressing him of their own accord. She suppressed her groans, came softly, and felt the deepest, most female jubilation when he gasped against her ear in his pleasure.

'You're a hot little minx, my Dee,' he whispered, rotating his hips once, then sliding his fingers to and fro over her bud. She tasted blood in her mouth from sinking her teeth into her own lip. What he was doing was too great to be borne in silence, and yet she could not and must not cry out. The people below were waiting for her screams, waiting for her to moan out her ecstasy as he tantalised her tiny clitoral bead, worked it clear of its protecting hood, and flicked and pinched it until she wove her hips helplessly in response.

He was cooing softly against the back of her neck, gentling her in the way a skilled horseman would calm a restive filly. He was quieting her and soothing her, murmuring encouragements to pacify her, and all the time his fingertip moved relentlessly on the intimate nexus of her pleasure.

Deana felt as if her body was disassembling itself and breaking down into its constituent fluids. Tears trickled down her cheeks, sweat pooled in her armpits, between her breasts and in her groin, and her love-juice was running so freely around Jake's rigid cock that it overflowed out of her sex and seeped down her legs in silvery, slow-moving streams.

'I... I can't,' she whispered, her voice barely audible but what there was of it broken and panting.

'Yes, my Dee, you can,' was his answer as his fingertips rocked inexorably. To her dazed astonishment, she realised he'd barely even moved inside her yet; he'd entered to an unbelievable depth, stretching her tight, clingy passage in a way she'd rarely, if ever, experienced, but since his first long slow thrust he'd been still. Stock still, as if better to enjoy
her
spasms.

'Yes, you can, Dee,' he repeated implacably, 'I'm going to screw you now. And you're going to climax and you're going to want to yell and screech and howl.' He swirled his pelvis, and Deana had to drop the folds of her dress and cram her fist into her mouth to stop herself shouting. Sliding his free arm around her middle he pulled her back against him and sideways, then lowered their still joined bodies to the floor.

Pitching forward, elbows on the polished wood surface and her sweating face pressed against her forearm, Deana bit down on her own flesh as Jake began to thrust hard and fast. He was holding her hips steady to brace her, and it didn't seem to matter that he wasn't now touching her clitoris. Every push, every heave, every shove of his penis inside her seemed to impact on a screaming knot of nerves.

Climaxing hugely and continuously, her womb beating and pulsing against the marauding rod that possessed her, Deana felt her soul rise up and soar free. In that magnificent, almost crystalline moment, it no longer seemed necessary to cry out. She was floating like a star in a world of silent white glory, quite detached from her thrashing body and the dark force that was over and in her . . . Across the vastness of space, she heard Jake cry out very softly and felt his penis throb deep inside her.

It was the first time she'd really
felt
a man ejaculating inside her, felt his balls tighten at the moment of exquisiteness, and her mind came spinning back from the void to give it her whole attention. He was inundating her body with rapturous feelings, his jerking throbbing pleasure blending with hers and creating an entirely new beast altogether. She allowed herself to sob, to groan quietly, to whisper absurd thanks to her violator even as his weapon pulsed slowly inside her.

As they drew apart, she imagined a picture: two black clad forms rutting furiously on a polished wood floor, the most erotic image in the gallery, living sex, a command performance. She no longer cared if they'd been seen or heard; in fact she was surprised, as she struggled to her feet, to find that they were still alone. Pulling up her G-string she cringed at the wetness of her vulva. The juices. The sweat. She was awash, and she could feel it all flowing down her legs. Her silly flimsy underwear was soaked and she'd have to find somewhere private to clean herself.