Gemini Heat (9 page)

She was a spectacle. A show. A helpless female thing stimulated before a servant for the master's amusement. She felt shamed in a way she'd never experienced before, and yet still she came, her pleasure huge, somehow greater
because
of the humiliation.

'That will be all, Fargo,' said the quiet, disturbing voice of the man who'd abused her. The chauffeur turned away as he was bidden, leaving Deana exposed - her flesh moist and rippling - to the hot, heavy air of the city.

'Come along, Dee,' Jake continued smoothly as Deana cringed back. She was scared that at any moment a stranger might pass along the pavement, look in, and see her soft, pink sex uncovered and still beating slightly.

Numbed, and feeling like a prisoner in a weird, pornographic half-dream, she bent down to pull up her knickers.

'No, I think not,' he said, reaching down at her side, quickly disentangling the silk garment from her ankles then sliding it off over her shoes, 'I prefer you uncovered.'

For one terrifying moment, she thought he was going to make her alight from the car with her pubis still exposed: but he made no demur as she eased down her slim leather skirt, set her bustier straight, then snatched up her bag and scrambled from the vehicle as if she had the devil on her tail. She dared not look towards the front seat where Fargo sat unmoving, but as she glanced back into the car's interior, she saw Jake drop her panties onto the middle of the black leather seat. He seemed to study them for a second, then he grinned wickedly and joined her on the pavement, stepping lightly from the car with his familiar effortless grace.

Still smiling, he took her by the arm and led her towards an elegant Mayfair town house.

The place was innocuous and mysterious and its frontage bore no label or sign. Except for the gleaming brass numeral 'Seventeen' in the middle of its dark-painted door.

Chapter Four

'Seventeen'

L
ooking Deana straight in the eye, Jake pressed the doorbell, then spoke the words 'de Guile' into the grid of a discreet security entryphone. His eyes were smokey and shadowed in the just-softening light of evening, but nevertheless their frankness seared her. She was acutely aware of the bare flesh between her thighs, and the gooeyness of her sex as she walked, and that Jake had knowledge of these things. He was surveying what he'd so recently exposed and enjoyed, looking straight through her clothes with those erotic, electric eyes of his and revelling in what he'd done to her body. She felt intense relief that her skirt was leather and substantial, because anything flimsy would've been soaked with her juices the minute she sat down again.

The door swung soundlessly open and a man in a dinner suit let them in; greeting Jake with quiet obsequiousness and totally ignoring Deana. She felt as if the flunky had seen what'd happened in the car as surely as the silent Fargo had. Jake escorted her inside with exquisite politeness and solicitude, but it was obvious that to the
mditre d'
- or whoever he was - she was purely her master's sex toy.

Inside, the house was an elegant neutral no-place. There was no way to tell if it was a private home, a club of some kind, or even a high-class brothel. Without knowing why, Deana had a feeling it could well be all three at once, but as they were ushered into a long, spacious, dimly lit room, the impression of a club was uppermost.

There was a cleared, slightly raised area at one end of the room, which - covered in polished boards - was obviously an impromptu stage. A number of white clothed tables were scattered in the gloomy foreground, and at them, groups of people sat laughing and chatting in hushed but expectant tones. Some of them turned and stared when she and Jake passed by, and for one hideous moment, Deana wondered if
she
might be the show!

They were led to one of the tables, however, and after she'd almost fallen into her seat with relief, she relaxed and looked around. In wonder.

'Seventeen' was no ordinary house, and certainly no ordinary club. She and Jake were perhaps the most conservatively-dressed of its patrons, and if she hadn't "been wearing a leather skirt and high heels, she would've felt even more of an alien.

An elegantly made-up black woman at the next table appeared to be dressed completely in leather. Skin-tight patent encased all that could be seen of her body above the table, and even as Deana watched her, she peeled open a zippered aperture in her bodice, exposed one huge chocolate coloured, cherry-tipped breast, and offered it to the man at her side to suck. He seemed almost ecstatic to do this; mainly because there was no way he could touch her. His hands lay awkwardly on the white cloth in front of him, manacled in heavy steel handcuffs. As far as Deana could tell, these shackles were all that he wore.

Astounded, she turned away and looked across the expanse of their own table to the one beyond, at Jake's side.

Its sole occupant - a distinguishedly handsome grey-haired man in evening dress - seemed, at first glance, to be having a heart attack. On the point of alerting Jake, Deana abruptly stopped short and caught her breath.

Suddenly, she recognised the distinctive way in which the man was grunting and jerking. Enlightened and excited, she heard him groan eloquently, then watched as he threw back his head, clawed at the white napery before him, and nearly knocked over his glass of champagne.

For a few moments, the man sat perfectly still - only to stir and smile indulgently when a slim young woman with straight dark hair wriggled out from beneath the table-cloth and sat down meekly at his side. She wasn't as naked as the pleasure giver at the other table, but her clothing was more erotic than nudity could ever be. Narrow black leather straps encased the whole of her body like a tailored-to-fit cage. Her exposed white breasts were especially constricted, bulging out painfully as if they'd been stuffed through a pair of matching steel rings which were rather too small for their mass. Rousing from his post-orgasmic stupor, her grey-haired companion reached out and pinched one of her nipples. The girl sobbed.

'What is this place?' hissed Deana, breaking out of her shock and torpor.

'This is "Seventeen", Dee,' Jake whispered back to her, patting her hand, his soft white shirt like a cool fire brushing her arm. 'Now shush, will you? There's a show about to begin.'

Too thunderstruck to argue, Deana obeyed. Good grief, we're in a madhouse, she thought as a woman dressed as a French maid brought champagne and glasses to their table. What sort of show does an audience like this expect?

After a couple of seconds the lighting began to dim even further and concealed spotlights swung around on to the raised stage area. Jake and Deana were sitting quite close to whatever was going to happen, and it occurred to her then that they'd been given the best table in the house. Jake put a glass of champagne into her hand, and when she took a grateful sip, she realised that the wine too was probably amongst the finest available.

He's perfectly at home here, she observed to herself as some softly weaving and vaguely eastern music started playing. This is a fetish club and he's an honoured guest. What the hell have I got myself involved in?

Got
us
involved in, she amended, remembering the deception and wondering what oh-so-straight Delia would think of 'Seventeen' and its patrons. Shifting uneasily on her seat, which was covered - surprise surprise - in fine soft leather, Deana cringed as her naked sex seemed to squelch and suck like a mouth. Unlike Jake, she
wasn't
at home here, but there was no doubt that the place did excite her.

With no advance warning, two figures suddenly appeared in the bright, white circle of light. Two men. One was slight, long haired and blond; the other huge, black and almost grotesquely muscled. Both were artfully made up, far more so than Deana herself, and both were completely naked, their glossy, depilated bodies enhanced by a bright film of oil.

As the music grew louder and more complex, the men began to move to its rhythms, coiling their limbs around each other and writhing in a slow sensual ballet. Their hands roved over one another's bodies, and as they worked and wriggled and fondled, within seconds they both had erections. Secret signals seemed to pass between them, and turning to face one another, they each put their hands on their hips, bent their knees lewdly and began to duel with their stiff gleaming organs. First the blond, then the black man, each dancer would smear the tip of his penis against the belly and sex of his partner . . .

Deana found it so entrancing it was painful. Her own body ached with an echo of their lust and she knew exactly what she wanted them to do to each other. Like lovers in reality, though, they were teasing and playing. Jousting, it seemed, with their intimate and mutual stiffness.

What's all this doing to the rest of the audience? she wondered. Her own sex, primed by Jake in the car, was simmering and bursting with need. She felt heavily engorged. It was uncomfortable just to sit, and surreptitiously - as the two men's hips bounced and jerked -she eased her warm legs slightly apart. The urge to slide her fingers down beneath the table was overwhelming, and she knew that if she did so, she wouldn't be the only masturbatrix in the room. She was probably in the minority now in
not
touching herself, but the scene was too new for her to succumb. Without thinking, she tore her eyes away from the gyrating bodies on the stage and turned in the darkness towards Jake.

Her nemesis was smiling and relaxed. And looking straight at her. As their eyes met, he slowly licked his lips, then slid one hand beneath the table-cloth. When he had obviously found his target, his body bumped slightly as a signal ... To her.

What is it with you? she demanded - in silence because she dared not speak. This was a gay scene being enacted, yet plainly Jake found it arousing. And that fact only aggravated
her
arousal. There was no doubt now that he was stroking himself and Deana nearly whimpered aloud at the thought. She remembered the one time she'd seen his penis - in the afterglow, on that blessed white balcony. And she thought of it now, how it must be and feel, its rampant thickness compressed beneath the leather of his trousers. He gasped very softly and she wondered if he'd unzipped himself to give ease to his pain-tinged pleasure . . . But then a louder more universal gasp returned her fevered attention to the stage. To the light and the sleekly oiled men.

They were combined in a new way now, the blond sprawled across the other's back; not quite the arrangement Deana had expected. She'd assumed that the bigger man would be dominant in the final, inevitable act; but no, it was the smaller male, the blond. He was biting the sheened ebony shoulders of his partner, and pushing stiff red sex into the groove of his dark bottom. They were almost there now, almost copulating, and the audience was gasping again. Some did more than gasp when the black man leaned over, set his legs strongly wide, then reached back to open the way for his partner. With a cool, impassive care, he held open his own buttocks with his fingers. The blond then surged forward, his penis stabbing like a weapon, and jammed himself into his target.

As the black man groaned loud and joyously and began working himself back on the invasion, Deana too had to bow to the sexual imperative. Blushing and sweating freely, she became aware of Jake's hard scrutiny. But it changed nothing . . . Working her skirt upwards under cover of the table-cloth, she set her thighs wide apart on the chair.

'Yes!' she heard softly from nearby, while everyone else was cheering the sodomites. 'Do it, Dee,' he purred. 'Lift your skirt up and touch yourself. I want to see you come . . . Now!'

'I can't!' she protested. If she pulled her skirt up far enough to masturbate, her stockinged thighs and naked bottom would be on clear view through the open back of the chair.

'Don't disappoint me, Dee.' The threat was whispered but clear, and driven by its power, she shifted her rump on the seat and pulled clumsily at her slim leather skirt. As she eased it upwards, she shuddered, knowing what was now quite revealed. Her only comfort was a peripheral awareness of similar things happening all around her.

Her vulva was awash when she touched it, the lips enormously swollen and her clitoris pushed out and irritated. The tiny bud had been aroused too much already tonight and when she touched it herself, it was tenderly painful. Sharp discomfort sliced through her, but even so she flicked it and rubbed. Her juices flowed faster than ever, and she cried out softly as an orgasm rushed in and engulfed her.

The pleasure was sudden and unexpected. It seemed to drag her deep inside herself and away from her shadowed surroundings. Detachedly, she wondered how such an intimate, almost religious experience could occur amongst a throng of perfect strangers. How something so personal could be shown in public. Shown by herself, and by the men on the platform.

In spite of her soreness, she began caressing herself again as she watched them. The blond was obviously climaxing now, his tight buttocks tensing as he rose on his toes and rammed. Deana half expected him to reach around and bring ease to his huge dark partner, but he didn't. He clung tightly to the black man's narrow hips; selfishly increasing his own leverage with no thought for the other man's erection. His partner's penis seemed to quiver in mid-air, then leapt like a stranded fish and disgorged his white semen from its tip. Deana had never seen such a sight - great long creamy strings, jetting out and landing on the stage. She could even hear the impact of the droplets as they fell on the hard polished boards.