Never: an erotic retelling of Peter Pan (20 page)

"Shut up, you noisy bitch," came the voice from below and she felt another sharp slap on her thigh.

"Leave her alone.  She can't help it."  Then more quietly.  "I wouldn't complain if she moaned while I was fuckin' her."

A couple of minutes later Dee whimpered again and received another slap.

"That's it!" said the voice beside her and she felt herself turned on to her side again.  There was a brief scuffle behind her and then a body coming hard against her back.  A thick shaft slid unerringly into the cavern that had made been ready and she cried out with the exquisite sensation as it plunged into her.  Then she was panting in earnest as the fire between her loins reached flash-point.

"Shut up, shut up," hissed the voice near their feet, but Dee was too aroused to care who heard.  The anonymity of her faceless lovers had been a powerful trigger, and now she was ready to explode.  "Oh, what the hell," she heard and felt the mouth that had driven her to the edge descend on her sexflesh again. 

Barely had it licked her twice before she bucked against the hips behind her and shuddered into a cataclysmic orgasm.  But still the shaft inside her pounded and the mouth over her clitoris clung and sucked the energy from her bones as she climaxed again and again.

Finally the sensations became painful, and as the hips behind her slapped into her taut buttocks and shuddered their own release, she was relieved to feel the mouth relinquish her.  Totally drained, she lay quiescent, her eyes still closed.

"Boys, boys, boys," she heard Xavion's voice from beside the bed.  "You just couldn't wait."

There was no reply, and Dee wondered what defence they could give.  She certainly wasn't going to complain about their performance.

"We didn't wake her, Xavion," said one.

"Yeah, she's still asleep.  See?" said the other as they slid off her bed. 

Dee let herself fall on to her back and concentrated again on her even breathing.

"I think you've fucked her into unconsciousness," Xavion said, and Dee wasn't sure if she'd heard humour in his voice.

"We didn't hurt her, honest."

"None the less, you disobeyed me."

"Oh, come on, Xavion.  Just this once?"

"Please?"

"You break the rules, you face the punishment."  This time there was definitely a note of humour in Xavion's voice, and as the offenders grumbled their way across the room he added, "And if you complain, I'll make you do it twice."

"Yeah.  He'd love that."

Dee felt no guilt over this punishment.  She'd hardly been an active participant, and beside, Xavion had instructed her to act from her nature.  She couldn't help it if she responded so easily to a man's touch.

Smiling to herself, she drifted back into a deep, and undisturbed slumber.

                                                   *  *  *

Pietre DeMartande leant back at his console, sipping mineral water from a Spanish crystal goblet.  Persian tapestries, stolen from a Spanish Warship in the late eighteenth century adorned the stone walls of this, his most private room, and underfoot lay a carpet of such exquisite Middle-Eastern craftsmanship, the decadence of actually walking on it was a sensual pleasure unto itself.

His underground Castle was laden with the rare and priceless, handed down from one generation of DeMartande to the next, but in this particular room Pietre had surrounded himself with the most exquisite.

All originally appropriated for their depiction of sexual excesses and the blood-thirsty violence that often accompanied such hedonism, they fed his psyche.

Also, surprisingly, they complemented the mass of technological hardware he'd installed.  The soft glow emitted by a video wall beyond his console blended harmoniously with the flickering of suspended candelabras, encapsulating the blend of ancient tradition and modern necessity that characterised his existence.

A replay from his surveillance camera files was in progress, and the scene filled the wall-screen before him in almost life-size proportion.  Pietre watched as Xavion led his Wendee across the cave to the fire, noting the various tensions within the 'tribe' he had created.  Christophe's reactions were of particular interest. 

He turned to his petite companion, a perfect miniature woman.  "I've entitled this scene 'The Jealous Virgin'."

"Christophe?  A virgin?"  His blonde partner tossed her head contemptuously, setting the tiny gold bells around her throat tinkling.  Below them, her cleavage bulged over the confines of her gold-leaf torsolette, much as Wendee's had when Pietre had first met her, but there was no stirring in his loins now, as there had been then. 

"I believe so," he replied,  "That is why I wouldn't let you have him, my darling."

Belle's tiny fingers, as small as a child’s, tightened on the sleeve of his black jacket.  "Stupid little technician, always fiddling with his computers.  I was never interested in him."

"But you are now."  Pietre returned his attention to the video screen where the Norwegian and the two Italians were watching Xavion penetrate Wendee by the fire.  Pietre noted that the homosexual had been covertly observing Christophe.

"Yes," Belle admitted, staring at the close up of Christophe face.  "Look at his eyes," she marvelled, then her mouth twisted into a moue of irritation, "He's never looked at me like that." 

"Because you have never touched his soul, my darling.  For reasons unknown, Wendee means something to our little friend and it tortures him."  Pietre was inordinately pleased by the idea. 

"Will you let Christophe have her?"  By the tone in her voice, Belle didn't favour the idea, which made it all the more appealing to Pietre.  He liked drama.

"Not until he's suffered more.  He must earn her." 

Pietre clicked back to the file screen and selected another replay.  Christophe, spreadeagled on the rock wall filled the space before them.

"What's this?  The crucifixion?"

"Very good, Belle," Pietre said, "But I prefer, 'Virgin on the Rocks."

Belle laughed, a short barking sound then turned away from the image as though unable to bear watching it.  "Marco called earlier.  The K2's were fine, but they're getting nuke hungry."

Pietre let the deliberate change of subject go unremarked, concentrating on the business.  "Could be a high-profit month."  They smiled at each other.  "Let’s buy ourselves bordello?"

Belle's laughter tinkled around the room.  "I'll call Marco."

"Thank you, my darling," Pietre replied absently.  "I want to study our Wendee a while longer."

Belle moved away, but when he glanced up a moment later he found her hesitating at the door, her small hand closed over the heavy brass doorknob with spider like delicacy.  The contrast between her fragile exterior and the inherent cruelty he knew to be in her had never been more striking. 

He licked his lips, letting the contrast work on him, remembering the times that small hand had wielded a whip with savage efficiency.  The pain - endless pain, alternated with the most exquisite pleasures she could devise.  Pietre remembered that more than one lover had gone insane under her ministrations. 

"Don't fall in love with her," Belle warned lightly, and Pietre pulled back from his reverie to address the underlying concern in her voice.  Was it possible that his Belle, his ruttish, swaggering pixie was feeling threatened by their latest player? 

He glanced back at the screen, at Belle's perceived
antagonist
.  "So convenient that this one is named Wendee, though.  Isn't it?" he remarked guilelessly.  "I've waited so long for a Wendee."

There was a telling pause, then, "She's not beautiful." 

To her credit, Belle had tried to sound objective but Pietre sensed the spite.

"No," he agreed, "not beautiful, despite Christophe's eager avowals.  But she has something."  He stared at the screen.  "There's a knowingness in her eyes, an invitation.  And her lips are very full.  See."  He paused the scene before them. 

Wendee was watching Christophe as Xavion thrust into her from behind.  Her lips were pouted seductively.

"Looks like she wants to suck cock," Belle observed.

"Yes, Christophe's I would say, from the way she's watching Josh."  Pietre let the scene continue to the point where the boy opened his eyes.  "Such pain," he said appreciatively, feeling Christophe's tortured eyes move him, just as they had Wendee. 

He watched the boy's reluctant orgasm, then replayed the scene to concentrate on Wendee's.  "She really is a hedonistic creature.  I wonder if she realises it yet?"