Never: an erotic retelling of Peter Pan (57 page)

Admiration. 

With his courtly manners and genteel wooing, he had uncovered subtle facets of her personality - coquetries and nuances of seduction she'd forgotten in her rush for experience.

Her naked body was often on display, but Pietre appeared intent on appreciating her 'uniqueness', as he called it, looking beyond her genitals to search for who she
could
be.  Who she would be.

But it wasn't only his interest in her character that drew her in.  It was everything about him.  With his narrow, aristocratic face - pale and fine boned, topped by raven's-wing hair falling from a widow-peak to brush the shoulders of his customary black suit, he carried an air of isolation that stirred her imagination as well as her sympathy. 

And yet counterpoised against that romantic image was the realisation that he was the master of his domain, an autocrat accustomed to complete obedience.

Pietre DeMartande was her beau-ideal. 

And he was also a puzzle, a riddle to be solved, for each time he called on her she was fascinated anew - as though he were a series of Chinese boxes, one opening to reveal another, each with a different pattern, each more interesting than the last. 

On her second day back with Pietre, he'd surprised her with a present.  She'd awoken to find a small velvet box on the pillow beside her.  Inside had been a key crafted of delicate gold which at first glance had appeared to be a piece of jewellery, but this was not the case. 

An enclosed card had led her to a scented camphorwood wardrobe newly installed in her dressing room and after some experimentation, she discovered the key opened one side of it.  Feeling like Alice in Wonderland, she'd half expected to find a man inside with an instruction on his penis to 'eat me'.

There had been no man, but Dee had been far from disappointed, for inside the wardrobe she'd found an array of costumes - all in her size - whose collective colourful beauty had been surpassed only by the intricacy of each individual item.  Even the arrangement of the clothes had been such that she'd felt sure an artist must have been employed to place each piece.

Here, a peacock-blue satin sleeve encrusted with silver.  There, the verdant plush of an emerald velvet cloak trimmed in crisp black lace.  Elsewhere and of every hue, diaphanous chiffons, liquid silks, stiff denims and sumptuous furs. 

On the shelf below stood the accompanying footwear, reflecting every facet of their costume's colour and style.  All in her size.  Above, boxes containing jewellery, hats, accessories.

'Dressing-up' clothes for an adult.

A narrow locker down one side of the wardrobe, appeared to require a different key, but she'd not troubled herself with the oversight.  Pietre, when questioned on his next visit, had given her an odd, sad smile, explaining that its contents were specific to a purpose and that the time had not yet come for that purpose to be fulfilled.

Dee thought no more of it - Armande's weeks of repressive training had conditioned her to passive acceptance.  Instead, she busied herself experimenting with the presents she'd already been given.  Pietre saw her as a fringed Go-Go dancer, a Choirboy, a Matador, a Grecian huntress, a Polynesian princess, and a Cossack.

Becoming someone else came so easily, she began to forget who she really was.  Or even if it was necessary to remember.  More important to Dee was the knowledge that her transformations from tiara'd regent to beer-swilling bar-wench appeared to animate Pietre - to enchant him.

Deliberately then, she put all her sublimated sexual energy into creating each character, giving them their own name and history which she introduced in the appropriate voice.  And Pietre would be drawn into the game, interrogating her, testing her imagination and her knowledge of history.  He would argue and laugh, coax, tease and command as he helped her embellish each persona until it felt so real to her that she was lost in it - believing her flesh was the flesh of this person who had made Pietre come alive. 

Eventually, however, the moment would come when he would bid her farewell - a low bow to the regent, a suggestive remark to the wench, or a salute to the soldier.  And then she was alone.  The garments came off and she slowly reverted to... the middle.  To the real Wendee, if there was still such a person.

It was like her work for Armande, and yet unlike.  One thing was exactly the same though.  Pietre never touched her.

Luckily, she had not made the mistake of believing Pietre had stepped straight past voyeurism into action as she had done with Billy.  Despite their rapport, she could feel the invisible barrier between them - a barrier she was unsure Pietre wanted breached.

Yet she had a sense he was trying to ease his way toward her, like a blind man unsure of what his hands might meet. 

Once, when she'd danced close by him, she'd seen his eyes slide shut, his fine nostrils flaring as he'd drawn in her scent, his body quivering slightly, as though the subtle combination of perfume and the warmth of her glowing skin had been frightening in its intensity. 

Dee came to wonder at the sensitivity of his body.  He treated her as though her skin radiated such intense desire that his fingers would burn at the contact.  He touched her clothes - his long fingers perhaps ruffling the sable trim of a low-cut bodice - but the breasts that thrust above were never accidentally brushed, except by his gaze.

It was a subtler intercourse than she had become used to, yet it was sex.  Lacking the completion of orgasm, but sex all the same.  The sort of sex that lasted for days, fuelled by a glance or a word - the sound of his voice, that husky undertone, and those eyes staring into hers.  It didn't matter what he said.  All that mattered was her reaction.

In his presence her eyes grew languid and sultry, in tune with the febrile pulsing of her body.  Her silks and furs rubbed against tormented nipples and damp, throbbing petals of skin that longed to be opened and stroked.  The cool fabrics made her crave his cool fingers and the sensation of weight - of his chest pressing down on her breasts.

Pietre could see this in her eyes, she was sure, yet their meetings remained tantalisingly coy.  The sex was all inside her mind.  But Dee was patient.  The barrier between them was growing thinner as the radiations from her hungry skin dissolved it.  Soon, would come a day when the barrier would be a wisp of momentary fear, a breath of hesitation, and then they would be through. 

She longed for that day, and yet would not hurry it.   And while she waited, she fantasised.  She imagined touching him, sneaking into his private suite as he lay naked in his bed watching her files.  She would crawl under the covers at the foot of his bed and slither up between his legs as stealthily as a snake, her tongue flicking out to tease the flesh of his inner thighs. 

He would stir, his legs moving restlessly as he wondered at these strange sensations.  Then he would become still and at that moment she would take his lax penis into her mouth to suck and flick it with that serpent tongue until -

"You have found something that excites you, my dear?"

Dee's head snapped up, her eyes opening in surprise.  Pietre was leaning back against the closed door.

"Peter," she said, rather too loudly, then realised her hands were at her throat, fondling the bead necklace Long Shadow had given her.  She dropped them into her lap.  "I didn't hear you... enter."

She'd been about to say, knock, but somehow that didn't seem polite.  It was his castle.  He didn't have to knock if he didn't want to.  "I was daydreaming," she explained, straightening in the chair, watching him step away from the door and walk towards her, his movements as always, smooth and elegant.

The superbly tailored black suit offered an outline of the body beneath, but Dee seemed unable to stop daydreaming.  She pictured him naked, his penis swaying between those lean hips - imagined the length of it growing, stiffening as she stared at it in open appreciation.

"I've brought you a present," he said, stopping beside her.

Did he know what she was thinking?

She dragged her gaze upwards from his crotch.  "A present?" she repeated to keep the conversation going.  She wasn't sure what would happen if she didn't.

"Yes.  A present."  He frowned, bemused, then glanced at the blank computer screen.  "You were not viewing a file?"

"No.  I couldn't..." she swallowed, realising suddenly that he'd stopped very close to her.  "I couldn't remember the access code."  She'd worked herself up into a state of sexual excitement and now couldn't seem to pull back.

"I'll write it down for you," he promised, delving into his trouser pocket.  She heard a faint jangle, then he withdrew something enclosed in a fist which he offered her.

Tentatively, she placed her cupped hands beneath it and he opened his fingers, careful not to touch hers.  The thing fell into her hand and he withdrew his.  Dee looked down.  In her palm lay a jumble of burnished silver interspersed with flashes of molten red.  Rubies.  Enormous rubies.  Finding the ends, she held up the necklace, awed by the size of the stones and the boldness of their setting.   

"This must be worth..."  She couldn't guess. 

Superficially, it appeared to be an antique, like much of the other Spanish pirate booty that adorned her suite, but on closer inspection, the stylisation was too modern and the -

"My God."  She tilted it slightly, into a better light.  "It's two people.  And they're... "

"A man and a woman," he confirmed.  "Their hands join at the clasp and their bodies stretch down to meet here."  He pointed to the largest ruby in the setting, the ruby that concealed what Dee could see from her side, a perfectly miniaturised penis that, with every movement of their bodies, would penetrate the equally tiny vagina of his gilded mistress.