Seduce Me (5 page)

The girls formed a deep and lasting friendship, they went out pubbing and clubbing, sometimes going home together, sometimes alone, and sometimes with a man. From time to time they'd spend a whole weekend at Gina's flat just chilling. Usually treating themselves to champagne or at least a decent wine. One of them would cook, they would massage each other, and the sex was amazing. An impressive collection of toys filled the drawer as their lively imaginations invented role-play games, occasionally with a bit of S&M. They'd tried it both ways, but by mutual consent it was Abi who tended to take the dominant role, she was more ingenious – and definitely slightly crueller. Twice now they'd shared a man, and Abi quickly realised how easy it was to manipulate the male ego into performing whatever she desired for herself or Gina.

As she had since her youth, Abi gravitated towards the celeb hotspots, now often taking Gina with her, and it was partially because of this that Alan, Gina's boss, had asked her along to help entertain a big talent agent, who might just offer Alan a run of gigs to cater. He knew the two hip girls looked good, and would be at home in a top club environment, so it was dinner at the new Quaglino's and on to Tramp.

‘Biggy' Bardino was the American boss of the agency and he'd brought Peter Lipton, head of their London office, with him for the evening – a promising start for Alan! Abi found herself being monopolised by Biggy and, although he was obviously a shrewd hard-headed bastard, she couldn't help liking him. He was fifty eight, overweight with receding grey hair, but witty and charming – in fact very good company. He enjoyed that ability which some Americans seem to possess of being direct to the point of rudeness, but somehow able to get you to reveal confidences.

“So whaddya wanna do girl? I mean really wanna do!”

Abi told him her dream. “I want to be a ‘Fixer'. Specifically a Pleasure Fixer.”

“You mean like a Hooker or a Madame? Hell that ain't so hard. Not much of an ambition though.”

“Nothing like that. I've watched the rich and famous from all over the world totally unable to enjoy themselves. They're at the mercy of their fame – either the paparazzi, or some jerk demanding an autograph, hit on them wherever they go. Mostly they can't enjoy even the simplest pleasures without an army of bodyguards or a faceful of photoflash. I would be the Manager of their discretion.”

“And what makes you think anyone would buy this? I don't think you understand quite how vain some of these guys are.”

“Oh I know there's plenty who need the buzz of recognition. Despite their tantrums they'd collapse if they weren't in the news. But that would help me you see – 'cos they wouldn't be my clients.”

“Ok, so Brad and Angelina want to go see The Stones – but they want to be in the crowd, not in the spotlight, and have an intimate meal out after. Over to you.”

“Not too tough. Look-alikes, a little make-up and a little research.”

“Ok Buffy – don't mind if I call you Buffy do you? Look just like her, a little bigger of course, but then that just makes you more beautiful.”

Abi glowed at the compliment, even blushing a little, somehow it didn't seem corny because of the warmth in his voice.

“Ok Buffy, so give! How do you perform this miracle?”

“Well first they get tickets for the Royal Box, Restricted Area or whatever. Before the gig they go to a reception held in a private suite. Press are excluded. Then the switch happens. The look-alikes are hustled out into the waiting limo. Brad and Angelina are left behind getting a light make-up job, maybe a wash-out tint, glasses and a tash.”

“And the same for Brad?”

“Very funny. Then they join a select little group of me and a few anonymous, definitely non-famous, friends and we all head for the gig like anyone else. My researchers will have told me what other celebs are at the gig, and we make sure the paparazzi know all about them, just to help keep them busy. Maybe even buy tickets for the latest B-listers who are causing a scandal. So – concert over, we grab a couple of minicabs and head off to the most fabulous little Italian restaurant I know, which hasn't been discovered yet by the rest of the world, and they get a table to themselves, a great candlelit dinner, a bottle of Chianti – and peace!”

The first job she got from Biggy was to fix up the latest James Bond with a tennis partner he couldn't thrash, and without a crowd of onlookers to spoil his game, this guy was a tennis obsessive! He gave her an unlimited budget, so when she found out that Rafa Nadal loved scuba diving and all water sports, and that Richard Branson's island was available, it was a cinch. She was cunningly choosy about the assignments she accepted, always being sure she could deliver, and not afraid to say no. Failure was not an option in this game.

Some months later, with her clientele growing and some big names using her number, Abi was sitting in her discreet little office above the hubbub of Oxford Street, making plans and contacts, when the phone rang.

“Hey, Buffy! Howya doin beautiful?”

“Good thanks, Biggy.” replied Abi with genuine affection “How about you?”

“I'm great kid – but rushing as always. Listen, I've got Christian Warden in London, and I've told him all about you, he wants a meet to talk about some stuff. Can do?”

“Of course, my pleasure! He's about the hunkiest bunch of hormones on screen! Where is he?”

“Being chased down at the Ritz.”

“Don't worry I'll fix him an apartment in Chelsea where they'll never find him. Give me a number.”

Christian Warden – wow! She put the phone down and picked it up again straightaway.

“Gina, put your glad rags on. Have I got a treat for you! I'll pick you up at eight.”

She eased the slightly milky silk stocking up her leg, and fastened it to a suspender clip dangling from the hand-made duck-egg blue corset, trimmed with a deep midnight lace. She never seemed to get a perfect fit from sixteen or eighteen so mentally called herself a size seventeen, but tailoring had to be the answer when she wanted to look her best. For instance these perfectly cut directoire knickers, fitting snugly across her lower abdomen, and scraping excitingly across the little triangle of bristle kept neatly trimmed at the top of her pussy, before slightly biting into the crease below. This time it was her own pleasure she'd fix!

With help from staff, she'd smuggled him out of the Ritz. He'd loved the apartment, he'd loved the champagne, he'd loved the Vietnamese take-away, and Gina had brought some great music and a little coke. And yes – he really was adorably charming and impossibly handsome!

“So Biggy says there's nothing you can't do – well I've got a bit of a list, maybe we could start to go through it?”

“Christian, I've never said this to a client before, but do you mind if we leave that 'til the morning.”

“No problem. So what would you like to do tonight?”

Abi came up to him and placed one hand confidentially over his. “Well I need some really good sex – and so does Gina.”

They stood up and began to strip. “Maybe we can put on a little private cabaret for you.”

Twenty minutes later Gina was leant over the back of a chair, naked except for a thin gold slave chain round her waist. Abi stood in her glorious underwear, the belt from Christian's trousers dangling from her hand as the crack of her last stroke died away – she turned from Gina's rosily striped cheeks towards the bedroom.

“Follow me, slut!”

Gina rose and crossed the room submissively. As she went past Christian she reached down for the powerful erection he'd been stroking, and brought him with her. She whispered in his ear, slipping something into his hand.

Abi lay naked on the bed as the other two approached. Gina slithered down so they faced each other and kissed her friend tenderly.

“That hurt, you know.”

“Good. It's what you wanted.”

Gina's arms encircled her lover and smiled with anticipation as her leg hooked over Abi's and brought it forward – the movement exposed all of Abi's secrets.

Abi glimpsed the powerful figure of the unbelievably sexy film star lubricating his thick cock with the gel that Gina had passed to him.

“Mmmn. Thank you. I'll suck him hard again for you afterwards.”

“I've told him you need it deep and strong.”

“Mmmn,” gurgled Abi again with a shiver.

“In the arse,” added Gina tightening her grip so there was no escape.

Abi loved her job!

Shadow Play
by Jennie Treverton

Mirabelle and Adrian were having their first fuck in their new tent, when without warning Adrian pulled his cock out of her and said, ‘Oh shit!'

Mirabelle yelped with shock. Adrian jumped up, grabbed the gas lantern and turned the light down as low as it would go.

‘What on earth are you doing?' said Mirabelle, trembling with fury. ‘That was so not the moment to bloody well …'

She rubbed her clit, all hard and alive and abandoned.

‘Darling, do you realise what we were doing just then?' he said, crouching down next to her. ‘That light was giving everyone else on the campsite a detailed view of us having sex!'

‘No, surely not.'

‘Yes, I promise. What on earth was I thinking?'

He slapped his forehead.

‘You're paranoid. Anyway, who cares? Look, here.'

She opened her legs and spread her lips apart.

‘Can't you see what a state I'm in? Quick!'

‘Of course, my darling, I'm sorry.'

In fact he could hardly see her in the gloom, but he could feel her arousal very well. He got his head down and stuck his tongue in her cunt, licking her to orgasm within seconds while pulling himself off.

When they'd got their breath back she turned to him and said, ‘I don't think you could be right about the shadow thing. It wasn't the right angle for a start. And anyway, that doesn't really happen except in stupid seventies films.'

‘You don't believe me? Go and check for yourself. I'll set it up.'

He turned the light up full and placed it exactly where it had stood while they were screwing. Mirabelle pulled her dress on, unzipped the tent and went out. It was quite dark by now but the campsite was still busy. People were sitting at tables outside their tents and caravans, having dinner and drinking wine by lantern-light. If anyone had seen them, thought Mirabelle, she should be able to tell because they'd be staring, surely? But nobody seemed to look at her.

In truth, the thought that they might have been putting on a show for some unseen audience had made her even hotter in that moment. It had been quite an unexpected extra thrill. She was almost disappointed not to see anybody out here grinning dirtily at her.

‘Mirabelle?' came Adrian's voice. ‘How many fingers am I holding up?'

She walked away a few steps, turned and looked at the side of the tent.

There was an almost perfect outline of Adrian standing up, holding two fingers in the air. She could even see the short curls sticking out over his ears and the peaks in the line of his shoulders. The shadow was a little distorted, curving towards the bottom and getting wider and fuzzier until his feet disappeared, his legs like tree-trunks growing out of the ground. But everything from the knees up was razor sharp.

‘Well?' he called. ‘How many?'

‘Um, is it four?'

‘Four fingers? Are you sure?'

‘Look, I really can't tell, you know. It's too blurry.'

‘Oh,' said Adrian, sounding doubtful.

‘It's just a sort of shadowy mess. You can hardly even tell it's a person.'

Mirabelle smiled to herself.

‘Oh, right,' he said. ‘Well, I stand corrected.'

*                      *                      *

The next day Mirabelle went to the beach to sunbathe while Adrian did some ‘maintenance work', as he called it, checking seams, twanging guide-ropes, filling water-bottles. He'd been wanting to go on a camping holiday ever since they'd first got together more than three years ago, but each summer Mirabelle's choice had won. This year he'd summoned his courage, and in an obviously rehearsed speech he'd told her that he was sick to death of airports, and she'd love camping if only she'd give it a go, and she'd love Cornwall and she'd love the beaches especially.

Actually, it turned out he was right. This beach was small enough to be intimate, nestled in a curve of high cliff. It was only five minutes' walk from the campsite and she anticipated spending lots of time here, in this sheltered spot behind a fallen crag, if the sun stayed as warm as it was now. She lay back on her lilo, wearing her new purple and blue bikini and big sunglasses. She felt the breeze lapping at her edges and the sun heating her skin. She began to feel lazy and full, like a summer fruit hanging on a vine, and she stretched her arms out, putting her hands behind her head. Her fingers raked through her thick dark hair and rested on the nape of her neck. She spread apart and wiggled her sandy toes.

A shadow passed across her. She opened her eyes and saw Adrian, looking pissed off.

‘Oh, hello,' she said.

‘You're not going to believe this. We've just been landed with the neighbours from hell.'

Adrian had chosen a pitch among the trees towards the edge of the field, a little away from the tangle of tents in the middle, so that they'd have a bit of extra space around them. However, there was now another tent a couple of metres to the side of theirs. It looked quite old and shabby with strips of gaffer-tape on it and speckly patches of mould. The inhabitants weren't around but there were some carrier bags lying on the ground and some plastic six-pack rings.

‘Look,' said Adrian contemptuously. ‘They haven't been here five minutes and they've already started littering.'

‘Who are they then? Have you seen them?'

‘Yeah, they came in driving a knackered old Astra. There's about six of them. Boys, boy-racers, whatever you want to call them. Chavs, basically.'

‘You're such a snob, Adrian.'

‘Don't have a go at me, I'm just telling the truth, that's all. You'll know what I mean when you see them. They're so bloody loud. They're going to make this holiday a sodding nightmare.'

‘Oh dear. Well, maybe they won't be too bad. We'll just have to see.'

Adrian started picking up the bags and plastic rings, huffing and tutting.

‘It's not your mess, Adrian, leave it.'

‘That's not the point, it's the general state of things, isn't it. Oh, I don't know.'

He stood up and wiped his forehead.

‘I'd like to have a word with Mr Kenwald and find out what he thinks he's doing, putting a load of hooligans next to us. Can't he find a more isolated place for them?'

Mirabelle thought that Adrian had probably chosen the most isolated spot already. She expected Mr Kenwald was thinking of the other campers. But she thought she'd better not say that to Adrian.

In the distance there was an aggressive farting sound. It grew louder and louder and then an old white Vauxhall Astra appeared.

‘Oh, hurrah,' said Adrian.

The car trundled across and parked under the trees. They piled out, in high spirits, carrying more plastic bags filled with bottles and beer cans. The eldest boy must have been about twenty, Mirabelle thought, and the youngest about sixteen or seventeen. Most of them were rather unhealthy-looking with pale skin and spotty jowls. They had a sort of uniform, consisting of American football shirts, checked baseball caps, and gold chains. They had a sort of language too, a gabble of filth: it was all
fucking bollocks
and
fucking shite
and
what the fucking cunt?
Mirabelle wasn't sure whether to be frightened of them or not. They were all guffawing at each other's jokes and monkeying about the place, but she thought that somehow they didn't look such bad boys. One in particular caught her eye, one of the younger ones, who had wavy reddish-brown hair and freckles. He was a slender boy with long legs, narrow hips and a long back, and high, square shoulders like Adrian's. He had such a cute face with a pink Cupid's bow mouth. But he was so close to manhood, he reeked of it. He was so ready. And there was a knowingness in his eyes too, an eagerness. She couldn't take her eyes off him.

Mirabelle was quite shocked by her thoughts. Perving at boys more than ten years younger than herself!

They'd noticed her now. They were glancing naughtily at her and laughing at each other's hand gestures. She couldn't quite decipher what the fists and fingers meant. They were obviously in-jokes of some kind.

She wondered how many of them were still virgins.

Adrian said, ‘If they give you any trouble I'll geld the little fuckers.'

While Mirabelle had been on the beach Adrian had made sandwiches for lunch, so they sat outside at their folding table to eat. He said that they should just try to ignore the boys as much as possible. But there wasn't much else round there to watch, so he and Mirabelle ended up doing a running commentary on the boys' antics.

‘If they don't eat some solid food soon they're going to be sick as hell,' said Adrian.

‘It'd be much better if they used the camp toilets instead of going behind that tree all the time,' said Mirabelle. ‘It's going to stink of wee round here before long.'

Adrian snorted.

‘They're doing a lot worse than weeing, mark my words.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘Come on Mirabelle. Boys that age? They've got no control over themselves. All they think about is getting the poison out.'

‘You mean they're masturbating?'

‘They're teenage boys. Of course they're masturbating. There'll be semen all over the place back there, believe me.'

Spunk like tree-sap. Mirabelle's eyes grew wide.

In the afternoon she and Adrian went down to the beach. As they sunbathed side by side, she found she kept daydreaming about the boys. She wondered what they were thinking about, when they were behind the tree, to get themselves off. They were so young, she could hardly imagine they'd had time to develop really corrupt fantasies. Would a nice pair of tits be enough for them? But there was so much porn available on the internet and suchlike these days that she supposed it was quite possible for a young boy to become a seasoned, jaded pervert before he'd so much as sniffed an actual woman's crotch.

That one boy in particular. If he was still a virgin, it was almost a crime. He looked as though he knew exactly what he'd do, given the chance. He'd done his research, he'd know where her clit would be, how to touch it, how to build pressure and friction. Perhaps he'd come quickly but his cock would be stiff again almost straight away. And he'd drink in every moment, every moan she gave, so he could learn everything about her response. God, what a treat that would be.

Later on, back at the tent, she rolled on to her side to face Adrian and said, ‘Actually, they remind me of myself at that age. Me and the girls. Did I ever tell you we went on holiday together to celebrate finishing our GCSEs?'

‘The Gower, wasn't it?' said Adrian.

He was sitting on the edge of the airbed, sorting the cutlery back into the roll-up case. Outside, the boys were playing dance music. They kept fiddling with the volume, so it would be almost silent, then suddenly flare up intrusively, then die back again. Occasionally they'd stop it mid-track and put something else on. It was difficult to ignore.

‘That's right, Three Cliffs Bay,' she said when it was quiet enough. ‘Beth's granny let us have her static caravan.'

‘Were you a bunch of annoying bastard hooligans, then?'

‘We were supposed to be there a week but we got thrown off after four days.'

‘Really? I don't remember that bit. What did you get up to, you naughty girls?'

An explosion of laddish laughter came from outside. One of them shouted, ‘Not again Boycey, you fucking minger!'

‘The usual,' she said. ‘Drinking, smoking, singing. Having boys back.'

‘Boys, what boys? Did you fuck anyone?'

‘No. Some of the others did.'

‘So what did you do, then?'

He came and lay down next to her. His face was very close to hers and he began to pull at her dress straps.

‘C'mon, spill,' he said into her hair.

‘There was a boy called Simon, from Chester,' she said.

‘And how far did you go with Simon?'

Adrian eased the front of her dress lower. He put his hand inside and began stroking one breast, then the other.

‘This far?'

‘Well, mm, yes,' said Mirabelle, and she stretched herself out so her nipples came out of the top of her dress.

‘What about this?' he said and bent over her. He began lapping slowly at a nipple.

‘Mm. Yes, but, mm, not quite like that. More sort of – well – more urgent.'

His tongue pressed harder.

‘Oh yes,' said Mirabelle. ‘Just like that.'

She arched her back, feeling her cunt give the first squeeze of excitement. She wanted more.

‘The other thing he did, was – he got me to touch his cock.'

‘No!' said Adrian between licks.

‘And he fingered me.'

Adrian gasped.

A dirty thought occurred to her. She looked round for the gas lantern. It was turned up bright but it was hanging near the tent door. Totally the wrong position.

Then the music shot up again and the bass shook the ground, making everything buzz. His head came away from her tits.

‘Oh for fuck's sake!'

‘So I got my hand,' she said quickly, almost having to shout. ‘Like this.'

She stroked the front of his jeans. There was some blood in his dick but it wasn't fully hard, like she'd expected it to be.

‘And he did this.'

She took his hand and pushed it up under her hem and between her legs, where the juice had seeped through her knickers. But the hand was lifeless, completely forgotten by him.

‘It's fucking intolerable! I don't see why we're putting up with this.'

Mirabelle sat up and sighed heavily.

‘So what are you going to do, confront them? You say a word, they'll just be ten times worse.'

‘I'm going to talk to Kenwald. Right now.'

‘No, you're not. I need you!' she said, hearing the desperation in her voice and hating it.