Shadow Girl (21 page)

Jenny rises to her feet. The men are standing by, all signs of virile fervour now at rest.

On her wolf skin, Sandra is no longer moaning. Or groaning. Or bucking her hips. Her eyes flick open and her lips arch into a jubilant smile.

‘Aah . . . So good as a goldfish to be my own one-self again!'

‘Viviane?' asks Jenny.

‘Of curse I'm Voovian. Cunt you kiss-and-tell?'

‘Err . . . You're still . . . I mean you
are
speaking funny.'

‘Am I? Newt crud and triple pot, that's poo-poo annoying. But I shoot be able to fux that.'

She wriggles into a sitting position. Her arms are still trapped in a tight web behind her back. She looks down at her breasts, her thighs.

‘Godness me, lick at those big bazookies. Lick at them! I must be a DD at least! That's a weirdo feeling. And I'm all messied-up. All this sweat-muck and spunky-doodle. And my hair is topsy-turvy. I badly knead a shoower.'

Jenny titters.

‘Wot are you loafing at?'

‘Forgive me. Your English.'

‘Okee. Butter fux that then.'

Viviane closes her eyes.

‘If tongue is brick-a-broken by sneaky sleight,' she intones, ‘it shall be mended by magic pissenlight.'

‘Pissenlight?' echoes Jenny, puzzled.

Viviane is looking at her expectantly.

‘Has it worked-off A1 tip-top? Am I speechifying good?'

‘Not really.'

She tries again.

‘Off tongue and prick broken by snooty spite, it shall be minted by magic pissing tight.'

Viviane's eyes are on Jenny.

‘Wot aboot now?'

‘Still not.'

Viviane frowns, then tries a number of creative combinations. All met with equally poor success.

‘I'm afraid it's not working,' remarks Jenny. ‘Can't you do it in French?'

‘That won't work-off. The spill has to be in Tinkle-Inglish to fux my Tinkle-Inglish.'

‘A spell in English to fix your English? That's a bloody idiotic rule.'

‘Oh shitless!' There is a look of concern on Viviane's face.

‘What?'

‘I've just visio-mentalised. Most of my spills only work-off in Tinkle-Inglish. Marlin taut them to me in that fashion-way.'

‘And you didn't plan for something like this happening?'

‘Dimn it! There moost have bin something of Sandra's mindbrain left-up in her bodylicious,' says Viviane, ignoring the question. ‘I hadn't cunted on that.'

She looks at Jenny, clearly annoyed.

‘Too bad,' she continues, ‘you'll have to bee my voice-over until I can figurate something bettermore. I'll write down the spills and you speakalise them for me.'

Jenny is appraising her with a cryptic smile.

‘In the moantime, I'd bitter rid these straps off myself.'

She opens her mouth, perhaps to utter a spell, but hangs there with her lips parted, eyes hesitant.

‘On secondly thoughts, come and liberalise me.'

‘You can't do it yourself? Don't you have
any
French spells?'

‘I can metachange a frog into a moochbox.'

‘A moochbox?'

‘No, moooochbox,' insists Viviane, peeved. ‘A box for mooches to light fire-flames.'

‘Ah, matches. That's useful,' says Jenny, with a tinge of sarcasm.

Viviane crosses her legs, bends forward and smoothly rises to her feet. She turns her captive arms to Jenny.

‘Please.'

Jenny gives a naughty smile.

‘This changes things.'

‘Beg your forgiveness?'

‘I think I'm due for a promotion.'

‘Wot are you chatterboxing aboot?'

‘An advancement. A status boost. I think I deserve it. I'm worth it.'

‘I've give-granted you enough,' says Viviane, indignant, ‘and I didn't even have to do it bugger-all. You will queen-rule over the restorated city of Ys. Member the old proverbial?'

‘Yes, I know, when Paris falls, Ys will rise again. It's not bad, but I can have even more fun.'

‘More tickle-fun?'

Jenny looks very pleased with herself.

‘From here on, you do exactly as I say.'

‘I wot?' Viviane is fuming. ‘Cut me loosish this second, or else!'

‘Or else what? You can't come up with a single useful spell.'

‘I don't need to speakalise the weirds. I can think them and wavelet my hand!'

‘Yeah, and how can you
wavelet
your hand if your hands are tied behind your back? Can you snap your fingers like Merlin?'

Viviane is silent.

‘I didn't think so. He didn't teach you
that
, did he?'

‘Fine-oh. You give me no beggar's choice,' growls Viviane. ‘I will tell my big-pex men to disciplinate you!'

‘Mm . . . That could be fun, actually. But you won't do it.'

‘Don't push my butty over the hedge!'

‘I won't have to push anything,' laughs Jenny. ‘You'll come to me of your own accord.'

‘Wot?'

‘The collar, Viviane. Did you forget the collar?'

‘The coll . . . ?' Viviane's face freezes.

‘Well, I haven't. If I'm not mistaken, it was specially designed for Sandra, which gives me a nice hold on you too. Isn't that right?'

Viviane's eyes are shooting daggers at her but she says nothing.

Jenny breaks into a fat smile.

‘That's what I thought. Now come here, pet,' she coos, moving over to stand in front of a low bean chair. ‘Come to your new mistress.'

Viviane's face goes through a wide, colourful gamut of conflicted expressions. For a fraction of a while, she appears on the verge of bursting outright. And then her shoulders sag and the rebellion is snuffed from her eyes.

‘You won't get away with this,' she says, stepping over to Jenny as if pulled by an invisible thread.

‘Oh but I already have, my pet. I have. Now be a good girl, kneel before me.'

To say that Viviane complies graciously with Jenny's command would be stretching the truth somewhat, but she does anyway. Jenny smiles, then slips a finger under the sorceress's chin to force her to look up.

‘All this talk of world domination is rather dreary, you know. Too much responsibility. I'm much more of a chaos theory kind of girl myself.' She removes her top, releasing the model globes of her breasts. ‘I like to throw the pussy among the pigeons and see what happens. A lot more fun.'

She pushes down her capris and nimbly steps out of them.

‘So I'll tell you what. We're going to redefine your little scheme. I've just thought of an embellishment to the Karnag trap. We catch Merlin, get him to do his thing. We let Paris fall. But then we sit back and enjoy the show. No more Miss Control Freak. No more “let's take over the planet”. No more nonsense about the Global Sisterhood.'

She teases Viviane's cheek with her finger.

‘Could you ask one of your men over?'

‘Don't . . . Don't do this none, Ahes.'

‘Oh darling, you know you're dying for it, really. I'll take great pleasure in persuading you to release your iron grip over Sandra's demon. The poor thing has been feeling terribly neglected for the past few minutes, I'm sure. But don't worry, it'll soon be leading you by the nose. Though we're not going to let it squash your mind or do anything uncivilised like that. I want you to enjoy your submission. Which, as you know, requires a certain amount of mental awareness. Besides, there's a few spells I'd like you to teach me later.'

She caresses Viviane's forehead and brushes back a fractious lock of her hair.

‘I want one of your men right behind you,' she commands, lowering herself into the bean chair. In a smooth move, she removes her panties and parts her legs.

Viviane tosses her a rueful look and then, in strained tones, she calls over her head guard.

‘Now tell this brave knight to take you doggy style.'

‘Please Ahes . . . Please . . .'

‘I like it when you beg, I do. Though it cuts no ice with me. Go on, tell him.'

Viviane looks over her shoulder. She hesitates and seems to be struggling with herself, but the collar has the last say.

‘
Prends-moi en levrette, Gonval.
'

If a hexed knight could smile, this one would be positively beaming. His jaw remains set but there is a bright spark in his eye. Crouching like a lynx behind Viviane, he wastes no time in pushing her knees apart, collapsing her between Jenny's legs and giving her a taste of his already stiff manhood. Viviane is still lavishly juiced from her other self's romp in fiend-land and Gonval has no trouble going in for the deep treatment. Once at home, he reins in his ardours and settles for a lazy, comfortable hip-swing.

He is clearly doing something right, for Viviane's reluctance appears to be waning fast. Her lips part in shocked delight and she takes a couple of sharp, noisy breaths. Then her hips, perhaps engaged in a rear-guard action against her own conquering urges, bend in a sudden tilt.

‘Relax,' husks Jenny, ‘go with the flow. You cannot fight this. It is far too good. The pleasure is too strong. Let it overwhelm you. You are aching for that naughty demon to take the wheel. For that greedy hungry thirsty thing to take you places you've never been before. Listen to your cravings. Submit to them.'

Her advice is not going unheeded. Viviane's face slackens further with each word and each of the guard's thrusts. Soon, her eyes have lost complete focus. She lets out a long, shredded moan right into Jenny's lap and arches her spine in surrender, offering Gonval the undisputed enjoyment of her posterior.

‘Now who's revelling in this?'

Viviane groans something incomprehensible.

‘Imagine what you're going to feel like in an hour or two, when you've been indulged by all your lusty warriors. When the concept of plural orgasm has yielded all its delightful secrets. They'll take you from every juicy angle you know, just like they did Sandra. You'll become an expert in erotic geometry. You'll be able to three-hundred-and-sixty-nine. To triangulate and parallel flip. You'll bend over backwards to please, from door to couch to dais to chair. Sorry about the shower by the way, but I'm afraid it'll have to wait.'

A cascade of perfectly helpless little moans spouts out of Viviane's lips. Her face blooms, as if she had glimpsed something divinely beautiful, and then it locks into a strange pout, as if she had swallowed something divinely toxic. Following which her body goes into prolonged tremors then shatters in profuse squirts. She buries her face into the bean chair and breaks into a long muffled whimper.

‘Wicked,' teases Jenny. ‘Only the most licentious sluts come this fast and this hard. You have no more fibre than Sandra, it appears. You're just as weak-willed and as dissolute, if you scratch a tiny bit below the surface. But you knew that, didn't you? You knew you are just like her — two sides of the same wafer-thin coin. Isn't that so, Viviane?'

Gonval's hips have pumped up the pace, to the sound of Viviane's renewed moans and rasps. Jenny weaves her fingers in her hair and yanks her head up. The sweat is already pearling on Viviane's brow, adding sparkle to her flush. It looks like her next divinely toxic encounter is only a few thrusts away.

‘Oh God, oh God, stop . . . stop . . . no . . . harder . . . harder . . .
plus fort
. . .
à fond
. . . all the way . . .' gasps Viviane, though it is not clear exactly who she is gasping to for her eyes are drifting from left to right.

‘You did not answer my question,' Jenny insists, keeping Viviane's face firmly tilted up. ‘Tell me what sort of lubricious lass you are.'

Viviane's eyes have narrowed to thin cuts. Her ample breasts are squashed into the bean chair with every thump of Gonval's hammer.

‘Oh God . . .
Une salope
. . .
Je suis
. . .
une petite saloooope
,' she moans, rolling her hips in desperation. Her capitulation is as sudden as it is complete.

‘Yes, you are indeed. The best, most juicy, most promiscuous of her kind. A totally uninhibited little minx. Back-arching, arse-wriggling, clit-ready and panties with no fixed address. Your collar has betrayed you for what you are. Shameless, depraved. The queen of sluts.'

‘
Oui, oui
,' gasps Viviane, ‘
la reine
. . .
des salopes
.'

Jenny offers her finger to be sucked and Viviane avidly wraps her lips around it.

‘You never have enough,' she continues, playing with Viviane's tongue. ‘Always thinking of the next root. The next arse fuck.'

She pulls out her finger, much to Viviane's chagrin.

‘So keen. So keen to yield to the first Gonval that shows his wares. To trade your soul for a dollop of pleasure. The most lustful of all trollops, isn't that what you are? What you've always wanted to be?'

‘
Ouiii
, oh God . . .' breathes Viviane, shaking with desire.

‘This collar is truly wonderful. Better than a truth serum. And it must come with some sort of loop function, for I swear I've had this exact same conversation with your other self.'

Jenny spreads her pussy suggestively between her fingers.

‘Slow down your horse, Gonval, will you?'

The pounding in Viviane's tail end relents noticeably.

‘And what does this brazen hussy do when she sees a juicy clit right before her pretty nose?'

‘
Elle
. . .
elle suce
. . .
elle suce
,' rasps Viviane, her blonde curls glued to her sweaty face. ‘
Comme une folle
. . .'

‘Yes, she sucks like crazy,' approves Jenny. ‘She sucks and she deep-tongues. She loses herself in that pussy till she drowns in love juices.'

She yanks up Viviane's head.

‘Is that understood, bitch?'