Bad Brides (11 page)

‘Put it in me!’ she commanded Bruno. ‘Fuck my ass this time, and give it to me good. I want it fast and furious. Jesus, you boys are fucking
gold
!’

As Bruno quickly grabbed another condom, she reached back with one hand and started to rub herself; by the time Bruno slammed into her, she was already coming, screaming her orgasm against
Oliver, who had dropped to his knees to support her: he held her up, kissing her mouth frantically, his arms flexing to take the impact of her body rocking forward every time Bruno slammed into her
with another hard furious stroke. Tamra’s fingers never stopped all the time that Bruno fucked her; orgasm smashed into orgasm, overlapping so completely that she didn’t stop coming the
entire time. Instructed to give it to her good, Bruno obeyed his client with the complete professionalism of an expert. By the time his grunts reached the pitch of a wild boar about to charge, and
his cock finally pumped its second load, Tamra literally could not stand up.

She collapsed into Oliver’s arms, and he caught her with the reflexes of Prince Charming catching a fainting Cinderella, lowering her to the thick plush rug on which he had been kneeling,
her head resting on his thigh. She was so thoroughly fucked that even the sight of his cock pointing straight up to his belly button, looking even wider and thicker with veins from this angle,
didn’t make her turn to take it in her mouth. She was panting like a sprinter, her chest heaving, her breasts jiggling; Oliver bent over to kiss her nipples, lick and nip at them, and she
moaned softly and stroked his hair, her hips still jerking a little as she came down from the crazy orgasm high.

‘This is
so
not like work,’ Bruno said as he disposed of the condom and washed his cock in the huge sink. ‘And believe me, I
never
say that to
clients.’

‘He really doesn’t,’ Oliver confirmed into Tamra’s breasts.

‘I need a drink,’ she said, managing to catch her breath. ‘One the size of Lake Ontario. And I need a line the size of – of—’

‘Pall Mall?’ Bruno suggested. ‘Coming right up.’

‘Champagne,’ she specified. ‘Jesus, help me up!’

Oliver did one better; he picked her up, carried her to the soft towelling-upholstered chaise longue, and laid her down there as Bruno brought her a brimming champagne glass and the black slate
with a whole series of big fat lines now decorating its surface. Inside Tamra’s suede pouch had been a razor and several silver straws: each young man, showing excellent manners, took a straw
for himself and kept them separate.

‘Whooh!’ Tamra said, tilting back her head as the butter-soft cocaine slid down. ‘This is
smooth
.’ She grinned at the two young men kneeling by the chaise
longue. ‘Diane has the best drugs
and
the best boy-toys.’

‘Not to boast,’ Oliver said seriously, ‘but everyone says that.’

Tamra nodded appreciatively. ‘My friend who recommended Diane is gay, and she says your girls are top-notch.’

‘Do you want me to ring for one?’ Bruno asked. ‘It’s no problem . . .’

Tamra waved a hand dismissively, finished her champagne and handed the glass to him for a refill.

‘No thanks,’ she said. ‘I like a
lot
of cock. And I don’t share nicely like they tell you to in pre-school.’

She plumped up the towelling-covered pillows behind her and pulled herself up to sit a little higher, her long slim legs stretching out in front of her. And yes, her stomach pooched out just a
bit when she didn’t lie completely flat, and no, she didn’t give a damn about it. She reached up and stretched her arms, a long sigh of contentment issuing from her lips, the coke
buzzing through her bloodstream. Bruno returned with the new glass of Cristal, and she took it, sank two fingers into it and then into Oliver’s mouth. He licked the fizz off eagerly, his red
lips parted, asking for more; he was such a good kisser that she filled her mouth with Cristal, bent over, let it flow slowly into his, feeling him kiss and swallow, kiss and swallow . . .

‘Bruno, you ready for Round Three?’ she asked. ‘I want you to fuck Oliver’s ass when you are. Just like this.’ She stroked Oliver’s cheek.
‘
Just
like this,’ she purred, sliding three fingers into his mouth now, feeling him suck on them hard, her other hand delving into his hair. Bruno was already unwrapping a
condom, picking up the lube which she had laid out on the counter, squirting some onto his hand. She knew both young men were fully on board with fucking each other as well as her, had chosen them
specially; Oliver’s eyes were already wide with anticipation as he braced himself, knees on the rug, hands on the chaise longue, to take Bruno’s cock.

‘And if you take it all, right up your ass, every inch of him . . .’ Tamra filled her mouth with Cristal again, let it flow into Oliver’s, felt him swallow every drop –
‘you can fuck me after. Any position you choose. Wherever you want to put it.’

Bruno was working lube into Oliver’s ass, his hands dark on Oliver’s paler skin, his cock distended as he slid the condom on. Oliver was already moaning, both at the pounding he was
about to take and the prospect of fucking Tamra afterwards; she kissed him, plunging her tongue into his mouth as Bruno started to work his cock inside, and Tamra felt that too, felt Oliver shudder
and buck as the cock slid inexorably further into him, Tamra kissing him so hard now he could barely breathe, had to gasp for breath through his nose, as she had had to when his cock was jammed
right up to the roof of her mouth . . .

‘How are you going to fuck me?’ she whispered against his lips as Bruno started to move faster, beginning to slam Oliver’s more slender body against the chaise longue.
‘Where are you going to put that big fat cock of yours? You better keep it hard for me, you better not come now with Bruno’s cock up you . . . you better save it for me or
there’ll be trouble . . .’

Oliver wrenched his head back.

‘Now,’ he pleaded. ‘I want to fuck you now,
now,
let me do it now . . .’

Tamra felt an actual spark between her legs, as if a vibrator with a faulty connection had given her a tiny, very pleasurable electric shock.

‘
Awesome
idea!’ she said, jumping up and going to grab a condom; a bare minute later she was stretching out on the big rug, Oliver above her, his big cock, meaty and wide,
making her scream as he drove it into her in one shocking, almost painful stroke. Bruno was deep inside him, waiting for his cue to start moving again, and now he did, plunging in and out of Oliver
in the same rhythm that Oliver fucked Tamra, a chain of fucking, Tamra’s legs spread as wide as they could go so that Oliver could kneel between them, and Bruno behind him. Oliver’s
fair hair hung round his handsome face, his cheeks bright red, his eyes almost glazed with the intensity of what they were doing; Bruno’s dark curls damp with sweat.

Thank God they both came already,
Tamra thought, her back arching, her hands grabbing onto the legs of the chaise longue, determined not to close her eyes for a moment, to watch this
whole thing, Bruno fucking Oliver fucking her.
I want this to go on for ever. I want them to hold out as long as they can, the dirty fuckers! My God, Oliver’s cock is huge, it’s
like a battering ram – Jesus, this is so fucking hot . . .

‘Don’t either of you
dare
fucking come for
hours
, you bastards!’ she panted, as her head bounced up and down on the rug with the vigour of their efforts.
‘Don’t you fucking
dare
!’

The Century Club, London

‘Ethereal! Other-worldly! Fairy tale!’ Milly read from her pale blue leather Mulberry notebook. ‘Spiritual! Poetic!’

Her round blue eyes lifted from the book, fixing limpidly on her wedding planner.

‘You said to think of five buzz-words for this meeting, and that’s what I came up with,’ she said. ‘That really encapsulates how I feel about this wedding.’

Ludo Montgomerie, wedding-planner extraordinaire, who had a client list as packed full with celebrities as Spago’s during the Oscars, raised his Botox-arched, manscaped brows as high as
his injectables would let him.

‘Dearie
me
,’ he commented in his sing-song tenor voice. ‘I had no
idea
I was taking on an
elf
-themed wedding. Shall I see if Cate Blanchett will
stick her pointy ears back on and officiate at the ceremony?’

Milly bridled indignantly and Eva jumped in to keep the peace, reaching out to refill the glasses of rosé from the wine cooler on the wooden table between Milly and Ludo. They were
ensconced in a cosy niche on the rooftop terrace of the Century Club, five storeys above Shaftesbury Avenue and a world away from the bustling workers and tourists who cluttered the pavements like
slow-moving cattle badly in need of herding. The sun filtered through the draped white canvas overhead that billowed gently like sails in the breeze; only a few golden rays angled through the
chinks between the fabric, striking the floor and tables here and there like divine illumination. The terrace was wide and generous. It was really an open penthouse, the whole top floor of the
building, with a bar to one side, big tables in the centre, and a series of fashionably low and saggy leather sofas grouped around the edges.

The tables were for public dining, business meetings whose participants were very happy to have snippets of their conversations about shows they were pitching or films they were auditioning for
be overheard by fellow members of the private club whose membership was mainly composed of actors, film and TV producers, screenwriters and dissolute novelists. The sofas were for more intimate,
discreet encounters, like planning a wedding whose details needed to be kept hush-hush so that magazines could compete to buy the exclusive photographs and spend paragraphs listing all the
delicious minutiae: the flowers, the canapés, the bride’s hair and make-up, the invitations . . .

‘I know you were joking about the elf theme, Ludo,’ Eva said in her soft voice, ‘but actually that’s a really good perception off what Milly wants. She and Tarquin do
both have that other-worldly Cate Blanchett look, you know? And they share very strong ethical principles, as I’m sure you’re aware. I’ve brought the latest portfolio of our
jewellery line to show you the kind of sustainable styling we do . . .’

‘Oh, I did my research,’ Ludo said, waving his hand in a queenly gesture of dismissal at the portfolio that Eva was bending to retrieve from her large, hand-sewn, faux-leather
satchel; Milly would never have dreamt of lugging the heavy bound book around herself.

‘I’m familiar with your ethos,’ he continued. ‘Believe me, bleeding hearts and hippie vegan bicycles
aren’t
exactly my usual vernacular. But I’m
aware that this whole beardy-weirdy, eco-folk trend is
terribly
fashionable at the moment, which is why I agreed to meet you and see if I could find a way to, erm, polish off the rougher,
hand-crafted edges and give you a Ludo Montgomerie wedding. We all have to move with the times, don’t we?’ His eyes brightened. ‘And I
love
your fiancé!’ he
said directly to Milly. ‘You’re a
terribly
lucky girl! He’s positively gorgeous. Frankly, the
visuals
of the two of you are the main reason I said I’d have
this chat. Will he be joining us?’ he asked hopefully.

‘He’s on tour,’ Milly said. ‘But he’s totally okay with any decisions I make.’

‘Like ninety-five per cent of couples I deal with,’ Ludo sighed, picking up his glass and settling back in the sofa, preparing to console himself with wine in the absence of the
handsome Tarquin. ‘Do you know that French expression –
entre deux amants il y a toujours l’un qui baise et l’autre qui tend la joue
?’

Eva, her forehead corrugating with concentration, followed along: like Milly, she had gone to an expensive girls’ private school, but unlike Milly, she had been a swot. Though the science
and geography teaching at St Paulina’s had been very sketchy, the more acute pupils had had a thorough grounding in more ladylike subjects, which included French.

‘Oh, that’s very . . . depressing,’ she blurted out. ‘If I understood it right?’

Ludo smiled complacently.

‘In love,’ he translated, ‘there’s always one person who kisses and the other who lets themselves be kissed. Literally “gives them their cheek”. As it
were.’ He tittered in amusement. ‘Cynical, but that’s the French for you, isn’t it? Cynical, and just a little soap-dodging, bless them. Well, in weddings there’s one
who does all the arranging and the other one who just turns up. I barely ever see the grooms, just the brides and their mothers.’

He grimaced.

‘The gays are the big exception, of course – the lesbians are obsessed with details, but at least they
agree
. Nothing worse than two queens squabbling over whether
they’re having peonies or forsythias in the flower arrangements!
But
, I just did Wayne Burns’ marriage,’ he added, naming the top English footballer who had come out a
couple of years before, ‘and that was much more pleasant. His partner used to be a luxury concierge and he has
much
higher taste levels than the average WAG, I can tell you! Did you
see the
Hello!
cover? I must say, they really did me proud, those two. It was the chic-est footballer’s wedding
ever
.’

‘I
did
see them,’ Milly said brightly: she loved any association with celebrity. ‘I want a
Hello!
cover too. You can get that for me, right? I mean,
that’s an absolute
must
.’

‘Hmm, hmm . . .’ Ludo put down his glass and steepled his long, elegantly manicured and be-ringed fingers together. ‘A little birdie told me that we were after
Style
Bride
for this, no less? If that’s the case, you can forget about
Hello!
, dear.
Style Bride
’ll want a
total
exclusive.’

‘Do you think you can manage that?’ Milly’s eyes were huge now, and as luminous as if they had been lit from within. She was clasping her hands together, like Ludo, but her
grasp was prayerful rather than contemplative. ‘Oh my God, I would
die
to get that cover! I’d do
anything
!’