Gemini Heat (29 page)

'But you can ask her yourself, if you're curious.' He paused and glanced at a small, but clear-faced clock that stood on the imposing marble mantelshelf. 'She's going to be here any moment.'

Swinging his long legs over the side of the sofa, he stood up, his penis swinging gently as he moved and still gleaming with the satin of his juices. 'So if you need to have an orgasm before she gets here, you'd better get on with it, hadn't you?' His smile was soft and taunting as he closed on her, his thin robe winging out on either side of him and concealing nothing. 'I could help if you like?'

He was right. After seeing what she'd just seen, she desperately needed to come. Somehow, or anyhow . . • She didn't care. Her own fingers would do. Or his. Or even those of the delicately skilful Elf, who sat in silence and had taken in everything.

As the thoughts whirled in her mind, Delia also acknowledged the more subtle implications of his words . . .

He was right again. She didn't want Deana to see her
en flagrante -
either at her own hands or his.

Close in everything, she and Deana had always discussed the joys and woes of their sex lives with absolute frankness and honestly. They also saw each other naked and half-naked around the flat.

But what they had always - and unspokenly -rejected out of hand was anything that hinted of a 'threesome'. . . One man with the two of them. In their youth, and in the past few days, they'd played their Gemini Game with a full-blooded eroticism and zest, but never, not even once, had they ever had sex with the
same
man at the
same
time.

They'd seen the longing for it many times, in the eyes of the men they'd dated. It was there more often than not, and it was in Jake's eyes right now. But the difference between Jake and others was that he seemed to sense her feelings. To understand that the menage he wanted couldn't happen . . . would never happen. And for
that
she could almost adore him.

'Delia?' he whispered, sliding elegantly to his knees before her, and taking the useless pencil from her nervous fingers. 'Do you want me to make you come or will you do it yourself? I think you maybe owe me a little show . . . After the way you've tricked me.'

She nodded, acknowledging a sweet, sexual justice. She'd been on the point of masturbating for him in the Jacuzzi, so why not do it now? She and Deana
had
been trying to deceive him, to fool him. She was in his debt, and she owed him exactly what he wanted. She owed it to him now.

With as much grace as she could summon, Delia opened her thighs and showed him her soft pink furrow, fingering and combing at her lush brown curls to part them for his concentrated study.

Her sex felt hot to the touch, hotter than it had ever felt, her special intrinsic heat set alight by Jake's sapphire blue gaze. He murmured encouragingly as she unleaved her moist, swollen folds, then revealed her clitoris and the snug, little opening lower down. She was torn between her own need for a quick, hard orgasm, and a repentant desire to please Jake. Always the perfectionist, she tried for both, for sexual artistry; and sliding a finger from her left hand into her vagina, she attacked her aching clitoris with the other.

At the first touch, the pleasure surged and challenged her. She was half mad to come, but this was for Jake. She clenched the whole of her vulva, desperate to control the spasms that were already beginning inside her, twinkling in her deep sexual core and grabbing at the length of the finger embedded within her. Flung up by the long, tense muscles of her thighs, her hips rose high above the seat. Her heels gouged the carpet, and she whined out aloud when other hands joined hers at her crotch.

A spread palm slid beneath her bottom to support her, while another hand curved in to mirror hers, one finger pressed firmly against her anus as if it were trying to slide inside her, and lie parallel to the digit in her sex.

'Agh! Oh no!' she cried hoarsely when she realised that her moment was imminent. Her juices were streaming, gushing, bubbling. Flowing out of her vulva and seeping down to lubricate Jake's efforts. His probing was tender, yet unremitting, and with a swirl of his flexible wrist, he took advantage of the liquid environment and pushed his finger right home inside her.

The feeling of fullness was both beautiful and appalling. Delia squirmed, kicked out and rubbed her own body like fury. Her clitoris felt huge, swollen out from between her slick labia by the force of her pure, violent hunger. She lashed it with her fingertip, then screamed as huge waves of pleasure surged out from the first point of contact, and muscles she'd not known existed clamped down on the fingers within her. Crying and moaning and jerking, she felt Jake lean forward and over her, pressing his tongue into the niche of her navel to seal in the perfection of her climax.

And there, right in the centre of her bliss was a piquant and delicate sensation - the cool, silky swoosh of his soft, straight hair as it slid across her hot jumping belly . . .

Chapter Twelve
Propositions

T
here won't be a bruise on her . . .

Yeah, true, thought Deana adjusting herself cautiously, but why the hell didn't you say it'd still hurt? Bitch!

Deana mostly went to work in jeans, and sometimes on her bicycle, but this morning both of these were out of the question. She'd tried putting on her Levis but given up; swearing out loud when the rough cloth chafed against her bottom, and astonished not so much by the tenderised rump she'd received, but by the way its soft glow still aroused her. She was drinking her coffee standing up now, because it seemed safest. Her shower had been long and difficult, mainly because she'd had to keep breaking off from washing to touch herself. Time and again, as the water had poured and streamed, her mind had filled with visions. Vida and Jake. The beam, the corset, the paddle . . . And the unbelievable sensations of a beating.

The only garment she could tolerate below the waist now was a feather-light, layered chiffon skirt, and even that was exquisitely titillating, when worn, of necessity,
sans
knickers. There were four seperate leaves to the skirt, and its colour was a strong, rich plum, but she was convinced that the sun would shine straight through it. A careful observer would see her body-shape easily, or maybe even the shadow of her pubis. That was if they weren't already ogling her nipples through the thin, soft stuff of her T-shirt.

Abandoning her coffee mug, Deana tempted fate for about the hundredth time since she'd woken up. Reaching around behind herself, she cupped the cheeks of her bottom and moaned.

Ow! Oh God! How could something so bad feel so good? How could she burn with so much more than just pain? She'd been beaten and exposed, her whole body humiliated, manipulated and shamed. It was so totally weak to feel this way. To crave punishment and the bending of her will. And yet, if Jake were to walk in right now, she'd be completely wet and ready for him, available for both the paddle or his penis.

You're in big trouble, Deana old love, she told herself seriously. Not only is the Gemini Game not a game any more, but it's spoiling you for all other men. For all other sex. At least the plainer, more normal sex she'd always been used to.

Throughout her all-young womanhood, Deana had thought herself daring and kinky. But now she knew she was a novice. All the times that Jake had fooled and played and toyed with her, displayed and hurt and humiliated her, all these moments had been the brightest times of her life. Like living in another dimension. A bigger and more vivid existence than she'd ever thought possible.

And the trouble was, now she'd seen a new way, she couldn't go back.

The temptation to 'go for it' was so strong she could taste it, and under normal circumstances she wouldn't have thought twice. She would have followed wherever Jake led. But there was Delia to consider. Delia who might also want to follow. Delia who was her flesh and blood far more than any normal sister would've been.

You want him all to yourself, Deana, don't you? She demanded of herself. It's OK to share him with Vida and her ilk, because they're so like him they almost seem a part of him. But it's not so straightforward with Delia . . . She has your face, and your heart, and she's your greatest rival ever, even if you do love her dearly!

The only way not to think about the dilemma was to think about the sex. Deana had always been the Ferraro optimist, and despite the ache in her bottom and the turmoil in her mind, she couldn't help dwelling on the pleasure of last night, rather than the possible convoluted outcomes.

Those hours at Vida's, and the strip in the car beforehand, had been the weirdest of her sexual life, the culmination of a whole hot interlude of strangeness. Squeezing her abused flesh with her fingers, Deana moaned and tried to relive it all. As the images formed, and the muscles in her bottom protested, she felt her sex start to moisten and engorge. Edging along the side of the table she stood against, she pressed her crotch against its rounded-off corner, easing one ache as she developed and intensified another.

The memories were tactile, visual and aural. She remembered the gentle touch of Jake's lips against hers, as Vida had driven in the plug. She remembered the grace and beauty of his naked body as he'd thrust into his stern, exotic mistress. She remembered his soft moans as he'd allowed her to suck him. She remembered being screwed and demeaned and tortured, and loving everything about it. Especially the sly, heady knowledge that had come to her as she'd suffered. The instinctive recognition of a like mind, the internal revelation that Jake could 'take it' too when the time came. Take what she, Deana, could dish out. The idea that she might even outdo the mighty Vida was chilling. As seductive as a drug, but a thousand times more subversive.

She was rocking herself wildly now, working her clitoris on the table corner and making it throb as much as her bottom. Barefoot, she drove her warm, intimate flesh against the cool, inanimate melamine with the strong, flexing force of her toes.

She was just a woman in a kitchen rubbing herself off, but in her mind she was a queen clothed in majesty. A goddess of pain, thrashing her lover's bare bottom and making him squeal out with agony and pleasure. Strangely, her dream-self wore the same white corset as she'd worn last night - but this time it was a garment of power not submission. She wore boots with it, too, and long leather gloves. Her sex was left naked to be worshipped . . .

As she flipped aside her weapon, a thin white leather-bound whip, her victim was miraculously released and turned towards her, his long blue eyes open wide with doglike adoration. Crouching before her, abject and striped, he raised his perfect pink mouth towards her vulva, and began, at her command, to lick.

In her dream the cunnilingus was the finest and sweetest she'd ever had, and in reality, her climax was dazzling. Jerking on her improvised sex-aid, she grunted and shouted with pleasure as she squeezed at the soreness of her buttocks. She was still wet and rippling when the mundane reached out and drew her back.

Someone was ringing her doorbell, leaning on the bloody thing in a non-stop, teeth-trembling trill.

'For Christ's sake!' she snarled, flipping down her skirt and marching along the corridor to the door, red pain still hectic in her bottom.

It wasn't who Deana had hoped it would be. Just her second choice . . .

'Am I interrupting something?' enquired Vida Mistry suavely, her razor-sharp, jewel-green eyes zeroing in on Deana's rosy skin. The unmistakable mottling on her chest and her throat that signified she'd just had an orgasm.

'No! Yes! What the hell are
you
doing here?'

'Charming!' cooed Vida, sliding herself sinuously inside and strolling on down the corridor in the direction of the open kitchen door. Shaking with confusion, sex and anger, Deana stomped after her, muttering.

'I thought we were friends, Dee?' The outrageous dominatrix looked as different again this morning, as cool and unruffled as Deana felt hot and agitated.

And Vida was the one in white this morning, too. She looked as icy-smooth as a criminal in a baggy white linen man's suit, a white gangster's hat, and white patent leather loafers. Her scarlet hair was tucked away in a seductive, wisp-bestrewn pleat and her splendid breasts were contained in a red lace, underwired bra. She seemed to have forgotten about a blouse . . .

'Of sorts,' Deana conceded, thinking of the isolated moments of tenderness she'd experienced at this woman's pale hands. 'But I still want to know what you're doing here.'

'I'm here with a proposition, and on an errand. Jake gave me your address,' answered Vida succinctly, glancing around the kitchen, then homing in on the coffee percolator. 'May I?' she queried, taking a mug from the tree and nodding at the dark nutty brew.

'Go ahead,' said Deana.

Vida poured herself a half-mug of 'black' and drank it down in one long swallow. 'Mmmm . . . Yes! First of the day,' she murmured almost voluptuously, 'and now to business . . . I'll kick off with my proposition.' She dropped her tight, white-clad bottom onto a stool. 'Jake tells me you're an artist, Dee. How do you feel about illustrating a collection of my stories? I'm doing this sort of luxury collector's edition. Ritz and sleaze in one package . . . And I want some fairly raw but tasteful drawings to accompany my text. How about it?'