Star Slave (10 page)

She began to sniffle softly and John gathered her into him, planting light kisses about her brow and her face. ‘Hey, come on, Feely. Don't get your hormones in a twist. What have I told you? You can't fight nature, you know that. There's the heart, and there's the cunt and the cock. Separate compartments, my girl. And where the cunt or cock goes, the heart can't always follow. And vice versa, I suppose.'

In spite of the tears still wet on her cheeks, she gave a little giggle. ‘We seem to be a bit confused all ways up. Even with our cunts and cocks.'

‘You speak for yourself,' he chided, slapping her thigh.

‘Tell me, Johnny, please,' she said, earnestly. ‘No secrets, eh? You've never truly admitted it. Are you bi? Like I am,' she added quietly, with painful self-revelation.

‘I guess so.'

She could detect a certain hesitancy, even though he tried as usual to disguise it.

‘I've dabbled in homoerotic delights, as they say,' he went on. ‘Let's just say I'm quite open-minded on the subject.'

In the naked intimacy of the bedclothes she pressed on with real curiosity. ‘Have you ever been in love? I mean, deeply, truly, madly. Like I am.'

He smiled. ‘Only with you, Feely. And I know I don't stand a chance. In fact, I'm so far down the queue it's not worth waiting.'

‘Pig!' She reached out, seized his limp prick and gave it a little shake. ‘I really ought to ban you forever, you wicked boy! But thanks for letting me get all this off my chest. I don't know what I'd do without you. And you don't even have to queue. You know that all too well, you cocky man. Now come on, time for sleep. I've got a hell of a day tomorrow. Settle down. Mmm... that's nice.'

She turned her back to him, bent her knees, and he fitted himself into her shape. He nestled his stirring penis into the tight cleft of her buttocks, and rocked gently back and forth. It swelled but didn't harden, and they drifted off to sleep.

 

Some days later, on the set, Stella was foul with everyone, snapping off heads and spoiling takes, until Ally called an early halt. Felicity had a premonition that she was the central target for Stella's displeasure. They had not got together, in their newly intimate sense, since her weekend down at Burnopside and Stella's return from Paris. Stella had asked briefly about her stay at Lord B's mansion, but it was almost as if she didn't want to hear the details, and Felicity wondered just what she'd heard about the place. She was sure that Stella was now jealous of any activity they could not share, just as she was increasingly and dangerously jealous of Felicity's fiance. Her partner of the screen was attempting more and more to take over as her real life partner, and Felicity was more disturbed by their relationship with each passing day. She would almost welcome a crisis, except that she was not at all confrontational by nature, and would normally go to great lengths to avoid a clash.

Stella was already stripped down to bra and pants in the dressing room. She turned to Felicity as soon as she entered. ‘Hurry up and get changed,' she snapped. ‘I've ordered a car.' The tone was brutally dictatorial. She said nothing further.

The weather was chilly, and Felicity was wearing substantial cotton knickers, to which she added a prettily embroidered cotton vest, before dragging on her slacks and a thick sweater. She sat and pulled on her black ankle boots and tied the laces. By now Stella was dressed in her smart white raincoat, the belt pulled tightly into her slim waist. She was standing, nostrils flared, by the door.

‘Look,' Felicity began hesitantly, ‘do you mind telling me—'

‘Shut your lying little mouth!'

Felicity stared, then hurried after Stella as she stormed from the room.

The studio car was waiting, the liveried driver holding open the rear door. ‘My place,' Stella ordered.

Felicity's stopped on the pavement. ‘Look, I've got things to do. I'd better check with Ally. We're not officially—'

‘Get in the fucking car!' Stella hissed venomously. ‘Unless you want your precious fiance to find out just what you've been up to lately.'

Felicity got in the car.

The uncomfortable silence continued for the duration of the lengthy journey to Stella's riverside pad. Felicity's brain was working rapidly. Obviously, this was about her weekend in the country. It didn't take her long to work out that either Ally, or much more likely, that super turd Ted, had let slip something about her goings on at Burnopside, which was why the woman beside her was figuratively boiling with rage. Felicity experienced her own choking anger at the way the woman obviously felt she owned her. Just because - she winced - they had become lovers. Life was altogether too complicated. Then her stomach lurched as she thought about Stella's threat. Michael must never find out.

 

Safe at last in the privacy of the long living room, with its row of windows looking out on the river scene, Stella flung off her coat and turned to face Felicity across the yards of luxurious carpeting.

‘Well?' she demanded. ‘I'm waiting. What's all this about a giant fucking dyke you had the hots over? You cheap little toe rag!'

Felicity was staggered at the fury of the verbal assault, despite being prepared for it. ‘I suppose this is Ted and Ally shooting off their big mouths?' she retorted, struggling to keep the guilt from her tones. ‘They think everyone who speaks more than a few words to a girl must be trying to get into her knickers.'

‘She did more than try, didn't she? Don't bother to lie, you little slut! I phoned his lordship as soon as I got back from Paris. He couldn't wait to congratulate me on the fine job I'd done on you. He practically gave me a blow by blow account of your cavorting with that fucking female Goliath. In fact, to be honest, he sounded so pleased with himself that I wondered whether he hadn't given you a good shagging, too. And I'm still wondering.' Her eyes narrowed.

Felicity, caught off guard by this pronouncement, felt the hot colour sweep up her throat and face.

‘You really are a two-timing little whore, aren't you?' Stella resumed, in a voice that registered her own amazement. ‘We've only just—'

‘Only just what?' Felicity flared up. ‘Become lovers? Is that what we are? I don't think so! You wore me down. You seduced me out there, in front of them all. Day by day. We've been to bed together, that's all. Just as you planned all along. You planned it, not me.'

‘Oh no! Not sweet innocent little Felicity, Miss Goody Two-Tits! “Oh Stella, please don't stop, don't stop!'“ she mimicked cruelly, in imitation of Felicity in extremis of passion. ‘You don't cheat on me, sweetheart.
Nobody
cheats on me and gets away with it.'

She advanced menacingly, and Felicity shrank back in alarm. ‘Look,' she said breathlessly. ‘I'm not going to fight you. I don't fight. I—'

‘Tough shit, baby! Then you're going to get the hiding of your life. Something you've had coming a long time, I should think. I just hope that prick of a fiance learns to do the same.'

She caught hold of Felicity by the arms and thrust her down onto the long leather couch. ‘Don't you touch me!'

Felicity screamed. ‘I'll tell the police. I'm leaving right now, and don't you dare stop me.' She was sobbing. She made to get up but Stella flung her down again. She lay back weeping while Stella, swearing foully, grabbed her right leg and tore at the laces of her boot, dragging it off after some effort. She did the same to its companion, with Felicity lying on the couch and making no attempt to resist.

‘Bitch!' cursed Stella. ‘Get your kit off right now, unless you want me to pick up that phone and get lover-boy over here right away. I know he's in town, sugar, so don't bother lying.'

‘He won't believe you,' Felicity wept. ‘He knuh - knows I went to Burnopside. He didn't—'

‘I'll tell him all about us, sugar, and I'll make him believe all right. In front of you. We'll see how good you are at lying then. Now make your choice. Right?'

For a few seconds the only sounds were Felicity's anguished weeping. Then, slowly, she stood, pulled the heavy sweater over her head, and unhooked her slacks and shuffled out of them. In vest and knickers, and her thick ankle socks, she stood there, her arms folded across her shoulders, looking like some forlorn school kid in front of her head mistress.

‘Over that chair, slag!'

Suddenly another, different atmosphere seemed to fill the room, catching both of them. Felicity gave a little shiver, moved to the leather armchair, stood behind it, then bent over submissively, her long hair falling onto the cushioned seat. She spread her hands to take hold of the leather arms. She felt the clinging material on her midriff, then Stella stepped behind her and swiftly clawed the knickers down to her knees.

‘Open your legs.' She kicked at Felicity's ankles. ‘Right, bitch,' Stella murmured softly, and Felicity whimpered, her head down, her buttocks dimpling with anticipation of the torment to come.

And torment it was.

These were no love taps. Stella used one of her own shoes, the leather sole bouncing off the resilient curve of flesh with a loud splat, leaving an angry imprint of its narrow shape and a fierce burn that made Felicity yelp in anguish. Instinctively, she tried to spring upright, her legs kicking out against the restricting cling of her knickers. But Stella's left hand, the fingers digging painfully into the nape of Felicity's neck, forced her down over the high chair back. She squirmed and yelped, sobbing, her cries turning to spluttered pleas for mercy.

When Stella paused she was out of breath, and a vivid red glow covered both quivering rounds of Felicity's bottom. The weeping figure didn't attempt to move from her prostrated stance. ‘Now, slut, maybe you'll learn. Girl-wise, you're mine, okay? You don't fuck with anyone until I dump you. Right?'

Her left hand continued to hold Felicity down, and her right slipped between those hot buttocks and explored the cleft, and found the moist slit which beat in clamorous welcome to the invading fingers which claimed its narrow sheath. Soon Felicity was stirring once more, showing how much at mercy she was to the sliding fingers driving her to the culmination of the climax which engulfed her.

 

‘Lie still, you silly girl,' Magda's deep voice reprimanded. ‘Relax. It's worse when you tighten up. It'll be over in five minutes.' She gestured impatiently. ‘Joanne, come and hold the other cheek. There!'

The petite, dark-honey blonde figure moved obediently, and with her manicured fingers held the soft flesh of Debbie's left buttock, deep on its inner surface, holding open the cleft while the tattooist pulled back on its twin. Quickly and expertly he completed his assignment, one of the strangest he had known, and added a small letter B to go with the W he had already inscribed on the inner slope of the other cheek. They would be invisible unless anyone should do what Joanne and the artist were presently doing and open the tight divide.

Debbie gave a shaky little laughing sob of relief. She was lying face down on a padded bench, her skirt folded up onto her back, her white micro briefs down just below her bottom.

‘There we go, all done,' Magda said lightly. ‘Now pull your knickers up. That wasn't so bad, was it?'

Debbie obeyed gratefully, sliding her panties up. She climbed off the bench and shook her skirt down into place.

Magda paid the tattooist, who winked and said, ‘Who's the lucky man?'

Magda stared down at him from her lofty height, her wide eyes fluttering. ‘What makes you think it's a man, sweety?'

 

‘Now you really are one of us, sweetheart,' Magda smiled, when the three of them were sitting in the rear of Lord Burnopside's car. She turned Debbie's face towards her, and planted a searching kiss on her lips.

Debbie shivered as, at her other side, she felt Joanne's fingers slide up her bare thigh under the thin material of her skirt, until the fingers traced the edge of the narrow silk, then stroked the moist swell of her mound itself. She felt a hot embarrassment at the thought of Reeves, the uniformed driver, watching all this activity through the mirror, but then her mind spun away with the ongoing asses and caresses to her body.

Her life had been transformed so completely these past few weeks. It sometimes seemed as though it was all happening to someone else, or happening on some great screen.

She had always seen herself more as the victim of her senses rather than a transgressor. Try telling that to her morally outdated father, though, who had attempted to beat it out of her until she was ready to run away from home. But she was clever, and devious, and so she bided her time and lied convincingly. When she won a place at college she knew it was the road to freedom. Or so she had thought, until she discovered that she had perhaps been right all along; she was a victim.

Her heady liberty was nowhere more reflected than in her sex life. Parties and partners; a long succession of them throughout that first year. She had even considered going on the game, except that it all seemed too cold blooded, and she was anything but that. She might change her companions rapidly, but however briefly each association lasted, and some were scarcely more than a single night, she was passionately involved.

When a girlfriend came up with the information about the escort agency, Debbie felt it was the answer to her wishes. Good pay, as much or little work as she wanted, and all the clients were so well heeled it was unbelievable. Then one night she had entertained a middle-aged banker who introduced her to his cronies, and that had led to Lord Burnopside and a weekend at his fabulous country home. Which led in turn, shatteringly, to the incomparable Magda.

Debbie did not consider herself gay. She had fooled around, aped at playing the fashionable lipstick lezzie role with one of her closest college chums, had even, one drunken night, shared a bed and let the friend fool about literally with her body. She had even enjoyed it, which was why, perhaps, she had shied away from letting it progress further.

But from the first it had been different with Magda. Debbie could not explain it. She had been excited by her long before Magda had made any move towards her. Weeks had passed; weeks during which Debbie found herself spending more and more time in the same exotic company as the commanding figure, in circles so rich and privileged it made her dizzy. When Magda finally initiated the sexual contact between them, Debbie no longer knew whether it was she or the mysteriously alluring woman who had triggered it off.

She revelled in the fem role assigned to her. Magda's powerful physique - the first night, in front of a group of chuckling and cheering male friends and their lovely female partners, she had picked Debbie up easily and carried her up the wide flight of stairs - and her dominant personality, added up to their clearly delineated roles it the relationship.

When she had time to reflect on such matters, Debbie was shocked at her own complicity in it. The tender ministrations, the kisses, exploring tongue and hands claiming every part of her surrendered body, were rapturously received. But then came the other manifestations of their... love? The roughness of passion, the ingenious and shocking array of sex aids which Magda introduced into their love play, such as the series of penetrative devices, from smoothly purring plastic vibrators to veined latex facsimiles of rampant erections, and the strap-on dildos which brought their bodies into writhing, clashing contact.

It was soon after this that there came the most amazing transformation of all- a transformation that still disturbed Debbie deeply when she allowed her mind to dwell on it. Their activity crossed into the bounds of SM, and Debbie discovered the frightening reality that pain and pleasure could be intrinsically fused as an aspect of love. There had been glimpses of this already, in the more boisterous, light-hearted moments, when Magda would pull the struggling figure over her knee and deliver a few stinging slaps to her behind, and more alarmingly, in those final frenetic cuttings when Magda penetrated her.

It was only at these climactic moments - quite rare moments, fortunately - that Magda gave any sign of being brought to that point of losing the control she could so shatteringly induce in the lovely brown figure delivered up to her. The large form would begin frenzied lunges whose stabbing thrusts translated into pain in the body smothered beneath her, who was drifting back to awareness in a post-orgasmic haze of bliss. Magda, eyes closed, her lovely face twisted into a grimace of intensity, would grunt and shudder until came that last thrust, the convulsive judder and gasping cry which would herald a climax of some sort, at which she would collapse, a dead weight on the pierced and whimpering frame underneath.

‘Why won't you let me make love to you?' Debbie complained one afternoon, having recovered from the ecstasy to which Magda had taken her. ‘I mean properly? Why do you never let me go down on you?' Her heart beating unaccountably quickly as she went on, ‘I've never seen you naked - I mean, completely naked.' She reached down and touched the tiny leather cache-sexe, with the little embossed silver designs on it, which Magda always wore. The thin strap snaked around her hips, joined at the back in the region of her coccyx where the other strap emerged from between her statuesque buttocks.

She would allow her lover to play with her breasts, and even to lick and suck at the pale pink nipples. The rounds felt, to Debbie's touch, much firmer than her own. But even this privilege was strictly regulated. Soon those large hands would pluck her head away from her bosom, with a throaty laugh of protest and an exaggerated shiver. ‘That's enough, sugar. It's too much. I can't bear it.'

Now, Magda listened to Debbie's tender complaint and smiled enigmatically. ‘Yours is not to reason why,' she murmured, lifting Debbie's wrist from the region of that embossed leather groin. ‘You know I get off just making love to you.'

Debbie pouted prettily. ‘You're a spoil sport, you know.'

‘There are other ways to prove you love me.' Those magnetic eyes stared, enveloping her in their mystical warmth and closeness. ‘To make me happier.'

Debbie felt a familiar weakness, a thrill of both fear and joy. ‘I'd do anything for you,' she whispered. ‘You know I would.'

Magda stared as though making up her mind on some matter. ‘Would you?' she asked softly. Then she got up from the bed and went out of the room. Debbie lay there in the tangled sheets, her heart beating fast. When Magda came back she was wearing her loose Grecian style tunic, and carrying a long box. She took out a pair of handcuffs, whose inner surfaces were lined with a soft spongy material. ‘Give me your wrists,' she ordered. Too astonished to demur, Debbie did as she was bidden, and soon she was manacled. A short silver chain separated the twin bracelets, and to this Magda attached a longer chain. She pulled Debbie to her feet and led her over to the door.

‘Whu - what are you going to do?' Debbie asked nervously, as Magda reached up and tossed the chain over the top of the door, securing it to the handle on the other side. Thus, Debbie was pinioned, her front touching the cold wood, her arms raised over her head.

‘Teach you what true obedience means, my darling,' Magda breathed softly, moving behind and nestling into her. Her hands played over the shivering brown skin, from neck down to the taut bottom, stroking and hefting the cheeks, which flexed and quivered under her touch. ‘We'd better use this for our first lesson, my dear.'

Debbie's eyes widened. She didn't recognise the object at first, then realised it was a gag, with a thick mouthpiece which Magda wedged between her parted teeth. She adjusted the buckles on the leather straps carefully, so that they fitted snugly around Debbie's head.

‘We don't want any curious neighbours, do we, Debs?' Debbie was trembling, but she recognised the fierce pulse of excitement within her sex. When Magda produced a black whip, with its short plaited handle and thin rubber strands trailing over her dimpling brown bottom and the backs of her rigid thighs, Debbie was roused by the prospect of such a novel experience.

Until the first hissing, viciously stinging lash fell across her buttocks and hips.

She screamed at the torment, the sound trapped and muffled in her throat. Her behind was on fire, lacerated with a myriad of thin lines of throbbing agony, when Magda stopped some dozen strokes later. The brown body sagged, glistening with the sweat of fear, and she sobbed when Magda tenderly released her and withdrew the choking gag from her stretched and aching mouth. She sagged in those strong arms, which lifted her easily and bore her once more to the bed, where she was laid on her stomach and her wounds bathed, a blessedly cold cream smeared thickly on them.

Later still, when Magda once more made love to her, Debbie thought she had never experienced such consuming joy as her body soared off on its timeless response to those liberating caresses.

Somehow, Debbie found herself accepting her masochistic role, until it became an inseparable part of the relationship. By which time she had met the other girls united in this strange bonding, and knew she was being prepared for initiation into the strange esoteric society of the Whores of Babylon, whose unique doctrines had now taken over her life.

The car took the three girls back through the rich countryside, which was turning in the last old gold and russet hues of autumn, beautiful even on a sombre day such as this. Back in the library of Burnopside Hall a log fire was already blazing cheerfully, and drinks were waiting.

‘Let me see,' his lordship commanded eagerly, and Magda nodded proudly. Debbie stepped forward and turned, still with that endearing air of shyness, and bent slightly, presenting her backside to the seated figure, and lifting her skirt to reveal the tiny white knickers beneath. The gnarled hands reached out and slipped the briefs down off her bottom until they hung at the knee. The large thumbs pressed apart her cheeks, and examined the tattoo artist's handiwork. He slapped the resilient rounds firmly before he drew back. ‘Excellent. Welcome aboard, my dear.'

Magda chuckled. ‘We were wondering whether it might be better to have her done in a different colour. Perhaps something lighter, eh, my little black beauty?'

Debbie flashed her an injured look, but smiled at the burst of laughter which followed the remark.

 

Up in the capital another bottom was being inspected, but with far less frivolity. Felicity, wearing one of her plain white nightshirts, which was bunched up around her waist, was lying face down over the edge of her bed, while her cousin stared at the enflamed red mass spread over a generous area of both cheeks.

‘I can't bear to sit down,' Felicity grunted. Her face looked drawn, her eyes swollen from weeping. ‘I can hardly bear to put a pair of knickers on.'

‘No hardship, surely?' John quipped, then smothered his grin at the injured look Felicity threw him. Her behind was shiny with the cream she'd been slathering on in an effort to reduce the throbbing soreness.

‘Why on earth did you let her do that to you?' he asked, genuinely intrigued. ‘Is she really so butch?'

‘She's a maniac,' Felicity scowled, wincing as she rolled over and• stiffly levered herself to her feet, allowing the short nightshirt to cover her loins. ‘She threatened to spill all the gory beans to Michael. I just had to bend over and let her thrash me. I didn't think it would be this bad, though.' Her troubled gaze fixed on him, the tears close. ‘What am I going to do, Johnny?' she appealed hopelessly.

She made two mugs of coffee, then stood while he sat at the small breakfast bar and sipped his.