Star Slave (2 page)

The woman at Lord Burnopside's elbow chuckled deeply. ‘No. I told you. They're not even brother and sister. They're cousins.'

‘Are you sure?' His lordship did not take his eyes off the trio. ‘Same surname, isn't it?'

‘Their fathers are brothers. Keynes. One of them - hers, I believe - is supposed to be a writer. No one's heard of him, though.'

Stella Priest nobly smothered the stab of irritation she felt at the attention her fellow actress was claiming. Attention stolen from her, for she was the real star of the show. It was her name and reputation which were going to put this enterprise at the top of the viewing and money-making lists. Money which would go mostly to the charming, gravelly-voiced rogue beside her. Fair enough, she admitted. After all, he'd put up the lion's share of the production costs, and both she and that cute little ingenue over there would make a sum which, though smaller, could undoubtedly be classed as a fortune.

They were perfect together. Some people said it was his lordship who'd envisioned them thus, though he didn't seem bothered about taking any credit. Stella's golden voluptuousness and Felicity's dark, almost adolescent youthfulness, were predicted by David Allison - Ally, as he preferred to be known - their camp director, to be the greatest sensation since Baird's first flickering images appeared on screen seventy years before.

Stella and the others had stared in awe when, after they had run through the rehearsal script several times, Ally had described in graphic detail just how far he wanted the love scenes to go.

‘You'll never get away with it,' Stella had breathed, already damply excited by the prospect.

‘Lord B has friends in high places, dear,' he told her confidently. ‘You'd be surprised. Stand by to be infamous overnight, girls.'

Felicity's smutty giggles had endeared her to Stella. ‘We'll be just about doing it in front of millions,' she marvelled.

‘Maybe we ought to get together, try a few private rehearsals,' Stella quipped, her heart thudding at the prospect, but was sharply disappointed by Felicity's flip reply.

‘Thanks but no thanks. I'm straight as an arrow, darling.

Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm a strictly butter on one side only kinda bird!'

In spite of the younger girl's peeling laughter, Stella had privately wondered whether she'd heard any of the rumours that were no doubt about to be resurrected concerning the star's catholic tastes in sexual gratification. Never mind, she resolved philosophically. Early days yet. Wait till they got down to the nitty-gritty. For all her bravado, the kid had done no public shedding of her kit so far. And this would be, by all accounts, one hell of a hands-on initiation. She might well make the cute little bitch eat her words - as well as other things - one day. It would certainly be fun trying. ,

Now, though, young Felicity was stealing more than a considerable amount of her thunder. But the wide-eyed innocent approach didn't fool her one little bit; not wearing a little number that was more like a naughty nightie than a cocktail dress. Cock-tease, more like. It was working on Lord Burnopside, that was for sure. The craggy, ruddy features, with the thick silver-white moustache and the thatch of carefully styled matching hair, were aglow with admiration and veiled lust.

‘Who's the other fellow?' his lordship asked.

‘That's the boyfriend - sorry - fiance,' Stella answered. ‘He's been promoted to officialdom, apparently. They plan to marry soon.'

‘Living together?'

‘No, not as far as I know. I don't even know if they're sleeping together. She's a funny little thing. Very hard to read sometimes. Sometimes I think she's been around, other times I wonder if she's even lost her virginity yet.'

‘How intriguing,' Lord Burnopside muttered, one crooked finger rubbing thoughtfully against his moustache. My God, Stella mocked inwardly, all he needed was an opera cloak and silver-topped cane. ‘We must have her down to the Han,' Lord Burnopside continued. ‘And her cousin, too. Delightful, perfectly delightful. ‘

‘Which one do you fancy the most?' Stella teased. ‘He's very pretty too, isn't he? And not much use to me, I fancy.'

Felicity could see that Michael, in town from north of the border for the weekend, was finding it hard to take the amount of attention she was getting. Just as he had found it hard to take her dress when she first appeared in it back at the flat. That was why she had insisted that John be there. She and her cousin were closer now than they had been, even as kids. The pleasantly teasing, unfulfilled attraction he had aroused in her during their adolescent years was something she had missed when she went off to drama school, and then to a series of lowly acting jobs up and down the country, while he loafed at university. Meeting up again in London, after an absence of well over a year, had been a great bonus. Then the other night, disturbed by the sudden vast changes taking over her life, and stirred by the dreaded weed, which she had discovered to be a powerful sexual stimulant, she had revived that childish, half innocent sensuality they had shared. When she invited him into her bath she'd had no idea other than that vague naughtiness of former days, enhanced a little by the unconfirmed rumour from a mutual friend that John was involved with the gay fraternity at college.

Even when, spurred by a sudden devilment, she had begun the sexual stimulation, she had thought to go no further than masturbating him. And he'd seemed even more shattered by the experience, so that she'd savoured even more the feeling of power over him.

She had curled up naked with him under the sheets and fallen asleep. Next morning she succeeded in taking the initiative once more, capturing his squishy prick before he was awake. She manipulated it to a pulsing hardness, pushed him onto his back, spread her hair over his warm belly and thighs, and licked and nibbled at his seeping prick until it was purple and ready to burst. He lay there, stirring and whimpering like an overwhelmed virgin, his helplessness thrilling her, until his body spasmed and he gave a shrill cry and came, fearfully, excitingly, all over her fist and his palpitating belly, while she stared in fascination at the pumping seed.

‘We can't do this,' he said, when, after they had shared another bath, they were sitting still naked at the worktop in her tiny kitchen, with coffee and toast.

‘Don't be daft,' she answered, her mouth full. She picked off a crumb from between her breasts with a finger pad. ‘We could marry if we wanted.'

‘Do you want to?'

‘Eh?' She gazed at him blankly. ‘Marry me?'

‘Don't be daft,' she said again. She grinned at him, her cheeks pouched as she bit into another piece of toast. She reached out and put her palm over his limp prick, and gave it a friendly shake. ‘I'm glad I've done you, though. Just think what we've been missing all these years.' She hesitated just a fraction. ‘Come on, John. You can tell me now. Are you really gay?'

‘You just want my body,' he said, and slid off his stool to kneel between her knees, which he pushed gently apart.

He let his fingers pluck at her dark pubic curls, teasing them out, lifting the white skin beneath. One finger found the uppermost folds of her labia and stirred lightly. Her thighs moved. He saw the long muscles bunch, and her legs came together, holding his forearm.

‘Don't,' she sighed, squirming on the plastic stool. His fingers moved more boldly, pushing against the plastic, opening her up until he could feel the dampness. He dragged her forward by the hips until she was straddling the stool, her legs stretched out wither side of him, her toes touching the floor. Her vulva was more exposed now, hanging over the rounded edge of the stool. He bent forward very slowly, puckered his lips, and kissed her, drinking in the delicious tang of her aroused body.

‘Jesus!' she gasped. ‘Don't, please!' She shivered, not sure whether she meant it or not.

‘I'm just answering your question, coz,' he murmured, his breath warm against her most secret flesh. He lapped steadily, his fingernails pushing aside the sticky tissue, revealing the raw redness of the inner surface, and her hands cupped his head, stroking his short hair, holding him in to her.

‘Don't!' She was begging genuinely now, squirming, wet, unable to keep still. ‘You're not... you can't...'

He raised his wet face, grinning up at her from between her thighs. ‘I like it like this.'

Felicity was overwhelmed by her own drumming need. ‘Moo - make it happen,' she panted.

He lifted her, once more surprising her with his strength, seizing her about the middle, and planting her roughly on the edge of the worktop among the debris of their scratch meal. She sat blatantly, her genital area thrust at him over the hard edge, her thighs gaping, and he worked his tongue up and down again, then slid two working fingers deep inside her, feeling the slippery walls grip them in welcome.

The plates rattled softly as she began to jounce, her buttocks clenching and unclenching while she sobbed. Just as she felt the approach of the climax the fingers and mouth were snatched away, and she gave a sharp cry of torment. But then he was upright, his arms clamped about her thighs, holding them to his hips, and his penis, straight as a ramrod, thrust at the base of her belly. With startling skill he nuzzled it at the wet entrance of her spasming vulva, his buttocks clenched deeply, and he slid home into the tightly gripping funnel of her vagina. She gasped with shock, and the pure physical joy of his driving deeply home into her.

‘Christ! I'm coming - coo - coming!' Her feet kicked out madly and she convulsed, pressing her face into his shoulder, clutching him while the climax ripped through her.

In the days that followed she was shattered by the sexual appetite he had aroused in her. She felt like she had when they were kids, except with this wonderful, frightening advancement.

‘I don't love you,' she said wonderingly, when they met in the flat again after an interval of several days.

‘Thank God,' he grinned.

‘Since the other day I've done nothing but play with myself,' she said, in the same hesitant tone. ‘What have you done to me, you bastard?'

‘Never mind. Mike will be back in a few days. You'll just have to make sure he fucks you more often.'

‘You won't ever tell him?' she pleaded, her eyes wide. ‘He wouldn't understand.'

‘Do you?' Again, that grin. She shook her head, still looking vaguely scared.

But it didn't stop them going to bed. This time they undressed slowly, watching each other all the while. She came to him nervously, reaching out tentatively. Their embrace was gentle, as though uncertain of the other's reaction, but then they were straining together, mouths devouring, tongues probing, bellies and thighs bumping, and he was on top of her as they stretched out.

‘You want it like this?' he asked, sliding down her body, parting her, to kiss at her lower belly.

‘For a while,' she moaned, lifting her knees high, spreading herself wide. When she wanted him inside her and clawed at his shoulders desperately, she found his prick, though soaking wet, was soft, the foreskin covering the helm in a wrinkled pucker. Her fingers slid in the coating fluid as she struggled to rouse him. He shrugged her off, knelt, and jerked fiercely at himself, towering over her lifting, beseeching belly, and he was hard in seconds. He fell on her, thrust deeply home, and they rotted, banging their bodies together, and came within seconds of each other.

‘It's never been like this. Never,' she wept afterwards, clinging to him, feeling him sliding out of her, and holding him tightly.

‘I bet you say that to all the boys,' he chuckled.

 

She was thinking of that now, as she stood in her sexily outrageous dress, thinking with that instinctive inner sense of shock about being fucked by these two men, as she had been in the past few days, ashamed of her comparison yet helpless to stop it. Her cousin, God damn him, won hands down. How could that be, when she didn't love him and was crazy about Michael?

She loved the tall, dark blond man, looking so troubled. She felt a warm affection, recalling the look of astonishment, then horror, when he'd first seen her dress. ‘You can't wear that!' he'd gaped.

‘I have to, darling,' she said, going to him, putting both hands on his arm, while he stared pop-eyed at the spectacle of her rounded breasts and little areolae peeping saucily through the misty cloth at him. ‘It's expected of me now. I told you, everything's going to have to change for me with
A Woman's Touch
. I've got to become a screen sex symbol. They insist on it. ‘

‘From the back it looks as though you've got no knickers on,' John piped up. ‘Your arse looks entirely bare.'

She glowered at his insufferable grin, and wound her hands firmly through Michael's arm. ‘Thank you very much,' she said tightly.

 

Felicity shivered at the sensation of Stella's long fingernails scratching lightly at her midriff, then her belly. She lay back amongst the soft cushions of the couch, her right leg slightly raised at the knee, the other straight, her foot pressing against the upholstered arm of the sofa. ‘Please, Stella... don't. I'm scared... I've never—'