Obvious
It had been obvious at lunch that something was afoot. Her lover and the older woman of the lesbian couple, talking like old friends, largely ignoring her and the pretty young girl who was the woman’s lover.
She had somehow had little to say, and the girl hadn’t either. She had done little more than listen and make little smiles to show her appreciation of wit, nodded to appreciate wisdom.
Normally, her lover talked to her, included her, but today he just smiled at her and nodded, and then turned back to the woman, Karla.
Gemma wasn’t jealous — it was clear that Karla was not interested in Justin; but she felt strange — as if she had become what she had always been determined not to be, when she offered herself for seduction by her professor — as if she was no more than a bit of young fluff, interesting only for her prettiness and sexual willingness.
The way the woman smiled at both her and the young girl — Lulu — didn’t help; so patronising, so obviously interested in their breasts. Lulu just blushed and simpered — she was clearly a willing plaything, not a partner, apparently a silly air-head. The woman’s inclusion of Gemma in her appreciative smile implied that she, Gemma, was in the same category.
And the unsettling thing was that she was responding to this.
She had never really considered sex with another woman before, but there was something about Karla — her cool, German confidence, her open-ness, her casual mastery of pretty, quiet Lulu, her lopsided smile, her steel-hard eyes, that was getting to Gemma.
And now the talk was about lesbianism. Karla was saying that she didn’t mind men, but that she just adored pretty young women. How malleable they were, how easily they could be suborned into nymphomania, sex-addiction.
Gemma felt herself blushing. This was something Justin teased her about — how eager she was for sex, how much she loved his cock, how easily he could manipulate her into doing really rather lewd and risky things by withholding or promising sex.
Had Karla and Justin exchanged glances, smirks? Had Justin told her something?
She was feeling hot and tingly. The idea that Karla might know anything about her sex life with Justin was disturbing, powerfully disturbing — but not entirely unwelcome.
Lulu too, was blushing, being teased rather graphically by Karla, who was telling quite intimate details of their sex life, that Lulu is spanked daily, sometimes beaten across her breasts with a riding crop, made to take fat strapon cocks into her small frame (much bigger than any normal man’s — and so permanently hard!), making Gemma blush more.
And when Karla told Lulu to strip, show her breasts, Lulu seemed incapable of any resistance. Justin was smiling broadly, and Gemma found she couldn’t speak.
A threshold crossed, Lulu was soon naked but for stockings, and heels, kneeling as if she were used to the position, at Karla’s side, Karla’s hand in her hair, occasionally caressing her breasts, and Karla had begun to talk to Gemma about sex — quickly homing in on her early sexual experiences.
Although unusually tongue tied, Gemma neverthless found herself unable to block this line of questioning; her blushing, mumbling demurrals brushed aside with brusque compliments, orders, chidings, until she had told them all of things she had never told anyone — early fumblings, failed couplings, crushes on older teachers (Karla had looked pointedly at Justin, who had laughed, while Gemma just blushed and looked down).
Then, suddenly;
“Gemma, I want to see you naked, I want to see you with Lulu. I’m quite sure you are even lovelier naked, and I know that you will appreciate Lulu’s busy little tongue between your legs.”
Only at this point does Gemma suddenly realise what should have been obvious long before — this is a setup; Karla and Justin have planned all of this. Justing is standing behind her now, leaning over, talking smoothly into her ear, caressing her breasts …
And now, somehow, she is naked, spread wide on her back on the sofa, with Lulu’s mouth on her sex, and it’s glorious.
All of it.
Glorious and terrible — Justin and Karla watching; her spread thighs, Lulu’s hand on her breast, her clever tongue doing things that she has never imagined possible to Gemma’s clit, while Gemma trembles and emits soft gasps and little cries, her head alternatively falling back, then coming up to watch Lulu eagerly, skilfully propelling Gemma towards what she knows will be a powerful orgasm, knowing that she lacks the strength to stop this; the will to stop this.
Later, when Justin and Karla announce that the plan is for them to swap Lulu for Gemma, for the coming weekend, Lulu bursts into tears, but makes no actual objection.
Gemma, strangely, can do nothing except sink, weakly, to her knees. Her heart pounding, she wonders how it will be to be beaten across the breasts with a riding crop.
Seductress — or prey?
Her boyfriend had gone fishing with an old schoolfriend.
His rich stepfather and a business associate had been sitting by the pool while she sunbathed. She knew they were looking at her.
After a while, she knew that she liked them looking at her.
After a little while more, she knew that she wanted to provoke them, and so she stood, as slowly and seductively as she knew how — without actually doing anything slutty — walked to the pool and lowered herself in, making little girly falsetto noises as the cold tickled her belly, resisting the urge to look up at them, letting them watch her uninterrupted.
She swam slowly; breast stroke, back stroke.
They were near the stairs — she took her time climbing out, went back to her lounger, feet on an imaginary line, feeling her hips sway, still not looking.
They walked off, leaving her feeling foolish, unsure, embarrassed, frustrated. Hadn’t they liked her?
She actually had to blink back tears.
Later, the butler had knocked on her door (they had a butler! and at least 2 maids, plus a cook and a chauffeur — it was crazy — how rich could the old guy be?).
“Master Raymond has been detained, but Mr Stevens would be grateful if you would dress for a formal dinner — at 7.”
Fluttery excitement, then — but silly — absurd! He was an old man — at least fifty! And the other guy — so fat, and bald, too.
Nevertheless, she finds herself dressing with urgency, and extreme indecision, as if for a first date with someone she is desperate to impress.
And it works — or so she thinks at first; they exclaim at her prettiness, have her walk back and forth, turn for them. Pathetically flattered, she blushes, and complies.
“Walk like you did at the pool — like a catwalk model — you have a pert little ass, for sure.”
That was the guest — so crude, unlike Ray’s stepdad.
But again, giggling, she complies, making sure to have her bum switch back and forth, blushing deeper, collapsing in giggles at the end, as they applaud politely, ironically.
Then, dinner — and she is ignored again!
Business talk! Politics! Sport! Other women!
She picks at her food, sips at her wine. Feels like storming out, but doesn’t dare. She’s not a child! She’s a woman!
They do this bizarre old-fashioned thing, here. At the end of a formal meal, ‘the ladies’ — her — ‘withdraw’ to a sitting room, and wait until the ‘gentlemen’ have finished their cigars and choose to follow. It’s so weird, like a period movie — except in this super-swanky modern house.
She waits for over half an hour, increasingly agitated inside, flicking through the glossy magazines, not really looking, unable to concentrate, not allowing herself to think, belly fluttering, sometimes on the verge of tears.
When Ray’s stepdad comes in, alone, she almost sobs with relief. He comes straight to her, sits on the coffee table, asks her to stand, takes her hand, looks up at her, face calm, his powerful features expressionless.
“Chloe, my dear. I had intended to have you to myself tonight — all arranged with Ray, I assure you. But this tireseome fellow Loewy insists on having you first. You rather entranced him at the pool, I’m afraid. And the deal is rather important.”
“So, when he comes in, I’ll tell you we want a striptease, and you’ll do it, but concentrating mostly on him. He’ll fuck you first, I’m afraid — just the way it has to be.”
“If you do well I’ll give you a car, or something.”
“As to anything else, you’ll be on a fortnight’s trial — Ray goes back to college in a week. If I’m enjoying you, I’ll make you an offer you can’t refuse, and arrange a deferment for you — you’ll be here for a year or so before I get bored. You’ll be a rich young lady when you go back to school.”
She had been trembling by halfway through this speech, but when he stands and says, patting her cheek;
“It’s happening, pretty, don’t fight it. You’re made for it”, she somehow smiles and nods, wanting to reassure him.
And so here she is, all but naked now, dancing for two old men, so that the fat repulsive one can fuck her, so that her boyfriend’s dad can get some business deal agreed, before he too fucks her, after which he might decide to keep her for a year, until she gets boring.
And she’s trying so hard to do it right.
It’s not the money, either. Some deep urgency to please Mr Stevens. Hell, to please the fat old lecher. To really please them; to disappear in their lust.
She’s going to turn now, thighs apart, lift her hands to exaggerate the swell and swing of her breasts.
Offer herself.
Hoping that she is good enough.
Desperate to be good enough.
She has to be, now that she’s gone this far.
The New Girl
As she had heard the footsteps in the corridor, she had somehow known it would be him.
Naked, she would ordinarily have cried out to stop him entering, or grabbed a blanket or towel — something to cover herself with.
But somehow, her heart pounding fit to burst, she stands just as she was when she heard him, so that when he opens the door — without knocking — he sees her, full frontal, arms relaxed at her sides (apparently relaxed, at least), face as calm as she can make it — although her chest is heaving, making her nipples jiggle slightly.
He is not in the least taken aback, and grins;
“Well, I suppose this will save time later. I need you downstairs. Come as you are. My brother’s here; we’re going to break you in.”
It’s only her third day working as his secretary. Until this minute, everything between them has been perfectly normal — that is, apart from the way he has watched her. She couldn’t have put it into words, but she has felt that his quiet, piercing gaze has been on her steadily, throughout each day, its psychological impact slowly, irresistibly growing.
Earlier this afternoon she had begun to feel incredibly self-conscious, and in a highly sexualised way — her breasts, her behind, her lips, her belly — all feeling as if they are being appraised continually, with strong sexual overtones. A heavy, sexual torpor had begun to affect her, and she began to wonder if she was going crazy; after all, he had done nothing at all out of the ordinary. In the end, she had stopped a little early, claiming a headache, and come up to shower.
And now this; her as good as offering her nakedness to him, him coming out with that outrageous statement.
She was incredibly still (wanted to be still, wanted him to see her, see her naked, see her sex, her breasts, her open-ness to him, wanted him to like what he saw), although at the same time her cheeks were burning and her heart was skittering almost randomly, her belly fluttering. At last, she found some words;
“You … you’re going to … ?” then falters into embarrassing silence, reduced to pleading with her eyes — pleading for what?
He laughs;
“We’re going to fuck you, pretty — both of us, and quite vigorously too — it’s been almost a week since Tara left, and I was doing her two or three times a day; but I did promise I’d wait until Jeffrey got here to do you.”
Her legs nearly gave way at the knees, but somehow she saved herself and, when he put out his hand, reached out and took it, automatically, then, numb, refusing to think, allowed him, mysteriously, to walk her, naked, trembling, but perfectly passive, through the big house, down the stairs toward the open door of the main hall, where someone was whistling impatiently.
She hesitated, turned to him. Her voice was small and very soft, but clear; “I … I’ve never …”
He grins at her, wolfish, but not unkindly; “You’ll be fine pretty — you see, we’re in charge. You’ll do exactly what we want — or suffer the consequences, and then do just what we want anyway. So, you see, it’s impossible for you to let us down.”
At this, her knees do falter, and she is leaning weakly against him for support as they enter the hall, where a large man in riding gear whom she has never seen before is idly flicking a riding whip as Jenkins the ageing butler pours him a whisky.
A few paces more, but then it’s all finally too much for her; she turns to face her employer and hugs tightly onto him, mutely pleading for protection, for release from this waking dream — for so it seems, too bizarre to be real.
Except that protection is not forthcoming.
He calmly uses her momentum to have her bend at the hip, restrains her arms with one strong hand at her wrists, grips her hair with the other, and kicks her feet apart with practised ease. Her face is pressed against the obvious hardness at his crotch, her spread thighs, her sex, presented to the room as she hears him say;
“She’s ready for the warmup, Jeff”, followed seconds later by the searing shock of a leather-clad riding crop slicing into her buttocks.
Her cry is shocked, anguished, but without the slightest overtone of protest or resistance, and after taking six, she allows herself to be laid on her back across a table, to be quickly entered by one brother, in her sex, then immediately by the other, in her mouth.
The next morning, all her clothes have been removed. In their place are only a tiny slinky dress that is ludicrously short, hold-up stockings, and a pair of strappy high heels.
Oh, and there’s a black leather collar, with heavy steel rings. Nothing else.
“… doing Tara two or three time a day…” comes into her head — with two of them, she stands to be fucked at least four times this day, possibly more.
Belly fluttering, mind in turmoil, she nevertheless puts on the slutty outfit and goes downstairs to see what jobs Jenkins has for her this morning. The house is very isolated, and she’s seen the deerhounds in the kennels.
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