And so Julia
set about attempting to capture his attention again when she next
paced the catwalk. He arrived late, the rehearsal halfway through
before he put in an appearance. Kevin was with him, carrying a
briefcase and wearing an air of importance, as well as a loose
jacket and baggy shorts that had come from Blake's workshop. His
shaven head glistened with a light patina of sweat.
Roberta huffed
and tossed his beaded mane, glaring disdainfully at Kevin, but
restraining his cutting comments concerning tardy timekeeping.
Blake was top dog, and could only be reprimanded by Gabor.
Gina had swung
through her routine, wearing one of next spring's ensembles, a
saucy little number, brief and made of easy-care cotton. It
exemplified youthful insouciance, and undoubtedly chain store
buyers would purchase it. Blake catered for these as well as for
the shiny set; those rich women who appeared at every event that
involved fashion.
Vesta was
ready to go as Gina reached the head of the catwalk. She was
modelling a suave and elegant cream linen day-dress, with a
wide-brimmed hat. When she returned to the stage Julia took her
place, sashaying towards Blake who stood at the end of the walk,
looking up at her. She knew that her youth and vibrancy contributed
to the success of the beach outfit she was modelling. It consisted
of a short, fringed sarong in a jungle print, and a low-cut vest
finishing just above her navel. She had sunbathed all day Sunday
and deepened her tan, adding zest to the spicy tones of the fabric,
which were repeated in the bold, chunky necklace and pendant
earrings.
When she
reached the end she paused, legs parted, feet balanced on mules
with high soles. She guessed that from this angle Blake could look
straight up her skirt, even catch a glimpse of the red lycra
G-string that cupped her mound. She was angry with Vincent; he
played hot and cold, only speaking to her when he felt like it. He
hadn't made love to her since taking her virginity. He was hardly
ever there, didn't attend rehearsals and was always jetting off on
mysterious trips, to do with business, so Grace said.
Blake, on the
other hand, was very much in evidence. This was his show and he was
obsessed with success. Now would be a good time to get closer to
him, and what could be closer than having sex with him? She still
didn't like the man, but it would help her undercover work, and she
hoped Vincent would get to hear about it and be hurt.
Blake was
observing her closely, a slight smile curving his finely chiselled
lips, and so she decided to put her plan into action. The sarong
was loosely fastened, one end tucked into the waistband, so it was
a second's work to unhitch the loop, accidentally on purpose, and
the skirt unwrapped itself and slithered down round her ankles.
'Oh, I'm so
sorry, Mr Blake,' she squealed. 'I hope this doesn't happen on the
night!' She adopted a demure pose, her knees pressed together, a
hand with fingers spread wide as if seeking to protect her modesty,
covering the little red triangle that barely hid her mound. She
turned away from him, knowing that her bottom still bore the marks
of punishment, and wanting to remind him.
'We'll have to
see that it doesn't, won't we, Julia?' Blake said, his grey eyes
gleaming like steel 'Safety pins are a great asset to any model who
isn't too sure of the security of her clothing. You would do well
to remember that.'
'Yes, Mr
Blake,' Julia said, pouting innocently and, while bending to
retrieve her sarong, gave him a tantalising flash of the delicate
strip of red fabric nestled tightly between her thighs that stood
between her and his devouring gaze. 'Thank you, Mr Blake.'
'Get into your
own clothes and we'll go for lunch,' he said, decisively.
'But Marty,
we've only just got here,' Kevin protested, shooting bitchy daggers
at Julia.
'What about
the other girls?' Roberta put in, standing theatrically in all his
magnificent glory of form and height, a petulant scowl on his
heavily made-up face. 'Don't you want to see which ones are wearing
what? Your opinion is of the essence, as you know.'
'You just hold
the fort,' Blake said, in a tone that no one cared to dispute.
'I'll be two hours, tops.'
A taxi took
them to an ultra-smart redbrick building fronted by a quay, beyond
which the River Thames flowed. It was one of several that had been
converted into offices and much sought after apartments. Half a
million pounds would not be enough to buy one of these. But despite
the money that had been spent and the planning that had gone into
improvements, to Julia the frowning structures would never be
anything other than factories in dockland.
'You live
here?' she asked, seeking a topic of conversation. All the way
there Blake had done nothing but stare at her, silent as the
grave.
'Yes, and I
have my atelier on the floor below.'
'How
convenient,' she observed, thinking of Arlene's shabby little
workroom above a shop, whereas he could afford a well-equipped
studio on hand. He wouldn't even have to go out of the building in
order to get there.
They reached
his door and he pressed a series of computerised buttons to admit
them. Once inside, Julia forgot the original use of the place. It
had been cleverly renovated, and she wondered if he could be
persuaded into letting her view that hive of industry where his
machinists and pattern cutters would be working non-stop in order
to bring his collection together on time.
She would ask
him in a while, she decided, when they'd had lunch and done
whatever he'd brought her there to do. Her chest tightened and her
nipples crimped. She might be falling under the spell of Vincent
Gabor, but Marty Blake was undeniably attractive too, and she
couldn't forget the feel of his cock in her mouth and the shameful
delights she experienced when he plundered her virgin bottom.
'Do you want a
drink?' he asked, crossing the terracotta-tiled floor to a Peruvian
style cabinet. Made of roughly carved wood, with blackened and
deliberately rusted hinges, this piece and the chairs and table
that went with it, looked as if they should be gracing a dining
room/kitchen in a hacienda.
'Orange juice,
please,' she said.
He fetched it
from the large American-style fridge and carried it to the table.
Then he took out a salad, a dish of tuna and pasta, garlic bread
and yellow butter and a cheese board. 'My housekeeper prepared this
earlier,' he said. 'A useful Tai boy, a wonderful cook and a wizard
when it comes to ironing my clothes and generally looking after me.
He's pretty, too, and sometimes models my menswear.'
'I see,' she
said, nervous of him, disliking him, yet secretly aching to feel
his avaricious touch again.
'Do you,
Julia?' he said, and sat close to her at the octagonal table. Hewn
from a solid block of wood, it stood on a central pedestal and was
spread with an embroidered cloth. 'And what do you see, I wonder,
with those wide blue eyes?'
This was an
ideal opportunity and she knew she mustn't blow it, so she put on
her best look of doting innocence and smiled sweetly. 'I see a very
clever and successful man who is letting me model some of his
clothes, and I'm more than just grateful,' she said.
'You intrigue
me,' he answered, serving the tuna salad and a tangy mayonnaise.
'You came along at just the right moment; I needed a fresh
face.'
'Do you ever
think of anything except your clothes?' she asked, idly touching
the rim of her chilled glass with the tip of a dainty finger.
'Hardly ever.
I'm like any creative person, one-pointed and egocentric. I live
and breathe my designs. When everyone has gone home at night, I pop
down to my workroom and spend hours adjusting the toiles draping
the dummies. I'm rarely satisfied, and putting on a collection is a
monumental strain. I brought you here to help me relax. Don't let's
talk about work. Tell me about yourself, Julia Jones. Are you
attracted towards Mr Gabor?'
She nearly choked - was she
that
transparent? - dabbed her lips
with a paper napkin, looked at him quizzically, and said, 'What
makes you think that?'
He chuckled,
moved behind her to top up her glass, then suddenly eased down her
shoulder straps and the bodice of her dress shimmered down a
little, almost exposing her nipples. 'He excites you, doesn't he?'
he said smoothly. 'He's so masterful, so cruel. I'll bet you never
dreamed you could be so submissive.'
'I don't think
I want to talk about it,' she said, trying to readjust her
dress.
'No, sit there
like that,' he insisted. 'I wish the public were ready to accept
some of my more advanced ideas for women's designs. There's nothing
more beautiful than the dishevelled look, almost - but not quite -
allowing the observer to glimpse the perfection of a beautiful pair
of naked breasts. It looks so sluttish - so wanton. It is
absolutely enticing.'
His intensity
made Julia begin to wonder if he was slightly eccentric, if not
mad, but there was nothing she could do if she wanted her plan to
succeed. 'No more, thank you,' she said, when he offered the salad
bowl.
When they had
eaten he removed the dishes to the kitchen area and came back with
a large bowl of strawberries. 'These early fruits are always the
sweetest,' he purred, put down the bowl, closed his hands round
Julia's waist, and guided her up to sit on the edge of the
table.
Without
resistance he parted her smooth thighs, reached between them and
beneath the skirt of her dress, and plucked the gusset of her
panties between finger and thumb, his eyes staring deep into hers
the whole time. He pulled. The delicate material resisted, so he
picked up a dinner knife and, as Julia froze and watched it with
alarm in her wide blue eyes, nicked easily through the fragile,
slightly damp panties. They fell apart, exposing the full, luscious
petals of her labia, and she gasped as he explored her sex lips,
holding them open, his fingers sliding on the clear moisture
wetting her vulva, and spreading it over the swollen sliver of
flesh that crowned her delta.
'How beautiful
you are,' he complimented. 'So soft and succulent and fragrant.'
His fingers worked with more intent between her thighs, and through
her turmoil of conflicting emotions, she sensed he was referring to
that secret area that was responding so traitorously to his touch.
'You make me want to eat you... fruit and cream... mmm, a delicious
combination.' His voice was low, almost hypnotic, his breath
ruffling the soft hair on her lightly perspiring brow.
Her mouth
opened in surprise as he picked a plump red strawberry from the
dish and inserted it into her vagina. It was icy cold, straight
from the fridge, and she gave a quick gasp. He pushed the succulent
chilled fruit deeper inside her, and rested his thumb on her
clitoris, which thrummed in response to the exciting sensations:
cold and hot, soft and firm. She longed to come.
He grinned
knowingly, and applied a further strawberry to one of her nipples,
which bunched delightfully at the sudden cold. He sucked the fruit
between his lips and munched slowly, then leant down to lick the
red-stained flesh of her aureole.
Below, in the
dark confines of her channel, she could feel the fruit warming in
her heat, but this was suddenly chilled again when he inserted more
until she was filled with a delectable summer harvest. He suckled
at her breasts again, and a tingling feeling emanated from her
clit. It spread to her groin, her womb, the base of her spine, the
intense excitement making her moan and arch her neck, staring at
the ceiling through misty blue eyes.
Blake sat on a
chair between her legs, leaned closer, his cheek resting on her
thigh as he watched her labia turning the colour of the berries,
her clitoris a shining pearl at its crest. He tickled it, circled
it, manipulated it until Julia felt herself rushing towards
completion, and then she gave a low-pitched sob and shuddered on
the table, fingers clawing his hair as she climaxed. Her
fruit-filled sex convulsed, pulping the softened contents. A
trickle of crimson juice ran from her like blood, and Blake caught
it on his tongue.
He lapped at
her, drinking the delectable nectar of fruit and pussy juice. His
tongue entered her vagina and curled around a strawberry. He sucked
it out, swallowed it, and then probed avidly for the rest of the
sweet harvest. Feeling drained Julia lay back on the table and let
him do as he willed with her. She was still quivering from the
mighty orgasm, relaxed and utterly replete, her sex lips glowing
with the warmth of his tongue and soothed by the slippery sweetness
of his spittle.
He stood,
loomed over and kissed her, and she could taste strawberries and
her own fragrant juices on his lips. With an arm around her, he led
her into the lounge, a place with modern art on the walls, a hi-fi
console, a forty-inch television screen, white carpets and white
leather armchairs and a deeply cushioned white leather couch. The
French windows opened onto a conservatory and rooftop garden. It
all simply reeked of money.
Blake
discarded his shirt. He was staggeringly beautiful and well
muscled, the planes of his chest leading down to the hard,
washboard ridges of his belly. He slipped out of his designer
toe-post sandals, and then took off his trousers. Julia had already
experienced his handsome penis, but couldn't quite recall it being
so big, and as he walked to where she sat spellbound on the couch,
it bobbed in time with his stride, and his balls swung beneath it
in their scrotal sac.
He stopped in
front of her, his cock pointing threateningly straight at her face.
'Touch me,' he said.