He signalled
to one of the many hired security men. He was built like a tank,
and he nodded and advanced on Arlene. 'Her badge says she's press,'
he grunted.
'It must be a
forgery,' Blake insisted.
'Come on,
miss, time you were going,' the security man said, and gripped her
arm in his massive paw. But Arlene kicked his shins smartly and
launched into a karate move, winding a leg around his and chopping
at the hand that held her. He crashed to the floor. Julia wanted to
jump on him and finish the job, but Will's eyes told her not to
interfere - not yet, at any rate. Time enough for action later,
when they had the evidence they wanted.
'Call the
hotel's security,' Gabor ordered grimly.
Arlene
straightened up, filled with righteous indignation. 'Don't worry,
Mr Gabor,' she said. 'I'm going. But this isn't the end of it, not
by a long chalk. You'll be hearing from my solicitors.'
'Tch! And what
good will that do you?' Marty Blake sneered, then leaned closer and
lowered his voice. 'You haven't any proof. There's not a damn thing
you can do about it. But stir up trouble for me and I'll make sure
you never work again. A designer? Forget it.'
'You can't
scare me off, and you'll live to regret this,' Arlene promised with
conviction, and then turned on her heel and marched from the
dressing room. Eugene glared around belligerently, and then
followed her.
'And you?'
Vincent Gabor said to Will. 'Are you a part of this?'
'Not at all,' he answered promptly, camera bag over one
shoulder. 'I'm here on behalf of
Hi
Life
. My editor briefed me to take pictures
of the show. It's quite an event in the social calendar. One of our
writers is out there reporting on it.'
Gabor gave him
a steady stare. 'Okay,' he said carefully, 'you'd better come along
and do the party. There's plenty of celebrities who can't get
enough of seeing themselves in print.'
Shaking off
the restrictions imposed on them by the gathering in the ballroom,
Vincent Gabor's select seraglio gave vent to hilarity and
exuberance when they reached the building which housed so many of
his business ventures and his apartment. Even Julia was still
caught up in the excitement, though fretting about Arlene. The
scene in the dressing room had reinforced her belief in her friend
and refuelled her desire to help her. Marty Blake had behaved like
a monster, and she was now fully convinced of his guilt. As for
Vincent? She could no longer blind herself to the fact that he may
have had a hand in it, too. She had managed a word with Will during
the celebration, where women with shrill voices and too much money
monopolised and idolised Blake.
'What now?'
she murmured, pretending an interest in posing for the camera.
'We dig
deeper; the ball's in your court tonight,' was all he said. 'I
don't see any way I can worm my way into his private bash.'
Duty done,
having entertained the media, the aristocracy, the English
thespians and Hollywood starlets, the girls bundled into cabs and
cars and headed for Abbey Reach. The tower block gleamed, a
constellation in the darkness, every window lit. Julia was sharing
a cab with Gina. It drew up near the entrance to the huge parking
complex, which yawned like a cave mouth and, as on other occasions
when she had parked her own car there, Julia was impressed by its
activity. No matter how late the hour, there were always men
loading or unloading the long-distance lorries that regularly
arrived or departed. She hadn't been able to get to the bottom of
Vincent's commercial enterprises, but gathered that they were
legion and mostly run from the nerve centre at Abbey Reach. But no
one in his employ seemed willing to talk about it.
'What's this
party in aid of?' she asked, once they were in the elevator
travelling heavenwards. 'More charities?'
Gina and Vesta
exchanged a sly glance with Katie, and then Gina rested back
against the lift's mahogany walls and slid her hands down to her
crotch, wrinkling up her skirt and exposing her denuded pussy. The
others smiled and relaxed, Vesta pinching her own nipples and Katie
aping Gina's action and touching her clit.
'It won't be
like that dull thing we've just survived, all those people going
gaga over the clothes. No, Julia, this is held for Vincent's other
crowd. You know, the ones that were there the first night you
joined us... big boys in big business who play for high stakes.
They'll be bringing along their tarts or rent boys, but they'll
want us, too. We don't ask questions. Get it?' Gina moaned softly
and rubbed herself briskly, adding to no one in particular, 'I
wonder if I can come before the lift stops.'
'The only
bright spot at the other do was Theona Blue and her band,' Vesta
chipped in. 'Who had the bright idea of hiring her? I bought one of
her CDs. They were on sale in the foyer.'
'No Theona
Blue tonight, I fear,' Katie said, as they stepped out of the
elevator. 'We may get some eastern flutes and bongos and
belly-dancers, but I guess we'll be too busy to notice.'
'Oh... oh...
bugger it! I didn't quite make it,' Gina grumbled, and then
brightened. 'Never mind. There'll be plenty of good sex for all
concerned when the party gets going.'
At first
nothing much happened. People took their drinks outside and
strolled on the terrace, where a kidney-shaped swimming pool and an
abundance of exotic potted plants made one forget that the opulent
location was way above the city. Several of the more daring guests
were skinny-dipping.
Though quietly
drinking and talking, the majority were wearing what Julia took to
be fancy dress, until she scrutinised the guests more closely. Some
of the men were in monks' habits, the hoods pulled over their
heads, the fronts opened to show naked chests and bellies and
cocks, some drooping, some stiff. A few women were dressed as nuns,
complete with black robes and wimples, this demure attire rendered
immodest by the slits in the bodices where nipples poked through,
and the skirts that were hitched high, displaying luscious bottoms
and cunts. Others wore leather or satin tightly laced corsets, and
split-crotch panties, pussies exposed, clits and nipples rouged and
sometimes pierced, with thin chains linking them. Their make-up was
theatrical, their hair tousled or slicked back, and their footwear
was extreme, always high of heel.
Julia
recognised the strapping dominatrix, Kay, and her partner. They
strode among the crowd, wielding whips and meting out punishment to
the submissive waiters and waitresses. Vincent's two meek servant
girls had been stripped and chained to pillars, heads drooping,
long hair concealing their breasts, but nothing could hide the
floss at their forks, and anyone could touch them, dive a hand
between their thighs and stroke them to orgasm. Reluctant they
might be, but they couldn't prevent themselves from coming.
Gina had been
right about the music. The sounds of flute and tambour came from
judiciously placed stereo speakers. Two dusky-skinned, buxom women
were dancing, their hips gyrating, their large bottoms shaking,
their breasts wobbling, the tassels attached to their jutting
nipples swinging from side to side. A regal looking man in a
striped kaffiyeh had ordered his bodyguards to position his chair
so that he would miss nothing of their performance. As he watched
through lowered lids, a young male slave in chains and leather
straps bent over and presented his naked posterior, and the
hawk-faced man poked his fingers into the proffered anal hole.
Julia found
herself isolated from Gina and the rest, wandering that large room.
A buffet had been set up. Professional caterers provided caviar,
smoked salmon, a range of delectable gourmet dishes, along with
pyramids of fruit and a generous selection of puddings, mostly
served with cream and apricot brandy sauce. There were ices,
chocolate and various, and a seemingly endless supply of
champagne.
As she went
further the wailing music was drowned out by the sounds issuing
from the massive television screen at the far end; groans, cries of
pleasure, the noise of bucking and grinding. Guests lounged on
divans watching a pornographic movie where couples strained in
ecstasy, their antics blown up and exaggerated as they performed
the sex act in a variety of ways. The male actors were handsome and
muscular, their penises large and their balls impressive. Some of
the women had perfect figures, while others had obviously had
breast enlargements. They rubbed their obese tits, making the
nipples stand out. Winding their legs round their screen lovers,
they squealed and grimaced, impaled on those spear-hard cocks.
The audience
watched in silence, sipping champagne and groping their genitals,
or those of the person closest to them. Soon the movements of the
actors were being reproduced in Vincent Gabor's reception room as
more were drawn towards the television screen. Like the actors,
they started to explore every desire. Julia saw one woman whip up
her nun's habit and lay on the floor with four men. One stuck his
cock in her sex, another pushed his erection into her mouth and the
remaining two knelt either side of her so she could take their
rearing erections in her hands and masturbate them.
Julia shrank
back against the wall, though her newly discovered self wanted to
join in. She saw women licking one another's breasts, clits and
forbidden holes and men buggering other men. Restraint had gone to
the winds, the visual stimulation, the strong drink, the licentious
atmosphere combining to encourage the participants to yield to
their basest desires and most erotic fantasies.
'Don't you
want to do what they're doing?' said a husky voice in her ear, and
arms wrapped around her. She was pulled back against a rearing
cock, while hands lifted her skirt and delved between her
thighs.
'Mr Gabor,'
she gasped, sighing and relaxing in his arms. 'I want you...'
He chuckled
throatily and bent at the knee, his naked cock pressing into her
bottom crease. 'I know you do,' he crooned into her ear. 'The
succulent wetness I've discovered between your thighs tells me so.
Hush now and be patient. If you're very good and do exactly as I
say, then later you can have me all to yourself.'
'What do I
have to do?' She was willing to agree to anything, buoyed up by his
promise.
He let her
skirt slither down, tucked his penis away and zipped himself up.
'There's a gentleman here who has expressed an interest in you. He
saw you the first night you performed and also watched you this
afternoon. Please him, and you please me.'
He turned
Julia to face him, and was looking extremely distinguished in tight
white breeches, riding boots and a red jacket, a frilled jabot at
his throat. He carried a riding whip with a silver stock. He was a
ringmaster, or leader of the hunt. She could deny him nothing,
unable to stop staring at the bulge that strained against his
flies. He took her by the hand and they weaved through the throng
to where a man of Latin appearance sat; a fat oily individual, and
her heart plummeted.
She clung to
Vincent's hand, but he merely gave her a little shove forward.
'Senor Lopez, this is Julia,' he said, ignoring the look of utter
disgust freezing her expression. 'You requested that I introduce
her to you.'
The South
American didn't rise, as a gentleman would. Two pebble eyes stared
up at her, the epitome of evil. He stripped her with that glance,
making the outspoken lust of normal men seem pure in contrast.
Julia came out in goosepimples. She was sickened at the thought of
his hands touching her, by his wet lips and tongue slobbering on
her, by his aura of power and ruthlessness.
'Come closer,
senorita,' he said in a thickly accented, guttural voice.
'Do as he
says,' Vincent urged, and moved back.
Julia stood in
front of Lopez, confusion swamping her, as he reached behind her
and cupped and mauled her buttocks. What was expected of her?
Despite the revulsion she felt towards the ox of a man, should she,
in her efforts to please Vincent Gabor, suggest she and the Latin
go somewhere more private?
But she was
given no choice in matters, as Lopez's face split into a lecherous
leer, he nodded at Vincent and smacked her bottom with unnecessary
harshness.
'Take her to
the bed!' barked Vincent.
Curtains were
drawn back to reveal an alcove with a large divan in the centre. It
was covered in a quilt of matched jaguar pelts, and heaped with
cushions in ecclesiastical hues. Despite their absorption in sexual
pursuits, the nearest guests stopped what they were doing and
stared. Julia stared too, fear and excitement warring within
her.
Kay guided her
across the floor, sat her down and snapped the bootlace straps. The
bodice slid to Julia's waist and she tried to cover her breasts,
but the bizarre woman wrenched them away. 'Lie down,' she
ordered.
Julia couldn't
prevent her from seizing her wrists and chaining them to the
bedhead. Her legs were spread and fastened by the ankles with ropes
attached to the barley-sugar twist posts at the foot. Kay hiked up
the black sequinned skirt, exposing Julia's fluffy fair bush, then
smiling triumphantly, she feasted her eyes on that damp, fragrant
area, and parted the plump wings with a knowing finger.
Julia squirmed
in pleasure and shame, but was helpless to prevent Kay from
tickling the sensitive head of her clit till it swelled and rose
from its cowl. Kay then left her, and Julia moaned with trepidation
and need. A heap of pillows were thrust beneath her buttocks,
raising her pelvis so that her hungry pussy was fully visible. Kay
searched under another pillow and drew out a vibrator. It buzzed as
she switched it on. Julia waited breathlessly, familiar with the
bliss such an instrument could bring. Kay wetted the tip in Julia's
dew and let it play on her bud, and the feeling was even more
exquisite than Julia remembered.