Southern Spirits (20 page)

Faye pouted coquettishly. ‘Awww, I'm feeling neglected now. You have no interest in me? You sure know how to hurt a woman's feelings, Nathan.'

Suddenly he took a chance, grabbed Faye by the waist and lifted her up onto the edge of the altar, making her yelp, startled, but approving. His eyes still on hers, he reached down to her knees and parted them, parted them until he could step forwards. He lifted up the hem of her dress, having already seen that she wasn't wearing any underwear.

Then he let his eyes drift deliberately down to the silky brown triangle of her pubic hair, barely concealing the borders of her pussy. He caught her scent in the still, enclosed air of the church. His eyes returned to hers, as his fingers traced playfully around her sex, feeling her wet and open and ready.

Faye's hands went up to wrap around his neck, cooing and sighed indulgently, moving to pull him closer and kiss him.
But he reached up with his other hand and blocked her gently. ‘No. I don't kiss anyone else. I don't fuck anyone else. Those are
my
rules. And we haven't begun talking business yet. You have a problem with any of that, speak now, or let me do this.' He slipped a finger straight inside and began taking her further along with long, deliberate thrusts. The knuckle of his thumb, meanwhile, moved up and pressed hard against her clitoris, massaging in a rough manner which Faye seemed to respond to appreciatively. The hands on his neck now gripped him for support, and her body rocked to the rhythm he had established, her breathing going shallow, ragged.

Nathan leant in to the side of her head, letting his tongue lick out, before he whispered, ‘Tell me about the arrangement with the Kolchaks.' When she didn't respond, he stopped the hand at her pussy. ‘Now.'

Faye talked. Quickly.

The room Wheeler had referred to was one of several semiprivate enclosures in the games carriages, equipped with one-way glass which let players in the corridor watch, if the inner curtains weren't drawn. A large black leather-padded hammock-like sling in the centre dominated the room, suffused with apple-red light from strips built into the walls. It was suspended waist-high and supported by four sturdy-looking chains attached to the ceiling, with leather wrist cuffs and stirrups fixed in strategic places on the sling. ‘People use this?'

‘It's one of our most popular features.' Wheeler carried a cardboard box he'd collected from his office over to an adjacent table. ‘A woman can relax in it and be treated for hours, without her or her partners requiring Olympic stamina.'

Catalina stood at the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest. ‘Uh-huh. “Treated”.' When she saw the top of a bottle in the box, and heard a distinctive rattle of glass, she added, ‘You're not getting me drunk again.'

‘You're not getting any alcohol. I want your mind unimpaired and your memory sharp. Close and lock the door, unless you want spectators.'

Cat stepped in and locked it. ‘What exactly do you intend to do?'

‘I'd rather not say; part of the atmosphere I wish to generate involves the unexpected.' He set out a small MP3 player with speakers. ‘Take off your slacks and make yourself comfortable.'

His words sent an unexpected thrill running through Cat. But she didn't move. ‘You expect me to trust you, Jack?' It seemed strange to ask, after all they'd been through already.

‘Well, if at any stage you want me to stop, just say . . . “gothic”. It's what we call a safe word.'

‘I know what a safe word is, you patronising
cabrón.
'

He sighed. ‘Someday I'll meet a woman who's not an obstreperous smart-ass, and –'

‘And she'll bore you to tears.' She stood watching him watching back, as she slipped out of her shoes and moved her fingers over the catches on her slacks, giving a little shimmy to send them to her feet and leaving her in her blouse and panties. The air felt cool on her bare legs, but the rest of her seemed to heat up as she stepped out of her discarded slacks and walked towards him, reaching out to her side to draw the curtains across the one-way glass, enjoying the look of unadulterated lust Wheeler was giving her. She turned and walked over to the sling, taking a moment to study it more closely before settling into it. She set her head back on the padded leather rest, playing with the edges of her blouse, keeping her feet on the floor. ‘Ever had a girl in this?'

‘A few. Nervous?'

‘You wish.'

He drew closer, carrying a black silk scarf, and stepped behind her. Then he looked down at her. ‘Raise your head.'

She did. Wheeler wrapped the scarf gently around her head twice, cutting off any light filtering through the material, before tying the ends at the left side of her head. Her pulse had begun to quicken, but she forced herself to try to appear calm, if not be calm, as Wheeler took her left hand, gently guided the wrist up and slipped it into the leather cuff on the nearest chain overhead. Moments later, he had secured
the other wrist appropriately. Unlike her time on the bench that morning, she felt no means of escape.

A frisson immediately shot through her, an acknowledged excitement at this restraint, not quite knowing what this man would do. It wasn't a genuine fear – he had no prior record of violence, showed no inclination towards it in all the time she'd known him. She thought of telling Nathan, but knew that would open too many . . .

She swallowed as she felt Jack take her left shin, then raise and set her leg at an elevated but comfortable angle, resting it against padding on one chain. He slipped her foot into a soft stirrup and secured a cuff around her ankle. Moments later, he secured her right leg too and she silently admitted that it was exceedingly cosy. She also became keenly aware of her spread thighs, imagined Jack gazing at her waiting sex, encased in the black brocaded silk of her panties.

With her sight cut off, Cat listened closely, listened to Jack lifting up and setting the table closer to her. Seconds later, music – some scratchy tenor – played at low volume. It wouldn't have been her first choice of music, but it did have a calming, almost hypnotic effect, even as a buzz began growing deep within her, an inner echo of the approaching storm outside.

She started as she felt something soft, willowy, brushing along her forearm. ‘What the fuck?'

‘Shh.' Wheeler had returned to her silently, and was drawing something along her. Cat tried to focus, to guess what it was – a strip of sable perhaps, wrapped around his fingers – but felt overwhelmed by the shivers running through her like a current. The touch ran up her arm towards the sleeve of her blouse, and then seemed to leap over the material to touch her throat, draw along her collarbone, before trailing slowly down to the upper curves of her breasts. It moved upwards as she began to smile, the smile blossoming as it drew across her lips. ‘
Dios.
'

She felt Jack draw closer to her face, seconds before his tongue lightly stroked her lips in pursuit. Her shivers increased despite the sweat-inducing heat in the room, and her breasts rose and fell within the meagre confines of her blouse; she wasn't sure if she was glad or not about not wearing a bra that morning.

The furry touch brushed across her cheeks, and then down again, dipping into her cleavage, and Cat felt as if her blouse had just spontaneously shrunk a size on her. She wished a hand was free to . . .

Suddenly, Jack deftly undid a button, then another, alternating with brushing along each part of newly exposed skin. Slowly, languidly, he opened her blouse, never just fully baring her breasts, but leaving it to whatever he was caressing her with to dip beneath the material, the tip slipping over hardened nipples. Her pulse quickened, pleasure rippling outwards from wherever she was touched, and she let out a sound like a sigh embracing a moan.

She felt Jack orbit around her, stop at her feet and draw closer again. He returned to her blouse, undoing the rest of the buttons and baring her midriff, leaving her breasts barely covered. The touch of sable returned to her skin, down from her breastbone and over her stomach, making her squirm within her bonds at the sensations. They vanished for a heartbeat, but then returned along her inner thighs, up along one, down along the other. It lingered, seeming to trace along the border to her panties, making her writhe and moan. ‘
Hijo de mil putas
'

‘What, a
thousand
bitches?' Jack chuckled, but then quickly returned to silence, continuing his teasing, obviously enjoying his chance to outdo Nathan's earlier performance.

Then he was gone, leaving Cat to contemplate. It was a rare opportunity for her to let go like this, something she hadn't
expected to do for a long time, needing someone trustworthy enough. That she should feel that way about this man . . .

‘Fuck!' Cat felt something cold drip onto her, as Jack peeled away the covering on her left breast and touched her right nipple, circling something around it. He drew it away, she heard a slight crunch, and then it returned, this time to her right breast, drawing upwards to her throat, her chin, leaving snakes of moisture like trails of tears along the way. It brushed across her lips, and Cat recognised the scent: strawberries, chilled strawberries, kept in ice water. Jack let it linger, silently inviting her to consume it.

She did, even as she felt him produce another and return to running it back down her body, over her breasts and nipples once again. She could feel the cold trails of melted water and juices running along her curves, igniting her nerves like fireworks. Her skin felt hot, and the ice seemed to burn with delicious warmth now, as it circled round her nipples, pleasure shooting through her, ebbing out, spreading from her breasts.

He ran the strawberries down over her stomach, following the same path as the sable, circling her navel, then moving down over her pelvis and down the outside of her legs, always taking a bite from them and feeding the rest to her when they were nearly spent of cold and moisture.

Cat's body felt on fire, charged and sensitised, every touch making her squirm. She could feel Jack moving his attentions along the inside of her right leg, up her thigh, and she held her breath as she readied herself for his touching her sex – except that he didn't, instead hopping over to her left thigh. She was shivering with an acute expectation, hating and revelling in the sweet sensations, the agony twisting her in place, making the swing sway.

Then she felt his fingers at her panties, drawing the patch of fabric against her sex and gently holding it to one side. He
touched the strands of her bush, almost imperceptibly stroking her folds, parting them slightly.

She yelped as she felt the icy drips of water from another strawberry patter onto her burning pussy.
Dios
, that was intense! She bit her lip as Jack brushed the whole strawberry along her pussy lips, up and around her clitoris, making her hips buck, making her want it to stop and go further.

But it was out of her hands. She felt him withdraw it. He took a bite and then offered the rest to her. She accepted it, tasting herself on the fruit, trying and failing to catch a stray trail of juice running down from the side of her mouth.

Jack chuckled at that.

‘Fuck you and the horse you rode in on,' she replied huskily. She heard him draw back, popping a cork. She listened to the gurgling of fizzy liquid overflowing and dripping onto the floor, and hoped for a drink to quench her thirst, despite her earlier insistence on sobriety.

‘Here's to you, Catalina,' Jack declared, as if toasting her. ‘And what's to come.'

And then Cat gasped as she felt the champagne pour over her breasts, first one and then the other, felt it collect between her breasts and run down in fingers to pool around her navel, before pouring over her sex, soaking her panties. She panted at the fizzing bubbles tickling her skin, and listened to it trickle to the floor, her mind drifting.

Her attention drew to Jack's lips and tongue as they followed the champagne . . .

. . . sucking and licking Val's nipples, her breasts. Val cried out loudly as Mickey continued to lick the liquid from her skin, his fingers teasing her elsewhere. She was naked but for her blindfold and the scarves binding her wrists to the headboard of their now-soaked berth bed, and she let herself be swept away
by Mickey's touch, his voice murmuring filthy things in Italian as Mario Lanza crooned on the nearby radio.

As first anniversaries go, it was intense. Lately Mickey had shown a returned interest in her, and a taste for bondage, something that she couldn't help but respond to, despite her lingering guilt over Enrique, who was in his own berth, minding the latest money transfer. She felt Mickey's erection rub against her wet thighs, and ground her pussy against his hand. ‘Come on, come on.'

Mickey froze.

Val froze too, smiling. ‘Hey, you still there, you big mook?'

No answer.

Val's heart beat a little faster. These moments of creepy uncertainty were recent with him as well.

Then he began kissing and touching her again, as if nothing had happened to interrupt them. She knew that wasn't the case, but also knew that she couldn't do anything about it. Soon, she felt her desire rise once more. She yelped, more loudly now than in other circumstances, as Mickey nipped and sucked at her nipples, biting softly and making her squirm against the hard cock pressing between her thighs. ‘Come on, Mickey, take me.'

He pulled away from her mouth, leant in towards her ear. ‘You want me?'

‘Oh God, yes,' she panted, being truthful as much as wanting this over as quickly as possible now. ‘Untie me and let's fuck properly.'

His hands moved over her hips again. ‘Have you any secrets?'

She froze again. ‘What?'

‘Secrets. You know what secrets are. Do you have any?'

Val swallowed, tried to shake off her instinctive fears. Stupid, stupid bitch! Had he found out about Enrique? It was a struggle to stay calm, but already she could feel the sweat running
down the back of her neck like the champagne. ‘W– What sort of secrets, Mickey?'