The Taming of Jessica (4 page)

Darragh guided the head of his cock slowly up and down the length of her slit. She could feel the heat of it even through the condom, and she wriggled her arse, wanting him to stop teasing and fill her.

Although the plug had already stretched her a little, as Darragh’s crown began to inch into her arsehole she registered a marked difference in thickness. Cold metal was replaced with hot, hard flesh, and she groaned at the feel of him. Max should have been here, watching, urging the Irishman on to claim her arse, maybe even waiting his own turn with his cock in his hand.

The first stroke, shallow as it was, had her holding back a cry that threatened to alert anyone outside the cubicle to what was happening within. ‘You OK?’ Darragh asked, concerned that he might be hurting her.

‘Yes,’ Jessica whispered. ‘It’s just – you’re going somewhere no one ever has before.’

‘Not even your husband?’ he asked, sounding slightly incredulous.

She shook her head. She couldn’t see his face, but she could imagine the grin that split it as her revelation sank in. Darragh cupped one of her bum cheeks in his hand, then gave it a smart slap. ‘You’re a bad, bad girl, so you are.’ He chuckled. ‘Well, I’d better make this good for you, hadn’t I?’

He started to saw his cock in and out of her arse, moving to a rhythm designed to suit them both. Gripping the toilet lid so hard her knuckles turned white, Jessica surrendered to his power, the assurance of his strokes. She shouldn’t be enjoying this as much as she was, but it seemed that owning up to her desire to submit allowed her the freedom to let herself be taken in ways she’d previously rejected. God, if only she’d known how good it felt to have her arse fucked, she’d have let Max do it long ago.

Behind her, Darragh was stepping up the pace, his groin slapping against her rump with every stroke. He wouldn’t be able to hold back much longer, she knew, and she didn’t want to be left high and dry if he finished before her. Reaching between her indecently damp thighs, she rubbed the wet knot of her clit, already feeling the first tremors of orgasm quaking in her belly.

‘Oh God, oh Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!’ Darragh muttered as his own climax overtook him, and Jessica couldn’t help wondering if he’d one day admit to this encounter in some confessional box. Tell the story the right way and he’d have the priest green with envy, she thought. Then the tight muscles of her arse were clutching at the Irishman’s shaft, and she was babbling words that didn’t make any sense as she rode out the waves of orgasm.

They came back to their senses quickly, aware that Darragh needed to resume his flight attendant duties before anyone realised quite how long he’d been gone. As he disposed of the condom and eased his wilting cock back into his underwear, Jessica patted herself dry with toilet paper, then used another twist of it to wrap the butt-plug in. She let him leave the cubicle first, while she splashed her face with water and brushed her hair. Try as she might, though, she couldn’t disguise the brightness in her eyes, the glow that came from having been thoroughly fucked.

When she returned to her seat, it was to see that Max had abandoned the in-flight magazine in favour of a paperback thriller he’d bought at the airport. He appeared to be engrossed in the book, but his brief sideways glance acknowledged her return.

‘So, did you do as I asked?’ he asked. Her only reply was to hand him the paper parcel containing the plug. He took it from her with a look that told her how proud of her he was for what she’d done.

‘Can I get you a drink, sir? Madam?’ The familiar Irish voice was soft at her ear. Jessica looked up, trying not to blush as her eyes met Darragh’s. The flight attendant’s tone might be wholly professional, but his gaze was anything but.

‘Champagne, please – for both of us,’ Max said.

‘Coming right up, sir. And we’ll be serving lunch in the next 20 minutes.’ Before Darragh turned back in the direction of the galley to fetch their drinks, he added, ‘I hope everything’s been to your satisfaction so far?’

‘Well, my wife certainly seems pleased with the service.’ Max’s comment was left hanging between them as Darragh retreated, but, out of the line of sight of anyone passing by, Jessica could see him rolling the butt-plug between his fingers – a subtle reminder of what he had put her through. She couldn’t help wondering whether this concluded her punishment, or whether he still had more ways up his sleeve of making her pay for her misbehaviour.

Chapter Four

The landing strip came into sight, a dark stretch of asphalt against stark white sand, and Jessica braced herself for touchdown. The remainder of their flight to Antigua had passed without incident, and there they’d transferred to this plane, big enough only for half a dozen passengers and the pilot, for the short trip to St Thomas island. From here, they would travel by boat to Isla Barada.

Max had been quiet on this flight, though whether that was down to the fact he was plotting some further act of humiliation for her or he simply got nervous travelling in a small aircraft she couldn’t say. When they’d disembarked at V.C. Bird International, Darragh had waved them off the plane. ‘See you again,’ he’d murmured to her in among the usual bland words of farewell. If their paths crossed on the return journey, would Max give her permission to fuck him a second time? Part of her hoped he might, though mostly she wanted to keep it as a delicious one-off, just as she had with the guys she’d snared on her clubbing adventures.

She glanced around the confines of the cabin as the plane’s wheels made juddering contact with the ground. The blond man squashed somewhat awkwardly into the seat at the front of the plane looked familiar, though she couldn’t for the life of her remember where she’d seen him before. With his pretty, pouting looks, maybe he modelled for fashion magazines. Never mind, it would come back to her.

What concerned her more was that there appeared to be only one other woman travelling out to the island, and the unfriendly look Jessica had received in response when she’d smiled a greeting had convinced her the pneumatic blonde was no woman’s woman. The way the girl hung on to what Jessica presumed to be her husband’s arm, even though there appeared to be a good 50-year age gap between the couple, helped convince her of that. She really hoped Damon Barada’s resort wasn’t simply some kind of glorified boys’ club, where Max would spend the whole week networking. He’d promised her a holiday she’d never forget, but watching him talk shop wouldn’t feel much like a holiday to her.

Clearing customs at the airport was a formality, and soon the little group was climbing into the boat that would take them out to Damon’s island. Thirty minutes later, they pulled into the sheltered bay closest to the resort.

To Jessica’s surprise, Damon Barada stood barefoot on the beach waiting to welcome them, greeting each passenger, male or female, with a hearty hug.

‘Max, lovely to see you again,’ he boomed. ‘And Jessica, darling, it’s been far too long …’ For someone she’d only met once, he was awfully familiar in his manner, but his welcome made them feel like close friends, rather than guests.

He moved on to the next person off the boat, the blond man Jessica recognised but couldn’t put a name to. ‘Hey, Sebastian, so you finally made it …’

Jessica turned her head to look at the man, hoping his surname would come to her, but Max pressed a hand into the small of her back. ‘Come on, Jessica, we’ve got to check in.’

He guided her up the beach, towards the low, white complex of resort buildings. The reception area had a marble-tiled floor, its coolness welcome after the fierce heat of the Caribbean afternoon. A dark-skinned girl in a white tunic dress smiled broadly from behind the desk.

When she wished him a cheerful good afternoon, Max introduced himself to her. ‘Ah yes. Mr Sheringham, you’re in Suite 5. I’ll get someone to take your luggage.’ He scrawled his signature on the printed sheet she handed him, and was given a key card in return.

‘Does it have an ocean view?’ he asked.

‘But of course.’

When Jessica made to follow him down the corridor, the receptionist halted her progress. ‘Mrs Sheringham, I’ll need you to come with me – and bring your bag with you, if you wouldn’t mind.’

Jessica looked at Max, but he simply gave a curt nod. ‘Do as she asks, Jessica.’

With that, he was gone. Jessica hesitated for a moment, then realised the receptionist was regarding her impatiently. Having no idea where she was being taken, she followed the girl, whose black spike heels clicked briskly on the tiles.

At last, the receptionist pushed open the door of a small room that reminded Jessica irresistibly of the interrogation suites she’d seen on any number of TV detective shows, containing nothing but a plain wooden desk and two chairs. A tinted window ran the length of one wall, though Jessica couldn’t seem to see what it let on to.

‘If you’d just like to wait here, Mrs Sheringham, the customs official will be with you in a second.’

‘Customs? But …’ When they’d gone through passport control on St Thomas, Jessica had assumed that was it for the outward leg of their journey. If extra checks were required, why wasn’t Max – or any of the other passengers, for that matter – being subjected to them?

Before Jessica had time to ponder the matter further, the door opened again and a striking woman with skin the colour of caramel stepped inside. She wore a blue uniform shirt and black trousers, and her black hair was tied back in a ponytail beneath a peaked cap. More alarmingly for Jessica, she carried a clipboard and what appeared to be a pair of latex gloves.

‘Sit down, please, Mrs Sheringham,’ she ordered.

Meekly, Jessica did as she was told, cowed by the woman’s obvious air of authority.

‘I’m Officer Abrams.’ As the woman spoke, she was placing Jessica’s Louis Vuitton carry-on case on the desk and unzipping it. ‘And you’ve been selected for a random bag search.’ She flashed Jessica a smile, trying to suggest this was as inconvenient for her as it was for Jessica. ‘I’m sure this will be nothing for either of us to worry about, and then you’ll be able to begin your holiday.’

With efficient movements, she pulled item after item out of the bag. Jessica couldn’t help but blush as her flimsiest, laciest panties – the ones she’d packed specifically so Max could enjoy the sight of her wearing them – were laid out on the table. At least, she thought with relief, Max had taken the butt-plug from her on the plane. How would she have explained that to this woman if it had been discovered lurking in her luggage?

Her relief was short-lived. Unzipping the pocket that ran the width of the bag’s exterior, Officer Abrams reached inside and fished out what looked like a make-up case. Except she’d already thoroughly investigated Jessica’s make-up collection, contained in a bag that matched the design of the carry-on case. ‘Now, what do we have in here?’ She opened the case, her eyes widening at the sight of what waited inside. One by one, she pulled the items out. A six-inch vibrator in black latex, designed to look like a penis, with a fat, domed head and sculpted veins running along its shaft. A tube of anal lube, the same brand as Max had given her to use with the butt-plug. And a pair of black leather wrist cuffs, lined with red faux fur.

‘Come to the island to party, have we?’ the customs officer. ‘Tell me, Mrs Sheringham, do you use the cuffs and the dildo on your husband, or does he use them on you?’

‘I – I …’ Jessica stammered. She’d never seen any of those toys before. Certainly, she had a vibrator or two in her bedside drawer, but she preferred the pocket rocket type, small, discreet, and capable of bringing her to a peak in moments, not something as crude and obvious as a fake black dick. Someone was playing a cruel prank on her. But who on earth could have placed the things in her luggage?

Then she remembered. When they had been driven to the airport, Max had sent Jessica out to the car first while he’d set the house’s alarm system, and brought the luggage down to the car himself, rather than asking Mickey to do it. That would have given him plenty of time to put the bag of sex toys in her case. Maybe he wasn’t playing a trick on her, after all. Maybe he’d intended that, as Officer Abrams had suggested, they could use their time on the island to play some kinky sex games together.

It was nothing to be embarrassed about, she told herself, even if the customs officer did seem to be relishing watching her squirm as she made a show of examining the vibrator in detail. They must be done here now; the case had been checked inside and out. Once it was repacked, Jessica could be on her way.

Officer Abrams gave the front pocket one last pat. ‘There seems to be something else in here.’ This time, she drew out an apple. ‘Now, this is serious. You’re in trouble, Mrs Sheringham.’

‘What do you mean?’ The appearance of the apple wasn’t a mystery; the couple had been offered fruit as part of their in-flight meal, and Max had taken a couple of apples. One he’d eaten on the plane, the other he’d slipped into Jessica’s luggage in case he felt hungry before they reached Isla Barada.

‘It should have been picked up on St Thomas. We have very strict rules on bringing foodstuffs to Isla Barada, particularly fruit and vegetables. They can carry all manner of pests and diseases which could cause havoc to the island’s ecosystem.

‘Oh, come on,’ Jessica protested. ‘It’s only an apple. What harm could it do if you just ignore it?’

Officer Abrams shook her head in resigned fashion. ‘I wish I could, Mrs Sheringham. But rules are rules, and you’ve broken them. I’m afraid you’re going to have to be punished.’

‘What do you mean, punished? You’re going to confiscate the apple, fine me?’

‘Yes, I’m taking the apple, but you’re not going to be fined. Stand up, Mrs Sheringham.’ All trace of warmth had disappeared from the woman’s voice. When Jessica obeyed, on trembling legs, she added, ‘Now strip.’

‘But this is ridiculous. You can’t make me …’

‘Oh yes I can,’ Officer Abrams said. ‘We have our own jurisdiction here, and if you’re going to refuse to obey my orders, then I can simply have you deported back to the UK, with or without your husband.’

‘Please, I don’t want to take my clothes off.’ Jessica glanced around the room as if someone might miraculously hear her plea and come to her aid, but the door to the room remained stubbornly shut. She was alone with this stern, demanding customs officer, who was already slipping on the latex gloves.

‘You should have thought of that before you brought unauthorised fruit to the island, then, shouldn’t you?’

Aware she could delay the moment of her exposure no longer, Jessica pulled her polka dot-patterned vest top over her head, and placed it on the table, then tugged down her skirt and stepped out of it. She looked at Officer Abrams in mute supplication, hoping she wouldn’t have to carry out the instruction any further. But the officer stared back, unmoved by Jessica’s silent request, and merely waited for Jessica to reach behind herself, unclip her bra, and add it to the pile of clothing. She folded her arms over her breasts, shielding them from the officer’s cool scrutiny.

‘And the rest,’ Officer Abrams snapped.

Biting back a sob, Jessica bent down to take off her panties.

From his vantage point behind the one-way glass that gave him a perfect view into the interrogation room, Max licked his lips as he watched Jessica being forced to strip bare by the woman she completely believed to be part of the island’s customs and immigration service. What Jessica didn’t know was that Isla Barada had no customs and immigration service, and no policy on prohibited foodstuffs. This whole scenario was one of Damon Barada’s favourite fantasies – the dominant authority figure enforcing their own brand of law on a helpless victim – and every woman who came to the resort had been put through it on her first visit, always with her husband or partner looking on and enjoying the action. Some men requested that the customs officer be played by a man, but as Jessica had already been fucked by that Irish flight attendant, Max had wanted her to be stripped, examined, and spanked by another woman.

This afternoon, Damon stood beside Max, watching the scene being played out before them. ‘One of the perks of the job,’ he’d said when he’d slipped into the viewing gallery moments after Officer Abrams had started rifling through Jessica’s lingerie. ‘And I do so enjoy watching Delice dish out the discipline to some poor girl – or, in this case, your gorgeous wife. You know, Max, I really can’t believe it’s taken you so long to bring Jessica out to the island. Care to tell me what finally brought this on?’

‘Not really,’ Max replied. He knew he was sounding churlish, but he was still recovering from the knowledge that Sebastian Voller was one of his fellow guests at the resort. The man had been waiting to join the party in Antigua, having flown from Frankfurt. Of all the people Max least wanted in his personal orbit, Voller had to be top of the list. The owner of the largest manufacturer of eco-friendly lighting in Germany, both he and Max had bid for the contract when the Mayweather hotel chain announced it was embarking on a worldwide programme of refurbishment. With over 200 hotels bearing the Mayweather name, landing the job of upgrading each one would have secured the future of Sheringham Light Sources for years to come. As it was, the contract had gone to Voller. He’d never been able to find any evidence the man had offered some kind of sweetheart deal to encourage them to accept his bid, but the rumours that Voller had done just that refused to go away. Max might have played hard, but he always played fair, and to see Voller swagger into the departure lounge at V.C. Bird airport, oozing self-satisfaction, made him wish he’d chosen any other week to visit Isla Barada.

By the time he’d shaken off his gloomy musings, Delice Abrams had already finished taunting Jessica with the sex toys he’d planted in the case. Maybe, he thought, forcing his full attention back on the scene unfolding on the other side of the glass, when he’d been planning this he should have suggested that the toys be used on Jessica before she was allowed to leave the room. The thought of this gorgeous, uniformed bitch using the vibrator on his wife’s pussy, forcing her to beg for her satisfaction, had his cock rock hard in his chinos. If he’d been on his own, he might have undone the fly and stroked himself as he watched, but he didn’t feel comfortable playing with himself in front of Damon. Of course, if his friend wanted to take himself in hand too, that was another matter, but all in good time.

By now, Jessica had begun to remove her clothes, with an obvious measure of reluctance. She was clearly ashamed at having to strip on the customs officer’s command, and the sight of her embarrassment and confusion, coupled with her increasing nakedness, had Max hornier than he’d been in a long time.