Going Too Far (15 page)

‘Glad to be of service.’ I was excited at the thought that I would actually be seeing him in action, though I didn’t have the faintest idea exactly what sort of action to expect.

After dinner we went back to his room and he pushed me back against the door as soon as we got in and kissed me, standing up, his mouth hard and demanding. It was definitely the same kiss as the one I’d had in the tunnel and I responded just as positively.

‘I really need you now,’ he whispered, lifting my skirt and pulling down the thong; no finesse at all, but sometimes I do love the directness of real urgency. He thrust a finger inside me but it wasn’t a caress; he was just making sure I was ready for him. After displaying my tits all over San Pedro and having my mouth penetrated by his tongue I was wet enough and he pushed me on to the wooden floor on my knees and got behind me. As he dropped his jeans and rubbered up I lowered my head submissively on to my arms because that’s how I thought he’d like it, but frankly I don’t think he even noticed. He pushed inside me and thrust eight, nine times, not many anyway, and came.

Of course, I expected him to get the condom off, maybe take his trousers off properly, not to mention his shoes, before giving me some well-deserved attention but, while I was waiting on the floor for some reciprocal action, he got up and stretched himself out on the bed.

‘Hey! What about me?’ I asked indignantly, kneeling up and looking at him.

‘Oh, sorry, Bliss, I thought as you’d already had your Australians this afternoon you wouldn’t be interested – and we did have an early start. I’m really knackered.’

‘You’re joking. And I told you, I just had tea with Red. What do you want me to do, beg for it?’

He sat up and laughed. ‘Now, that would be something. But seeing as you’re into exhibitionism, why don’t you just masturbate for me?’

‘Why don’t you do it for
me
?’

He yawned exaggeratedly. ‘I can’t really be bothered, Bliss. But if you want to wank, I’ll happily watch you.’

‘Thanks a lot. Perhaps I’ll just go back to my own room if I’m going to do it for myself.’

I pulled my thong up and my skirt down and stood up. I couldn’t believe that was it. After all, why had he put the choker round my neck if he wasn’t intending to tie it to something?

His eyes were laughing. ‘Sit down, Bliss. Don’t worry, you’re going to get your share.’

Feeling resentful I sat on the bed with my back to the wall, ready for the chains but feeling more than a bit put out.

‘If you really can’t be bothered –’

‘Well, to be honest, I don’t have to.’

Before I could wonder what he meant he opened the door and looked up the courtyard. ‘Oh, there they are.’

‘Oh no!’ I said firmly, standing up and walking towards him. ‘If you think you’re going to have Marc or Christian fuck me again –’

He pushed me back on to the bed. ‘Bliss, if you don’t sit down nicely, I’m going to chain you to the wall. What on earth would they think then?’

‘Probably just what they thought yesterday,’ I said sulkily. But I sat down. What the hell. They were nice guys and they weren’t into rape – I hoped.

They came in eagerly at Carlos’s call and sat down: Christian next to Carlos on one bed and Marc next to me on the other. Carlos turned to Christian.

‘Are you going to go first?’

‘Christian, I’m sorry but –’ I started.

‘Just listen to what he’s going to say, Bliss,’ broke in Carlos, leaning over to detain me by the wrist. He held it firmly enough to make me think he meant business. What was Christian going to propose? Maybe not a two-pronged attack. Maybe he thought it was just his turn and he wanted me to go to their room while Marc stayed with Carlos.

Simultaneously my mind was running a mental porn video where Christian was fucking me and Marc had his prick in my mouth while Carlos watched, and my sex muscles contracted involuntary. I heard Carlos say, ‘Bliss doesn’t think she’s going to be interested.’

‘It’s fascinating, Bliss.’ Christian’s eyes were shining. ‘And it’s set in Peru. This guy gets wind of a series of insights that, if everybody knew about them, would change the world as we know it. He goes off to Peru to find out more and they’re gradually revealed to him one by one, though the authorities try to prevent him . . .’

The fucking Celestine Prophecy. Carlos, you bastard. His eyes were full of mischief and he couldn’t control his smile. I bet he wet himself when he thought of that one.

I settled down to be bored as Christian rattled on enthusiastically. I’d heard it all before, but sod it. In my mind I replayed the foursome in various combinations, mostly involving me getting nonstop finger action on nipples and clit and three different cocks inside me, and hoped my resulting excitement was going to be satisfied by a hand other than my own.

‘I thought you might have put up a bit more of a fight,’ Carlos grinned when the guys eventually left. ‘What if you’d been gang raped?’

‘They’re not the type. Well, that’s just been demonstrated. I can’t imagine a New Age rapist.’ I gave him a sidelong smile. ‘I hate all that stuff.’

‘Me too. But of course you were relieved when that turned out to be what they’d come in here for, weren’t you?’

‘Of course.’

‘And you weren’t just in your mind, in your fantasy, imagining being held down and fucked by all three of us?’

‘Well, I left out the holding down.’

His eyes swept over me and I knew that it was my turn now. Wordlessly he pulled me up and took off my skirt and thong, and after fastening the choker to the wall he gave me as much hand and cock action as if he were three men.

While I was sorry to say goodbye to Carlos next morning I was also looking forward to getting back to Red and Robbie to tell them of the trip we were going to make to Chiloe. He made sure I still had the address of his friend’s hotel in Santiago.

‘Hotel, sounds expensive. I might go somewhere cheaper, but I’ll look him up,’ I said distractedly. I didn’t want my reunion with Red and Robbie interfered with by some hotelkeeper.

‘Stay there, Bliss,’ said Carlos quietly but firmly. ‘He’ll make sure you’re all right.’

I looked up in surprise. ‘What do you mean, all right? Why shouldn’t I be?’

He shrugged. ‘You should be careful. When you’re in a strange country with different customs . . . you should make sure you don’t upset anyone.’

‘Well, of course I won’t!’ I said impatiently. ‘What on earth makes you think I might?’

‘You never know. I’ll just feel happier if you’ve got someone you know in the city. You’ll like him; he’s an artist. He only owns the hotel; he doesn’t really work there.’

Something in Carlos’s previous words had struck a chord in my memory. ‘Carlos, do you think I might have upset anyone already?’

He was packing his bag and just shook his head without looking up. ‘How would I know?’ he said into his case.

How would he know? This man who had somehow tracked me down to San Pedro despite not having seen me since I left Lima, this man who had just echoed the words of the man in the jungle at Coroico, how would he know?

‘You’re having me followed.’

It was a statement, not an accusation, and he didn’t refute it.

‘Not exactly. I just asked someone to keep an eye out for you from time to time. No big deal.’

I sat on the bed, the wind taken out of my sails.

‘But . . . why?’

He finally looked up. ‘Kip asked me to see you all right, so I am.’

‘Carlos, that was in Lima! That was in the big bad city! I don’t need anyone looking out for me! Stop it! Please, stop it!’

‘Hey.’ He stroked my arm. ‘If you want. He’s fond of you, and I am too. It’s just a little insurance, that’s all. You take too many risks, Bliss. Javier told me he wouldn’t have intervened if those guys hadn’t pushed you around in Coroico. He didn’t want to butt in, but he had to stop it before it went too far.’

‘That’s bullshit,’ I blustered. He didn’t have to know that at the time I really thought we were in trouble.

‘And last night. You don’t know me that well. For all you know I might have tied you up, let those two at you and then half of San Pedro.’

I suppressed a smile. ‘You already did.’

‘Not precisely.’

We were getting off the point. ‘But Carlos, how can you do this? Is it just that you want some power over me?’

He grinned and fingered the handcuffs he was just packing. ‘Don’t tell me you don’t know I like having power over you.’

‘Sure, but . . . where does it end?’

‘When you say,’ he said simply, zipping up his bag. ‘If you don’t want to see me again, OK. Tell Jorge and he’ll pass on the message. Otherwise I’ll meet you in Puerto Montt at the end of the month and we’ll soak up the sun in Chiloe.’

He kissed me a little regretfully, as if he believed it could be for the last time. ‘Take care, Bliss. I hope I see you then.’

Then he was gone, leaving me wondering what on earth I’d got into. He had had me spied on. For my own good, he said. Not only did he like having power over me sexually, but he had exercised a more threatening power. He knew how to buy it too, he knew how to hire muscle like Javier. And he had lied to me about being at Macchu Picchu. If I had doubted Red and Robbie at all, his own actions told me that he wasn’t just an ordinary businessman.

I couldn’t trust him, and part of me was tempted to go to Santiago, book in to the youth hostel and call Jorge and tell him I wouldn’t be staying with him or meeting Carlos in Chiloe. But the other part of me, the stupid, risk-taking part of me, was excited and seduced by my role as spy. Unless Red and Robbie decided it was too dangerous I was off to stay with Jorge.

‘Imagine waking up to this every morning,’ said Jorge, gesturing to the crashing waves of the Pacific Ocean through the wall of window. ‘It would be impossible not to be an artist with this feeding your spirit.’

We were in one of the homes of Pablo Neruda, Chile’s greatest poet. Not being an avid fan of poetry I had had only a cursory interest in him until Jorge had taken me to his house in Santiago. I was enchanted by it and clamoured to visit his oceanside home.

Had I walked away from San Pedro determined never to see Carlos again and told Red and Robbie I was quitting as a secret agent I would have turned down a fistful of experiences. First of all an idyllic two days in the tent with the guys in San Pedro, followed by the trip to the capital via a visit to Antofagusta and a couple of days’ sunbathing on the beach at La Serena. Then I would have missed out on Jorge and the Hostal de Arte.

Arriving in Santiago Red and Robbie had decided they would first head south of the city to do some walking in the mountains, so we arranged to meet a few days later and I got a taxi to the most unconventional place I had ever stayed in.

On the ground floor of the Hostal de Arte was an art gallery, then on the first floor Jorge’s own exhibition area and the hotel reception. As Carlos had told me, Jorge didn’t work in the hotel himself, but the staff who did wouldn’t have got jobs in The Ritz, I can assure you.

Ulla was from Norway, and a severe-looking blonde who normally wore a pristine white overall. With her hair scraped back from her face and her flat lace-ups she looked more like a nurse than a receptionist. Isabella on the other hand had cascading black curls and dressed exotically, always with stiletto heels and extravagant makeup. And Manuel, with his long dark hair, suspiciously smooth cheeks and impeccable clothes, looked as though he really wished he were Manuela.

I didn’t think too much of it at first. When I checked in they called Jorge from his studio and he greeted me with a bear hug. I liked him immediately. He was short and stocky, around forty, and wore his curly hair shoulder length, a bit like Che Guevara. In fact, with his wide-mouthed, amiable smile and his hands constantly gesturing complete with habitual cigarette, he looked like one of Mum’s old hippy friends I remembered from my childhood, though with a Latin exuberance rather than a laid-back London passivity. Maybe that was why, despite the fact that he was a friend of Carlos, I immediately felt safe with him.

After he took me personally to my room he walked me round the gallery, and then took me into his studio. In the centre of the room was his work in progress, a half-finished installation he called
Casa de poeta
– the poet’s house – a tangle of objects centring around a ship’s figurehead, including seashells, beermats and brilliantly coloured glass, with photos of the exterior of three houses. The objects were similar to those in Neruda’s houses, which he enthused about at length and promised to take me to see.

Lining the walls were some paintings and many photographs. Nearly everything was almost garishly colourful, apart from a series of photographs of a woman. Bound. By corsets, cuffs, chains and cords.

‘I see what you have in common with Carlos,’ I said tartly, inspecting the pictures. They all portrayed the same woman. She had pale skin, her face almost ghostly, set off by dark eyes, red lips and flaming red hair. Her body was matt, chalky white against the glossy black satin and leather of her bonds, corsets and belts.

‘Susie, yes,’ said Jorge, amused. ‘I didn’t think you would have met her.’

I spun round. ‘What? I meant bondage.’

His face was in an oh-silly-me expression but I think he took a sly delight in my shock.

‘Sorry. That too.’

I studied the woman more closely. So they shared her? I knew Carlos would have at least one woman, and now I’d found half of one. The black corset was certainly familiar, as was the wide black leather belt. We were obviously the same size, although her feet were bigger than mine.

‘She works here sometimes, and sometimes in Lima. She uses the office there,’ he said indicating a door marked ‘Private’.

‘Is she South American?’

He laughed. ‘No, she’s from New Orleans. Do you like her?’