Read Menage Online

Authors: Emma Holly

Tags: #Fiction, #Erotica, #General

Menage (10 page)

But not tonight. Tonight I delegated responsibility for my pleasure to more imaginative hands, the hands of the man who had to be behind the mirror: Sean Patrick
Halloran
. I felt no fear, merely anticipation and a certain curiosity - not only for what was to come, but for how it would make me respond.

Amy handed me a corset-like contraption of burgundy silk and lace. 'Let's see how this fits,' she said. She stood behind me and slightly to the side. Her eyes were quiet on my naked body but something inside her fizzed. Her nipples distended her fuzzy sweater, and when she steadied my elbow so I could step through the leg holes, her palm was damp.

Taking me by the shoulders, she turned me to face the outer salon and began to tighten the laces. I closed my eyes at the unfamiliar sensation. As she pulled, the bodice gripped my torso like an elastic bandage. I could not begin to explain why this impersonal embrace aroused me, but it did. Maybe the lack of breathing room was making me light-headed.

'Suck in,' she ordered, and gave the ties a final heave. 'Now be still. Do not move.'

She circled around to my front and resettled my breasts to sit more comfortably in the lacy cups. Her hands were hot but not wet. I knew she must have dried them on her trousers. Once again, she turned me to face the mirror as if I were a child. 'Open your eyes.'

As soon as I did, I burst out laughing. This contraption looked even sillier on me than it had on the mannequin. My nipples, and a good bit of my breasts, bulged out from the cut-out cups like old-fashioned bomber noses. The laces cinched my waist to cartoon-like waspishness, and my pubic hair showed through the crotch like a squirrel peeping through a stage curtain.

'No, no, no,’ Amy scolded, her pretty face flushed. 'It is not funny. You look beautiful.'

Exotic dress-up was obviously her kink, and I had as good as mocked it. Ashamed, I wiped tears of laughter from my eyes and
apologised
. I could not, however, contain a few last snorts.

'I should beat you,’ she said, giving my arm a little slap. That quieted me, because I wondered whether she would - and if I would like it. 'Besides,’ she added. 'I'm not finished.'

I hoped whatever remained wouldn't be so humorous.

All too soon I remembered the old saying: be careful what you wish for. Amy removed a small pot of body paint and a finger-wide brush from one of the cabinet's mysterious drawers. Sticking the end of the brush between her teeth, she squinted at my reflection.

Tits first, I think.'

My nipples sprang to attention. Amy smirked as though to say: now, that's better. She opened her paint pot. Its contents matched the burgundy silk I wore. Her fingers were slim and dexterous as she dipped the brush in, then scraped the excess against the rim.

I braced for the first touch of the sable wedge. When it came, I had to bite my lip to keep from crying out. The tight fit of the corset cups had trapped the blood within the peaks of my breasts,’
sensitising
the nerves. The merest brush stimulated as strongly as a pinch. Amy bent closer. Her hot, shallow breath dampened my skin. Bit by bit, she dabbed me with the cold, wet paint. As it dried, the cosmetic warmed and tightened, making me feel she touched me even when she didn't.

She saved my nipples for last and those she brushed back and forth until uncontrollable whimpers broke in my throat. I wondered if Sean could hear as well as see through the mirror. Was he touching himself? Was Joe with him? Would they reach out and fondle each other's

hard, straining pricks, the way they must have done a thousand times before?

I wished I could see them and yet the fact that I couldn't, and could only imagine, had its own erotic power.

"There,’ said Amy. She stepped aside so I could admire her work. Two perfect raspberries.'

A wisp of
deja
vu tickled my subconscious, just as it had when Sean's transvestite friend complimented my breasts. But Amy was waiting for a response.

'I see what you're aiming for,’ I said, my voice so thick I had to clear my throat. 'Unless you looked carefully you'd think I was fully covered.'

She beamed at me. 'Exactly. Now, turn around and bend over. Yes, grab that chair and lean your hands on it. I need to do your back.'

My back required considerably more coverage, since nothing but a snug-fitting thong covered my muscular bottom. I melted under the endless strokes. Having my hair washed at the salon made me horny, no matter if some fat hairy guy was doing it. This was a hundred times worse - or better, I suppose.

'Mm,’ I sighed, and wriggled my bottom in Amy's direction. Sean must be getting an eyeful. In this position, all that concealed my sex was a thin strip of silk: a thin, sodden strip of silk.

'Oh, Kate,’ said Amy, surprising me by using my name. 'Your butt is to die for.'

A muffled protest penetrated the barrier of the mirror, followed by a hollow slap, as if a hand had been clapped over someone's mouth. I added it up then. The source of the compliments I'd been receiving today was Joe. Sean must have tricked him into talking about me. I could easily imagine the conversation. 'Kate's got nice tits,’ Sean would say, oh-so-casually. 'Oh, yeah,’ Joe would agree, happy to discuss his current object of obsession. "They're nice and full, but they hang just right and the nipples, mm, they're like sweet, creamy raspberries.' On it would go until Sean had an entire battery of compliments, one of which Joe was bound to have used in what should have been a private moment.

How upset Joe must be, thinking I'd think he'd betrayed an intimate secret!

And what a nasty girl I was, because the thought of his entirely unnecessary anguish made my sex grow moist and warm.

Amy distracted me from the delicious throb of guilt by sliding the thong to the side and beginning to paint my cleft. I flinched at the cold touch on this more sensitive skin. '
Shh
,’ she murmured. She ran the brush from stem to stern in long,
hypnotising
strokes. 'Just relax.'

Without warning, she reversed the brush and inserted the first slim inch past my sphincter. Shocked, I went up on my toes, then sank back to take it. She turned the inch of polished wood in a knee-melting circle, soothing an itch I hadn't known I'd had.

'Oh,’ I said, feeling my bowels flutter wildly.

"That's a beautiful little rosebud,' she said, and I wondered if these, too, were Joe's words. 'It's so tight and puckered. It looks as if it wants a kiss.' She sighed. 'Too bad I've painted it so nicely. I wouldn't want to ruin it.'

Go ahead, ruin it, I almost said, but I wasn't ready to go that far. Removing the paint brush, she leant closer to blow me dry. The warm puffs stirred my pubic hair, heated my lips, and made my stiff little button feel as if it had been set on the grill.

'Bend over a bit more,' she said. She stepped away from me and pulled open another drawer in the magic cabinet. 'Now don't look up, Kate. We mustn't spoil the surprise.'

I heard a cap twist open; heard liquid
glugging
and then a cap - no, two caps - being replaced. She moved behind me again. I felt something new probe the pucker of my anus, something thick and firm that dripped oil down my quivering furrow. Whatever the something was - a dildo, I suspected - it flexed as she pushed, then slid inside in one lubricious rush.

My passage embraced the intrusion, squirming with rapture. I
marvelled
at how quickly one could develop a taste for these things. Sean, of course, would not neglect such a detail. Every part of me must be tightened round the screw of desire, but especially the part whose virginity he had claimed.

"There,’ Amy patted the plugging end. 'Now you're dressed for success.'

I laughed, but this time she didn't take offence, just stood me up and turned me around to face the mirror. I seemed a different woman, my eyes starred with lust, my cheeks flushed and my limbs liquid and loose, despite my constraining garments.

Amy grinned at me, reading the change as clearly as I did. She pulled two dressmaker's pins from her pocket, which she used to secure the crotch flaps out of her way. With an efficiency she hadn't shown before, she camouflaged my curls with the burgundy paint.

'
Tut
,
tut
,’ she clucked as the brush approached my swollen labia. 'This area is much too wet to paint. Guess I'll have to clean it up.'

Before I could move, she wriggled her tongue up and down my folds, exploring the wet, quivering flesh as if she'd been waiting all evening to do it. A hopeless squeak caught in my throat. As my hips pressed helplessly closer, the dildo rocked inside me. I
realised
then that it was filled with oil, oil that sloshed back and forth with the effect of a miniature water bed. The combination felt incredible - the hardness in my bottom, the softness lapping my sex. I couldn't imagine Amy's activity was drying me, but I was wound up so tightly I welcomed any prospect of relief.

"There,’ I moaned, as she teased the slippery hood with the very tip of her tongue. 'Oh, please, a little harder.'

For one heavenly moment, she obeyed. Then, with a small sigh of regret, she pulled back. 'Sorry, Kate, but orders are orders.'

If the mirror hadn't stood between me and Sean, I think I would have strangled him. 'Sure,' I said, my body shaking with frustration. 'I understand.'

"There's just one more thing you need.'

'An orgasm?' I suggested.

She pouted and shook her finger at me. The 'one more thing' horned out to be a blindfold.

'Oh, no,' I said. 'I don't like having my eyes covered.'

'Too bad.' She dangled the red velvet eye cover from her forefinger. 'Anyway, you know the safe-word. If you're ready to give in, just say it.'

I glared at her pink-cheeked innocence. 'Well?' she prodded.

'Fine,’ I said, without one iota of good sportsmanship. 'Do it and get it over with.'

'Now remember -' she stood up on tiptoe to tie it on '- taking this off without permission is as good as saying "Uncle".'

To my dismay, the blindfold was very thick and very snug. As soon as she secured it, the world went black. I gritted my teeth against a wave of discomfort. When I was eight, my big brother socked me in the eye with a baseball, and not - as he swore to our parents - accidentally. For weeks I wore a big cotton eye-patch and ever since I'd loathed any impairment of my sight. To me, being blindfolded was a reminder of vulnerability, not to mention injustice.

But cry 'Uncle' over a bad childhood memory? Not Kate Winthrop.

I tried not to stumble as Amy guided me to the outer room. I felt much more naked with my eyes covered. The air seemed colder, the room larger. A draught chilled the painted skin of my mound so I knew we approached the street door. I stopped in my tracks, panicked at the thought of going outside.

'Be brave,’ said Amy. 'This part is difficult. There's a cab waiting directly opposite. I want you to open the door, walk up the four steps and straight ahead. When you bump into the cab, open the door and get inside.'

I'd been shaking my head as she spoke but now I dug in my heels. 'No, I can't.'

Amy stroked my arm, her hand warm and comforting. 'Remember, you can stop any time you want, Kate. In fact, if you're really scared, you should stop. I don't think you're a coward, though, do you?'

'I'll be arrested,’ I said through the nervous chattering of my teeth.

'Nonsense. It's pitch-dark out, the cab driver was specially hired, and if anyone should see you, they'll think you're a pro on her way to work. No one will know how bare you really are.'

I must be crazy, I thought, but I took a deep, steadying breath and reached for the door. I hit the knob on the second try. I turned it and pulled. The cold air hit me like the slap of wet cotton.

I trust Sean, I told myself. But if that cab wasn't there, he'd think
Lucrezia
Borgia
was a saint compared to me. I hobbled forward, stubbed my bare toe on the first step and lifted my foot. The handrail bumped my side and I used it to ascend the last three steps. A car rolled by on

Pine Street
. It honked. A hysterical giggle rose in my throat. I must have looked a sight in my blindfold and tart's get-up. Please, God, let no cops drive by, I thought.

Hands waving through the air in front of me, I took one shuffle forward on the pavement, then two, then three. At six I bonked my knees on the side of the cab and spent fifteen endless seconds searching for a door handle. Finally, I found it, yanked the door open and threw myself inside. My body shook so hard it looked as though I had nerve damage. The oil-filled dildo felt like a vibrator.

Well, okay, that part was nice.

'Hello,’ said the cabbie, as though he did this every day. He had a young voice. Nigerian, I thought - another of Sean's cronies, no doubt. 'You will please wait for our other passengers.'

I hoped there would be other passengers. I'd just remembered my handbag was sitting back in that midnight-blue changing room.

Minutes passed. The cabbie slid a cassette into his tape deck. Guitars twanged and wailed and Robert Cray began a gravelly croon. That cheered me. I was nodding my head to '
Nothin
' But A Woman' when the doors opened on either side of me. Two people entered - Sean and Joe by the smell of them. Then the front door opened and someone else got in.

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