Star Slave (13 page)

That very evening a solution had been found, and Felicity was whisked away by car to Burnopside Hall, and an existence which seemed even more fantastic than any her vivid imagination could ever have conjured up.

Within the fine old building and its beautiful grounds she was totally insulated from all the pressures which had turned her life upside down. She marvelled at his lordship's ability to keep the media away from her, at a time when everyone at home and abroad wanted to talk to the two stars of
A Woman's Touch
.

‘The only thing is,' Lord B told her reasonably, stroking her hand securely held in his, ‘you'll have to go along with the publicity when the first episode goes out in two weeks. You and Stella will have to appear like bed and bosom chums for a wee while. But I'm sure you can manage that. You're both splendid actresses, and I'll make sure she doesn't lay a finger on you in private. In anger or in amorality, eh? We'll set Magda on her if she does.'

It was that strikingly tall figure which was largely responsible for the sense of surrealism which pervaded so much of Felicity's stay at the Hall. As soon as Felicity appeared in the drawing room Magda came to her, arms outstretched, and gathered her in to her wonderful bosom, then planted a kiss on her uplifted mouth of such tender yet rousing passion that Felicity sagged giddily in her arms. And in front of a whole room full of people, too, who applauded the embrace.

‘Come and get settled in,' Magda said possessively, refusing to surrender her hold. ‘I'll show you your room. We can chat while you have a bath.'

Once upstairs Felicity suddenly felt awkward and shy, but Magda's ease of manner soon had her relaxed again. The large yet beautiful hands plucked at Felicity's clothing as Magda chatted easily, and Felicity was quickly naked and being guided to the foaming tub. Moments later she was trembling all over with desire as those capable hands soaped and sponged her, covering every inch of her flesh as she stood obediently like a child with its nurse. She climbed out into the warm waiting towel, which engulfed her. The sweet torture continued as the hands patted her dry, caressing her intimate curves until she was gnawing at her bottom lip, trying to suppress her need.

‘Have you missed me, baby?' the deep voice crooned, seeming to pass down to the very pit of her stomach as she was edged back onto the bed. And she wept for joy when the strong arms parted her thighs and the dark curtain of hair cloaked over her midriff as that head dipped to slake the drumming passions so tempestuously stirred.

 

The magic never left in the days that followed. At first she was puzzled to discover that the band of lovely girls appeared to be permanent residents at the Hall. Doubts assailed her. Were they simply the most expensive of hookers, employed solely by the wealthy Lord B for his private pleasure and that of his privileged chums? And yet there was something different about them, about their whole bearing and attitude. They were all so unfailingly nice; to her, to each other, to everyone. And above all they each seemed to acknowledge Magda as their leader - their spiritual guide.

At first she could not stifle the inner stab of jealousy at the level of intimacy they all shared with the tall figure. Yet there was no reciprocal resentment at the clear indications that Felicity and Magda were lovers; at the glorious height of a new and passionate attachment. She was accepted. The girls made every effort to make her feel welcome. Yet she was disturbed by a feeling she could not shake that, despite their friendliness and Magda's physical attraction to her, she remained outside their charmed circle.

They were a very tactile bunch, and totally uninhibited when they were on their own, when there were no visitors to the Hall. They would embrace like lovers, would often recline together in the deep armchairs or on the long sofas with limbs entwined and mouths regularly bestowing kisses upon lips or any other available parts of the anatomy. Though Magda did not indulge in such lingering and lavish displays of affection, she would often embrace them upon greeting or parting, and Felicity could not help speculating that her newest lover had shared passions with them as intense as those she now brought to her.

The lovely coloured girl, Debbie, who'd been John's partner for most of the night when they last visited Burnopside, especially intrigued Felicity.

‘You look so like him,' Debbie marvelled, when they were out walking on the wooded slopes above the mansion one grey day. Felicity had jumped at the chance to be on her own with Debbie, for she felt she might learn a little more about the strange nuances which bound this odd little group together under the auspices of his lordship. Debbie was the latest member of this close-knit group, but in spite of her ready friendliness, it soon became evident that she, too, was not prepared to divulge anything concrete.

Felicity was forced to bluntness. ‘What is it about you lot?' she asked. ‘I don't get it. Are you some kind of escort girls? Does Lord B pay you for your services?'

Debbie giggled. ‘We're his sex slaves, darling. Haven't you twigged that yet?' Her tone indicated that she was far from being serious. But she soon found another more effective way to deflect Felicity's curiosity.

‘You know,' she declared, ‘you're so like Johnny, you've got me sticky as hell. I can't keep my hands off you any longer. Come on, there's a sort of tower thing up here on top of the hill. It's a folly.'

Minutes later they were inside the narrow circular building. Felicity shivered. ‘It's too cold—' but Debbie's sweet mouth smothered any further protest. When they broke from the kiss she plucked off Felicity's thick jacket, backed her up against the damp and crumbling wall, and then tugged determinedly at the belt around Felicity's slacks. Soon she was naked from waist to knees, where her slacks and knickers were bunched around the tops of her boots.

‘That'll do me, cocker!' the coloured girl grinned, as her cold hand slid between Felicity's welcoming, opening thighs.

The fingers teased delicately around the outer surfaces of the rapidly moistening folds, which soon parted to allow an exploration of their glistening inner slopes. The enflamed trigger of Felicity's clitoris throbbed with sweet torment at the caresses that stirred it, before two fingers worked their way into her tight vagina and began to thrust more vigorously back and forth. Far from resisting the invasion, Felicity reached down, captured the brown wrist and urged it to even deeper penetration, her booted feet scraping the dusty floor, her knees stretching the clinging bonds of knickers and trousers as she soared towards the dizzying climax her loving assailant brought to her.

 

Daylight knifed its way through Michael's screwed up eyes into his throbbing head. His fuzzy awakening view of the world suddenly swam into clear focus. Slowly he realised he was in Felicity's bedroom. Then his jaw dropped at the vision of the slim, smiling, naked figure standing by the window.

‘Here,' it said, ‘I've brought you a cup of coffee. Are you feeling dreadful? You must be.' John came so close that Michael found himself staring from inches at the neat penis and compact scrotum, the smoothness of the belly and slender thighs. Words failed him as John put the mug of coffee on the bedside table, then moved around to the other side of the bed. He climbed in, the mattress dipping as he did so. Michael felt a foot scrape lightly across his leg.

Oh God! This was some kind of sick nightmare! Surely he couldn't be awake. Not naked in Felicity's bed - with her cousin. Fragments of memory began to swim back. His lonely drunken evening... then sitting opposite John... the whisky bottle... his swimming drunkenness. Then - his mind tried to shy away from the crowding, tormenting thoughts - the touch of hands, pulling him this way and that, dragging off his clothes. The feel of a slim body nestled against him... and then those hands again...

His muscles bunched to propel him out of the bed, when suddenly another realisation struck him, stopping him from movement. He was naked, too. Completely naked. But surely he'd been wearing underpants? His horrified gaze identified the crumpled garment on the rug by the side of the bed. A vivid memory of Felicity's knickers lying in just such a position, tinged with the evidence of her excitement and their love, assailed his mind.

As though tuning in to his mental anguish, John stirred and moved even closer, so that his warm thigh and leg rested against Michael's limb. He was sitting up on the pillows, above Michael, and he slipped his arm with casual possession over the broader shoulders at his side. ‘Come on, drink up while it's hot,' he said. ‘It'll do you good.'

At last Michael was galvanised into action. Wildly, he flung aside the blankets and leapt out of bed, while John swore as the coffee he was holding slopped onto the sheet.

‘Jesus! What's going on here?' Michael cried, his eyes bulging. He was standing hunched, his hands cupped over his genitals. He bent and grabbed at his underpants, felt the crusting semen, smelt its unmistakable odour, and dropped them again with disgust. His hands flew back to hide his shrivelled prick.

‘What did you do to me?' His voice rose in his agitation and disbelief.

John laughed mischievously. ‘Why? What's wrong? Are you sore?'

‘What?' Michael glanced down at his crossed hands, then up again at John, his face reflecting his terror. ‘What do you mean? You bastard!' Suddenly his stomach gave a great heave of revulsion and he staggered desperately, doubled up, for the bathroom, where he dropped to his knees over the lavatory and retched dryly for some minutes.

With a deep moan he slumped and folded his arms on the plastic seat, lowered his head onto them, and began to sob.

A spasm of disgust flickered over John's features as he swung out of bed and followed him to the bathroom. So much for macho man, he thought, unable to suppress his mean satisfaction at the crumpled image of masculinity crouched on the floor in front of him. Then the beauty of the naked figure registered, and he felt his penis stir and throb again. He bent, put his hands under those heaving shoulders, and drew him gently to his feet. Michael's chin was on his chest as he cried softly, unable to look at him. John knew at once there would be no resistance, no violent attempt to prove or defend his heterosexuality. With an arm around the shoulders, he steered him back to the bedroom. Michael moved as in a dream, still weeping like a boy.

‘There's nothing wrong, Mikey baby,' John crooned, his own excitement flaring, his prick rising and stiffening. ‘Nothing to be ashamed of. It was good, wasn't it? Don't tell me you don't remember. Don't fool yourself. It can be good - you know it can.'

As he spoke, he eased Michael down upon the bed again, and let their bodies touch. He lay on top of him, their bellies and thighs pressing together. He felt his prick heaving against Michael's warm body, felt the responsive quiver in the penis that lay beneath his own; its swelling arousal, their mutual warmth.

Slowly, he let his face approach the red visage under his, saw the sparkle of tears on the cheeks and glistening in the fair eyelashes, saw the wild fear in the eyes, before his lips closed on the warm mouth. Michael's throat worked and his Adam's apple bobbed violently, but John's fingers dug into his hollowed cheeks and held his mouth imprisoned to the kiss until he felt the stiff resistance ebb from the body beneath him, and heard the choking gasp of surrender.

John's hand dipped down between their bellies, found the swollen column it sought, and jerked vigorously. A huge sob shook Michael's ribcage and sent his chest heaving upward. A spasm wracked the supine frame and his legs twitched reflexively at John's knowing strokes. John's head dipped and his feather-light tongue flicked at the hard nipples. Then on, over the slight dip covered by a fine swirl of hair, down over the quivering stomach, past the recessed navel, to the thick bush and the stiff penis, the helm gleaming purple and fully emergent from his fist. A drop of fluid shimmered at the tiny slit, and John lapped at it.

Michael was moaning softly, his head rolling tormentedly from side to side, his hips and belly lifting in helpless response to John's stimulation. The prick was beating mightily in John's grip now, the head more swollen than ever. He licked at it, teasing the flanged rim where it met the long shaft, until Michael tossed and whimpered. Straining his jaws, John slid his lips over the shining helmet and sucked deeply, taking as much of the throbbing penis as he could into his working mouth. He gagged, fought for air through his nostrils, then released the captive flesh. He relaxed his hold on the rigid column, pushed it back against the pubis and belly, lapped greedily at the ball bag, then up the root of the shaft, back to that engorged head.

Michael began to kick, his feet scissoring just like Felicity's in the throes of orgasm, and his creamy seed erupted with such pent up force that it splattered onto his chest and into the recess of his palpitating navel, hanging in pearly gobs among the dark curls of his pubis. Some of it spilled onto John's chin, and he dipped his head rapturously to lap at the residue that still oozed thickly from the softening cock.

‘You gorgeous fucking man!' he breathed, and buried his face in all that sweet and cloying softness.

 

‘What is it?' Debbie's voice trembled with her nervousness. It was the first time she'd been back in this secret room since the ceremony of her initiation. This time, as far as she knew, only she and Magda were present. She was startled to find the tall figure clothed in her robe of office, her splendid figure hidden by the long scarlet robe. Again, the pool of brilliant light fell on that marble circle and the outer edges of the strange room were in deep shadow. ‘I'm sorry,' she faltered, her heart racing. ‘What have I done?'