By the same author:
ADVENTURES IN THE PLEASUREZONE

RETURN TO THE
PLEASUREZONE
Delaney Silver

First published in 1993 by
Nexus
332 Ladbroke Grove
London W10 5 AH
Reprinted 1994
Copyright © Delaney Silver 1993
Phototypeset by Intype, London
Printed and bound in Great Britain by
Cox & Wyman Ltd, Reading, Berkshire
ISBN 0 352 32882 7
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall
not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold,
hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher's
prior consent in any form of binding or cover
other than that in which it is published and without a
similar condition including this condition being imposed
on the subsequent purchaser.
This book is a work of fiction.
In real life, make sure you practise safe sex.

Contents
Prologue	vii
1.		Sweet Dreams are Made of This ...	1
2.		The Sorceress's Apprentice	16
3.		Welcome Home Mister Mortimer	33
4.		Egyptian Magic	47
5.		Intermezzo I	69
6.		First Encounters of the Close Kind	91
7.		Intermezzo II	111
8.		Cat's-Paw	133
9.		Intermezzo III	161
10.		The Academy of Madame Woo	180
11.		The Game's Up	213

Dedicated to The Transformer...
... the one I've transformed?
THANK YOU AGAIN

Prologue
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Should she change it? Isis wondered. No, perhaps not...
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'Only the brave, the bold, the curious ... and the astro-
nomically horny would ever answer such a preposterous
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- but it was astounding how many people there were
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Pleasurezone was an even more irresistible temptation
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answered the advert like a shot... if she hadn't been the
woman who'd written it.
viii

1
Sweet Dreams are Made of This ...
Isis had always been an orally inclined person. She liked
eating ice-cream, drinking cocktails through a straw, and
most especially, making love to a man with her mouth.
And right now, she was doing the last of these to one
Joshua Jordan Mortimer - and revelling in every second
of it. It was a pastime she'd dreamed of often and vividly
during the long, long months of his absence, but no
amount of fantasising could ever match the delicious
reality.
His taste was salty and tangy and spermy. Isis adored
the bigness of him and the slickness; she loved the way
he made her cheeks bulge and her lips dribble. She was
mindful, too, of the gentle way he thrust so as not to make
her gag.
In the privacy of her mind she smiled; an ancient female
smile Josh would have recognised if he'd seen it. She
almost wanted him to be rough. There was a deeply piqu-
ant thrill in simply being used, but with her mouth full of
his hot male flesh, there was little chance she could tell
him so.
Nor could she tell him that her ignored quim was getting
wetter and needier the longer it was denied his attention.
The heavy aching frustration was building into a pleasure
as perverse as it was exciting and powerful. She couldn't
hold her body still any more, or keep her hands from
grabbing at his tensing buttocks. Her hips pumped and
lifted of their own accord, rising in search of a phantom
tongue or finger.
1

4Oh God, yes! That's good!' she heard him gasp as
his prick popped noisily out of her mouth and smeared
sideways across her face. Across her bad side, she ack-
nowledged wryly, yet felt her lust coil and surge, fuelled
by the simple coals of her genuine affection for him.
With the velvety tip of his sex, slick-wet with his juice
and her spittle, Joshua Mortimer was paying her a divine
homage; intimately caressing a face that might well have
made a lesser man droop.
Isis had a scar. Oh boy, did she have a scar! It wasn't a
small blemish or flaw that could be covered by make-up.
No, Isis's mark could be neither masked nor ignored -
it was the great mother-goddess of all known scars, a
convoluted rosy-purple cicatrix that sprawled balefully
across the right-hand side of what was an otherwise lovely
face. At one time she'd cursed it as hideous and resigned
herself to never ever having a man again. Looking in a
mirror, all she'd seen ahead was a sterile, sexless existence
with only her own fingers or some poor inanimate object
to satisfy her. It had been depressing to think she'd never
have someone to snuggle up with and whisper sweet
nothings to in the night.
Then one day, she'd looked into her mirror more
carefully... And first laughed, then shouted aloud with
elation, astonishment and hope. She'd seen her scar's true
nature and been almost grateful for the pain that had
given it birth.
Etched into Isis's face was a design something like an
intricately crinkled sea-shell. It looked like a flower too:
a rare, cultivated orchid. And it also looked like something
that was just as exotic and - since the Garden of Eden -
far more sought after.
Isis smiled beneath the butterfly touch of Josh's stroking
flesh, amused - even after all this time - that the mark
on her face should echo almost exactly the moist, pretty,
pouting thing that simmered between her long slim legs.
Engrained upon her cheek, for every red-blooded man to
see and want, was a map of her most intimate womanly
2

topography: her pussy, her loveplace, her tender loving
quim.
In recent months, it had become increasingly obvious
to Isis that leaving off the veil she'd once believed so
essential tended to have an unexpected and peculiar
effect. Far from repelling them, her saucy, sexy scar drew
men into her orbit in droves.
Of course not everybody noticed its special significance.
There were still flinches, averted eyes and cruelty. But
Josh Mortimer - bless his heart and his sweet, dirty mind
- had spotted it straight away and was still quite patently
in awe of it. Isis found it rather scary, but it almost seemed
that he wanted her because of it.
Here in his bed, though, with his prick sliding across
the stigma's roseate pattern, she wasn't about to argue
the point with him.
All she could do was lie beneath him, watching his
strong body moving above her, looming like some mag-
nificent sex-god as the unstoppable wanting ache kept
building and building between her slowly scissoring thighs.
He was kneeling astride her now, supporting her neck
with his hand and gyrating his hips to drag the tip of his
cock slowly over the lines and whorls of her scar. The
backs of his strong thighs brushed tantalisingly across the
peaks of her sensitised breasts. His skin felt hot to her
nipples and she imagined the heat pumping in his muscles
as they held him taut and poised above her.
'Josh ... Josh ...' she murmured, stretching her neck to
reach him, pointing out her tongue to taste the flesh she
craved. She tried to fix on the waving rod, to sight it, then
dart like a snake and engulf it. But having temptation this
close meant her eyes couldn't focus - and despite her
rampaging lust, the idea of her going cross-eyed over his
cock made her break into a fit of the giggles.
'What's so funny?' her lover enquired huskily - quite
accustomed, she knew, to her not being a conventional
bedmate. Humour could be erotic between a pair of true
intimates, and she and Josh had shared almost as many
laughs as they had orgasms.
3

'You're making me go cross-eyed, you tease/ she com-
plained, swiping sideways in an attempt to snare his cock-
tip with her lips.
But the sexy devil evaded her, flicking his pelvis and
sending his long, stiff penis swinging clear of her hunger-
ing reach.
'Josh, please, put it back in!'
'But where, my sweet?' His voice was smoky, naughty.
'Please, baby, let me suck you,' she heard herself plead-
ing as she craned her neck to bring her mouth to his
glistening glans. Meanwhile, another part of herself was
agog with astonishment. 1\it tut, Ice, this isn't like you.
When was the last time you wheedled and begged? Never.
It's not your style ...
Oh but it is, the interior voice taunted as Josh finally
allowed his cock into her mouth. His taste was a potent
drug; a truth serum that worked on both her lust-dazed
mind, and between the moist, puffy lips of her sex.
Yes, my girl, it is your style, she admitted in wonder,
licking and suckling the swollen bulb between her lips.
Dabbing and darting with her small, delicately furled
tongue, she heard the cool analyst in her mind just laugh
and laugh and laugh.
I love this, she thought dreamily, probing his tiny love-
eye and making him moan and sway.
I do. I love being nothing but a slave. Negative to his
positive. A slavering, panting willingness that accedes to
his every sexual whim. A naked body. A wet quim that
sizzles when he comes and waits and waits in an agony of
need until he allows it to come too.
I love this, she thought, opening her throat to his short
sharp thrust; then whimpering aloud with loss when her
fleshy comforter was suddenly withdrawn. Oh no, not
when she'd just rationalised the idea of being used.
'Josh? Ooh, Josh!' she pleaded, feeling childlike and
out of control.
' 'I'm hungry, baby,' he whispered, and Isis watched him
across the plain of her own nude body as he scooted down
the bed and crouched between her splayed thighs. She
4

trembled as he cupped her buttocks in his big warm hands
and lifted her to his mouth like a ripe, split fruit.
'I want to taste honey...' The words were muffled as
his mobile, questing lips burrowed towards her nether
ones, his long tongue cutting a swathe through her soak-
ing, silken pubic bush and probing for the titbit they both
prized so much.
Oh God, yes!
Isis wasn't sure if she'd cried out or not. She only knew
that her hands were deep in the tangled blackness of his
unbound hair, and that between her feverish thighs was a
miracle.
Josh Mortimer's tongue had every bit of the skill that
hers did. After one searching plunge into the pot of her
juices, he flicked it gracefully up the full length of her slit
and tantalised her aching bud with a series of firm, glanc-
ing stabs.
'Yes! Oh God ...'
She did shout this time, mashing her loins into his face,
trying to open herself to him in a way that was more than
physically possible.. She wanted him to kiss her clit, yes,
but she also wanted to be so wide and accessible he
could almost climb inside her. It was submission again,
she realised dimly. She wanted to be every available thing
to him. To surrender all her sex, to be all sex. To be totally
available...
'Caress your breasts,' she heard him mutter through her
silky-soft, tabby-coloured hairs, 'Do it, Isis,' he com-
manded. 'Play with your pretty little tits.'
Obedient, she curved her nimble, scarred fingers around
the fruity globes of her breasts. The scars were sugar-
pink lace against the white skin of both hand and breast;
another legacy of the accident that had tattooed her
face, another distinction she had, at last, accepted as
charming in its own right.
'Do it!' Josh growled from between her legs - and Isis
flew up off the bed, her quim spasming from his hard little
suck on her clittie.
Heat was beating between her legs... It was difficult
5

to make her hands work... They seemed to belong to
some other woman, not the one who was bouncing and
babbling, wracked by orgasm, and being fed on by the
ravening man at her crotch.
'Please,' she sobbed, not knowing what it was she
begged for. It certainly wasn't that he stop chewing her
clitoris between his pursed lips. It certainly wasn't that his
long fingers should withdraw from the jungle-hot crack of
her bottom. It certainly wasn't that he stop tickling the
tiny puckered hole there.
'Oh God! You bastard! Yes!' she heard herself howl as
his finger poked and pushed. 'Yes! Yes! Yes!' she yowled
as it pressed on, then grossly waggled in the tightest open-
ing of her body. It was monstrous. Unthinkable that she
should respond like a mindless animal when a man pushed
his finger inside her bottom. And licked her clitoris like
a god at the same time. Her whole body, and her pulsing,
dripping sex, seemed to spin slowly between the twin
poles of shame and elevation.
And Isis could not tell which one was which. The slow
drag of his tongue against her throbbing bud; or the relent-
less vulgar finger that moved in her anal canal.
'Don't,' she whimpered as it went deeper, and without
thinking, she bore down on the intrusion.
'You don't mean that at all, you dirty little girl,' said
her tormentor, lifting his face from her loins and smiling
up at her. 'You love it.' He was moving upwards now, his
finger still in her rear, 'You love it, or you wouldn't be
riding it like this, would you?' The finger pushed harder,
and seemed to knock on a spot inside that was connected
to the root of her cruelly abandoned clit.
Isis groaned hoarsely.
The cry was stifled as Josh kissed her lips, his tongue
stabbing against hers in time to the pushes of his crudely
inserted finger.
Isis groaned again, the sound a gabble around the
tongue that filled her mouth. She could feel her juice
flowing fast now, trickling down over her perineum and
coating Josh's hand as it curved around her bottom.
6

'You're drooling, lady' she felt him murmur against her
lips, 'This really gets to you, doesn't it?' He pushed more.
'Doesn't it?'
Distracted, Isis tried to shake her head, but ended up
nodding as he took away his mouth. There was devilment
in his brown eyes as he stared down, impaling her eyes
as surely as he did her twitching behind.
'No! None of that,' he said, taking her chin and shaking
her face gently as she tried to close her eyes and turn
away. He'd knelt up beside her now, and was looking
down straight into her eyes. 'I want some straight talk out
of you, Isis my darling. Some honest answers about your
body ... Do you understand?'
Again, she nodded, feeling like an exhibit, an exotic
flower or bird, spread for an experiment and pinned by
the finger lodged deep in her arse. A strangely apt image,
thought the detached observer inside her who could still
manage to think. Although she was the one who was a
scientist...
'Tell me you like this' Josh said, smiling as his finger
curled wickedly inside her.
'Yes, I do.' Isis's face was all red now; it wasn't just
her scar that was glowing. She was burning up with embar-
rassment, yet the hotter she got, the wetter she got. Her
slit must be a lake by now, a great, soft chasm full of
bubbling juices. She'd never felt more aroused in her life.
'Say it properly.'
'I like having your finger inside me.' Oh yes... I do! I
do! screamed the voice of her fluttering quim.
'Inside where, Isis?'
'In my bottom.'
'Where? Speak up.'
'I like having your finger up my bottom,' she answered,
almost crying with mortification and the rawest need she'd
ever felt. 'Oh God, Josh!' she squealed as he took her
clitoris between the fingers of his free hand and manipu-
lated gently to the rhythm of his anal prodding.
Isis felt the fiery approach of orgasm, then really did
sob as he took away both of his hands and left her high
7

and dry, her pelvis lifting involuntarily to seek out the
stimulation she'd so suddenly lost.
'Rude girl,' he teased, and Isis couldn't have cared less
if he'd called her 'slut', 'whore', 'bitch', 'she-cat' or a
dozen other even fouler insults. All she wanted was to
be done, and done well. To be rubbed and probed and
humiliated in any demeaning way he fancied... She
wanted to be plugged. Anywhere. Fingered and stroked.
She felt like gripping her own knees, and canting up her
body from the bed to expose her holes as explicitly as she
was able. And then, with both her entrances displayed,
she'd beg him to fill either one of them.
'Show me what you've got, sweetheart,' he told her
softly, and without thought she did just the thing she'd
imagined - pulling apart her thighs as she curled upwards,
then feeling herself lifted higher by his hand at the small
of her back. Her juices slurped obscenely as her vagina
stretched and gaped, and she felt his hardness brush
against her flank as he leaned over to study the view.
'Beautiful...' she heard him whisper. 'A man could die
in either.'
He stared at her sex and bottom for what seemed like
hours. Isis panted weakly, wishing he'd touch her - or let
her touch herself. But all he seemed to want to do for the
moment was look.
'I'd like to take your arse,' he said suddenly, punctuating
the statement by touching the tip of his forefinger to her
anus. There was no entry this time, just the lightest of
pressures; yet Isis's clitoris leapt wildly and she groaned
aloud.
'You're very tight,' he observed almost absently, 'Maybe
I should put something inside you first? To stretch you ...'
The finger stayed perfectly still and Isis felt a tear trickle
from the corner of her eye. 'I could get a carrot from the
kitchen. One of those big fat ones with the top still on. I
could push it in you and leave it there for an hour or two
to hold you open.'
She was sobbing again now: frustrated almost to the
point of a spontaneous climax by the vision of herself like
8

this before him but with a giant carrot protruding horridly
from her bottom ...
Oh God, no! Some things were just too much. But if
so, why did the idea of a vegetable inside her make her
almost scream aloud to come?
'Or perhaps you've got a love-toy we could use?' The
supporting hand seemed to heft her slightly, as if she were
a baby he was dandling on his knee. 'A sensuous woman
like you must have a dildo tucked away somewhere. Some-
thing big and wide and black perhaps? Something donkey-
size I could coat with your nectar then push slowly, oh so
slowly into you ... Right into your bottom, Isis ... Into
your pretty, quivering bottie. You'd like that, wouldn't
you?' he asked, returning to his pattern of vocal torment.
'Yes,' she croaked, her lips dry, her sex awash.
'But maybe you'd just like me in you?' The finger tick-
led infinitesimally, and Isis felt the hole beneath it flutter.
'Oh yes,' she sighed, arching back her head, her throat
bared for a vampire kiss as she offered her rounded
woman's rear for buggery.
'So be it, my angel,' her lover purred, gentle now as he
rolled her over, and urged her, bottom upwards, into a
cat-like crouch. 'Oh God, you're perfect,' she heard him
say, then felt him kissing the globes of her rudely exposed
rump. He seemed to be whispering a litany of nonsense
against her pale satiny skin, murmuring a catechism to
the finely honed musculature of her gluteous maximi. She
sighed with approval as - just once - he kissed the tiny
hole he'd soon be plundering.
From a million miles away, she recognised that their
equation had changed again. She was still, in a sense, the
submissive... and yet Josh was paying the deepest of
reverence to her offered bottom. Mentally, she heard the
voice in her head dismiss the debate. Whoever said sex
made sense?
And she knew the sight before him was worthy of
worship...
Her body, despite the odd faint scar, was smooth, well-
shaped and sensually inviting. Her backside was full, yet
9

taut, and she'd admired her own anterior cleavage in the
mirror often enough to know that Josh would love it.
Sensing him right behind her, she flirted herself towards
him and was rewarded when his fingers returned to her
warm, waiting crack, sliding beneath first, to her vagina,
to load themselves with her juices.
There was plenty there for the taking; she was quite
indecently lubricated. It was running down her legs,
almost as far as her knees - and as fast as it overflowed
her quim a thick, new oozing took its place.
'Juicy lady,' Josh hissed against her back as he curved
himself over her, scooping out love-juice from her slit.
Beside herself with need, Isis fell forward, cradling her
head in one arm and pressing one side of her face into
the pillow. Vaguely conscious that it was her good side
she'd hidden, she reached down beneath her arched body
and slid her searching hand between her legs. Her rubbing
fingers met Josh's and for a few seconds they duelled in
the pool of her moisture, working together on her slutty,
sex-crazed body: she, scrubbing almost viciously at her
clitoris; he, plunging two fingers into the maw of her
aching vagina.
'In here first,' he said, pushing them in further, then
withdrawing to leave the way clear for his cock.
Isis nuzzled the cotton against her face, cooing with
content as he entered in one long, smooth stroke. This
easy, familiar shafting wasn't going to last long, but she
was damn well going to enjoy it while it did. Pinching her
clittie, she gasped into the pillow, her quim grabbing at
Josh in a light, sweet orgasm.
He was gasping too, and sweating heavily; she could
feel the wetness of his torso slapping rhythmically against
her back.
But this was only the entree... Even though she'd
already come - beautifully - this gentle, normal rhythm
was just the prelude to a more primitive coupling. He slid
in and out of her for a few more minutes, the beat of it
steady, almost leisurely, then drew out and back, poising
himself in readiness.
10

Isis could feel the head of his cock almost floating
against the insloping of her right buttock. It was almost
as if he were asking silent permission to violate her; and
without waiting for a spoken question she nodded, then
murmured a ragged 'yes'.
Edging the weight of her body onto one shoulder, and
burying her face in the pillow, she reached behind her
and eased herself open with her fingers; widening the
shaded cleft so Josh could anoint her anus with juices he'd
drawn up from her quim. Aware of him rising above her,
she felt a strong sense of being 'mounted' and gathered
herself for an act that was both ravishing and primal. She
felt his glans pressing in the groove, finding the spot,
beginning to probe. And when it lodged against the rum-
pled hole, she wrenched mercilessly at her bottom cheeks,
widening the orifice to ease his way in. As he pushed, the
tension on that small ring of muscle seemed to jerk by
proxy on several different parts of her body at once; the
most urgent being her sodden quim and the tiny throbbing
nut of her clitoris.
She moaned again, not in pain - not yet - but with an
excitement more keen and clear than she'd experienced
in ages. This was danger. A exquisite love-hate badness
that was a potent caress in itself.
And then he started pushing harder.
Isis bit her lip, unable to decide whether it was pain she
was feeling, or a crazy, wrong-way-round pleasure. Biting
harder and tasting blood, she bore back against him, awed
by his unforeseen hugeness as he forced his way into her
resisting, untried entrance.
Oh Josh, you're hurting me, she told him silently, her
eyes watering from the obscene sensations in her bowel,
yet feeling happy, so happy that she'd selected this special
man - a man she was truly fond of - to take the first meal
at this bizarrely erotic table.
And she still couldn't properly distinguish whether it
was discomfort - liar, pain - or a luscious yet grubby
delight she was feeling in her partially penetrated rear.
Progress was slow. In spite of all the bossy games he'd
11

played with her earlier, Josh was both a gentleman and a
gentle man. Isis could sense his restraint, sense him curb-
ing his strength and the power of his lust to minimise the
shock to her sensitive interior.
Oh Josh, don't be such a sweetie, she almost cried out
to him as she butted up and back to meet his frustratingly
considerate onslaught. Yet still her body resisted him,
wouldn't let him properly and deeply into it...
'Relax, baby,' he whispered in her ear as he climbed up
over her back, adjusting the angle of his onslaught, 'Relax,
sweetheart... Go loose. Let me in. It's what you want...'
Isis quivered heavily, her whole consciousness focused
in the groove of her partly speared bottom.
It was what she wanted. She wanted his chunky, veiny
prick inside her, distending the passage no other man had
breached. She wanted her rectum filled and plugged, the
relentless pressure squeezing the juices of her sex until
they ran like a thick creamy river down her legs. She slid
her fingers into her quim and tapped gently on her clitoris,
drawing the fire of her senses back to the seat of her
pleasure and away from the burning ache in her anus.
'Yes, my sweet, that's it,' she heard him mutter, his
voice not quite steady any more. 'Touch yourself. Stroke
yourself. Make it nice ...' She felt him shift slightly, taking
his muscular weight on one arm as his free hand went
beneath her to cup a dangling breast, then squeeze its
stiffened nipple.
A circuit formed, a tight loop between her breast and
her clit. Pleasure surged along the powerline and Isis
grunted into the pillow, her empty vagina contracting as
she thrust hard and backwards to meet her lover's forward
thrust.
Oh God, he was enormous! Flesh that was generous on
the outside seemed ten times bigger inside her. Her quim
still pulsing, she seemed to hang suspended in space from
the great hot club that was buried to its hilt in her bottom.
Its massive presence must be displacing her organs inside
her. She could almost feel the thickness of it pushing
in her throat, her innards bulging impossibly against the
12

back of her eyes. She was packed with him. Stuffed.
Wadded. Engorged. Her bowels surged hideously as he
moved inside her, her abused nerve-ends sending sly,
shitty messages to her reeling, befuddled brain.
Yet even as she fought the automatic urge, her clitoris
quickened anew, leaping in a wicked orgasm triggered by
her unthinkable visions of soiling the man who
pleasured her.
Holding herself perfectly still, feeling Josh freeze sym-
pathetically above her, she rode the wave of pleasure and
shame until both her quim and her roiling bowels calmed.
In her mind's eye she saw a vivid tableau: a dark man
sprawled across the back of a woman who was paler than
pale, his face buried in the shimmering, brindled waves of
her hair, his penis invisible, lodged right up to his balls in
the forbidden hole between her smooth white buttocks.
It was lewder than lewd. Disgusting. Fabulous. She still
dare not move, but she felt sensation stir again in the
tissues of her cunt. In the beautiful stasis, she let Josh
nudge aside her fingers with his own. He'd abandoned the
dangling pear of her swollen breast to turn his caressing
attentions to her clitoris. She felt his cock throb softly
inside her as he massaged and teased. Another circuit had
formed, she understood dimly, a loop within the generous
man who possessed her, a feedback between the giving of
pleasure and its taking.
'Oh yes, Josh, yes,' she purred as he took the tiny,
exquisitely sensitive berry between finger and thumb and
tugged it in the way she loved best. Shuffling beneath his
weight, she pushed her slim hand down beside his, flexed
her wrist and thrust two fingers roughly into her own
vagina. She could feel - through the thinnest of mem-
branes - the great heated bar of him as he began to move
slowly in her bowel. She fluttered her fingers slightly and
felt him gasp into her hair as she almost stroked his cock
from within her own body.
Josh made an inarticulate noise and went still inside
her - as if better to appreciate her off-beat caress.
Isis protested, 'No! Please! Keep moving, Josh...
13

Please. Do it. Fuck me, fuck me! Please!' Without knowing
why, she wanted him to be almost brutal. To take her.
Debase her. Hurt her, even. She wanted his great prick
to slam into her, ream her out. She wanted him to move
only for his own satisfaction, and when he reached it, to
fill her outraged rear with a full, hot load of his semen.
'Use me, Josh, use me,' she begged, her words muffled
as she mewled and chewed the pillow beneath her face.
'But I can't use you,' he answered, sounding almost
fearful of her, even though he was taking and fucking her
in the most demeaning and ungiving of ways; dismissing
her womanhood as redundant while he plowed the furrow
of her resisting arse.
'Yes you can!' Impatient, she dashed his hand from her
crotch and began beating hard on her own clitoris and
forcing her bottom upwards to make him go deeper.
Drooling and biting the cotton pillowcase, she writhed
in ecstasy as her dear, empathic lover grabbed her by the
hips, got full purchase on her bucking body and went at
it with a savage frenzied violence.
Triumph flared inside her, and the world reduced to a
microcosm that was simply the tight, impaled orifice of
her rectum and the steadily pulsing bead of her clitoris.
She whined and groaned and keened, coming in one long,
continuous internal undulation that licked and rippled out
from the twin focuses of arsehole and clit to bathe the
whole of her belly in hard golden light.
Out of her mind, she felt her spirit rise up and watch
Josh biting her shoulder - an animal in his rapture - while
his fingers gouged deep into the thin flesh that covered
her pelvic bones. Sinking down again, rejoining the tumult
of pain and pleasure, Isis heard his breathing go ragged,
and felt the gust of it on her neck as he gasped and panted
against her sweat-dewed skin. Her nether moisture poured
out in a rich new stream; her vulva bathed his slapping
balls as it pulsated against them in climax.
Weeping with joy, she heard his fierce shout and felt
his boiling seminal flood pump long and sweet inside her.
'Isis Isis Isis ...'
14

It sounded so tender and loving. A chant of unalloyed
affection and gratitude murmured close, so close to her
face, still pressed to the tear-soaked pillow.
Glowing satisfaction made her giddy, and even as her
body still radiated its afterpleasure, Isis felt a strange shift
of perception as the world seemed to rotate slowly on its
axis and leave her reclining, on her back, on a smooth,
leather-covered couch rather than the coiled, crumpled
sheets of a well-used bed.
'Easy, baby ... Relax. You're back,' said a familiar, mel-
odic and utterly feminine voice. A soft hand brushed the
damp hair out of her eyes, and everything went first dark,
then light as Isis let her eyelids flutter open.
The smile that hovered above her was not Joshua
Jordan Mortimer's and after a quarter of a second she
didn't really expect it to be. Instead of Josh's brown eyes
and handsome masculine features, she was looking up into
a face of the most stunning and supremely female beauty
she'd ever encountered.
And a pair of huge, glittering jewel-green eyes that
were quite unmistakably Tricksie Ibring's.
15

16
The Sorceress's Apprentice
Isis let her eyelids close again and seal in the beautiful
image. Red lips, milky skin, eyes like huge chips of
emerald.
'Are you okay?' the vision enquired, stroking Isis's
shoulder, touching the warm bare skin with a gentleness
that was breath-taking.
'Yeah... I'm fine, Trix. Just... Wow! Oh God, that
was sensational!'
'Wasn't it,' Tricksie murmured, and dimly Isis realised
the experiment had been a success. She flicked open her
eyes again. In a few moments she'd be herself again -
her real self - and able to analyse... But for now she
could do nothing but float.
'Do you want anything, sweetheart?' Tricksie asked,
taking Isis's pulse as she'd been taught to, then stroking
her arm lingeringly.
'Yes, a blanket and a glass of Astrapure. But don't rush,
love. See to the debug programme first. I'll be okay for a
minute. I just need some space to think ...'
'Sure thing, boss,' said Tricksie softly as she made to
turn away.
Struggling out of her limbo, Isis grabbed her friend's
wrist. 'You did a slick job, Trix. Beautiful... I need time
to get my head back together, that's all.'
'You got it...' Tricksie's smile was brilliant, joyous,
blinding, and incredibly Isis felt her body respond to it. It
was crazy. She was rousing again, getting hot, and she'd
only just finished an adventure.
16

Not really wanting to, she let Tricksie go, and as the
woman set about her diagnostic tasks, Isis began her own
less tangible analysis.
Both physically and mentally she felt fantastic. Her
body was warm, relaxed and comfortable, and her psyche
was still thrilled by what she'd dreamt.
The inimitable Josh Mortimer, how she'd missed him.
It was months since they'd shared their one night together,
but she supposed it was her constant thoughts of him that
had made this last trip so real and wild. Closing her eyes,
she let the images reform on the black velvet screen of
her mind ... She saw Josh's fine brown body. Felt his heat,
his hardness, the erotic rudeness of his final slow assault.
His presence in her arse, the hot flood of his come, the
glorious weakening of submission. The raw sensation of a
long, loving buggery. All these still seemed real to her,
and 'remembering' them rekindled their pleasure.
Stirring slightly, she sent her hyper-tuned senses winging
around the poles of her body; reliving each sensation at
the site, checking, assessing, enjoying.
She was unplugged and unfettered now, thanks to the
gentle deftness of Tricksie. The lovely woman had a fea-
ther-Iight touch; it was no wonder all the clients adored
her.
Her mind flitting from Tricksie back to Josh, Isis wrig-
gled her bottom against the smooth white leather of the
treatment couch. It was one solid piece again now, and
the intimate probes were gone. Her pussy and her anus
were her own, but there were faint, sensual echoes of the
dildos that had so efficiently filled her. Mounted on those
fat sexy presences were the Pleasurezone transceivers, the
minute alchemic chips patented by Isis herself, that both
recorded sensation and created it, taking pleasure from
without to within.
A lightning of a kind was still there. Joy in the hot
pulpy wetness of her quim, the invaded looseness of her
rear... Delicate flickers of it teased her. Soft pulsations.
Crying out quietly, she arched, pressed her hand to her
crotch, and came. Moisture bubbled between her fingers
17

as she squeezed her thighs together, then ran, thick and
gelid and sultry, down the warm peachy crack of her arse.
4Yes, love. That's it. Give it up...' Warm arms were
suddenly around her and other fingers floated across her
belly and covered her own, pressing down lovingly on the
hand that coaxed out her pleasure. Still coming, Isis fell
against Tricksie's lush bosom and sobbed.
'You look so beautiful when you come,' whispered
Tricksie, smoothing her free hand over Isis's unbound
hair.
It was a tender gesture, and the words were spoken in
sweet good faith, but to Isis such statements were forever
open to question.
'Me? Beautiful?' she said, raising her face from Tricks-
ie's perfumed cleavage and showing the mark that would
never go away. What the accident, years ago, had done to
her.
'Yes. Beautiful.' The voice was firm, but the fingers that
touched Isis's scar were thistledown, tracing its purple-
whorled shape with all the delicacy and skill that she used
on the thing it resembled: the intricate crumpled-petal
structure that lay between Isis's pale thighs.
It was a strange phenomenon, a backwards kind of
recompense, Isis supposed, but whenever someone
caressed her scar she felt the same sensation in her quim.
She shuddered violently when it happened now, and
whimpered like a child when Tricksie went one better,
petting both face and body at the same time.
'No! No, sweetheart, no!' Isis moaned. She meant 'yes'.
Meant 'yes yes, more more, don't stop'. And marvellously
Tricksie understood her, coaxing spasm after spasm from
that sweet hot coruscating place.
It took a while to recover. For Isis, at least... But
eventually, with a soft, luscious kiss on the mouth, Tricksie
issued an instruction.
'Take five, boss,' she ordered after fetching the blanket
and the glass of water.
Isis allowed herself to be coddled, drinking the mineral
water obediently and staying still and quiet while Tricksie
18

wrapped her in the blanket before returning to less inti-
mate tasks.
Snuggled in the cozy woollen cloth, with her body
relaxed and her sex still fizzing, Isis felt both guilty and
amused. She was tickled by Tricksie's bossiness, and guilty
because she had let herself be bossed. It wouldn't do, all
this loafing about. She was the scientist, the inventor, the
one who should be reviewing the new data. Ihcksie was
as smart as a whip, and an amazing natural technician,
but the truth was she wasn't a computer expert. She'd
never been to any kind of college or secondary school;
and her previous, and still sometimes current occupation
was whoring.
Isis couldn't actually remember which of them had sug-
gested this novel career move - star-spangled prostitute
to lab-coated therapist - but she could vividly remember
the circumstances.
They'd been in bed together.
Isis and Tricksie had been occasional lovers since they'd
very first met, but it was only in the last six months that
their relationship had grown so deep. Hugging the blanket
tighter around her, Isis considered the cause.
Primarily, it was the simple female need for mutual
sympathy. Shoulders to cry on and bodies to cling to for
comfort. Comfort, because they had both lost a man. In
Isis's case 'mislaid' was probably a better description, but
for Tricksie the condition was more radical.
About a fortnight after Josh Mortimer had made love
to Isis, then departed to 'fix a mine', as he so modestly
put it, another man known to Isis and Tricksie had also
disappeared. But this one had gone like the criminal he
most probably was, dissolving smoothly into the night
without a word, a message or a kiss.
Goddamn you, Diabolo! thought Isis now, angry again
with the absent Moon Devil on her own behalf, but oh-
so much more so for Tricksie.
Diabolo had been Tricksie's pimp, Isis's helper at the
'Zone, and an occasional and sensational bedmate to both
of them. Pleasurezone and Isis were coping quite
19

adequately without him; but unfortunately Tricksie was in
love with the bastard and his midnight flit had devastated
her.
She'd not shown it, of course, and Isis had been awed
by her friend's indestructable composure. Tricksie had
twinkled and dazzled as she always did, turned more tricks
than ever, and continued to reduce grown men to quiver-
ing wrecks with her adorable face and her superbly fuck-
able body. But inside she'd been dying.
Only Isis had seen the tears and the agony. Only Isis
had been there to wipe away those tears and hold that
marvellous body, then caress it passionately, touch it, kiss
it, and finally content it. Consolation had never been
sweeter...
It had been a strange night, that night when everything
had changed between them. Beautiful. Intense. Unex-
pected.
Isis had started out on a mission to make Tricksie happy
again. To give her as much pleasure as possible as often
as possible, with her hands and her lips and her body. But
it had been Tricksie who had ended up doing the giving.
Isis's quim pulsed deep and hard just thinking about it;
her flesh remembering the night as clearly as her brain
did.
Her friend had kissed her there. Down there. Delicate
butterfly kisses that turned into voracious sucking; sucking
that had turned into a long, untiring licking: Tricksie's hot
wet tongue on Isis's clitoris. Orgasm after orgasm, flaming
in her loins until she cried out for mercy; the victim in
place of a cold-hearted man who was absent.
It had been Tricksie's way of fighting back, this great
glutting of pleasure; and in the end, Isis had been too
drugged by it and too high on it to reason or argue. Since
then they'd been lovers, friends and working partners in
Pleasurezone, but Isis still had a nasty suspicion that if
Diabolo walked in right now, Tricksie would fall down on
her knees and crawl across the floor to reach him.
'Bastard!' she hissed and Tricksie looked round
curiously.
20

'Beg pardon?'
'Nothing. Just thinking about something irritating,'
answered Isis, throwing off her blanket and dropping
neatly to her feet. The action was deliberate. She'd shown
Tricksie her naked body as a distraction; to take her mind
off the man they both knew was far more than irritating.
What am I thinking about that shit for? Isis asked
herself as she shrugged into a white lab coat and joined
Tricksie at the console. Still barefoot, she slid onto a stool
and reached first for a headband to hold back her thick,
tabbycat waves, then for a pair of half-moon granny specs
that she popped on the end of her nose.
There were much much nicer men to think about, she
decided firmly, peering at the data display, frowning and
stabbing at a key. Decent men with feelings, Joshua Jordan
Mortimer for one, and it was time to find out what Tricksie
had thought of his recent 'performance'.
'Okay. This all looks very satisfactory, Trix, but it's what
you experienced that matters. To put not too fine a point
on it -' She couldn't resist giggling. 'How was it for you?'
'Utterly sublime.. When can I meet him for real?'
Tricksie's voice was nothing less than a purr; it made
Isis's heart leap with excitement. They had had the same
adventure then.
For a while now, Isis had been working on improving
the therapist's ability to monitor the adventurer's experi-
ence. Visuals, via the computer screen, had always been
available, but initially Isis had resisted any kind of 'eaves-
dropping'. Fantasies were strange and private. Many were
frankly bizarre. It had seemed unethical to spy on them.
Increasingly though, clients had started asking her to
'join' them; either as a character in their scenarios, or
simply as a watcher. Men seemed to get off very strongly
on the idea of her observing their sexy foibles, and the
data indicated - in all cases - that her 'presence' enhanced
their pleasure.
And this was the clincher. The prices she charged were
high because her initial borrowing to set up the 'Zone
had been astronomical - but she did believe in value for
21

money. If her clients got more of their rocks off with her
in their dreams, she felt honour-bound to be there for
them.
Monitoring had been the name of the game today, and
what she and Tricksie had just run was the ultimate in
overseen adventuring. The fantasy had been bora in Isis's
mind and the pleasure physically experienced in her body;
but THcksie had 'lived' the whole thing with her. An
electronic representation of it had been fed straight to her
brain via inducer chips held in place against her temples.
How effective the process was, only Tricksie could
reveal. Isis had monitored one of Hicksie's fantasies yes-
terday - a predictably Diabolo-fiUed episode that had
made her blanch, shake, then orgasm wildly - but she
didn't consider it a true test. Her own imagination, dream-
capacity, call-it-what-you-will, had been unnaturally
enhanced by her own invention. Tricksie was pragmatic,
down-to-earth and she hadn't adventured that much; if
she believed in the perceived experience the process of
monitoring was valid.
'He's coming home soon, Trix, and I want this lot up
and running when he does. Now please, tell me. Does it
work?'
'Oh, it works all right...' Tricksie's voice was soft,
awed. The look she gave Isis was solemn. 'It's like magic,
Ice. I was there. I was you.' She reached out and brushed
her fingers across Isis's brow. 'You're so lovely... It
makes me forget how clever you are. You scare the shit
out of me sometimes, love. Honest. It's like being with
the high priestess of some ancient religion. A shaman. A
sorceress. And I'm your apprentice ...'
Isis was moved. She didn't know what to say or do,
except get on with the task in hand.
'Can you describe what you experienced?'
'Okay. Here goes.' Tricksie settled herself on her stool,
then reached up to brush a tendril of hair from her eyes.
The silky burgundy-coloured strand tumbled down again
immediately, but she didn't seem to notice.
'You were in bed with Josh Mortimer. In his flat, I
22

think. I didn't recognise the room. I... The action seemed
to start with you having him in your mouth,' Her green
eyes darkened, went wide, seemed to double in size. 'He
was delicious. And big. And so responsive.' She sighed
then, and Isis was pleased she'd made Tricksie dream of
warm, wonderful Josh instead of that cold swine Diabolo.
'Then he pulled his prick out of my... your... Jesus, Ice,
it was me! It was as real as that!' Her eyes flashed and
she grabbed for Isis's hand.
'Go on,' whispered Isis. The feelings were starting again
for her too. The pseudo-memories. Her damp sex stirred
and fluttered, but a faint guilt pricked her. What would
Trix say if she knew the whole thing had been a total
fiction?
'He did a beautiful thing...' Tricksie's voice was thick
now, slightly gasping. Her words disjointed. 'He rubbed
himself all over my face. Against the scar. I could feel his
wetness. His juice. He was smearing it into the scar with
his penis.'
Scientific detachment was forgotten for both of them;
Isis couldn't concentrate and Tricksie had lost it com-
pletely. Arousal was a thick mist in the air, aphrodisiac ...
"Then he let me suck him again,' the dreamer went on,
her face rapt, her eyes like stars, her nipples hard and
dark beneath the thin white stuff of her smock. Isis had
never seen her friend look more beautiful. 'And it felt so
good. So hot... And then he sucked me. He was eating
me. Licking me. He opened me right up ... He was licking
my clit and touching my bottom. Oh, God, oh God! He
pushed his finger into me. Right into me. He was rubbing
and pushing... He made me want to be gross. Rude. I had
to show myself. Show everything ... Clit. Cunt. Arsehole.
Everything held wide open ...'
There was an obscene magic to Tricksie's explicit litany,
and suspended somewhere between an electric myth and
the warm flesh-real seductress at her side, Isis couldn't
keep her shaking hands still. She pressed her crotch
through the cotton of her smock, aware of Tricksie doing
the same, and wriggling on her stool, just inches away.
23

It was Isis's turn now to be awestruck. She watched
the ancient female pattern of fingers and pumping loins.
Watched Tricksie lift her short white skirt, spread her
thighs wide, then use both hands to open herself.
The exposed scarlet curls were dark with juice. Fluid
shone on each silky hair. And as she went on dreamily
with her description, Tricksie seemed almost unaware she
was masturbating.
'He said wicked things to me. Terrible gorgeous things.
He kept turning me on and on. He wanted to stick
things inside me. In my bottom... He wanted his prick
in there and he knew I wanted it too. He touched me up.
Fingered me. Stroked every part of me. Made me crazy
for his cock in my arse.'
Tricksie's fingers were moving so nimbly now, that Isis
couldn't follow them. She could hear them though...
The thick squelch of liquid. Tricksie's grunts, her slurred
attempts at speech. The rude fabulous glooping sound as
a finger pumped hard in a soft, tight channel. Two hands
worked in immaculate co-ordination. Stroking and pene-
tration. Clitoris and vagina. Two expert hands whose
sweet touch Isis knew well.
She was desperate to masturbate again herself, To join
in ... Isis's sex ached for the treatment Tricksie was giving
hers, but she didn't dare move for fear of disturbing the
woman she'd bewitched. The accolyte she'd ensorcelled
with erotic dreamery.
'Then he pushed it in me.' Tricksie's voice rose. Wavered
and cracked. "Die first time ever... It was luscious but
God, did it hurt!'
Now this, Isis knew, was her fantasy. There was no way
a working girl like Tricksie could not have been buggered
at least once in her life. She'd mentioned it often enough.
Had it in her own adventure. It was just Diabolo's style ...
With difficulty, Isis stayed quiet. She wanted to come
now, she needed it, but to make it happen would distract
her, and make her miss Tricksie's orgasms.
Isis bit her lip as Tricksie shuddered and moaned. She
loved the sights and sounds of another woman's pleasure.
24

Loved knowing what was happening within. Imagined
contractions, flesh grabbing and grasping. Rippling. As
Tricksie slipped and started to tumble forward, Isis slid to
her feet and caught her, cradling and holding as she herself
had been cradled and held. The urge to make free with
such perfection was like a physical pain; but she stood
fast against it.
She could wait. Tonight, there'd be peace, a bed, soft
lights, comfort. They'd do it properly. Love each other
beautifully, unhurriedly.
Holding Tricksie so tightly, Isis could barely tell which
of them was shaking.
Yes, she'd wait. It would be worth it.
Two hours later, Isis was in her shower, in her flat adjoin-
ing Pleasurezone, and still waiting. But not for much
longer...
They'd eventually finished the debug. The post-climactic
Tricksie had been deliciously businesslike. 'Okay, boss,
that's that done with. Shall we get on with the job?'
They'd analysed the data, using both the computer
records and Tricksie's account of what she'd monitored.
Her second description was cool, rational and utterly pre-
cise in spite of its content. They'd finalised the program
and fed it into the system for working use.
Now she'd proved its feasibility, Isis was excited by
the implications of piggy-back dreaming. Pleasurezone for
couples would be the first innovation, and Isis was as
fired up by the therapeutic implications as she was by the
potential revenue.
Imagine ... A couple estranged because they were too
inhibited with each other to share their fantasies. A part-
ner who couldn't describe what he or she wanted. In
the erotic ambience of the 'Zone, such barriers could be
smashed and lovers united in mutual knowledge. Full
sense monitoring would be safer too. Even for solo adven-
tures. There was always the odd adverse reaction...
Isis smiled in the streaming water, remembering the
time a very toothsomely half-naked Josh Mortimer had
25

woken up too fast, gone ape-shit and threatened to kill
her. Fortunately, he had still been restrained.
And that sent her fingers to her sex. Her supercharged
memory painted wondrous pictures ...
Josh on the couch: wired, dildoed and dreaming.
God, that man had looked so beautiful in his straps.
Smooth brown skin against pure white leather. His fine
body stretched and vulnerable. The rise and delectable
rise of a truly exceptional prick.
Delicately prising open her labia, Isis laid a finger exper-
imentally on her clitoris. She couldn't resist touching her-
self and she didn't try. Her adventure. Tricksie. Memories.
It was all too much and too strong. She'd wanted to wait
tonight... To make herself simmer first, and then bubble
and boil.
But Josh Mortimer had been the last and most incendi-
ary straw. A remarkable lover and a memorable man, he
was a rampant sexual sweetheart who would soon be back
on the scene, thank God.
Things might get a bit involved then, of course; what
with adventures owed and new lovers to consider. But
surely they could work something out? Maybe she and
Tricksie could share him?
The idea hit the spot even as she thought it, and the
flesh beneath her fingertip jumped in approval.
Josh and Tricksie? Maybe she could run it through the
'Zone first? Try it without commitment by sneaking it into
adventures? See how she - and they - liked it?
She imagined positions. Combinations. Two pale bodies
and one darker... Sandwichings. Circles. Hands, mouths,
sexes. One stiff cock, two needful quims. They'd organise
it somehow.
'You're beautiful, Queen of Tricks. He'll love you,' she
murmured as the water teemed over her.
And this is no use, she thought, smiling up into the
warm stream that caressed her scar and sluiced her thick
hair flat against her back. I've been in this shower ten
minutes now and I haven't washed anything. Except the
bit between my legs.
26

Lazy self-serving bitch! Here she was in the shower,
masturbating to all kinds of glorious fantasies; and Tricksie
was left behind, cleaning up after her. Not that the sweet
thing minded.
Isis often left Tricksie to shut up shop. In her own flat
the beautiful whore was maniacally untidy, Isis could
vouch for that, but here at the 'Zone, Tricksie seemed
imbued with a truly scientific sense of order. The minutiae
and routines delighted her. She enjoyed closing down
the systems, sprucing up the two treatment rooms, and
generally making good. She actively asked to do more
about the place, and it was always pin-neat when she'd
done. Isis was no lover of chores herself, and just said a
silent 'hurray' and let her friend get on with it.
Pleasurezone had affected Tricksie in other ways too.
Iris shimmied in the hot flow, indulgently reviewing
them...
In her determination to appear more like a technician
and less like a lady of the night, Tricksie had subtly altered
her appearance.
She'd revamped her hair; muting its natural flaming
fire-engine red to a refined but still eye-catching burgundy.
She'd also started wearing it in a succession of plaits,
pleats and chignons. All very fetching, very classy, and
though she didn't seem to realise it, even sexier-looking
than when she wore her hair loose. She'd also toned down
her flamboyant make-up style and acquired a wardrobe
of cool, sharp, business-girl suits and chic understated
little dresses.
All this amused Isis no end. Mainly because as Tricksie
was sex incarnate, a walking talking love goddess, there
was always some exquisite little give-away. A neckline
that dipped an inch too low. Black needle-seamed stock-
ings instead of taupe or beige. That one maverick tendril
of hair that would not stay in place and insisted on coiling
down her milky neck and pointing to the lushness of her
frontage.
The truth was, Tricksie Hiring was physically incapable
27

of not looking edible ... and right now Isis felt crazy to
taste her.
Fingers working furiously, she slumped in the corner of
the shower stall, the ghost of Tricksie in her mind and in
her mouth. She drew her own taste to her lips and
imagined it her lover's.
'You're a naughty girl, Ice,' said an arch, creamy voice,
slightly filtered by the water and lust, 'You said you'd wait
for me.'
Tricksie was standing half in, half out of the cubicle,
her thin smock painted to her body by the moisture. Her
rounded breasts stood out like glory, the nipples huge
beneath the sodden cloth, their dark tips distended and
corky.
With a small lost cry, Isis abandoned her crotch and
reached out, grabbing.
'Hey, let me get this off first.' Tricksie tugged at her
soaking smock and peeled it off in one smooth heavenly
action.
She was nude beneath it, as always, and her exhibited
body was as fine and angelic as the sleek silky way that
she moved.
Isis sighed. She'd learned to love her own body. Its
shape, its lightness, its suppleness, its unfailing good
health; all these pleased her greatly. But beside Tricksie's
unparalled gorgeousness, she merely felt adequate ...
The woman before her had breasts that were large and
sculpture-perfect. Classic white orbs, heavy but high, with
nipples that cried out to the hand: puckered, innocent and
fresh-looking. Isis wanted to cry and laugh and smile at
the paradox. This lush, eve-like shape, this whore's
working body that had been mauled and possessed and
abused and worse... How could it still look so
untouched? So pristine, so faultless and dewy?
Tricksie was a miracle. And as she stepped fully into
the stall the water was already hanging in drops on her
bush, clinging like diamonds to a forest of pure coiling
scarlet.
Wet, she was more delectable even than dry. The shower
28

had already demolished most of her sophisticated make-
up, and the rest of it went as she slathered gel over her
face, her arms and her breasts. Isis watched, entranced, as
she slipped a double handful of foam between her long
white thighs and submerged her thick crimson pubes in a
sea of exuberant bubbles. With mock-innocent gusto, and
a sly glance in Isis's direction, Tricksie began to 'wash'
her nether parts: stirring the froth wildly and working her
hips in an easy, syncopated rhythm.
Isis watched, still as ice, the element she was nicknamed
for, yet inside on fire ... Transfixed, she sobbed as Tricksie
brought herself off in a quick, jerking orgasm.
"That's better,' the sated woman said casually. She
seemed to need no recovery time at all; she was already
reaching for Isis. 'Now let me wash you.'
Isis nodded, weakened and thrilled, yet content as she
conceded command. With her hands dangling loosely by
her sides, she adjusted her stance. Her thighs parted, her
loins tilted. Her crotch seemed to bulge and wave
obscenely. Wash here first, it pleaded, the hips that carried
it flaunting helplessly forward, begging mutely for the
grace of release.
Tricksie chose, instead, to wash Isis's hair. Taking
another good dollop of the cleansing gel, she rubbed it
into the whole thick multi-hued mop, working quickly and
thoroughly to shampoo and rinse, then smoothing her
hands caressingly over the planes of her lover's wet face.
Her fingers lingered reverently on the lurid scar, then she
leaned, warm and close, to press a kiss to its graphic pink
shape. Isis felt a tracing tongue, and the sweet hot waft
of breath against the evocative mark on her cheek.
It was a shadowplay. The same would soon happen
below and her quim pulsed softly in hunger. 'Oh please,'
she moaned, her lips close to Tricksie's, longing for that
clever red mouth. Breathing deeply, she drew in the fra-
grance of woman and the faint, sharp fruit-scent of the
gel. She imagined sucking the stuff off Tricksie's labia,
licking it from her clitoris, grooming it away with all the
measured precision of a cat. She wanted it laved from her
29

place too, consumed like an unction from the contours of
her lovelorn quim.
Isis quivered and raised her hands, desperate to touch
this sumptuous woman who excited her. Tricksie dashed
them away, chuckling wickedly. Slithering like an eel, she
kept her distance while her own hands slid toyingly over
Isis's arms and shoulders.
I can't take much more of this! cried Isis inside as
Tricksie took her open mouth and devoured it. Strong,
flexible soap-covered fingers went expertly over her body,
massaging thighs and buttocks, tracing spine and ribs,
washing everywhere evenly. Canny fingers delved into
every last crevice and dent. Except the one that needed
it most. The swollen-hot folds of her sex ...
In her enhanced mind's eye Isis could see how it must
be down there. She saw engorged flesh. She saw rose-pink
and livid blood-fired redness, her heavy, puffy love-lips,
her clitoris standing proud and grossly swollen, pulsing
silent and slowly in a code of unbearable, spirit-breaking
lust.
Isis found a use, then, for her redundant hands, gripping
the stainless steel shower-stall handles iike fury. Her
knuckles went white as Tricksie's fingers shot between her
thighs from the back and started lathering the sensitive
cleft of her arse. She whimpered as Tricksie rubbed her
vigorously yet studiously avoided moving forwards to the
hot wet zone that - had it had a voice of its own - would
have been screaming aloud for her touch.
'My clit. My clit, please,' she begged, vaguely remem-
bering a similar plea, one that had echoed in the confines
of her electronically stimulated brain.
'No no no,' said Tricksie gaily, still hard at work. 'I
know what you want, you dirty little girl. You dreamed it
for me.' She pushed lewdly to illustrate her point, 'You
want something in here.' She pushed again and Isis
groaned. 'You want something in your wicked little
bottom, don't you? Don't you?' She poked crudely and
Isis nodded, almost climaxing in delicious humiliation.
'Tbrn around,' Tricksie ordered.
30

Isis obeyed and grabbed tight onto the handles again,
bracing her feet on the shower's ridged floor as Tricksie
positioned her. The whore's practised hands were smooth,
soft-skinned and gentle.
What? Oh what? Tricksie was edging her legs further
apart...
What? Oh Lord, Isis, tell the truth ... You know!
Two strong thumbs pressed into the inner cheeks of her
bottom, and she put her feverish forehead to the cool of
the streaming wet tiles. She was opened, completely, and
her anus rudely exposed to the relentless rush of the
shower. The pounding water itself was a caress, as was
the sensation of a small vulgar orifice being perused by
laser-green eyes.
'Oh God,' she gulped as a hot, pointed tongue touched
that same unholy place.
'Relax, baby.' Tricksie's voice was a zephyr across her
twitching bottom, the tiny lip-movements a blessing. Isis
felt her lover's tongue dart up and down the crease, then
return to the hole itself, furling to delve deep inside. She
opened her mouth. against the smooth whiteness of the
tiles, smearing her anguished face against them and slob-
bering mindlessly as her sweet, bad love-monster probed
her.
Tricksie's thumbs bit wickedly as she pressed in side-
ways and outwards. Isis felt mercilessly opened, speared
by the stiffened tongue that moved in her spit-wet chan-
nel. She sobbed and pressed back against the intrusion,
wanting, needing to touch herself, but not daring to let go
of her handholds lest she tumble in a spasming heap to
the floor of the shower. Her abandoned quim was bursting
but she loved it, loved it, loved it. Clever Tricksie had
perfectly recreated the divine, aching, craving, shaming
sensations of the adventure, and Isis knew that at this
moment she would have given the sweet whore anything.
Truly. Anything.
Isis heard uncouth bubbling grunts coming from her
own wet mouth as Tricksie's tongue waggled indecently
inside her. The rhythm was rock solid, and Isis felt saliva
31

trickling down the incurve of her bottom, its bubbly tex-
ture a contrast to the sleek aseptic water. She heard the
sounds of voracious gobbling, and felt her own thick juices
oozing out to join the spittle. Her backside was waving
crazily now but Tricksie clung on like a leech. First suck-
ing, then stabbing, but always driving onwards and
upwards in her pursuit of erotic supremacy. The moment
when Isis lost her pride and her mind completely in a
maelstrom of deviant pleasure. It, and she, the sucked and
stuffed one, would come any second now. Become just a
filthy, howling sex-thing, climaxing involuntarily with her
quim empty, and her behind full of stiff plunging tongue.
Even as she thought it, it happened. Tricksie thrust
jaw-crackingly deeper and it melted some discreet inner
barrier. Her tongue-tip barged against a place that Isis
had never known about. Some profound sexual trigger...
And with a long broken wail, she started coming.
Her unfilled cunt heaved and pulsed. Sensation washed
out from it and engulfed her, then dwindled at light-speed
to a hard bright blast at the jumping root of her clitoris.
She slumped against the tiles, snorting in air, and felt
Tricksie slump with her, that devil-woman's tongue still
lodged in its outlaw haven.
Consciousness wavered and drifted, but the small sweet
prod stayed in place, dabbing imperiously.
'I... I can't,' begged Isis, but obediently, subserviently,
she climbed onto her knees, raised her rear, and offered
up her body for more ...
32

33
Welcome Home Mister Mortimer
PRIORITY. PRIORITY. PRIORITY.
Isis stabbed a button, cut the red flashing light, and
eyed the message screen in her bedroom narrowly. Who
the devil had been trying to contact her in the middle of
the night?
Some crank, probably - which was why she had the
machine in the first place. Working in the sex business
laid you open to all kinds of weirdos and freaks. Most of
these odd-balls went on to be the 'Zone's best customers,
but it was always best to be on the safe side. This way she
could filter out the nasties from the ones who were just
plain delightfully strange.
She took a swig of coffee from her mug and sighed,
appreciating another of Tricksie's consummate skills. The
angel! She'd left a full pot of Blue Mountain for Isis to
wake up to.
Still savouring its peerless aroma, Isis pressed a button
on the machine that would show her the message's point
of origin - often a useful indicator as to who or what to
expect.
Holy Moly! Who the hell did she know that far away?
For a moment, the location completely flummoxed her.
The distance was unimaginable. Then her whole body
loosened, shuddering heavily. The tremor was so sudden,
intense and downright pleasurable that she put down her
unfinished coffee and clapped a hand to her fluttering
loins.
Of course she knew someone ...
33

Memories of last night's adventure hit her like a run-
away truck. Beautiful pictures of sucking and being
sucked. Of rampant, moaning copulation. Submission. Of
dirty, delectable, perverted sex all overlaid with a tender-
ness that was strangely aposite.
Then, in a moment of disorientation, true recollections
blended with the faux ones. Josh in the Pleasurezone at
her mercy. Josh on the night he'd left. Gentle, naked,
gorgeous Josh in her bed and in her body. Gentle,
naked, gorgeous and big Josh.
'Oh, Josh,' she whispered, pressing her tingling mound
and reaching out with her free hand to cue the lovely
man's message.
The screen filled with a slightly phased image of a face
that was intimately familiar. A dark, wickedly handsome
face, but one that was also - at the time of recording -
quite endearingly and boyishly nervous.
'I hate these bloody machines!' complained Josh's danc-
ing electrons. 'Look, Isis... I don't know when you'll get
this, but I'm on my way home. I'm not sure when I'll
get in, but I'll try to be in La Selene tomorrow night -'
He appeared to consult his chronometer, and the momen-
tary sight of his strong brown wrist gave Isis goose-bumps.
He had such superb hands. Engineer's hands with long
clever fingers that could get into the tiniest and most
sensitive of crannies. "That's about eight o'clock, your
time. I -' He looked to the left, out of Isis's line of sight,
and frowned. 'Sorry, Isis, this slot is about to close. We'll
talk tomorrow... I... Oh God, this is hopeless!' The
image leapt, then started rolling with stomach-churning
speed, but just as the recording dissolved into static, his
voice leapt desperately from the speaker, 'Dammit, Isis,
I've missed you!'
'And I've missed you, Mister Mortimer,' whispered Isis,
re-cueing the call, running it without sound then freezing
it at a particularly awesome frame. Beneath her pressing
fingers and her kimono, beneath its sleep-crushed mat of
curls, her quim rippled in a long, deep wave. It was a
34

special kind of man who could reach out across the aether
and caress her as if he'd been there in the flesh.
Special, yet as soon as he arrived, things were going to
get complicated ...
As a paying Pleasurezone customer, with four adven-
tures still owing, Isis didn't think she ought to take him
to her bed. Well, not immediately anyway.
Hie lines between business and pleasure were decidedly
blurred where the 'Zone was concerned, but Isis had made
it a house rule never to get involved; that is, to have
straight sex with her clients. To be lover as well as therapist
could distort their confidence in her. She had, at certain
delicate moments, to project an aura of total clinical
detachment. That couldn't really happen if they'd seen
her have an orgasm... seen her lose all her control.
Heard her scream and groan.
Okay, so she had made love with Josh just before he'd
left. Several times in one night. But that was only because
she'd taken the goddamned machine to bits and it had
stubbornly refused to go back together again. He'd been
leaving for a long tour,of duty at an unbelieveably remote
mining facility. There were no women there, and precious
few comforts of any kind. He'd been entitled to pleasure
of some sort before becoming celibate for months on end.
But he was coming back as a client again now. It was a
whole new ball game, and the man himself a sore temp-
tation. Last night had proved to her how vulnerable she
was.
But there was nothing unethical, awkward or compli-
cated about pursuing her private scenarios, was there?
Her solo sex... Simple straightforward secret garden day-
dreams with no electronic assistance whatsover.
Well, no bolt-on extras apart from her own augmented
imagination.
A born dreamer, Isis had created stories and fantasies
for as long as she'd been able to think coherently. Since
puberty, those inner worlds had been almost exclusively
sexual, and this rich fund of dreams had formed the basis
of the Pleasurezone databank. She'd devised most of the
35

set pieces from her own erotic stories - and now the pro-
cess was becoming reciprocal. She fed the 'Zone and the
'Zone fed her. Wickedly.
And she could use that wickedness now, couldn't she?
In the service of her attraction to Josh.
Okay Mister Mortimer, let's roll, she told his image
within her, locking the door then gathering all the pillows
from her bed and mounding them in the squashy armchair
beside it.
If the white leather treatment couch was the cradle
of fantasy, this poor old chair was the very throne of
masturbation. She'd had some fine times in this chair,
preferring it even to her bed, and as she threw herself
backwards amongst the pillows, she saw a dozen lightning
freeze-frames. Shuffling, she stretched one leg straight out,
and draped the other languidly over the chair-arm.
The pose itself was another habit. With her thighs flung
wide, her quim was open and exposed, accessible to quest-
ing fingers and the cooling caress of the air. Sighing and
closing her eyes, she parted the wings of her delicate
Japanese kimono.
And travelled.
In the world behind her eyelids, she was dressed to kill
and sitting in the centre of La Selene, the nightclub
through which clients gained entrance to Pleasurezone. It
was a place she loved, and somewhere she seemed to
meet all the important people in her life. Surrounding
her now were the members of what she liked to call her
'court'.
Tricksie was there, lush and exquisite, locked in the
arms of her beloved Diabolo - that icon of sinister Latin-
ate beauty whom Isis's imagination had conveniently
retrieved from wherever. The couple were caressing unin-
hibitedly, fondling each other's genitals through their
clothes, but not once did their combined gaze move from
Isis.
Also present was Guido - the handsome young La
Selene barman for whom Isis had a soft spot - arm in
arm with another watcher.
36

In the dreamworld Isis nodded, acknowledging her
cousin, St Etienne.
You are one peculiar person, Ett! Isis thought for per-
haps the thousandth time in her life. She laid her fingers
teasingly on her belly, then slid them lower. It was a good
thing she and St Etienne were only marginally related;
some of her feelings weren't cousinly at all. St Etienne
was mad, bad and sublimely beautiful, even if she did
spend most of her time dressed as a man. She was also
one of the most innately erotic individuals Isis had ever
met. More insatiable even than Tricksie, Ett was a hedon-
ist and writer who indulged in every kind of sex known
to man or woman. With either gender, and preferably in
numbers exceeding two. She'd made passes at Isis for as
long as they'd known each other, and there was a tacit
but unspoken agreement between them that one day, Isis
would succumb ...
Having assembled her audience, Isis wriggled her
bottom more comfortably into the chair and brought on
the star of the show.
Out of the shadows stepped Joshua Jordan Mortimer,
clad in black as he had so often been during the course
of their all too brief acquaintance. In this interior pseudo-
reality, it seemed the most natural thing in the world that
he should walk through the throng towards her, then fall
on his knees, take one of her slender feet in both hands
and raise it up to his lips to kiss the perfect arch of her
instep.
He eased off her shoe and fondled her nylon-clad foot,
and in both worlds her quim grew hot and sticky. She slid
two fingers into the feverish groove, struck up a rhythm,
and hurled herself deep into her fantasy.
As Josh had the benefit of nuzzling and sucking her
toes, it seemed only fair that the onlookers get a share of
the thrills. Unbuttoning her tailored jacket, she pushed
roughly at the camisole beneath and freed her hard-nip-
pled breasts for the pleasure of the assembled company.
With the bunched fabric wedged beneath it, her bosom
was lifted and lewdly displayed, and she added to the
37

show by pinching her own teats and squirming. Stimu-
lation leapt in an arc from her breasts to her still-con-
cealed sex.
Feeling her in motion, Josh looked up from his kissing.
His gaze was a fire that seared her most intimate mem-
branes - but still she gave him only her foot.
In the real world, Isis put her free hand up to one
breast; mauling the berry-like nipple and stretching out
the whole soft mound into a long, cruel, extenuated cone
of pain. In the fantasy there were two cones and she
moaned softly, enjoying both the suffering and the
pleasure. As Josh's lips nibbled at her ankle, it was time
to make dream and reality match. Her clitoris was mad
for attention.
When she lifted her skirt, a cheer went up. She was
wearing no panties and her pretty, brindled pubes were
visibly wet. Squeezing harder on her nipples and opening
her legs wider, she spoke in a husky, yet authoritative
voice.
'Pleasure me, Josh. Use your hands. Use those beautiful
brown fingers, Josh. Make me wetter... Make me
ache ... Make me come. Do it now!'
He needed little encouragement. Isis watched him make
a small show of rolling up his black denim sleeves, adjust-
ing the way he knelt, then placing a hand flat on each of
her thighs with his thumbs pointing inwards. There were
no nerve-ends in her pubic hair, but she could swear she
felt his thumb nails touch it.
'Go on,' she whispered, and with an industrious little
digging movement, he parted the soft, lush fleece, then
snagged an outer lip with each thumb and opened her up
like fruit.
More murmurs of approval...
Isis wafted her held-open quim in a salacious gesture
of triumph. Let them see the juicy, crinkled lips, the tight
oozing hole, the purply-pinky-peachiness of her aroused
and wantful body. Let them see how big her clitoris got
when she needed an orgasm. Let them see Josh obeying
38

her every lustful whim and making her come in precisely
the manner she'd specified.
She felt the heat of their stares on her tugged-apart sex
and imagined her juices sizzling and popping like grease.
The exposure made her engorge more than ever, but she
was proud of her own sexual succulence. She was also
getting tired of waiting for her orgasm.
'Do it, Josh!' she commanded. Tut your fingers inside
me. Two! Use two!'
When the two slid in, her hot silky channel made a grab
for them. Greedy little thing, she chastised her own body.
You want more, don't you?
'Josh ... Put three in. Touch my clitoris too.'
Phantom-lover complied, opening her entrance in a
rude, uncomfortable stretch. Her clitoris jumped violently,
and a finger settled on it in seconds, pressing with the
lightest of emphases. 'Josh! Oh god! You bastard!' she
screamed, coming like a comet as the voices gasped in
adulation.
Beat. Beat. Beat. Her vagina sucked hard on her fingers
as the waves swept out from her clit.
Pulse ... Pulse ... Pulse ... Slower now, and calmer, as
the spasms ebbed and she opened her eyes to an empty
room and an absence of both lover and watchers.
'WTiere do you get it all from, Ice?' she asked wryly,
sliding out her fingers and flipping her robe across the
gooey sexed-out mess of her quim.
Probably some pathological exhibitionist streak, the
analyst in her forebrain told her. A backlash against her
flawed face that found expression in fantasies of exposure.
'Or maybe you're just a horny bitch?'
Chuckling softly, she leapt to her feet. The sweet sap
of lust was a truly glorious thing... but lordy, did she
need a shower.
But some hours later, at approximately eight o'clock that
evening, her sap was rising again. Isis felt its heavy cling
between her legs when she walked into the foyer of La
Selene. Pausing before the long rank of mirrors, she
39

checked her looks and made a moue - half of irritation,
half of pleasure.
It seemed helpless, somehow, to get all wet between the
legs at the thought of seeing Josh again. She felt slutty
and ridiculously hormonal; precisely when the ability to
behave like a cool emotionless scientist - a sort of female
Mr Spock - would have been so appropriate and useful.
She was irritated with her face too. Over the years she'd
nearly come to love her scar, but ever so often, at times
like these, she resented it.
Get real, Ice, she told herself viciously. You can't take
a graft, and thick make-up looks stupid. You're stuck with
it. Angling her face this way and that, she consoled herself
with the one major improvement in her appearance since
Josh's last visit. At least her eyes matched these days. A
full schleral lens, made from a new hypo-allergenic poly-
mer, gave her two hazel gold orbs instead of one and a
muddy bloodshot damaged one.
She was pleased with the rest of herself which looked,
she decided, pretty stunning: groomed to perfection, in
black, hair pinned back beneath a hat. What's more, her
unpredictable Gemini nature forced her to admit some-
thing else ... She enjoyed feeling randy. Especially for a
stone fox like Josh.
Earlier that day, she'd run her purely ethical dilemma
by Tricksie.
'You could always let me supervise him,' the whore had
pointed out in deceptively casual tones.
Isis, sensing scrutiny, had looked up from her client list
and found Tricksie's bright green eyes drilling into her.
'Hmm...' It was a good suggestion, but the jealous
pang it brought was as sharp as it was surprising. What
had happened to the idea of 'sharing' all of a sudden? Isis
wondered. What to do about Josh was a thorny question,
but her primal reaction was not to let her voluptuous and
provenly irresistible friend anywhere near him.
'Don't say a word,' Tricksie laughed softly. 'I wouldn't
dream of making a move unless you wanted me to. And
anyway, why would he want me when he can have you?'
40

'He doesn't "have" me.' Isis feigned primness to cover
her inner heat. 'I feel a responsibility towards him, that's
all.'
'I know exactly what you feel towards him,' Tricksie
countered, moving closer and running her fingertips
evocatively over Isis's face. 'I've been in your head,
remember? And quite a lot of what you feel for that guy
is down there between those long silky legs of yours.'
'It's unwise to get sexually involved with a client. We
both know that.'
The words were emphatic, but Isis's voice wasn't. Tricks-
ie's delicate stroking of the scar was having the effect it
usually did. Isis wriggled on her stool, her quim congested
and running, as if Tricksie really had been fingering her
there, rather than simply tracing the replica.
'Stop that, Trix,' she croaked. 'I know you're only trying
to get round me.'
'Okay,' Tricksie ceased the torment, but leaned over to
seal it in place with a single soul-stopping kiss. 'But he's
the one that should be getting round you... If you get
my drift?'
Maybe he will, Trix my sweet, reflected Isis now, picking
out her favourite spot at the La Selene bar and installing
herself there. Tbcked away in a shadowy corner, she could
lie in wait for Josh. She wanted to see him before he saw
her, and this little nook was ideal. She ordered a glass of
iced water.
Today had been weird. She'd spent a lot of time devising
Josh's welcome home adventure, but she'd really had to
work hard at concentration. Especially later, during an
afternoon session in the 'Zone. Even then the punter had
been a swarthy, rather dishy individual who looked - to
her - disturbingly like Josh Mortimer. It had been crimi-
nally easy to coax him into a scenario she'd chosen...
Then translate the monitored images she received into
the figures of Josh and herself.
Happily, the client had been over the moon with his
trip. Afterwards, he'd walked from the facility on air,
barely noticing how quickly his therapist had hustled him
41

out. A therapist who wanted to lie down on her own
couch, spread open her legs and finish what the fantasy
had started.
Isis smiled at the thought. Then set down her drink with
a suddenness that nearly spilled it. As discreetly as she
could, she flicked down the veil of her stylish black felt
toque; because Josh Mortimer had just walked into the
bar and was standing not ten yards away from her, looking
searchingly around the room.
God, he looks fabulous! thought Isis in despair. She
could not feel detachment. She could not be rational. All
she could feel was a bouncing heart, and a great surge of
wetness below.
As pulse and quim pounded in synch, she imagined her
sheer satin knickers getting moister and moister... And
no wonder. In the few seconds before her inevitable dis-
covery, she visually devoured him. That familiar fine-
boned face. Those dark chocolate eyes. That awe-inspir-
ingly hard-packed groin encased in sinfully clinging black
denim...
Jesus God, how she'd missed him.
Suddenly her black leather suit felt too tight. It was
custom-tailored to her measurements but now she seemed
to bulge from it, swollen with juice and sex as if lust had
turned her whole body into one aching, weeping vulva.
And he hadn't even seen her yet.
But when he did, Isis was glad of her veil; it gave her
just the breathing space she needed. In contrast, Josh gave
his feelings away immediately. His mouth dropped open,
his eyes blazed and he strode the few yards towards her
as if no one else in the room existed.
In the blink of an eye, he was standing before her:
sleek and menacing in the all-black outfit she'd uncannily
dreamed of him wearing. She wanted him now more than
ever...
'Hello.'
'Hello.'
In spite of her disfigurement, Isis was rarely embar-
rassed or tongue-tied. But she was right now. All possible
42

openers seemed banal, and she suspected that whatever
she said, it would probably run counter to her recent
decisions.
'What's with the veil again?' Josh's voice was slightly
sharp - as if he were as nervous as she was.
'I thought it might be better,' Isis offered cautiously,
pursing her lips to keep in all the outrageous things she
wanted to say.
'And I thought we might... Well, I thought we'd be
taking up where we left off.'
Isis lifted her veil, ashamed of her own evasiveness.
Josh Mortimer was a very tired man. Without the lace
screen, Isis could see the evidence. The burden of his long,
long journey showed up plainly in his eyes and in the
tightness of his smooth brown skin across his elegant
cheek-bones. It suddenly occurred to Isis that even if she
did agree to go straight to bed with him, he'd probably
be better off sleeping.
'Look, Josh,' she reached out and placed a gloved hand
over his bare one - and felt a tremor pass clean through
both of them, 'We can't take up exactly where we left
off... but we can get quite close to it.'
'How do you mean?'
'You've got four adventures to have first and then
maybe -'
'Stuff the bloody adventures!' His hand twisted quickly
and clamped around hers, 'I want you!9
Her body quivering, Isis let her hand remain inert,
'Does that mean you're rejecting what I've got to offer...
my finest creations?'
There was some sort of snap inside him, and he smiled
tiredly, his gentling like a great spear of heat to her loins.
'I'm sorry, Isis. Really... Travelling turns me into a
total bastard.' He shrugged and his containing hand
assumed a softer, more accepting quality. 'Come on, tell
me about those creations.'
'Boy, have I got some treats in store for you, Josh
Mortimer,' Isis purred, her confidence back. She'd hooked
him now, she could tell. He'd only been weary. He still
43

liked her. 'You surely don't think the technology's been
standing still while you've been away, do you? We've got
a whole new set-up in there.' She nodded in the direction
of the discreet red baize door at the back of the room -
the portal to her palace of electric dreams.
An interesting gamut of emotion crossed his handsome
face - frustration, lust, curiosity, excitement - then the
dawning of his familiar and uniquely sexy smile.
'Okay.' He sighed and shook his head, the soft light
glinting on its jet-black squeaky-clean gloss, 'All these
months and you still win. But can the condemned man
have a drink first?'
'Of course,' murmured Isis, hiding exultation, success
burning hot between her legs. It was all she could do not
to whistle for Guido's attention.
Her burning was a flash-fire by the time she had Josh on
the couch.
Preparing him was just as difficult as it had always been.
Not because he was uncooperative; just the opposite.
Once he'd decided to put himself in her hands, Josh was
as docile as a lamb, and merely sighed, grunted or moaned
depending on which part of his firm brown body she was
handling.
The problem was within her. What the sight of him
did...
Everything about the man pleased her, and having him
there - stripped, secured, plugged and wired - made the
state of her sex almost explosive. It felt bloated, shivery;
its juices running like a river. She was wearing one of
Tricksie's lab coats and that only made matters worse. It
was short - very - and Isis hardly dare move in case it
rode up and revealed her sopping condition.
And she knew Josh was watching for just such a
moment. For the tops of her thighs, shiny with nectar. For
her knickers, soaked and dark and incriminating. 'Love
the new smock,' he drawled, his voice blurred and dreamy
as the first batch of relaxant took hold. 'C'mere... Let
me see if you've got any drawers on.'
44

'Don't be so silly,' she answered pertly, dragging a groan
from his lips as she adjusted the stretchy sensor-cuff
around the tip of his cock. Compounding her crimes, she
took a firm grip on his hips and bedded him more snugly
on the anal probe. He was probably half into the adven-
ture by now, and half out of his mind with the sensations,
but it didn't stop him straining his strapped-down hand
towards her thigh.
Flicking away from his groping fingers, she turned
towards the console and picked up the monitor headset,
fitting it in place and arranging her wayward hair so it
didn't interfere with the inducer chips at her temples.
'What the buggery is that?'
Josh giggled and Isis smiled. His drug-addled brain had
probably heard that as a screamingly funny pun.
'One of the new developments, sweetheart,' she mur-
mured, 'This time I -' she tapped the lightweight head-
piece, 'I go with you.'
'Oh yeah..Josh sighed, and Isis felt her last qualms
dissolved. This man had always wanted to share his
dreams with her. 'You gonna be in it too?'
'Oh yes, Josh, if you want me to.' He nodded, smiling
beatifically, and she decided to spring her other surprise.
'And there'll be somebody else you know too... Sort
of... You've never met her, but you do know her.'
'Twice as nice ...' His voice was barely audible, and his
face relaxed and angelic as she fixed his eyemask in place.
She was almost certain he knew who she meant.
'Sleep now, Josh baby,' she whispered, not sure he could
even hear her. She settled herself more comfortably on
her stool, grimacing at the sweet wet squelch between her
legs. If she was like this now, what on earth would she be
like when 'Egyptian Magic' was over?
'Let go, Josh. You're going on a magical mystery
tour... to somewhere ancient and beautiful. Listen. Can
you hear it? Hear the water ... Hear the breeze rippling
over a famous river... A river of life, Josh. The river of
a great, great queen.'
45

She reached out, pressed a switch... and she could
hear the river lapping too.
46

47
Egyptian Magic
Gods help me, I must have fallen asleep on my feet!
Mikhmet swayed precariously in her hiding place and
cursed the softly lapping Nile for its dangerously soporific
effort. If she toppled over now, her mistress would prob-
ably walk in, catch her and have her executed. And then
Mikhmet would never see the sights she craved so dearly!
Though maybe it would be better to die. To surrender
her life at the Queen's order and be shot of this endless
torment, this intimate aching itch she was forbidden - by
her low station at court - to scratch. Sighing under her
breath, she touched herself through her thin pleated skirt,
knowing the crevice between her legs was already damp,
just from the simple process of thinking about...
About her. The one. She. She who was more beautiful
than the night outside, and more bright and glorious the
day just past.
She. The divine Neferhapset, ruler of the Upper and
Lower Kingdoms of Egypt, Queen-Goddess of the sacred
Nile, beloved of Amun, daughter of Isis.
By rights, the Queen should hardly even have noticed
Mikhmet, a lowly serving girl. But she was Neferhapset
the Insatiable, and she noticed many things. Noticed them,
but because she had everything, was everything, had no
need under the hot Egyptian sun to do anything at all
about it.
Only this morning Mikhmet had blushed and died
under the royal scrutiny as she'd brought in the Queen's
goblet of wine. Her wilful young body had roused before
47

those long, glittering, black-outlined eyes. Had she
imagined that slow, near-legendary smile? The ghostly
curving of the most exquisite lips in the dual kingdom?
Or the flick of that gaze towards Mikhmet's slender loins
and small but rounded breasts with their hardened nipples
that betrayed her state of arousal.
Had she seen? Taken note of her wine-bearer's silent
lust? Mikhmet had prayed herself discovered; then prayed
herself not. A servant could be put to death for such
sacrilege against a living goddess.
In the confines of her fertile imagination, however,
there were no such restrictions. Mikhmet indulged in long
protracted viewing sessions that took in every detail of the
Queen's unapproachable body. Both the portions she'd
already seen and the lush, more tantalising regions that
were not normally exposed to a cup carrier on the lowest
level of the palace's pecking order.
In her mind Mikhmet would see the Queen's smiles of
pleasure as - in fantasy - they caressed.
Languor would soften that cool imperious beauty: the
peerless structure of her facial bones, the black-brown
glitter of her khol-painted eyes, the bizarre allure of the
divine lotus-flower tattoo that adorned the smoothness of
her velvety cheek. Mikhmet would tremble at the image
of her mistress's soft red mouth, then taunt herself with
the vision of her Majesty's unclothed form. Ripe breasts,
the pure symmetry of her belly and thighs, the fecund
delta below, that moist oasis of bliss that Mikhmet would
never ever get to see.
Unless she put her life in jeopardy and hid behind the
wall hangings in the Queen's most private chamber!
This night's escapade was gross insanity, and Mikhmet
knew it, but this obsession possessed her by throat and
heart and crotch, and in all honesty she didn't even want
to be sane again!
Neferhapset. The queen of her madness ... She pressed
a hand to her aching pubic mound and felt her own heat
sear her right through the thin cloth of her knee-length
linen kilt.
48

My lady! she pleaded, willing the Queen to appear in
reality, then gasped soundlessly as, like the deity her sub-
jects believed her to be, the monarch of all Egypt
answered Mikhmet's mental prayer.
The chamber doors were thrown open by the tall
Nubian guards, and in a swish of diaphanous pleated
white, a sparkle of gold, blue faience and precious stones,
and a great gust of a delicious and blood-stirring perfume,
Neferhapset the Queen strode impatiently into the room
- still crowned with her regal diadem and carrying the
sceptre and flail that symbolised her sovereignty. Close on
her sandalled heels came her Babylonian body-servant
T\imet, and Tosis, the slim black mute whose only function
was to wave his giant fan and keep the good Queen cool.
Mikhmet barely noticed these others. Her eyes, as
always, and the running cleft between her thighs, were
attuned solely and entirely to the lady herself.
Neferhapset the Insatiable. Renowned for her pro-
digious sexual appetite, and the numbers and stamina of
her lovers - both male and female - the Queen was
apparently without a paramour tonight. Which might
account for her slightly fractious demeanor.
Although, of course, she could be planning to cavort
with the mute and linnet?
Quite possibly, thought Mikhmet, shivering with lust,
and silently furious at the idea her Majesty might share
sex with some of her servants and not with the poor
frustrated wretch lurking behind her wall-hanging! The
Queen's carnal capacity was fabled to exceed a dockside
whore's and it was unlikely she'd let a night pass without
some kind of stimulation. Even as Mikhmet watched,
there was evidence of her hunger.
With a gesture of exasperation, the Queen threw herself
into her great, carved, throne-like chair and groaned
softly, like a soul in torment. The pleats of her sheer linen
tunic rustled like the Nile breeze as her slim legs moved
sinuously against each other, and her body shifted uneasily
in the luxurious seat - almost as if she were afflicted by
an itch as lewd as Mikhmet's own. Locking her eyes on
49

the regal loins, Mikhmet shook with an almost irresistible
urge to offer herself as the scratcher; even though
exposure was likely to bring with it an almost unthinkable
punishment.
Mikhmet had been most careful in the choosing of her
hideway. The hanging she was tucked behind was well
away from the light-pools created by a proliferation of
linseed-oil lamps; and yet a cunning peep-hole cut in the
cloth's elaborate design meant she had a perfect unob-
structed view of the Queen without her having the slight-
est inkling she was being observed.
Or had she?
Suddenly Mikhmet had a sensation like a viper sliding
down her back. Gods! What if the Queen was aware of
her? More than that... What if she sensed both her
watcher's presence and that watcher's consequent arou-
sal? And approved of both.
Even as the thought occurred, the Queen's sultry, slum-
berous gaze seemed to fix on Mikhmet with killing accu-
racy. And then, as if deliberately, the symbolic flail fell to
the floor and the Queen drew the chunky head of her
golden sekhem - the sceptre of her regnant power - along
the inner slope of her sleek, thinly clad thigh.
Mikhmet shook and dug her nails into her own thigh,
praying that the small pain would help contain her vault-
ing desire. She saw the heavy sceptre snag on the fine
pleating of the Queen's filmy robe, then begin to ruck it
up and expose more flesh. There was a sibilant hiss as
long thighs moved slowly against each other, caressing the
sekhem between them as if it were the rod of some secret
lover.
The pale skirt moved higher, showing pale skin beneath.
The Queen was lighter-hued than most of her people; her
complexion more delicate, finer, far more precious and
rare. Mikhmet longed to touch her - a privilege she'd
never enjoyed and no doubt never would.
But for the moment she could look.
Look on as her beloved goddess nodded magisterially
to the obedient Himet. The servant moved forward; not
50

exactly confident, it seemed, but sure at least of what was
required of her. The Queen lounged deeper in her throne,
her braided hair fanning out over its richly padded head-
rest, one slender arm dangling languidly at her side as the
other pressed the sekhem firmly into the vee of her crotch.
It seemed now that Tbmet's task was to assist in her
mistress's masturbation.
The henna-haired servant took the hem of the Queen's
white robe and started folding it delicately and reverently
upwards. The sovereign sighed slightly and impatiently,
then lifted the rudely placed sceptre so an even ruder
tableau was created. Milky linen folded against a tiny
waist, lily-pale skin, a neatly trimmed cluster of shiny
russet curls; the golden bulb-headed sceptre sliding
smoothly back to its position.
Mikhmet was biting now instead of gouging. Gnawing
at her Up to keep the groans behind it. She felt a sudden
violent urge to be turned into a thing of beaten gold - to
be the sekhem and be lodged between the Queen's match-
less thighs. Her own quim trembled and dripped, and her
mouth felt strangely sensitive as if it longed to take the
place of the inanimate metal rod. To kiss, to suck, and to
probe with a tightly furled tongue.
Locked in intolerable immobility, Mikhmet had a great
and almost painful desire to shake her head - toss her
skull and the brain inside it to dislodge the base and
impudent thoughts.
This was the Queen! the living goddess of the land of
Egypt... And in her mind Mikhmet was taking unbeliev-
able liberties that she wouldn't even take with a woman
of her own class. Simply to see what she was seeing now
would probably incur the penalty of blinding.
But still seeing, her eyes were riveted to that obscene
knob-headed sceptre. The thing was huge! And in spite
of the Queen's vigorous and legendary sex life, Mikhmet
couldn't imagine the royal quim being big enough to take
its bulk. In her mind's eye she'd imagined the Queen
being quite dainty between the legs - everything tight and
snug beneath that soft fluffy bush of pubic hair.
51

Mikhmet held her breath as her royal mistress humped
like fury at the sekhem, mashing her tender flesh against
its hard gold head. Great Gods, she was trying to get it
inside her! Some women, Mikhmet knew from whispered
conversations with her peers, could get a grown man's fist
into their vaginas, but the Queen of Egypt it seemed was
aiming to accommodate something far more unforgiving.
And the idea of such a hideous stretching drove Mikhmet
to utter distraction. She gritted her teeth, her young face
contorting with effort as if someone were shoving the
huge golden club inside herl
"I\imet! Tosis! Assist me!'
The Queen's voice was ragged with lust, yet still entirely
regal. Her servants leapt to obey.
Tosis, the slender Nubian, laid down his fan, came
around to kneel before the Queen and replaced his lady's
grip on the sceptre with his own. Ibmet meanwhile leaned
across her mistress's body, put both her hands between
the royal thighs, and eased apart the Divine One's labia.
With nothing left to do now but open up, Neferhapset
reached immediately for her own clitoris, which she
rubbed wildly as she grunted and groaned, exhibiting far
less than a holy sovereign's finesse.
Gods, she's an animal! thought Mikhmet in torment.
Her naked breasts were swollen and rubbed uncomfort-
ably against the heavy hanging ...
And between her legs? Everything there was swollen,
slippery and distended, it was only fear of detection that
kept her from rubbing herself furiously. Oh Gods, great
Gods, she prayed, give me one chance to love her then
I'll go happily straight to the afterlife!
"Ibmet! Oil!' the Queen shouted hoarsely and the ser-
vant, as ever, rushed to comply. Abandoning her mistress's
abused flesh for just a moment she went across to a nearby
table and brought back a carved alabaster jar. From this
she poured a thick stream of scented unguent directly
onto the Queen's beseiged vulva. When the vessel was
completely emptied, she returned her fingers to their orig-
52

inal task; attempting to split the Queen of Egypt right
down her exquisite erotic middle!
Mikhmet felt her own median pulse obscenely as the
seemingly impossible happened. Driven by a steady
measured pressure from the mute, the gross bulb-headed
power sceptre slid slowly into its living sheath. The Queen
gave an uncouth, almost bestial grunt of satisfaction,
settled firmly onto the rod and increased the speed of her
frenziedly moving fingers.
Tosis! Fuck your Queen!' she commanded, clearly dis-
satisfied with the sceptre being immobile. Waggling her
curvaceous hips she encouraged her slave in his endeav-
ours, and within seconds a rhythm was set up, the sover-
eign wafting her impaled pelvis to meet her servant's
shallow pushes. Her primary task completed, the enter-
prising Tumet had now lowered the top of her mistress's
robe, pushed up her elaborate and priceless jewelled pec-
toral necklace, and was kneading the Queen's immaculate
breasts in time to the action below.
I could do that! wailed Mikhmet in silent torment,
knocked sideways anew by the sight of two palely perfect
ruby-tipped globes. I could do that! she thought, the feel
of that warm skin almost real beneath her trembling
fingers.
The Queen's breasts weren't large, but they were mar-
vellous. They fit perfectly into the lucky Tlxmet's caressing
hands, and Mikhmet wished to the gods they were in hers
instead. Or one perhaps, in her hungry salivating mouth.
Amun, how she'd kiss! How she'd suck! Taste the per-
fumed sweetness there, before moving onto other zones.
Especially the one now enspeared by the fat golden
sceptre.
It still seemed astounding how the sekhem had fit in
there, how it could plunge so deep into that tight, sacred
channel. And yet more astounding that Queen Neferhap-
set seemed to want even more of it! She was throwing
herself onto the thing: her beautiful tattooed face a snarl-
ing mask, and her frigging fingers a blur of self-abusing
lust.
53

And the noise she was making would easily have
covered any sobs of yearning that Mikhmet herself might
make. A steam of vulgar sex-words poured from the royal
lips; she cursed herself, her servants and even the divine
gods in a nonsensical erotic litany that was almost as
arousing as the crude golden rogering between her oil-
coated thighs.
It's too much! thought Mikhmet desperately, leaning
back against the wall and closing her seared eyes. It's too
much. She's too much. I wanted to peep, but I never
bargained for this.
But the sounds still beat into her brain. The Queen's
gasps and grunts, the horrid slurping of the rod as it
pumped in and out, the soft, reverent words of encourage-
ment whispered by the fondling Tbmet. Even poor word-
less Tosis was drawn into the cacophony, uttering a thin
muffled cry which Mikhmet, on opening her eyes again
saw was due to the Queen pulling his hair in the wild
delirium of her ecstasy.
One huge shriek, quite unequivocally the Queen's, was
the final straw for Mikhmet. Her gaze locked onto that
pierced and spasming hole, and she felt the pit of her own
belly begin to cramp. She clapped her hand between her
shaking thighs and bore down on the heavy ache of
her need. She bit her lip again, tasting blood in a life or
death battle to keep in her orgasmic scream. Fire seemed
to fall through her loins, she saw stars as well as the
climaxing Queen, and her long-suppressed frustration was
released in a long soul-wrenching climax.
Almost fainting, she fought her own liquefying legs in
a supreme effort to stay upright. The transports of the
Queen - and possibly her servants too - were momentarily
forgotten as Mikhmet struggled with both consciousness
and the task of staying concealed while her body was
turning itself inside out with pleasure. It was only after a
full two minutes that she was able to open her eyes and
apply one of them to the peephole again.
The sekhem was just sliding out. Mikhmet watched in
fascination as the giant intruder plopped wetly and aud-
54

ibly from Neferhapset's stretched vagina, and the intimate
orifice, which had been so very very wide, contracted
suddenly and completely to a neat, almost maidenly small-
ness. Women's bodies were a fleshy miracle, Mikhmet
decided, observing the flowerlike petals of her mistress's
sex, the tiny almost invisible hole which had so recently
received such a gross thing as the sekhem. She watched
as Tosis studied the sceptre gravely. The mute pursed
his lips, and a look of anguish passed across his darkly
handsome face.
Poor devil, thought Mikhmet, feeling a sudden sym-
pathy for the Nubian. He wants to lick it but he hasn't
got a tongue.
Mikhmet felt her own mouth start to water. The golden
rod was slick and gleaming; there was the hard shine of
oil down virtually all its length, but the thick clubby head,
the portion that had entered the Queen's fair body, also
had a more silvery glint. The distinctive cloudy shimmer
of thick, luxuriant vaginal juices ... Mikhmet watched on
in kindred hunger as Tosis contented himself with a kiss
to the most fragrant part of the sceptre, then knelt back
with the anointed object resting squarely across his kilted
knees.
Neferhapset herself now seemed to be rousing from her
blissful stupor, although neither she, nor the still-hovering
Tbmet, made any effort to cover up her body. Her mag-
nificent broad-nippled breasts rested free and naked
above the folded down bodice of her gown, and her pretty
oil-shiny quim was open and exposed between her pale,
widely spread thighs. Those blood-pink hps and the silky,
carefully trimmed thatch that surrounded them, seemed
to Mikhmet to be the very centre of the universe.
'Come out! Immediately!'
Mikhmet jumped like a startled ibis, and even if she
hadn't been detected before, she most certainly would
have been now. The hanging rippled heavily in front of
her, and the Queen's sparkling eyes were looking directly
towards the peephole.
Even so, Mikhmet remained where she was, paralysed
55

by a mixture of fear and acute sexual excitement - the
latter increased a hundredfold by the former.
'Come out, I said!' the Queen rapped imperiously, still
entirely unheeding of her partial nudity.
This time Mikhmet obeyed, thrashing about in her
attempt to push aside the heavy hanging, then took two
trembling steps forward in the direction of her sovereign.
Unable to look the Queen in the eye, and aware, even in
spite of her mind-numbing panic, that it was a treasonable
offence to do so unless given leave, Mikhmet fixed her
gaze on one of the regally elegant sandalled feet and flung
herself down on her knees. She heard but didn't see the
fact that Tosis moved discreetly out of the way.
'Approach, Mikhmet.'
Gods, she even knows my name!
Mikhmet made to rise, but was cut short, 'Remain on
your knees!' Conscious of a severe lack of grace, she
shuffled forward to take the spot Tosis had so recently
occupied. She was aware of the eyes of the Queen, the
Babylonian and the mute all focused tightly upon her, but
more than that, she could almost feel the heat of the
divine exposed membranes that seemed to simmer just
inches from her nose.
'Speak!' The command was soft, but carried all the
power of a full-throated battle scream.
'Forgive me, Majesty,' she stuttered, conscious of the
saliva that the Queen's fragrant genitals induced in her
apologising mouth, 'Forgive me, Divine One. I've commit-
ted a heinous crime, I know, but my senses have been
addled by your sacred beauty. Forgive me, my Queen ...
I wanted only to worship before your loveliness.'
'You're a smooth talker, young Mikhmet,' the Queen
of Egypt answered with a comforting amiableness. Mikh-
met's fear lightened a little as she remembered the royal
predilection for younger lovers. 'You please me. I've
noticed your body as you've served me. You won't suffer
for your insolence this time.'
'Thank you, Madam.' Mikhmet risked a kiss to the
sandalled foot before her and sighed inaudibly when she
56

wasn't kicked away, 'May the divine Amun bless you anew
for your clemency.'
'I smell something, young Mikhmet... A muskiness
not of my own making.' The Queen's smile was as subtle
as a cat goddess's. 'What were you doing behind that
curtain? Besides watching me, that is?'
Her tone was arch, and as feline as her smile. Mikhmet
looked up, and felt as if Bastet herself were using her
supernatural vision to look straight through a layer of
linen and see the sodden state of her trembling subject's
sex.
But she hadn't masturbated, had she? With the image
of the Queen at her pleasure before her, Mikhmet could
honestly say she hadn't needed her own hand. The orgasm
had been spontaneous, and as a Queen-Goddess had the
right to demand absolute truth, she decided to reveal it.
'I... My Lady...' Mikhmet faltered, aware now of
interest in the handsome Tbmet's eyes too. The Babylon-
ian servant was eyeing her speculatively, her gaze zooming
in on Mikhmet's crotch and uncovered breasts just as
avidly as her mistress's.
'Daughter of Isis,' she began again, a deep shudder
running through her at the honorific. Was this woman
truly the offspring of a goddess? The daughter of
fertility ... Forged from the spirit of... of Isis. Mikhmet
shook her head to clear it, unable to account for her
moment of dizzying disorientation. 'Daughter of Isis, for-
give me. I didn't touch myself... The sight of your
pleasure ... and your great beauty... overcame me. I...
I...'
'You came without benefit of your fingers?' The
Queen's husky voice might almost have expressed admir-
ation. 'That is indeed remarkable. I wonder how many
orgasms you could have if you were properly stimulated?
Perhaps we should investigate?'
Mikhmet threw herself down again, and was just press-
ing her lips slavishly to the Queen's perfumed instep,
when the import of what she'd just said struck home.
57

Great Amun! Did she mean... Could she possibly...
Would she ... Oh Gods, pray it was so!
Tosis! The sceptre. Let our young friend taste the prod-
uct of my pleasure.'
As Mikhmet looked up again, utterly befuddled, she
saw Tosis holding forward the sekhem, with its bulbous
head leading the way. Dazed, but with a bounding heart
and a throbbing quim, Mikhmet touched first her lips,
then her tongue to its still warm surface.
The Queen's taste was pungently musky, delicately salt.
Like the kiss of the holy Nile and yet like nothing else in
the insubstantial world. This was the true essence of a
goddess, the flavour of eternity, the taste of a mighty
sexual deity for whom Mikhmet would gladly have laid
down her life... She could die right now, perfectly, with
the taste of her Queen on her tongue. But it seemed that
Neferhapset didn't want her death.
'You find me savoury... Sweet? Or both?'
Mikhmet nodded, unable to resist drawing her tongue
across the sceptre again.
'And the sekhem? Humongous, isn't it?'
She nodded again. It was true; with the thing this close
to her face, Mikhmet boggled again that it had really gone
inside a woman.
'It stretched me, Mikhmet,' her Majesty continued
slowly, 'It abused my tenderest place. I feel inflamed. I
need to be soothed... Something soft and moist against
me. Just here -' She touched a long elegant finger to the
tiny opening of her vagina. 'Perhaps you could help me,
Mikhmet?'
'My ... My lady?'
'Why so coy, Mikhmet? You know what I want of you.'
'But-'
'No buts, girl! Soothe me!' With sinuous grace, she
eased her body further forward. Wet and pink, her vulva
seemed to speak to Mikhmet as clearly as her command-
ing voice did. More clearly... In flesh they were equals;
not Queen and servant, simply a naked roseate cunt and
warm willing lips to pleasure it. If Mikhmet had salivated
58

before, right now her mouth was awash. She leaned for-
ward, paused, and watched the intimate flesh ripple as if
impatient; flutter as if ruffled by the proximity of red-
hot worshipping breath. Its aroused odour was ravishing;
delicately fresh and marine, yet headily musken.
'Mikhmet!' cried Neferhapset, her tone more urgent
than angry.
Furling her tongue, just as she'd imagined, Mikhmet
dove in and obeyed, licking as slowly and smoothly as she
could, desperately trying to forget whose sovereign flesh
it was she was tasting. She's just a woman like me! she
told herself as she flicked cautiously up the pungent valley,
returning again and again to explore each crumpled petal,
and teasing by denying a direct contact where it most
mattered. She's just a hungry delicious woman, Mikhmet
repeated silently, darting and diving in response to that
woman's small agitated cries. She's just a sexy she-cat who
loves being licked! she decided, drawing the swollen labia
fully into her mouth and sucking them clean of the most
superb and abundant of juices.
'Yes! Yes! Oh, Gods! Yes ...' the Queen growled from
what seemed like a long way away. 'Oh yes, Mikhmet!
Ungh! Oh yes! Yes! Please!'
The words, fragmentary as they were, descended once
more into animal grunts. The Queen was noted as a states-
woman and orator but when pushed to sexual extremes
it seemed her vocabulary was limited. Mikhmet felt her
head being first caressed, then clasped by long fingers,
their rhythmic kneading far more eloquent than the
savage sounds coming from the Queen's red lips.
Up until now, Mikhmet had only dared follow orders
and put her mouth to the sweet royal flesh; but now she
grew bold, took an initiative and slid her hands beneath
her mistress's body. Sliding a palm beneath each firm
buttock, squeezing hard on each taut mound, she lifted
the Queen's slim hips clear of the seat and applied herself
to her task with even more diligence. Mikhmet felt her
regal victim wriggle around slightly - legs flailing, heels
drumming - and realised that her ears were being clamped
59

by a pair of gracefully slender yet extremely strong thighs.
Smiling against the warm wet groove against her lips, she
applauded the fact that not once in her gyrations had the
Queen broken their mouth-to-cunt contact.
Mindful of the original command, Mikhmet began a
series of tender probings. Rolling her tongue to a point
she pressed it into her mistress's vagina itself, pushing in
slowly and steadily, withdrawing then advancing, repeat-
ing the act in time to the Queen's long ragged breaths.
Lubrication ran thick and sweet, and Mikhmet sucked it
up gladly, marvelling at how quickly her Majesty was
sopping wet again.
TTiis hole wants a cock! she thought in a flush of lust-
crazed dementia, seeing in her fevered brain a vision of
the dark mute mounting the Queen while both Tumet and
herself, Mikhmet, looked on.
And even as the wild thought occurred, she yelped hard
against Neferhapset's squirming body. Then she squirmed
herself. One of the almost forgotten watchers had reached
beneath her, sneaked a hand inside her kilt and was sliding
fingers boldly into her dripping slit.
Until now, Mikhmet's sexual world had been confined
to taste, smell and the sensitive perceptions of the tip of
her exploring tongue; when she opened her eyes again she
was very aware of the other two servants in attendance.
Himet, smiling slyly, was crouched alongside her, apply-
ing deft and delicate stimulation. The servant's hand
moved into play even as she caught Mikhmet's eye. Mikh-
met felt an almost criminally featherlight massage begin.
Her anus and perineum were being gently palpated in
time to the smooth rubbing further forward.
Mikhmet froze, temporarily dazed by the pleasure
building in her loins, but Ibmet nodded furiously in the
direction of the Queen's spread legs and the sexual duties
required between them. Mikhmet closed her eyes tightly
and plunged in again; but not before catching a glimpse
of the ever devoted Tosis pulling strongly on the Queen's
erect nipples and deforming her breasts into two painful-
looking conical masses ...
60

'Yes! Yes!' Neferhapset shouted. The mute must be
inflicting a quite brutal sensation, but clearly the Queen
liked her pleasure rough!
Hie thought made Mikhmet quiver under Tbmet's
caress. She had a intense urge to come, then felt the surge
tamed as the Babylonian backed off skilfully. Perhaps
she's a part-time whore? Mikhmet thought wildly, her hips
bounding in the orbit of linnet's grip. Not even the most
talented amateur, perhaps not even the Queen herself
could stoke and damp, stoke and damp, rouse a lover like
this and work them into a state of believing that their
whole crotch would imminently explode! Diverting her
attention, Mikhmet sucked viciously on the Queen's clit-
oris and was rewarded by an ear-splitting wail of satisfac-
tion and sandalled heels thumping hard against her naked
back.
'Yes, you she-jackal! Yes! That's it! Suck! Suck hard!
Go on, you bitch! Pull it! Oh! Oh! Oh, sacred Gods, I'm
coming! Agh ... Agh ...'
The words dissolved into nonsense again, but even if it
had been the most lucid speech of Neferhapset's reign,
Mikhmet couldn't have understood it. All signals were
scrambled, her entire life-force was first errupting in her
pulsing clit, then roiling and boiling deep in her vagina -
only to overspill her loins entirely, shoot up the column
of her spine, and explode like a firestorm in her brain.
Some reflex, or some physic order direct from the climax-
ing vulva against her face, kept her sucking like a baby
on the Queen's clitoris, never once losing her grip, even
while Neferhapset wrenched herself about above, and
Mikhmet's own hips pumped spasmodically below.
In a few minutes, Mikhmet found herself slumped on
the tiled floor with no real idea how she'd got there.
Shaking her head, she looked up blearily, only to see the
Queen - now stripped magnificently naked of her gown
and jewels - being swathed into a soft linen robe by the
ever solicitious Tlimet. Without thinking, Mikhmet sighed
her disappointment aloud.
'Don't fret, young Mikhmet,' Neferhapset murmured
61

soothingly as first one portion of perfection, then another,
disappeared from Mikhmet's view. 'The night is yet
young.' Himet handed the Queen a sash and in an instant
the robe was discreetly secure. 'But first we must make
ourselves comfortable.'
As she spoke these last words, and nodding to TUmet
to step close, Neferhapset lifted her narrow hands and
slid them beneath the heavy braided fall of her jet-black
hair. She seemed to massage her scalp, then suddenly and
shockingly she lifted the dark mass up and away from her
head.
She wears a wig! thought Mikhmet in the split second
that the false hair was being removed. It shouldn't have
been a surprise; wig-wearing was the height of fashion.
But she cringed at the thought of a shaven scalp beneath.
She sighed again - but not with disappointment this
time - when the true picture was revealed.
As some point in her lineage, the Queen's ancestors
must have been as promiscuous as she was, and equally
unfussy about the nationality of their conquests; for
underneath the monarch's traditional black wig was a
boyish cap of curls in a colour Mikhmet was hard pressed
to describe in a single word. In contrast to the dark hair
of most Egyptians, Neferhapset the Insatiable's charming
coif seemed to be a number of different and rather beauti-
ful colours at once. Blonde, red, rich brown; all those tints
were there, as well as several more that glinted and shone
as the Queen tilted her head in the flickering lamplight.
'Are you going to lie there all night, girl, or are we
going to bathe?' she enquired, every bit as imperious
with her multicoloured crop as she was in her august
ceremonial braids.
Mikhmet struggled to sitting position, stunned by the
words 'we' and 'bathe' as the Queen swept impatiently
into the bath-house beyond. She wants me to bathe with
her! she thought deliriously. We'll be naked together in
perfumed water ... Perhaps she'll let me wash her; touch
all of her body, caress and explore it before ... before ...
Mikhmet was on her feet now, but still dithering, embar-
62

rassed - in the presence of TUmet and Tosis - by the
orgasmic flush that stained her naked chest and neck. And
yet she was aroused again, her sex beginning to engorge,
and she could hardly credit her own powers of recuper-
ation. The Queen of Egypt seemed to imbue her with a
bottomless pit of sexual energy, that unassailable erotic
majesty stirring her humble subject to a state of need far
beyond that any lesser being could induce.
'Mikhmet! Get in here now or leave!' the regal voice
rang out.
Mikhmet obeyed her queen, almost running into the
bath-house, followed at a more composed pace by the
Babylonian servant and the Nubian mute.
And it was those servants - male and female - that
prepared both cup-carrier and Queen for the pleasure of
a mutual bath. Mikhmet had been embarrassed before,
but now the sense of mortification plunged to new depths.
T\imet and the Nubian performed the most intimate
services. For both Neferhapset and her guest... And,
used always to fending for herself in these matters, Mikh-
met was bright scarlet in the face by the time it came to
step into the huge fragrant pool that was laughingly called
a 'bath'. Her arousal had been stoked even higher by the
ministrations of Tumet and Tosis, and her nipples were
prominent enough to be a source of further embarrass-
ment when Neferhapset's bright gaze homed in on their
perky-tipped hardness.
'Very nice, young Mikhmet,' she murmured, lifting one
graceful hand out of the milky water to touch the pretty
points that amused her. Her slender fingers slipped lightly
from one bud to another as Mikhmet's hot blood raced
to obey the royal command. Her body felt drawn as if by
some mystic charm and in moments she was sinking into
the cloudy, scented water beside her mistress.
The Queen however decided it was not yet time to add
their love-juices to the mix of water and aromatic skin-
softening oils. She abandoned Mikhmet's nipples and drif-
ted slightly away from her.
'Relaxation first, impetuous one. Let the water soothe
63

away your tension. Let the balm seep into your skin...
and your flesh and bones ... And then we'll begin again!'
With this she closed her glittering, slanted eyes and slid
slowly under the surface, only to rise again after a few
moments with water streaming from her lovely tattooed
face, and her short hair plastered enchantingly to her
elegant, finely shaped skull.
Mikhmet sighed. Even naked, unpainted and soaking
wet, the Queen was still every inch the Queen! Every bit
the woman she worshipped and wanted.
And the one she obeyed. She hadn't thought it would
be so easy to relax in the presence of her sovereign but
suddenly it was. She looked on, feeling loose and mellow,
as Neferhapset quietly dismissed her two other servants.
There was a nice sensation of justice as TUmet's hand slid
easily into Tosis's as the pair left the room. It seemed that
she and the Queen weren't the only ones there was 'more'
for... and Mikhmet wished the strange couple well as
their footsteps faded slowly away.
The silky, oiled water swirled gently around her, and
suddenly the Queen was not so much the threatening
sexual commander as the comfortable long-time friend.
They floated together in companionable silence for a
while, backs resting against the side of the pool, backsides
resting on its floor, the water being just the right depth
for their heads to be above it and their bodies completely
submerged. It was a situation Mikhmet would never have
believed she could sleep in, but it wasn't long before
drowsiness overtook her.
She awoke with a jolt and a wild thrash of water as the
wet heat bathing her quim was suddenly and deliriously
compressed. Conditions down there were still as fluid, but
now there was a mind-bending suction against her most
delicate tissues. The Queen had dived down beneath the
water and was busily mouthing her! Mikhmet felt strong
hands steady her thighs, and as she stilled obediently and
surrendered to the superb sensations, she marvelled at
a monarch who would deign to suck her own servant's
64

clitoris... and risk being drowned into the bargain for
the experience!
Mikhmet didn't know how Neferhapset was managing
to do what she was doing, or how long she could do it
for; she only knew she didn't want it to stop. She felt as
if there were some wicked, exotic leech clamped over her
quim, a hard-sucking little beast that seemed intent on
siphoning her pleasure out of her by main force. And in
the heart of that almost unbearable vacuum, the royal
tongue poked and probed, and languorously licked,
acquainting Mikhmet with some of the most astounding
sensations she'd ever experienced. The Queen was attack-
ing her most sensitive areas with such a prolonged and
voracious fervor that Mikhmet seriously wondered if her
mistress were prepared to asphyxiate in the process. Only
after an almost inhumanly impossible amount of time did
the beautiful torment cease and the spluttering Queen
come shooting up out of water, shaking her head and
gasping and choking for air.
Her flesh trembling on the very brink of release, Mikh-
met pushed through the water to offer assistance,
'Breathe, My Lady, please breathe!' she urged anxiously,
then forgot Neferhapset's status entirely and slapped her
firmly on the back to clear her waterlogged throat. The
Queen spluttered some more and Mikhmet pounded her
again, observing with an almost dreamlike detachment
that her blows made the regal breasts jiggle divinely.
'Enough!' Neferhapset said at last, wiping the moisture
from her flushed face and grinning impishly at Mikhmet.
'Majesty ... Are ... are you all right?' Mikhmet asked,
feeling far more shaken than the Queen obviously was.
Entirely unfazed now, the monarch of all Egypt pushed
her sodden hair back off her forehead, then sank back into
the bath until her chin just cleared the surface. Mikhmet
groaned as the searching royal hand found her still unre-
lieved arousal.
'Yes, Mikhmet, I'm fine.' Neferhapset shrugged and her
white shoulders momentarily broke the surface. 'At least
my body is fine. Of my mental state, I'm less sure...
65

Sadly, we Pharaohs are sometimes not too bright. It comes
from having fathers and mothers who are brothers and
sisters as well. Some of my ancestors have been feeble-
minded, but for my part I've only been afflicted with a
madness of the body.' Her nimble fingers rubbed playfully
in Mikhmet's tormented groove, 'I'm insane for love,
Mikhmet... Do you think you can assist in my therapy?'
'Of course, my Queen!' Mikhmet murmured breath-
lessly, 'Your wish is my command.' Her eyes closed and
her hips bounced slowly in the water in time to the neat,
deft movements between her thighs.
'That's good, my slippery young friend. I knew I could
rely on your desire to serve ...' With a delicate torturing
flick she removed her fingers from their niche and moved
towards the pool's shallow stairs. 'Perhaps we can con-
tinue this pleasantness on a more stable footing. Come
along, Mikhmet, I want you to lie down here.' Out of the
water and superbly, breath-catchingly naked, the Queen
indicated a thick heap of linen cloths that were presum-
ably meant for them to dry themselves on but would
clearly serve equally well to protect them from the bath-
house's hard stone floor.
Trembling with anticipation, and with her sex almost
aflame, Mikhmet followed her mistress out of the water
and lay down as directed on the soft linen pile. She stared
almost numbly at the blue-painted ceiling, hardly daring
to watch the approach of the most beautiful body in the
civilised world.
What greater thrill could there be than this? To know
that any second now she would be pleasuring a living
goddess, the beloved of Amun, the spirit of the Nile,
the holy daughter of Isis. As Neferhapset reached her,
Mikhmet tried to sit up and embrace her, but the Queen
would not allow it. She crouched beside her servant,
pressed down on her shaking shoulders and made her lie
again.
Once a queen, always a queen, Mikhmet thought bliss-
fully as Neferhapset's long thighs parted ready to straddle
one of hers. She wondered now why she hadn't realised
66

the Queen's hair wasn't black; the neat little bush - the
mat of curls that didn't conceal the royal vulva one bit! -
was the selfsame brindled colour as the hair on Neferhap-
set's head. Mikhmet watched the glossy cluster descend,
then observed the divine one part her own nether lips and
heard her sigh long and brokenly as her warm sacred flesh
split wetly against her servant's waiting thigh.
Mikhmet could feel every detail of that intimate geog-
raphy as the Queen rocked slowly against her skin ... and
the look of unalloyed pleasure on that beautiful face was
so bright and fine it was almost dazzling. Closing her
eyes and sighing, she reached for her sovereign's peerless
breasts and was allowed at last to fondle them. She felt
hot flesh rippling against her thigh as she slowly pleasured
the Queen's hard nipples, each quiver and pulse seeming
to induce a melting undulation throughout the length of
her own wet vagina. She felt as if she were experiencing
the Queen's own pleasure by proxy and that her juices
were running as abundantly as the royal unguent that
poured out over her snugly held thigh.
Unashamed and uninhibited now, Mikhmet shouted
and moaned as the Queen quite selfishly rode her; and
with a hand still cupping one perfect breast, she scooted
the other hand down to the apex of her mistress's wide-
open sex and fingered the engorged and jumping clitoris.
Neferhapset howled her appreciation and bounced joy-
fully. A heavy ball of pressure seemed to build in the
cradle of Mikhmet's own loins, and as she arched help-
lessly, a beneficent hand was suddenly right where she
needed it to be. Mikhmet wasn't quite sure now where
her body ended and that of the mighty Queen began.
Slender fingers worked roughly on her clit, and as Mikh-
met praised the name of every god she knew of in turn,
she felt her Neferhapset's streaming quim crush violently
against her, and rock its whole climaxing surface rhythmi-
cally against the twitching muscle of the thigh it so
passionately gripped.
But even in the throes of orgasm, it seemed the Queen
of Egypt was ever mindful of her subject's welfare. The
67

royal hand bestowed its final blessing and as Mikhmet's
own crisis came, hard on the heels of and merging so
sweetly into her mistress's, there was only one salute on
her lips and one all-consuming deity who had dominion
over her heart, mind and body.
'My Queen! My Queen! I love you! I love you! I love
you...'
68

5
Intermezzo I
'So ... What did you hit him with first, then?'
The question was casually phrased but it didn't fool Isis
one bit. Tricksie was bursting to know everything about
Josh's first night home. She'd been fidgeting, fussing with
drinks, giving Isis nervous little grins, doing anything and
everything but ask the questions that were obviously driv-
ing her crazy.
It was late now and, shaken in a host of different ways,
Isis had sought refuge at Tricksie's place. It was an untidy,
homey and very feminine little hide-out in a block not far
from the 'Zone - small but infinitely roomier than Isis'
minute 'over the shop' flat - but whether it had been a
good idea to come here, she was seriously beginning to
wonder. Close as she was to Trix, there were things - now
- she hardly dare tell her.
'Well?' Tricksie was impatient now she'd finally got
started. Her eyes were wide, expectant, glittering and Isis
fell back on the technical details she could reveal without
seeming an idiot. Or a hypocrite.
'I gave him a tuned-up "Egyptian Magic",' she said,
keeping her voice light and her eyes away from Tricksie's.
'Sonofabitch! If you're trying to play it cool with him,
that's not exactly the one I'd have chosen.' Tricksie sipped
her wine, then ran her moist pink tongue around her hps
in an unconsciously sensual gesture.
Help me, Lord! thought Isis. I'm having enough trouble
sorting myself after Josh without her getting to me as well.
'It's a classic, really,' she began cautiously.
Ill

'Classic red hot rumpo ..
'Okay, it's a very sexy little scenario. But which of them
aren't?'
'True,' observed Tricksie, doing the thing with her lips
again.
Isis found herself squirming slightly on Tricksie's rose-
pink chaise longue. Things had been so straightforward
twenty-four hours ago. She'd been Tricksie's lesbian lover,
and a woman looking forward to a rather nice man's
imminent return.
Now she felt strange with Tricksie because of Josh, and
unsure how to be with Josh because of Tricksie.
'Okay, so you gave him Good Queen Nef,' Tricksie went
on, pressing, pressing, pressing. 'But answer me two things.
Which role was he in and who did she look like?'
'I ran it with him as Mikhmet. His profile indicates he
enjoys his adventures better with a gender swap.'
'And?'
'All right already! I was Neferhapset and you were
Ibmet. Satisfied?'
What's the matter with me? cried Isis inside, appalled
by the fact she'd made Tricksie flinch. I adore this
woman... I think I might even love her. Why the hell
am I getting so ratty? After all, she's told me all her
secrets. Things most people would never reveal.
Tricksie put her glass down. Very softly, as if deliber-
ately avoiding all sound. 'Come on, sweetheart... What's
up? You're like a cat on hot bricks. He didn't upset you,
did he?'
'Yes. No! Oh, shit, I don't know...' There were tears
in her eyes. It was so silly. 'Oh, Trix, I'm so confused. It's
dodgy if I sleep with him... and I feel guilty if I don't.
He wants me but he won't force himself on me because
he's too much of a gentleman. Half of me wants him to
force me and the other half will call him a chauvinist
bastard if he does.' She scrubbed her face with her fingers,
conscious of mascara and liner going walkabout. 'On top
of all that I feel guilty leching after him because I should
70

be happy with you. Oh bugger! It was all so simple yes-
terday.'
'C'mere,' whispered Tiicksie, her fine face bright with
wisdom and quiet understanding. It was so easy to slide
into her arms. Isis felt fingers moving gently on her
unbound hair, then caressing her shoulders above the thin
silk top of her camisole. She shivered with pleasure, and
suddenly at least one of her complications was unravelled.
Josh was out there somewhere in this city, confusing
her, confounding her; but Tricksie was here. Here, beauti-
ful, half naked and asking for nothing more than now.
'I'm sorry,' she sniffed, snuggling closer.
'What on earth for, you goose?' whispered Tricksie in
her ear.
'I don't know really..
Isis pulled away, reluctant to part from Tricksie's per-
fumed heat, but knowing she desperately needed a
handkerchief!
She scrabbled around furiously, looking for her bag, but
before she could find it, Tiicksie had already produced
her own hankie; and with infinite and artistic precision
she blotted away Isis's tears and tidied up her waterlogged
make-up.
'Do you know something, Ice?' she said with a grin.
'For a certified genius, you really are a dumb bunny some-
times. I'm not jealous of Josh. How could I be? He can't
do the things with you that I do, can he? He's the wrong
gender, silly.'
Isis watched, almost hypnotised, as Tricksie reached out
to touch her, resting one long crimson-nailed fingertip on
the upper slope of her breast. Intense heat seemed to
radiate from the point of contact, like a branding that
didn't hurt, a marking of the flesh that left no visible sign.
'What happened, Ice?' she said softly. 'You might feel
better if you talk about it.' The fingertip cruised down to
Isis's nipple, swirling around its target, delicately teasing
and tickling. 'Did you make love?'
Isis appreciated the words 'make love'. Put that way it
sounded more acceptable, more valuable somehow than
71

the earthier terms. She hadn't 'fucked' or 'screwed' or
'bonked' with Josh all those months ago, and she wouldn't
do now. When they eventually got together in bed.
And 'making love' was what Tricksie was doing too. So
subtly and so discreetly beginning the process, pleasuring
Isis's breast with an almost ghostly lightness, bringing her
doucely to a condition of need.
'No, we didn't,' she said breathlessly. 'I wanted to...
But it didn't quite happen.'
'How so?'
'Well... um... Oh, oh yes!'
The contact wasn't so light any more; Tricksie was cup-
ping both breasts now and kneading them, the movements
slow, determined, rhythmic.
'What happened, Ice?' she persisted.
'He got aroused again, after he'd woken up. He said it
was because the adventure was so gorgeous. Just thinking
about it made him get stiff again ...' Isis paused then, torn
between the pleasure of now, of Tricksie's long squeezing
fingers, and the excitement of then, of Josh's superb erec-
tion rising anew from the semen-smeared nest of his silky
soot-black pubes.
'Did you touch him?'
'I had to ... to get the cuff off. To clean him.'
Evasion.
'No, I mean... Did you touch him to pleasure him?
Did you stroke him?' Tricksie mirrored her inquisition
with action: pleasuring, stroking, going one step further
to bare the soft orbs in her fingers.
Flimsy silk bunched at Isis's waist, thin straps slithered
down her arms, and she found answering difficult, the
memories as distracting as the intensity of the sensation
in her breasts. The growing heaviness in the slippery folds
of her sex.
'A bit...' she faltered, remembering his stickiness as
clearly as she felt her own, 'But I got distracted.'
'How?' Tricksie prompted without breaking the motion
of her fingers and palms.
'He touched me.' Memory and real-time were merging
72

now, coming together in her breasts and the slow sweet
hands that caressed them.
'Where, sweetheart, where?' asked Tricksie in a whis-
per, as she inclined her lush form forwards and put her
mouth to Isis's ear.
'Where you're touching me. My breasts. I was stroking
him and he reached out, suddenly, and started strok-
ing me.'
It had been so much like this yet so different - the
hands that held her now were white as milk, slender, with
painted red nails and a fine silver wire ring on each little
finger.
Josh's hands were big, square, strong, dark. A man's
solid hands, yet still as delicately skilled as a sculptor's.
The thin white cotton of her smock had been no barrier
at all to his touch. She'd just melted, her knees like jelly
and her will as pliant as mist.
He could have done anything, could have taken her
there and then, but all he did was fondle her breasts.
'Oh, baby,' Tricksie murmured, her voice husky as if
she could see what Isis saw. Feel her pleasure in the tips
of her fingers. 'Oh baby, I don't blame him.'
Isis moaned softly, caught between two realities. Josh,
spinning her in his arms, then cupping her breasts anew
as his erection pressed into her buttocks. Tricksie, face on,
but her hands just as tantalising as they squeezed and
pummelled and rubbed. Josh, butting her, masturbating
against her thinly covered bottom. Tricksie exploring,
thumbing, abrading her sensitive pebbly aureoles, working
her breast-tips in a relentless pattern of nips and twirls
and pinches. Josh, gasping harshly as he came against
her, his semen spattering her lab-coat. Tricksie praising,
purring and coaxing as Isis surrendered to orgasm, her
cunt softly spasming from the pleasure in her nipples
alone.
'Just the beginning, my darling,' Tricksie said, her voice
muffled as she leaned over Isis's body to kiss the breasts
she'd tormented, then moved forward quickly as her
victim slumped backwards on the chaise.
73

Isis gasped, rubbing herself crazily, sweetening the puls-
ing heat in her quim with her own fingers, not caring now
for past or future, or anything but prolonging this moment.
Her camisole was around her waist, her leather skirt
rucked up to meet it; her pants were dark with juice and
her legs splayed. Scrubbing crudely at her body, she was
vaguely aware of Tricksie kneeling before her, vaguely
aware of how she must look to her. But the only impera-
tive was coming.
'You're so wet, my love,' whispered Tricksie, her breath
hot on Isis's crotch and her frenzied fingers. 'So wet.'
Slicking herself still, Isis felt other fingers too, helpful
digits joining her own, stroking the soggy cloth of her
panties, feathering the inner curves of her bottom, dipping
beneath the thin strip of cloth between her legs and dab-
bling their tips in her fluid. She felt one, a forefinger, slide
into her vagina and spear her like a bird on a spit. She
whimpered as it waggled ruthlessly, then looked down at
an incredible tableau.
A handsome tangle-haired woman crouched between
her lover's legs, panting with effort, her hand inside
another woman's knickers.
Isis screamed, came harder and flailed on the chaise,
then collapsed in an heavy unravelling stupor. Tricksie's
finger was still in her body ...
She came awake again wanting just to kiss. Kiss beauti-
ful unselfish Tricksie who had given without taking for
herself.
There was a small intimate moment of disentanglement,
then she urged the other woman up onto the chaise longue
beside her.
She looked at the both of them and grinned wryly.
Tricksie was dressed for her, for the elegant seduction of
a lover, and it made for a warm feeling inside that she'd
gone to so much exquisite trouble.
Isis looked down at herself and saw sleaze. Clothes
bunched at her waist, breast and pubis exposed by under-
wear pushed down or aside, nipples reddened, the soft
hair of her pussy glistening with her juices. Her belly
74

cramped slightly, her sex excited by her own shoddy tram-
pishness, the look of being thoroughly used.
Tricksie couldn't have looked more different; her vinous
hair was loose and gleaming, and her clothing, though
slight, was tastefully chosen. A wisp of a black silk wrap,
and beneath it a teddy in forest-green lace, the thin pat-
terned stuff a mere froth on the shores of her lovely
swelling bosom. Even her footwear was seductive - fragile
black mules with a fat fluffy pom-pom on each toe.
'You look gorgeous, Trix.'
Tricksie's smile was strangely shy, and Isis sensed a
strong current of uncertainty in her usually brazen
lover...
She feels threatened.
It came to her like a flash. Tricksie was frightened; she'd
lost Diabolo, and now, with the return of Josh, she was
scared of losing Isis too.
You couldn't be more wrong, love, Isis wanted to say.
But maybe to speak the words would be to give the doubt
more substance?
She didn't want to do that, and examining her feelings
- her gut feelings - she knew it wasn't true anyway. The
thought of being separated from Trix was appalling.
Equally, the thought of not getting closer to Josh was
painful too. Tonight had proved the attraction was as great
as ever. More so. She'd been this close to giving in to
him; turning in his embrace and offering herself fully,
regardless of those notorious 'complications'.
And yet, ironically, it was travel lag that saved them
from themselves Gazing at her intently, his wet prick still
naked between them, Josh had suddenly blinked. Then
blinked again and lifted a hand to his eyes and rubbed at
them like an exhausted child would.
And then he'd yawned and they'd both laughed, and
the pivotal moment had passed. Either one of them could
have revived it, but neither of them had. Leaving Isis
confused and wondering, and running like the wind back
to Tricksie. The one who never asked 'why' or 'where
75

have you been' or 'who is it', and who - despite her tricky-
tricksie name - never played silly mind-games.
'Let me have a look at you, love,' whispered Isis, pluck-
ing away the sheer robe from Tricksie's shoulders, then
sending the teddy's spaghetti straps slithering. The lace of
the camisole caught, though, hanging on her nipples like
a vapour, the rough texture of the fabric caressing the
nubbly berry-brown coronae beneath. Isis kissed her, and
felt the thin barrier slid out from between them.
Their breasts seemed to kiss too: aroused teats rubbing
and delicately rotating against each other as their tongues
touched and fought.
Isis felt dizzy, but wonderfully happy. The taste, the
smell and just the feel of Tricksie were intoxicating, she
was the quintessence of woman, a brew so rich and
refreshing that not even the strictest ascetic would be able
to resist her. Isis was no anchorite and she wouldn't have
dreamed of even trying to say 'no.' Smiling against her
lover's mouth, she savoured the wine-scented breath, the
robust stab of a tongue that knew no fear of her, the moist-
ness that reminded her of other, more pungent moistures.
Struggling now, and gasping, she put her hand roughly
between Tricksie's legs, pushing aside the crotch of her
teddy and forging through the soft red hair within to seek
a greater and more magical softness.
Tricksie shuffled on the chaise, opening her legs wider,
offering herself naturally and generously, and whimpering
encouragement as she did so.
Her vulva was drenched and silken, the petal-like con-
volutions all puffed and blood-hot to the touch. Her clit-
oris stood out like a fat spongy stud at the apex of her
labia, and she cried out when Isis gently thumbed it.
'Oh God, yes!' she hissed, the words urgent against
Isis's lips and face, 'Please ... Oh yes, my love, yes ... Oh
God, yes, baby... Rub me! Rub me!'
Still kissing, Isis obeyed her, petting the sensitive little
organ, making love to it just the way she liked hers to
be pleasured. A series of firm, square-on pressures, then
76

feathery flicks, the same number, repeated and repeated
and repeated.
As she caressed Tricksie's body, she pondered fleetingly,
what, or more pertinently who, the woman was actually
thinking about. If she was capable of thinking ...
In Tricksie's fevered brain, was it Diabolo's hand on
her cunt? His fingers that graced her with that first jerking
orgasm? His touch that made her scream and howl? His
methodical, dispassionate manipulation that made her yell
out in bliss and almost deafen her partner? She'd once
told Isis that only he could 'do it' for her. That to have a
climax, she had to think of him. Was that, still, how she
felt?
Isis wondered but didn't ask.
This wasn't the moment for more complications. For
questions. Why spoil the simple sweetness of soft flesh
fluttering against her fingers? The magic of sending
another human soul to a place it could barely understand.
Giving someone she cared about the greatest gift she
could give.
She hadn't asked but she did get an answer. As Tricksie
fell forward, her body loose and boneless, it was Isis's
name that she sobbed.
Much later, the two of them lay entwined and drowsing
in Tricksie's big pink bed. They were naked now, rosy-
skinned and warm, in the afterglow of love; clothing and
lingerie lay in several small island mounds, dotted across
the room, charting their progress to the sheets.
As she toyed with Tricksie's tangled winy hair, coiling
a strand of it slowly round her finger, Isis was suddenly
reminded of the first woman she'd ever made love to.
Sandy, predictably, was another redhead; a thin, carrot-
topped girl she'd roomed with in Uni. They'd been so
young and so intense about it all. Solemnly asking if this
was good and that was good, charting each other's erogen-
ous zones with all the scientific precision they had brought
to their doctorate theses. It had been tender, too, Isis
recalled with a smile; and really good once they'd worked
77

out their shyness. They'd sworn to keep in touch, but
letters and calls had thinned out la ter, when Isis's postgrad
work had taken her to remote and exotic facilities.
When she'd returned to the city to take a second degree,
the accident had happened.
After that it had seemed kinder to leave Sandy to her
memories of two pretty young women experimenting. Let
her remember an Isis without wounds and damage.
'Ouch!' complained Tricksie suddenly, and Isis realised
she was pulling her hair. She unwound the long burgundy-
coloured strand quickly, and kissed the crown of Tricksie's
head - the approximate site of the injury.
'Sorry sweetheart,' she whispered, struck anew by the
beauty of her lover's hair.
Isis had always found long hair sexy, and Tricksie's
extravagant locks were especially so - whatever their
colour.
Lush dark red waves lay across both their bodies like
a subtle caress, blending in places with Isis's lighter and
more unusual mop. She lifted a long tress from each, then
merged them into a single wine and tortoiseshell lock.
'Mmmm ... Crazy streaks,' said Tricksie, studying the
thick, striated mass, 'Do you think, I should get it done
like that?'
Isis stared at her.
'No... Only joking.' Tricksie laughed softly, and Isis
found herself feeling faintly silly. She'd almost believed
her.
'I like it as it is, Trix,' she said, fanning the two strands
clear of each other, then taking the part that was Tricksie's,
she raised it above them, then let it drift down like a
Beaujolais film across their naked breasts. 'It suits you. It's
sort of hot but subtle.' She caught Tricksie's eye, making a
point, 'Like you, I suppose ...' She reached out to stroke
the other woman's face and did it with real affection,
remembering the orgasms Tricksie had given her. Like
precious gifts, without thought of getting anything in
return.
'Do you really think so?' Tricksie sat up, her full breasts
78

swaying and her lovely hair swishing across her shoulders.
With no tight curl or elaborate style to constrain it, it
reached almost half-way down her back. Isis shivered,
thinking of it draped across her thighs as Tricksie licked
her.
'I know so,' she said firmly. Reassuringly.
It was an odd fact, but sometimes Tricksie needed
reminding of her own superiority. It shouldn't have been
necessary. But lately, due to Diabolo's desertion, Isis sup-
posed, her beautiful friend was a victim of low self-esteem.
And it was at these times that Isis felt particularly close
to her. Who better, she thought with some irony, who
better than me to know about rejection and differentness.
I could write a treatise on the subject. The art of being
less than acceptable.
This was all grim stuff. Post-climactic tristesse, she sup-
posed, giving herself a mental ticking off to clear it.
'But then I loved the other colour too,' she observed,
not untruthfully, returning to positivity, and her sensuous
thoughts about hair.
'Me too.' Tricksie fluffed a few plummy strands thought-
fully through her fingers.
Watching her, Isis shuddered. Not so long ago those
fingers had been moving elsewhere. Working their
miracles. Using the skill of years of practice to make a
grown woman writhe and weep.
'But this is more classy. More Pleasurezone,' the whore
went on, her face deliciously serious as her pale brow
rumpled in a small frown. 'And anyway the other colour
was far too much like hers'
Under the guise of stretching luxuriantly, Isis hid a little
smile.
Chief amongst Tricksie's most lovable qualities were
her even temper and her generous knack of giving even
the most unlikeable and obnoxious characters the benefit
of the doubt. It was a genuine kindness of spirit, and an
indispensable asset to both the whore and the legitimate
sex therapist.
But even so there was one person, one solitary glitterata
79

who moved in their circles, who Tricksie Hiring couldn't
even abide for one second.
'Her?' Isis felt minxy, provocative. She knew perfectly
well who Tricksie meant.
'Ett's new friend. Madam Sleazoid. That long red streak
of piss ...'
'Oh, Trix. Your claws are showing.' It was wicked to
tease, but she couldn't resist it.
'She's the bitch with claws! She's the cat!' snapped
Tricksie, so vexed she'd got her animals mixed up.
'Oh ... You mean Red Cat?'
'Bloody tramp!'
You're so beautiful when you're angry ... It was such a
cliche, but Isis had to bite her hp to keep it in. Tricksie
was so full of rage she was quivering. Her lush hair seemed
to crackle around her and her eyes were flashing and
glinting like green glass sheared along a fault.
Isis had never quite worked out why Tricksie hated Red
Cat - the alternative, nay, downright degenerate female
rock star that St Etienne had taken to knocking around
with these days. She herself found Red Cat fascinating,
and decidedly fanciable in a horrid, almost stomach-chur-
ning sort of way. She'd even gone so far as to write an
adventure about the woman. Although guilt had made
her keep this particular one encoded - so Tricksie couldn't
key it up and read it.
Unknown by any other name than her nom de musique,
Red Cat - with her band The Slaves - was the latest rock
and roll sensation, a gloriously fetishistic diva as famed for
her fearsome gothic beauty and her outrageous lifestyle as
she was for the undoubted quality of her music. She was
so bizarre to look at that Isis often wondered if she
was just a mass hallucination. It was no wonder St Eti-
enne was hot for her... They were a perfect two of a
kind!
Allegedly almost six foot without her ever-present four-
inch spike heels, the mind-boggling Red Cat was an icon
of deviant eroticism. Her figure was lean and her breasts
amazonic, and her sublimely toned legs seemed to go all
80

the way up to her multi-pierced ears. A major portion of
this spectacular figure was visible to the naked eye for
most of the time, and topped off with a great thick mane
of almost fluorescent crimson dreadlocks which reached
to her perfect muscular buttocks. Which were also often
on show. It was the loud hair colour, Isis supposed, that
had inspired the singer's name. Or maybe it was just her
face...
Red Cat's features were as surreal as her coiffeur, and
hypnotically and unmistakably feline. Wide black-dia-
mond eyes, that slanted up sharply at the corners, were
set in a true white complexion. Not the 'milk-white' of
romantic novel heroines, but a dense fine-pored dead
white; the colour of a birthsheet or a shroud, but silk-
smooth, immaculate and flawless.
As someone named after a deity herself, Isis felt a
certain kinship with Red Cat. The woman was a demon-
goddess, Kali incarnate, an irresistible sexual annihilator.
Isis could well believe that the Cat's backing band were
really her slaves.
But all this begged another intriguing question. How
the devil did the relationship between Red Cat and St
Etienne pan out?
Isis's cousin was atrociously frank about her sexual
relationships, both by word of mouth and in print, and
made no secret of being a dominant. Isis couldn't imagine
Ett ever submitting to anybody, but the idea of Red Cat
bending the knee was equally inconceivable.
What on earth did they do? Who was the top? Who
gave the orders? Who took the pain? Because there was
bound to be some ... Isis felt her own sex rouse at the
possibilities.
With a sudden grace, two fingers slid between Isis's
labia and settled on either side of her clitoris, pressing
lightly. She shook and gave a startled bleat of pleasure,
realising to her astonishment that she'd been day-dream-
ing. Suspended somewhere in a bondage of steel and
leather while two strong women played with her.
The fingers rocked infinitesimally, then squeezed, and
81

she cried out again, her hips lifting her moist flesh to meet
them.
'You're all wet, love,' Tricksie whispered. 'Do you want
to come again?'
'Oh yes,' Isis answered, squashing her guilt as her mind
filled with visions of restraint and pain, vague forms of
punisher and punished where she didn't quite identify
with either.
But we all do this, her last shred of consciousness rea-
soned as her clitoris was teased from its hood and gently
palpated. We all fantasise. We all deceive our lovers and
leave them stranded while they serve us.
As she opened her legs wider, the faceless body in her
dreams had its, no hers, widened for her. Two acolytes in
the classic dresses of parlour-maids had hold of the vic-
tim's thighs and were holding her suspended and stretched
as a formidable figure moved between them, clad scantily
in shiny black. Or was it red?
Tricksie was stroking the unsheathed bud steadily now,
wetting it from time to time to tease the sensations slowly
and easily from its tender pink tip. In the dream the cruel
mistress raised the tiny whip and brought it down hard
on the same quivering organ ...
In both worlds Isis screamed with pleasure and came.
'Don't worry. The man's obviously obsessed with you. I
can't imagine him not turning up.'
Isis said nothing. She and Tricksie were in La Selene,
waiting for Josh's arrival, and uncharacteristically, the man
in question was late.
'Are you going to tell him about usT Tricksie continued,
the foxy twinkle in her eyes making Isis happy that there
even was an 'us'.
Last night she'd sampled a variety of fantasy partners
as Tricksie had patiently fingered her to orgasm after
orgasm, but in the world of physical reality she knew she'd
have to go a long way to find a lover as skilled and sweet
in bed as the woman herself. Even just thinking about
some of the things that had really happened was enough
82

to stir her again, right here in the bar. It had been lucky
that she'd had a free afternoon to rest; there had been
precious little sleep last night.
'I dunno ... Perhaps we should let him pick it up as he
goes along?' Isis grinned, infected by Tricksie's perennial
sexual devilment. 'Your adventurer isn't due for ages. You
could stick around and meet Josh. In the flesh.'
The word 'flesh' produced an instant reaction. 'Don't
tempt me,' Tricksie purred, crossing and recrossing her
legs.
The movement was sleek, elegant, as everything about
Tricksie always was, but to Isis it spoke of the heat
between those long, stockinged thighs. Petals wet and
pouting. Congestion. A discomfort that was far from
unpleasant. The feeling between her own legs now...
Memories of their own love-making and a hundred other
times. With others ...
Why was this sensation so matchless? Isis wondered,
feeling her sex pout and flutter beneath her tailored
trousers. She was almost always like this these days.
Always wet, always re$dy to be touched. To take a finger
or a penis. There hadn't been many of those for quite a
while, but in the near future ... Maybe?
There had been fingers aplenty. And toys too. Either
wielded as if part of an art-form by Tricksie; or less
refinedly, her own hand, in moments of solitude. All these
things were beautiful in their own way, and satisfying, but
she had a sudden sharp longing to have a man inside her
again.
Where the hell are you? she demanded silently of the
man she most wanted it to be.
'Men,' Tricksie observed, taking a sip of her tonic water
and grimacing. Isis wondered whether it was the gender
or the beverage that had caused the face. Being a con-
noisseuse of wine and cocktails the alcohol embargo prior
to sessions was the one thing Trix didn't like about
working for Pleasurezone, 'They go on about us always
keeping them waiting, but nine times out of ten, they're
the ones that are late.'
83

The new look suits her, thought Isis, taking a sip of her
own innocuous drink.
Tricksie was wearing a chic fawn wool dress that skim-
med her luscious figure rather than grabbing it, but it
still clung beautifully to the curves of her perfectly toned
bosom. The Queen of Tricks had never looked less like a
prostitute than she did tonight; but even disguised as
a respectable businesswoman she still screamed to the
high heavens of sex. Josh was going to adore her.
Observing Tricksie at her second favourite hobby -
people watching - Isis wondered what Mister Mortimer
would think about their relationship. The whore and the
mad doctor. Flesh and science, the melding of the body
and the mind.
She remembered the idea of it exciting him all those
months ago, but in that he'd not been unusual.
Lesbian scenarios were the most frequently requested
adventures amongst men. The entire sex seemed to be
obsessed with what girls did to girls in bed, almost to the
exclusion of all other sexualities. Josh Mortimer was no
exception to this. His fantasy profile showed a marked
peak on all registers when he adventured both as a woman
and with a woman.
The ultimate expression of this, of course, was what Isis
had planned for him tonight.
Dare I do it? she thought, starting to tremble at the
very idea. It would be a stunning thing to do to him. She
could imagine how his mind and his body would respond.
Readings off the scale and orgasms multiple. It could well
be his best adventure yet, but it would be awfully revealing
of her. And of Tricksie ...
Yet Josh meant more to Isis than any man had in a long
time. She wanted to draw him close, she realised. Make
him stay. Enslave him, if you like. Since he'd first got
back, the ghost of a crazy scheme had been hatching
somewhere in the back of her brain ... and showing him
how it was with her and Tricksie, opening their sexual
world to him, was possibly the best way of locking him
into her plans ...
84

'Yes! That's it! I'll do it.'
'What? What are you grinning about?' Tricksie was
staring at her, lusciously puzzled.
'Josh's next adventure.'
'Does he know what it is yet?' Tricksie's eyes were huge.
'No. But he won't be able to resist it.' Isis reached for
Tricksie's hand, squeezed, and felt her friend's sweet heat
through the thin leather barrier of her glove.
'What is it?'
'Me and you.'
It was like lightning passing through them, shared mem-
ories passing from heaven to earth along an living conduit.
Isis watched Tricksie's pupils dilate, black inside electric
green, and her soft mouth part instinctively for a kiss.
Were her nipples hard too? Her vagina running? Does
she feel like me? thought Isis, quivering.
'Now that really is an adventure.' Isis could barely con-
tain herself as Tricksie took the hand holding hers, turned
it, and raised it to her mauve-painted lips. If they'd been
naked in bed together, Isis would have thrown wide her
own legs and masturbated immediately, but as it was she
felt her sex ripple in a long deep wave as Tricksie peeled
back the thin leather glove and pressed a full open-
mouthed kiss on the palm of her hand.
She felt confused, conspicuous, turned on. Vulnerable.
It was the first time they'd shared such an intimate
moment, here in the bar, and Isis wasn't quite sure she
was ready for it. Even though there was fire between her
legs...
'Go for it, boss,' purred Tricksie. her tongue flicking
against exposed skin as she spoke. The caress was so
delicate, so like another kind of licking that Isis felt faint.
Heat surged from the tips of her toes to the crown of her
head; then rebounded, like a backdraft, to the nexus of
all feeling. Her sex. In that instant she wanted, needed,
would have died to have an orgasm. Lost, completely, she
heard a small sound somewhere at her side. A gasp. At
her other side ...
Josh Mortimer was standing, his mouth open in aston-
85

ishment, just inches from where she and Tricksie were
locked in their erotic stasis.
'I -' His mouth snapped shut. He was as beyond coher-
ent speech as Isis was herself, yet somewhere in the com-
puter of her brain she managed to log a surge of intense
amusement.
Never had she seen a man so flabbergasted. Or so
nakedly aroused while still fully clothed.
It was Tricksie, ever the social animal, who stepped
graciously into the breach.
'Hello, Josh,' she said, while still smoothing the leather
over Isis's moistened palm. Then, without missing a beat,
she turned and held her hand out to the newcomer. 'I feel
I know you.' Her long, precisely mascara-ed lashes flashed
down, just once. 'And I'm sure you feel the same about
me.'
Isis almost wished she could retreat into scientific
detachment and watch the progress of this remarkable
encounter. Josh had 'been' Tricksie once, in an adventure,
and now he was meeting her. She tried to imagine how
he might be feeling.
It wasn't too hard. His handsome face was flushed, his
dark eyes burning, and she didn't need x-ray specs to
guess he had an erection. He was currently within kissing
distance of what all the data projected as his most potent
fantasy. Herself and Tricksie, obviously lovers and obvi-
ously hot for each other. She saw him glance from Tricksie
to her and then back again, and felt a blast of triumph.
The die was cast. If she'd had a remote in her bag, she
could have programmed the computer right now.
Josh still hadn't spoken, but suddenly Isis didn't want
to waste any time.
'Come on, Josh. I've got something really special for
you tonight. And as you're late, we'd better get started.'
Hopping down from her stool, she slid her arm into his.
He was shaking.
'Nice to have met you, Josh,' Tricksie chimed in beside
them, and it was obvious she was dying to laugh. 'I'd tell
you to have fun, but I don't really need to, do I?' Like
86

the courtesan she truly was, she held out her hand again,
and Isis couldn't help but admire Josh's swift return to
poise. He took it, bent over it slightly and kissed it like a
continental chevalier.
'A pleasure, Tricksie,' he murmured, his first words of
the evening. 'I hope we meet again soon.'
What have I started? thought Isis as she escorted him
to the 'Zone's Suite One. Tricksie had winked at her
behind his back as they'd been leaving, and mimed an
enthusiastic 'hubba hubba'. The vibes between Josh and
the whore had been unmistakable and thrilling. 'Sharing'
had just soared to the top of the hidden agenda and Isis
wondered how long they'd all be able to hold out against
each other.
'Is she still on the game?' enquired Josh as Isis was
preparing him. He'd found his tongue soon after they'd
left the bar, although strangely he'd said nothing about
his forthcoming dream and its content.
It was as if he already knew.
'Occasionally,' she answered obliquely, aware that her
teasing would stiffen him. Not that he really needed it.
As she'd strapped him to the white couch, his cock was
already reaching for the ceiling, a pearl of juice oozing
slowly from his glans.
'What's that supposed to mean?' he enquired as they
both studied his erection.
'She works for me most of the time now.' Isis's lips were
as dry as parts of her were wet. The body before her was
so available, so bare. She remembered a night months ago
when temptation had got the better of her.
Without thinking, she let out a sigh of longing and
placed a hand on his naked chest. The lure was too great,
the red, heavily veined tower of his cock irresistible. She
drew her fingers down over his belly and his pubic fluff,
then took him in a firm, caressing fist.
Don't do it, Isis, she told herself, sliding the skin up and
down over the solid core. She'd let him touch her last time
and now she was masturbating him. She felt an unspoken
barrier grow more friable by the second.
87

'Whadaya mean?' slurred Josh, his voice drug-altered,
as his hips bumped in time to her caress.
'The 'Zone's very busy now, Josh. I have another
therapy room. Tricksie's probably doing this -' She
squeezed. Lightly. 4 - to another client right now.'
Josh went 'mmmm' as the eye of his penis wept on her
moving fingers.
'Is she as good as you?' he whispered, almost coming
in her grip.
'Oh yes. Definitely. But different...'
But is she? Isis reflected dreamily, wondering if Tricks-
ie's frisky couch-side manner was all that different to this.
In the thrall of her own senses, she went one step further
than she'd intended ...
It was as if she was watching herself from a great height.
She looked down and saw a white coated woman lean
across the crotch of a man's straining body and take a
droplet of love-juice from the swollen tip of his prick.
With the furled point of her tongue.
'Oh God! Oh God, yes!'
She heard the cry from the same exalted distance, and
saw white spunk shoot from the penis beneath her, then
felt it splatter her hps and chin, and drop in thick, pearly
blobs onto the stomach of the man in bondage beneath
her. Ravished, she rounded up the creamy stuff with her
tongue, from everywhere it had landed and let it slide
slowly down her throat.
It was a few seconds before she actually realised what
she'd done. She hadn't broken the biggest rule, but she'd
come awfully near.
Josh had simply come.
She looked up from his groin, and saw that his eyes
were closed as if sleeping. He was relaxed in every muscle
and his flat brown belly was shiny with semen. His cock
lolled on his sticky thigh, still big but soft and slack.
Oh well done, Isis. Really well done. You're up for even
more trouble now. She was going to have to arouse him
all over again to get the sensor cuff on.
Shutting down the woman in her, and putting the scien-
88

tist in charge, she took Josh in a firm businesslike grip and
worked him quickly back to a full encrimsoned hardness.
She felt almost cruel, but she managed to stay detached.
She only felt the faintest stirring - in her own body -
when she lubricated his tight, resisting hole, then held his
muscular arse-cheeks open with her fingers to let in the
plastic bulk of the probe.
Her hands did shake as she cuffed his newly rigid cock,
but were rock-steady as she slid the hypo professionally
into a vein in his arm. Some functions were second nature;
even lust couldn't affect them.
Gently, she covered his eyes, then settled on a stool
beside the couch. With her own headset 'live', she pressed
the familiar sequence of keystrokes that would initiate
the adventure.
'Right then, sweetheart,' she whispered, knowing she
sounded like a lover. 'I think we both know what you
want tonight, don't we?'
Josh answered her with the very slightest nod of his
head.
It was enough.
'Okay. I've set some scenes for you, but you decide
where it starts ... Do you understand me?'
'Yeah ... Yes, I do,' the naked man on the couch mut-
tered, shocking Isis to the core with a voice that suddenly
wasn't quite his. The basic timbre was Josh Mortimer, but
there was definitely a lilt of Tricksie in there too.
'Right back ... Yeah ... The beginning ...' The tricky
he/she voice was strange and scary, but arousing too.
'Right back ... The first time ...'
Isis smiled, still trying to assimilate the voice, and won-
dering vaguely if he'd get the event right or glamorise it.
'A first encounter of the close kind, eh?' she said, more to
herself than him, 'That's beautiful, Josh. Really beautiful.'
With that, she pressed the last key and cut into the
monitoring system.
In the inner world it created, she saw familiar surround-
ings and smiled again.
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'That's it, lover... Now go for it! Dream on and on
and on and on ..

90

5
First Encounters of the Close Kind
Oh God, it's her again!
Tricksie blinked twice, glanced accusingly at her glass
of champagne, then looked back towards the bar and the
mysterious veil-shrouded woman.
It was definitely her. Veils were all the vogue this
season, but no one wore them like the stranger. So dense
and closely patterned they were nearly opaque. So con-
cealing that they all but covered the face. So mysterious
that there could only be the very greatest beauty beneath,
and all that was visible of it was a strong but delicate
chin, and a luscious rose-stained mouth. Tricksie
wondered how well the woman could see.
Who the devil was she?
This was the third time Tricksie had seen the veiled
woman here in La Selene, and though under normal cir-
cumstances she'd have taken a professional note of some-
one so elegant, it was the company the woman kept that
had grabbed her interest. Grabbed her by the throat with
steel-cored fingers of jealous fascination. On both pre-
vious occasions the woman had been talking to Diabolo.
Tonight, thank God, the strange woman was alone -
sitting at the bar, as chic as ever, writing in a tiny black-
backed notebook with a silver pen. Her absorption in her
jottings was total, and it gave Tricksie a good chance to
study her.
An acknowledged beauty herself, Tricksie paid a silent
homage to an allure quite different to her own. The
woman had an intellectual air, scholarly, and yet was
Ill

sexier by far than any academic that Tricksie had ever
met.
A bluestocking, she mused, smiling to herself. But pro-
fessors usually encased their pins in knitted wool, not
seven denier silk, and wore heather tweeds instead of slim-
cut designer suits that hinted at glorious figures beneath.
Tricksie, who made a point of knowing about clothes,
recognised the suit's rich fabric. Gros de Londres rib,
midnight blue. A sophisticated choice made more so by
blue-all-through accessories. The pert hat and its tantalis-
ing veil; kid leather gloves; those indecently sheer hose;
and classic court shoes that were lower than Tricksie's
stilettos but still sufficiently elevated to be saucy.
But it was the prettiest 'something blue' that was giving
Tricksie the shivers. A vee-shape of ultramarine-figured
satin, a camisole shimmering in the plunge of a deeply
serious neckline.
Lord, she's gorgeous! Tricksie told herslef solemnly,
quite mad for the woman's identity.
She'd been talking to Diabolo, but did it mean any-
thing? Was she a hooker? An experiment in top-drawer
whoring? Some men got off on being belittled.
But never mind men, what is it she's doing to me?
wondered Tricksie, sipping quickly at her champagne. A
regular client had missed his appointment tonight, but
had sent his 'favourite lady' a bottle of Krug out of cour-
tesy. She didn't usually drink this much this early, but the
sight of the veiled woman made her feel nervous. She
wasn't drunk by a long shot but, looking across the room,
she could almost believe she was.
What's happening to me? I shouldn't be feeling like
this, she thought, deeply fazed by her body's reactions. By
feelings she only usually got for Diabolo.
Unlike some prostitutes. Tricksie enjoyed sex and often
had orgasms. It wasn't her customers who made her come,
though... despite her genuine enjoyment of their
company.
Tricksie Turing's pleasure had two unfailing sources: her
pride in her own healthy body and its superb erotic skills;
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and the presence, in her mind, of her beloved Diabolo at
the moment another man entered her.
With these thoughts, she could bring herself to climax
in the arms of a total stranger. And if she concentrated
hard enough, she could even be wet and ready when her
clients slid their fingers into her panties.
What troubled her tonight was that these things were
happening to her right now - and had nothing to do with
Diabolo. She was wet, engorged and aching because a
woman she'd never met was sitting thirty feet away. She
gasped, then gulped more wine. As if she'd thought that
thought too, the veiled stranger had snapped shut her
book and was rising elegantly to her feet. Tricksie felt the
ache in her sex gain strength.
Bisexuality and lesbianism were quite ordinary in Trick-
sie's line of business, but until this moment she could
honestly say she'd only ever wanted men. Well, wanted
one man ...
Yet now her breasts felt swollen, too big for her sequin-
ned top, and her poor soft quim felt as if Diabolo himself
had just reached into her knickers and fingered her.
And the cause of all this was now walking briskly across
the room in her direction.
Tricksie felt numb, locked in a web of heat, and all she
could do was tremble and watch and wait.
'Hello, you're Tricksie, aren't you? May I sit with you?'
The voice was as beguiling as the appearance: smooth
and cultured, yet insidiously warm. Tricksie nodded, then
pushed her glass away, feeling drunk already on the two
short sentences.
'Diabolo told me about you. Pointed you out... I
thought it'd be nice to get to know you,' the woman went
on hesitantly, and deep in the middle of her own con-
fusion, Tricksie realised the stranger was excited as she
was.
'Yeah, sure,' she blurted out, 'But don't you think you
should tell me your name.' She felt disadvantaged with no
eyes to look into for clues.
'I'm sorry. Of course-' The stranger peeled off her
93

glove and held out a slim hand in greeting. The hand was
slightly disfigured by a network of fine pink scars; and as
they both seemed to study it, the beautiful rosy mouth
twisted in sudden anguish. Even white teeth snagged the
soft lower lip, and Tricksie wondered why the woman was
so worried. It was only a few pink lines... Caught in a
curious twist of sympathy she reached out and clasped
the offered fingers and the veiled one smiled with relief.
'My name's Isis,' she said softly. Her smile broadened,
became open and seductive ... and Tricksie's composure
slid helplessly away.
What was happening to her? She never lost her cool
like this, even with Diabolo. She was falling to pieces.
Losing control. Everything she was seemed to be right
there in that delicate pink-lined hand.
Isis' fingers were soft, slightly warm and quite dry. There
was no tactile indication she was scarred, and Tricksie let
her own fingers stay held for seconds longer than normal.
She was giving herself away right, left and centre, and Isis
could well find such feelings repellent.
I want you. It was on the tip of Tricksie's tongue, even
though she only partially understood what it was she
wanted.
After a moment, Isis delicately reclaimed her own hand,
then turned away to signal for another bottle of wine. The
movement made her thick hair fall forward across one
shoulder, and Tricksie gasped aloud at its beauty.
On both her two previous visits to La Selene, Isis had
been wearing her hair in a sophisticated knot, tucked
sleekly beneath her hat and veil. But tonight, though the
front tresses were coiled cleverly beneath her chic navy
blue pillbox, the remaining great mass of hair was hanging
in a loosely crimped cascade that trailed quite a long way
down her back. Not exactly curly and not exactly straight,
its colour was astounding. Correction: colours. Dark
blonde, rich brown, tints of auburn and sienna, the lush,
multicoloured fall had a dense erotic gleam that made
Tricksie long to feel it ripple on her skin. She imagined
94

them naked in bed together, and Isis smoothing that sub-
limely beautiful hair across her belly.
'Is something wrong?' There was alarm in Isis's voice,
even though her obscured face revealed nothing.
'No ... No, it's all right. I was just struck by your hair.
It's very unusual. Beautiful.'
Oh God, she must think I'm a complete twit! Tricksie
thought glumly as the other woman smiled.
'Thanks,' Isis said shyly, then seemed to regain her con-
fidence as fresh champagne arrived and she busied herself
filling their glasses. Tricksie knew she shouldn't have any
more, but she still accepted it.
Isis proposed a toast. 'To ... to us.'
The simple salutation was as intoxicating as the wine.
'Yes. To us.' Tricksie felt giddy, tapped her glass to Isis's
and gulped thirstily at its contents. She couldn't wait any
more. 'But please. Isis. Who are you? Are you involved
with Diabolo? Are you.... are you like me?'
Isis laughed then, and Tricksie nearly had a climax on
the spot. The laugh was so merry and sultry. So young,
uninhibited, and sexy that Tricksie would have challenged
anyone not to adore Isis simply on the strength of it.
'I'm sorry, that was a really dumb thing to say, wasn't
it?' Tricksie stammered, then felt her blood run chill as
Isis's merriment disappeared and her lovely pink mouth
went tight and sad.
What's happened? What have I said? What have I done
to her? thought Tricksie, aching to take the other woman
in her arms and comfort her.
'No, it's okay, Tricksie.' The pretty mouth quirked. 'I
wouldn't mind being a whore actually. I really love to
fuck...'
Tricksie's loins throbbed. That 'perfect lady' style was
explosive in combination with such a raunchy mouth. In
bed, the mix would be incredible.
'I adore sex,' Isis went on, 'but I can't see anybody in
their right mind paying me for it.'
'Why not? You're beautiful... Ask any man in this
room and he'd give you a thousand just for the basics!'
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Tricksie reached out and grabbed Isis's hand again,
although that was the least of the things she wanted to
do to her.
In her mind they were kissing, touching each other
everywhere, pulling at unnecessary clothes and then strok-
ing and fondling every nook and crevice they could reach.
Amazingly, Isis raised the clasping hand to her hps, then
kissed it before placing it neatly into Tricksie's lap.
Something wild was happening between them, yet it
was more than simple lust. Tricksie knew now that she
wanted Isis as much as she'd ever wanted Diabolo; but
she also wanted to know what made her suddenly look
so unhappy.
'Bless you, Tricksie,' the veiled one murmured. 'Bless
you, but you're so, so wrong.'
With that, she removed her second glove, raised both
her hands, and took hold of the lower edge of her veil.
Slowly she raised it.
Tricksie's flinch was pure reflex, but in the microsecond
after it, she despised herself.
It wasn't only Isis's hands that were scarred.
A large, red-purple cicatrix sprawled luridly across the
left side of her face. Starting a little above the level of
her glorious mouth, it coloured the whole of her cheek,
cheek-bone and eye-socket, then faded away at the
smooth arch of her brow. At first sight it was shocking.
But within seconds Tricksie saw a structure in the huge
disfigurement. It was like a flower, but no common one.
Its form was rare and exotic. Like an Egyptian lotus. Or
an orchid.
Open-mouthed, Tricksie stared harder. And started to
smile as she saw more to the scar. More in it. It wasn't
just a flower ...
Oh God... Yes! How beautiful! Without thinking, she
reached out and caressed the face before her as if caress-
ing the holy female thing it resembled. Entranced now,
she was no longer scared or shy. She gasped softly as Isis's
rosy lips widened in a smile and her eyes glistened, tears
shimmering in both the beautiful hazel-gold of her good
96

eye and in the muddy, injured orb that lay at the heart of
her scar.
'I still think you're beautiful.' Tricksie drifted her fingers
across the very faintly textured skin. 'It... it looks like ...'
Jesus, how could she of all people be embarrassed about
saying 'cunt'?
'Yes. It does. And just like mine, I've been told.' Isis's
grin was impish now, and she raised her own fingers to
hold Tricksie's in place. She inclined her strange face a
little to the side, and Tricksie almost stopped breathing in
anticipation of receiving a kiss.
Rose-red lips touched her palm, lips that were warm
and soft and slightly moist. The resonances, the suggestive-
ness, were both maddening. Tricksie panted as her sex
fluttered in response and the slow shift in her perceptions
clicked joyfully into place. She did want this woman, her
loins were aflame for her, and she was too well-versed in
the ways of lust not to recognise the kiss for what it was.
'Crazy, this, isn't it?' Isis murmured, taking Tricksie's
hand from her face and returning it - with obvious reluc-
tance - to the table before them. 'It knocked me for six
when I first saw you... I wasn't expecting it. I had a
couple of flings with girls at University, but I thought it
was just a phase. I went back to men. I never thought I'd
feel hot for a woman again.'
Tricksie felt as if the wish fairy had landed on her
shoulder, but there was still one dark shadow.
'What were you doing with Diabolo?' she asked before
she had time to stop herself.
Isis eyed her astutely, and Tricksie wondered what the
pimp had been saying to her. Or even doing to her.
'Asking for help with a project I'm setting up,' she
replied calmly. 'I'm a doctor, a sexologist and I needed
the assistance of a male sexual professional. A practical
perspective rather than a medical one like my own. An
acquaintance recommended Diabolo.' She paused and
smiled kindly. 'Yes, I know, I'm being a bit cloak and
dagger ... But it's early days yet and I don't know if it'll
work out.'
97

Tricksie made a decision: based on her new infatuation
with the unusual woman before her, and her old knowl-
edge of an equally unusual man. 'Look, it's okay. I won't
ask questions. Your business is nothing to do with me. I
was only worried about...' She let it hover as Isis smiled.
Her feelings must be so obvious.
For Isis herself as well as Diabolo.
Isis with her scarred face and her air of mystery. Isis
with her grace and elegance and her passion beneath the
surface. Isis with her slender throat, her flawed but nimble
hands, her lithe body and her legs as sleek as a man-
nequin's.
Was she wearing tights or stockings? Tricksie conjec-
tured, reaching gratefully for the glass that had just been
topped up. She was getting a bit fizzed now, but liked the
feeling. It was easier to see the delicious inner pictures
with some wine inside her, and much easier to sit calmly
at the table with Isis: not talking, but just sipping their
drinks and watching the room, its occupants, and each
other.
Stockings, she decided, returning to her debate as one
of those pictures formed. Micro-sheer silk; broad, navy
blue lacy welts; fine, pale skin all sheened up with sweat.
And with juice.
Would her panties be as pretty? As moist? Tricksie
shuddered, then blushed furiously when Isis looked across
and quirked one fine-lined brow.
She's a fucking mind-reader! she thought, awed into
silent profanity by the possibility of Isis seeing what she
saw. Well, get a load of this, lady! She smiled, dropped
her gaze to the other woman's navy-clad lap and mentally
ripped away her skirt.
Midnight blue lace. Minute. Sopping wet. Hanging
heavy with juices when Isis rose to her feet, the soaked
cloth thick with desire.
Tricksie licked her hps, trying to imagine the taste.
Would she be delicately salty? Her emissions bland and
dainty... Or would she be musky? Bitchy? Strong and
pungent?
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Tricksie's mouth filled with saliva but she swallowed,
took up her glass and drank again.
Oh God, if only it were Isis she were drinking. If only
she wasn't in a public place, and she could reach through
the loose, overlapping legs of her trousers and bring ease
to her own aching clitoris. If only Isis would slide her
slender, pink-etched hand beneath the table and do it for
her.
She imagined those beautiful fingers exploring her.
Pressing lightly on her mons, aggravating the steady, grow-
ing pressure in her bladder. There was a heavy weight of
fluid there now, knocking against the root of her clitty.
She wriggled, returning happily to reality and the real and
wicked thing massing in her crotch. If she'd any sense,
she'd excuse herself and slip to the powder room. But she
couldn't tear herself away; and the stress from her filling
bladder was making the wanting more imperative than
ever.
Devil thoughts filled her mind ... Isis smiling and abus-
ing her, kneading her tortured crotch, trying to force her
to pee. She bit her hps, suppressing a whimper as she
crossed her legs and her clitoris fluttered in a tiny pre-
orgasmic spasm.
'You're beautiful. I want you so much.' Isis's husky
whisper piled on the pressure. Tricksie bit her lip, wanting
to cry out in her ravaging need and press down hard on
her swollen clit.
She knows! She knows! She knows! Tricksie thought
passionately. She knows I'm sopping for her ... Dying for
her.
'Shall we get out of here?' Isis went on, her voice urgent
as if she too felt torment between her thighs. 'I've got a
hotel room. At the St Vincent, across town. I know a short
cut... If you're up for it, that is?' she was already on her
feet, as if knowing full well that Tricksie would follow.
Tricksie nodded and rose in her wake. As she crossed
the room behind her goddess, it was difficult to keep
herself silent. The sensations between her legs were both
appalling and fabulous. Pleasure-pain pressing down like
99

crystal shards, the bloated fullness in her sex, the lewd
squelch of her juices as she walked. She imagined she
could hear herself slurping, hear her pouched hps jostling
in her panties. She half expected people to turn and stare
curiously as she passed.
Isis had a walk like a goddess's too; a slight delicious
sway, and neat, trim buttocks that rolled with syncopated
grace beneath the slim blue tube of her skirt. Tricksie
wanted to lift up that skirt - and pull down whatever lay
beneath - and kiss her adored one's bottom. She wanted
to kiss her everywhere, but at this moment her rear more
than anywhere else; the sight of that tight, curvaceous
shape jostling rhythmically beneath that classy ribbed silk
was making her feel light-headed.
When they reached the relative seclusion of the foyer,
Isis grabbed the nape of Tricksie's neck, kissed her once,
stunningly, full on the hps, then withdrew and flicked
down her veil.
'It's easier,' she muttered, then took THcksie's hand and
led her out into the Mall.
Oh, love, you don't have to do that! cried Tricksie
silently from the extravagant heart of her passion. If any-
body says anything, does anything, I'll scratch their eyes
out. You're beautiful! Can't they see that? All other faces
are plain beside yours.
They should fall down and worship you, Isis, she
thought in a daze of tormented rapture. Women and men
both...
For a moment, with shocking clarity, she imagined being
a man. Being erect and entering this new divinity before
her. The dream of it was so vivid that she felt as if her
heart had stopped, then in a flash it was pulsing again,
full of life, as fast and frenzied as the hard, heavy beat in
her loins.
The discomfort was voluptuous now, every minute
movement brought a fresh stab of sensation. Her belly
was throbbing, distended, her clitoris on fire to be
touched. Every step was a fight not to moan out aloud.
Once in a while, Isis would pause in her hurry, turn
100

around, and Tricksie would feel an uncanny scrutiny
raying out from that dense blue veil. She was convinced
now that Isis knew of her critical condition, and under-
stood the bliss of it. Why else would she be forcing her
to run in these spindly high heels? Each stride was a
streak of pain to her bladder.
'Hurry!' cried Isis breathlessly, 'I need to touch you. I
can't wait much longer.'
Me neither, thought Tricksie, bursting. There was a wet-
ness in her crotch that she didn't think was lubrication
alone. And you know it, don't you, you beautiful witch?
she accused, almost delirious with a thousand sensations.
Panting, she allowed herself to be half-led, half-dragged
across the Mall, through corridors and finally out into the
cool night air of the city. They passed some rather dubious
citizens going about their questionable outside business,
but soon they were alone in a narrow, dimly lit alley.
'Thank God,' gasped Isis, flipping up her veil and
launching herself forward.
Oh yes, thought Tricksie, sobbing around the wine-
scented tongue that instantly filled her mouth, pushing
hard against the hand that grabbed for her crotch. Isis
palmed her mound, and the balloon of her bladder behind
it, and she squealed out aloud.
'Yes, that's it, baby,' the other woman cooed, pressing
harder, throwing her weight behind the torturing hand
and making Tricksie whimper and wriggle.
'I need to pee,' she gasped, blushing scarlet, tears wel-
ling in her tightly closed eyes.
'I know that, pretty Trix,' Isis purred, working hard
through Tricksie's thin trousers. 'But don't you like it?
Come on ... Admit it. You know you like it.' The fingers
squeezed, a white-hot pincer, 'Feel it all. All that fluid,
that piss, pressing on your clitty. Making it ache and ache.
Is it popping out, sweetheart? Your little bud, peeping
from its hood? I bet it's lovely and hard. Would you like
me to rub it for you?'
'Oh yes yes yes,' sobbed Tricksie, lost in a hot dark
euphoria as Isis bore down. The blatant language had
101

inflamed her. She was her clitoris now, it was a star, a red
giant between her legs, her body and limbs its satellites.
Beside herself, she writhed and pumped and groaned.
'Yes, my beauty, yes,' whispered Isis, soft and wicked in
her ear, 'You're bursting now, aren't you? Full up. All
that naughty piss inside you... Pushing on your pretty
little quim.'
Tricksie nodded, her voice gone. The pit of her belly
was volcanic now and the star, her clit, was huge and
violently active. It felt as if it were standing out inches
from her labia, projected into space by the sheer force of
fluid above it.
'Speak, Tricksie!' her tormentress commanded, 'Tell me
what you want!'
'I... Agh!' A tiny spurt of pee shot out, milked by
Isis's crushing grip. Tricksie felt its wetness on her panties.
'Oh, please ... I... Oh, God!'
'What, little bitch? What do you want!'
'I want you to frig me!' she shouted, exulting in her
own coarseness. 'I want you to wank me. Wank my clit. I
want you to take it in your fingers and rub it up and
down. And I want to piss my pants while you do it.'
Almost fainting, Tricksie felt Isis unfastening her
trousers and easing them down her thighs. As the cool air
hit her, she jammed her hands between her legs, then
skipped from one foot to the other as Isis knelt, pulled
the trousers off her ankles and tossed them away into the
alley.
She opened her eyes then and the view was dreamlike.
A blue-suited woman, kneeling between her spread thighs,
face intent, hands slightly raised, scars luminous on both.
Her own body looked lewd, an archetypal porn shot,
part naked, part covered, her suspender belt white, her
stockings grey and filmy, her panties barely existing. She
still had on her black high heels. Isis leaned forward to
kiss her mound, and Tricksie mewled like a kitten, terrified
she'd let her rain flood out across that beautiful purple-
marked face.
It didn't happen, and Isis rose gracefully to her feet,
102

peeling off her gloves as she did so and sending them
winging to the concrete to join Tricksie's trousers.
'Beautiful,' she whispered again, drawing the back of
her hand up the inside of Tricksie's quivering thigh. Her
fingertips danced across the back of Tricksie's clutching
hands, then prodded lightly at her lace-covered mons.
'Oh God,' groaned Tricksie, holding harder, holding out
against the messages of her frantic nerve-ends. A tiny
trickle seeped through her panties and Isis poked her
again.
Sweet burning agony jolted her, and little jets of urine
sprayed the silk between her legs.
'I can't hold it much longer.' Rocking now, her fingers
pressed hard on the sodden cloth and the hot pulpy folds
within.
'Yes, you can, my sweet,' Isis's marked face was against
hers now; her breath smelt of champagne, 'Just a little
while longer.' He fingers slid beneath the elastic of Tricks-
ie's knickers, dragging downwards. 'Let's get these out of
the way so I can touch you.'
Strong scarred hands prised away Tricksie's fingers and
then the thin pants beneath them. Trickie's pelvis waved
wildly of its own accord, and she saw the white bridge of
her flimsy lingerie suspended between her parted white
thighs, just above the knee. The weight of fluid seemed to
bounce like a stone against her clitoris.
'Hold on, pet,' Isis whispered, stilling her, then combing
her fingers through the flame-red hair at Tricksie's crotch.
Tricksie looked down expecting to see a yellow jet leap
out into her fingers ...
What she did see was one finger and a thumb dive
neatly in. Burrow into the hair. Searching ...
Red lights exploded behind Tricksie's eyes. She was
grasped, squeezed, ruthlessly tugged. Liquid bliss boiled
in her clit, her quim, her aching bladder. Her whole sex
pumped, shooting out her golden fluid and drenching both
the long pale hand that abused her and the stretched
white crotch of her panties.
And the hand wouldn't quit. It worked her unflinchingly
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and wrenched out the full power of her orgasm from a
vagina that fluttered and sucked.
It was only as the pleasure ebbed that Tricksie heard
her own cursing, blaspheming voice.
4 Oh God, I'm sorry,' she muttered, grabbing at the tat-
tered shreds of her thinking mind as she stared down at
the shining wetness of her loins and thighs and Isis's hand,
still touching its tiny prize and coated in a shimmering
glove of moisture.
'What for?'
'Swearing and pissing all over you.'
'It's what I wanted,' Isis said quietly, drawing her hand
from between Tricksie's legs and shaking it briskly. 'And
there's no harm done. It only went on my hand.'
'I... I... Agh!'
It was still happening; delicious aftershocks rippled
through Tricksie's sex and she felt Isis press her again,
gently this time, the gesture soft and soothing to her
overheated sex. She wriggled contentedly as the sen-
sations peaked, then faded.
'God, Isis, that was wild,' she exclaimed at last as a
semblance of order returned to her senses.
'It certainly was.' Isis dipped gracefully, fumbled for her
discarded handbag, then dragged out a handful of tissues.
'And if there are any apologies due, they should be from
me. I shouldn't drink champagne ... Well, not that much.
It makes me go completely wacko. I start wanting to do
the rudest things I can think o£' She grinned, kneeling to
blot lightly at Tricksie's crotch and thighs. 'And believe
me, in my line of business, I can think of some pretty rude
things!'
'Me too,' Tricksie returned the smile as her body sent
her head crazy messages.
Oh God, she thought, flexing her thighs to give Isis
better access. Oh God, I could start all over again...
Strange beauty knelt before her. A face more erotic
than any other woman's naked body. Hair that flashed a
hundred miraculous colours. Grace worthy of the goddess
whose name it bore. Tricksie wanted to join with Isis,
104

absorb her. She wanted to give her back all the pleasure
she'd received from her.
Delicate tremors tantalised her quim as Isis completed
her ministrations and regarded the sorry wet mess of
Tricksie's panties. She grinned up at her and shrugged,
the movement enchanting and throwaway.
'Don't worry. I've got tons of things at my hotel. You
can get changed there. Can you manage like this for a
while?' In a smooth sleight-of-hand action, she pulled
up the urine-soaked panties and pressed them snugly to
Tricksie's quivering mound. The wet cloth was mercifully
chill against her heat.
Tricksie shuddered, knowing she wanted more, but
wanting to turn that 'more' about. She wanted to make
the sorceress lose her cool; disturb her, disrupt her, dis-
hevel that prim blue suit. Make her lose control, soon.
Right here in this alley ...
As Isis rose, drying her fingers on the tissues and look-
ing around for somewhere to discard them, Tricksie step-
ped forward, slid her hands into the silken mass of her
lover's hair, and pulled her strange face intimately close.
Their lips met with force and this time it was Tricksie
who imposed her mouth on Isis, delving with her tongue,
sucking and nibbling, keeping lips tight together and pel-
vises apart. She didn't want that silk skirt ruined alto-
gether.
'But -' Tricksie stopped Isis' protests with a hand across
her mouth. Her left hand... Her right one was working
on a long row of dark blue buttons.
'But nothing. It's my turn now, sex-lady. I want to see
you come.'
Tricksie felt Isis's mouth go slack beneath hers, and
accept her tongue like a pillaging sex. There was no need
for words. Not even when Tricksie freed her lips and stood
back to put two hands to the task of exposing...
'Oh yes,' she murmured as the dark lapels swung open.
'Oh yes indeedy ...'
Isis was lovely beneath her bright satin camisole: vol-
uptuous without blowsiness, high-breasted, perky, softly
105

conical. Perfectly proportioned, her twinned curves were
nymphish and inviting, the nipples small, hard and point-
ing rudely at Tricksie through the gossamer lightness of
silk.
IH tame you, Egyptian goddess, thought Tricksie,
slightly crazed, grasping Isis's nipples each in a finger and
thumb, and smiling as the other woman gasped harshly.
She gasped again, almost groaned, when Tricksie pin-
ched each teat, teasing them into a longer and harder
erection and stretching the resilient flesh of each breast
out and away from the underlying plane of her rib-cage.
She did groan, heavily, when Tricksie jiggled and bounced
her. But even so, she gave herself away with the slow,
frustrated waft of her slender silk covered hips.
'Am I getting to you, sweetheart?' Tricksie felt as if she
were flying now, in control, the Queen of Tricks again in
her abbreviated sequinned bodice, her white suspender
belt and her pants and stockings and shoes soaked with
her own cooling urine.
Isis nodded, her pale hands smoothing nervously at her
skirt. It was so obvious that she wanted to touch herself.
This should all have been so sordid, observed Tricksie
in an odd quiet fugue of detachment, her fingers still
gripping Isis's breasts. T\vo dykes mauling each other in a
grungy alleyway. Two lezzies frigging and peeing. It should
have been crude and hideous but it wasn't.
Isis had conducted the first act of their drama with
gentle playful kindness... and now she, Tricksie, would
conclude it the same way.
We like the same things, she thought wonderingly. Isis
was jerking and moaning, obviously in love with the same
kind of breastwork that Tricksie loved. The same rough-
ness. The same pinching, tweaking and casual handling.
Diabolo did this, she remembered all too clearly, seeing a
brief flash of him groping Isis. He was crueller though.
Colder. More pain-giving ...
It hurts but it makes me wet, she acknowledged, then
longed to know the state of Isis's sex. She imagined her
106

pulsing in the dark beneath her skirt, lubricating thickly
into some delicate item of lingerie.
She had to see.
'Easy, baby,' Tricksie murmured, loving her lover's tor-
ment. Isis was pressing her knuckles to her crotch now,
massaging vigorously, her legs parted and slightly bent.
Her sex-lips would be puffy, uncomfortable.
'You want it, don't you, my love?'
Tricksie found the word 'love' came quite naturally. It
went well for her with 'sex', which sometimes surprised
her given what she did for a living.
But did she love the beautiful Isis? She knew she
wanted to 'fuck' her - whatever that meant in lesbian
terms - and touch her, taste her, know every part of her
that was sensitive, irritated or needy. Was that love?
'Let's see you, then, petal,' she whispered, pulling Isis'
slender hands out of her lap and getting a frustrated gasp
for her trouble.
Oh God, she's fantastic! thought Tricksie as she dipped
down to catch the blue skirt's hem. One minute so
together and businesslike, and the next an animal. She's
like me... Thinking with her clit. All she wants is to feed
that mouth between her legs ... Oh yes! Oh Jesus, I think
I do love her!
'Please, Tricksie, help me,' Isis wailed.
'Yes, my darling,' purred Tricksie, hiking up that elegant
skirt, bunching it at Isis's waist...
Then moaning herself at the sensational sight beneath.
The sheer blue hose were hold-up stockings with three
inch deep, silver-embroidered welts. Where the devil did
she get those? demanded the discriminating observer in
Tricksie's brain; while the besotted lesbian lover in her
just drooled - everywhere.
And above the glorious stockings, above two tender
inches of milk-white thigh, was a sex that took Tricksie's
breath away; pouting, glossy-bushed and virtually
uncovered.
Where does she get all this stuff? Tricksie wondered
again, her fingers drifting compulsively towards a G-string
107

the like of which even she'd never seen. A mere shred of
ultra-sheer black silk lace, it concealed nothing - mainly
because sometime during the course of the evening, it had
ridden up and lodged itself tightly between Isis's swollen
labia. Tricksie felt her own body twitch in empathy.
'You're a sly one, my lovely,' she whispered. 'So cool.
So educated. And underneath you're a slut like me.'
'Please ...' The lewd, bisected crotch flaunted towards
her hand. Pleading.
'Do you want me to rub you?' Tricksie asked softly,
aping the powerful Isis of earlier. Reaching down, she
hooked one finger in the G-string and yanked gently
upwards.
'Ungh ... Ungh ...' was the only answer, and Tricksie
laughed with joy, her heart somersaulting in her chest, her
own quim hot with a pleasure completely shared.
Isis came hard and fast and loud, her hips jerking furi-
ously, her hand jammed against her mouth but unable to
contain her noise. Her scarred face contorted spectacu-
larly and she sucked her own fingers, moaning around
them as spittle glistened sleekly on her chin.
Tricksie tweaked the shred of silk a second time. 'Come,
baby, come,' she coaxed, sawing upwards with a strong,
jerking rhythm. She'd been going to strip Isis, bare her,
but now it was far too late.
The climaxing woman was suspended on a cord that
created her pleasure, her whole weight rocking on her
clitoris. Tricksie was merely the two strong hands that
held the cradle taut...
Jungle sounds echoed in the gloomy alley: a lioness
roaring in triumph, a she-cat howling out her orgasm. Isis
threw her free arm around Tricksie's bare shoulder and
slumped against her, still wriggling her body on the G-
string.
Tricksie felt her own pussy throb as Isis writhed against
her. Her own clitoris ached, jealous of the torturing sen-
sations between another woman's spasming thighs. She
considered reaching down and caressing herself... Then
refrained.
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Save it for later, Hiring. Don't be so greedy. Concentrat-
ing on Isis, she hauled hard on the thin lace scrap and
cupped her lover's silk-covered breast with her free hand,
tweaking her nipple to wring out a greater sensation.
It was over very quickly. Isis fell away from Tricksie
and slumped against the alley wall, breathing heavily.
'Champagne, goddamit!' she muttered, her eyes closed,
her wet mouth smiling with satisfaction and devilment. 'I
must look a complete monster.'
She did, after a fashion, but a glorious one. Skirt pushed
up, thighs and belly exposed, sexy pussy split by her pleas-
uring G-string. Her camisole was crumpled and half out
of her waistband, and her chic little hat was tilted at a
dizzy, demented angle.
'You look gorgeous,' said Tricksie, reaching to straigh-
ten the jaunty chapeau as if she were Isis's mother, or a
nurse or governess. Of their own volition, her fingers slid
lower, ruffling the glossy hair that streamed from beneath
the hat and trickling it across her hand like fluid.
'And this is beautiful... Unbelievable ...' She couldn't
stop touching it,, stroking it, fondling the satiny rippling
mass as if it had an independent life of its own.
'I suppose I'm entitled to one attractive feature,' Isis
said wryly, locking Tricksie's breath in her lungs when she
reached down to her disordered crotch and plucked the
G-string damply from its groove. Hie action was so casu-
ally done it was art, and Tricksie knew that soon - very
soon - she would have to make love to this woman again.
And far more than once.
'Don't put yourself down,' Tricksie ordered, her heart
pounding. She felt a sharp sense of loss when Isis
smoothed down her elegant skirt and brought order to
her camisole and jacket, but it faded as soon as it had
formed. They'd hardly begun. 'Let's go to that room of
yours and then I can show you how beautiful you are.'
'All right,' Isis said easily, her sensual smile quite start-
ling on her peculiar asymmetric face. 'But promise me
one thing, Tricksie ...'
'Anything,' Tricksie vowed, thinking of all the things
109

she could do and praying that one of them would be Isis's
pleasure.
'Promise me you'll put these on -' Isis dipped gracefully
and picked up Tricksie's forgotten harem pants,' - before
we go any further. I don't want you to get arrested before I
get you into bed.'
Tricksie reached for the pants... but suddenly what
had been near seemed infinitely distant. Isis's image
receded like a cheap film effect, wavered, then phased
diagonally across Tricksie's field of vision.
The words 'into bed' began to repeat and repeat and
then continually overlap. Uncoordinated noise and colour
meshed into a solid wall and became suddenly and scarily
dazzling.
A tenth of a second later, and just as suddenly there
was a total, silent, blessed darkness.
And then light...
110

5
Intermezzo II
'Oh! Oh! Oooh!' cooed Isis, jamming her free fist into her
mouth, then wriggling her way off the stool. She was
vaguely aware of a red light flashing somewhere to her
right, but it would just have to flash. It was all she could
do to stand upright. Stand in a cool dark alley somewhere
with her skirt round her waist, her thighs splayed and
three fingers working in a wedge against her clitoris.
Scrunching her eyes tight, she clawed back the last
seamy shreds of her time in the alley. She could see her
own face and body, her scars, her own wild snarl of
orgasm. She could hear her own screams and groans, but
faintly now, fainter and fainter as light replaced gloom,
and the antiseptic whiteness of the treatment room drove
out the sleazy beautiful shadows that lurked in the back-
ways of the city. Her hips flipped and jerked in one last
hot fling, then stilled.
She'd come. Caressed to it by another woman. Even
though that woman had seemed to be herself...
'Too weird!' Isis muttered, out - at last - from the
adventure. Beneath her pressing fingers she was wet, but
calm now. Sated. And so, presumably, was the wired and
dreaming Josh.
Hence the red light and the words, 'event sequence
over' flashing insistently on the main computer screen.
Look sharp, Ice! she told herself sternly. Her adventurer
was stirring already, fretting in his bonds as his cuffed
cock rolled on his belly, its plummy length sticky with
drying semen.
Ill

She was pretty sticky herself...
'You've got one helluva mind, Josh Mortimer,' she whis-
pered, tugging up her panties, then shuddering as they
clung to the soft, slick flesh of her vulva. 'And you, oh
Isis the great inventor, are a dirty, disgusting little
wanker!' She grinned and patted the thin damp crotch of
her knickers. 'Nearly as wet as in the alley.'
Josh had dreamed a fabulous dream. It had been
deliriously horny and said more about what he felt for
her than he could possibly express in words. She felt
thrilled. She felt troubled. What if she and Tricksie had
met that way? Had wild kinky sex in an alley not fifteen
minutes after they'd first said 'hello'...
The reality had been less fraught, less messy, and taken
a good deal longer. They'd spent several weeks circling
like a pair of scared gazelles, trying to figure out whether
they did actually want each other or not, and when they
did eventually go to bed, it had been gentle, tentative and
very beautiful. And also very conclusive.
In the real world Tricksie had been the instigator. Isis
felt her sex shiver at thoughts of that first time. The first
time those slim skilled fingers had touched her... How
she'd looked down between her own thighs, in the dim
light, and watched those scarlet-painted fingertips dance
amongst the crimsons and mauves of her quim.
'Isis!'
Oh shit, Josh was awake!
Hurriedly smoothing down her smock, Isis whipped off
her headset and turned her attentions to the naked, strug-
gling man. As the eyemask came off, his long black lashes
were fluttering crazily...
'I... Oh God! Was it really like that?'
She watched his pupils dilate, his vision clearing fast as
he focused on her. He blinked several times, then came
that weird, poignant moment when the fantasy persona
was sloughed away like a snake's dead skin. She felt a
pang of loss as Tricksie dissolved from both their minds.
'Not quite,' she murmured non-committally, trying not
112

to be too affected, either by the transition or my Josh's
bared body.
Half-naked and wholly vulnerable, he was glorious.
Sexed-out, gleaming with sweat, spunk in a lacquer-like
film on his belly, his loins and his thighs.
There was something especially tempting about this
moment; all men were delectable still strapped, but Josh
was the only one who seriously threatened her pro-
fessionalism.
He was the only one she wanted to leave in restraint...
then masturbate to a fresh, furious rigidity that she could
climb on top of and enjoy. She'd done it once, all those
months ago, and the resonances would always be with
her.
Cautiously, she set about freeing her prize from his
bonds.
Josh said virtually nothing as she unhitched the various
straps and sensors, then took up a soft moist cloth to clean
him. The only sounds he made were a low moan when
the sensor probe slid out of his bottom and what sounded
like a reluctant sigh of pleasure as she delicately wiped
his penis.
'What's wrong?' she said at last, unnerved by silence.
'That was an experiment, wasn't it?' he demanded, his
brown eyes unusually hard. 'It finished too soon. You
pulled the plug on me, didn't you?'
'What do you mean?'
Her hands shook as she handed him a blanket. Under
normal circumstances she'd have wrapped the thing round
him herself, enjoying the intimacy, but tonight she felt
irrational fear. He would read guilt in her fingers if she
touched him. Guilt, because she had reason to be guilty,
it dawned on her now.
A damned good reason.
'You know what I mean.' He opened the blanket with
an aggressive flick and swirled it around his shoulders and
torso like a cape.
And she did know. Precisely. When the red light had
flashed, she could have cancelled it and let the adventure
113

proceed to its natural conclusion - herself and Tricksie
going on to the hotel room and making full lesbian love
to an exquisite mutual climax. As they'd done, eventually,
in the real world.
But she hadn't. She'd aborted his trip before he'd got
to the 'best bit', simply to test out a theory.
The trouble was... she wouldn't get her results until
he dreamed.
But will he want to tell me about his dreams now? she
wondered glumly, later. He mightn't even want to speak
to me.
She was alone now, getting ready for bed, but she could
still hear the cold ring of anger in Josh's accusing voice.
She couldn't blame him though. It was the second time
she'd experimented on him. A fact Josh had pointed out
to her, nay, shouted out to her, as he'd stormed out of the
treatment room half-naked.
She'd tried to explain her reasons to him, but he'd
slammed the bathroom door in her face, then left fifteen
minutes later, still muttering darkly about 'packing the
whole thing in'...
'Not that you tried all that hard to tell him,' she
observed to herself as she curled up in her chair in front
of her small flame-effect fire, and nursed her favourite
bedtime drink - hot milk liberally laced with brandy. The
chair was her 'naughty' chair, but she had no big plans
for it right now.
Alone tonight, and preoccupied, she'd chosen a practi-
cal nightie. There was no one to see her in virginal white
winceyette that covered her from throat to toe, pin-
tucked, prissy, relentlessly unsexy. Wearing it, she should
have felt placid and unstirred. Yet as she drained her
warming drink and put aside the cup, she suddenly didn't
feel that way at all.
There was something ominous about Josh when he was
mad. Something threatening, dangerous, sublimely erotic,
a quality that reached out and stroked an answering chord
114

in her. She turned soft to his hardness, yielding to his
strength. Submissive to his maleness, his dominance.
It was uncharacteristic but, feeling like this, she felt
the fantasies stir in her. Strong fantasies. Crude fantasies.
Exposure and humiliation. Being buggered, being taken
roughly and painfully ...
In the flickering theatre of the flames, she saw Josh rise
up, majestic in his anger, from the stark white of the couch
he'd dreamed on.
It was what she deserved. What she wanted. She rum-
maged in the voluminous billowing whiteness of her
pretty, old-fashioned night-dress.
'You bitch! You cheated me!'
His cock swung heavily as he lunged at her, waving like
a thick red bar between the tails of his floating black shirt.
His erection was bloated, furious, its tip as dark and livid
as the rage that burned in his eyes.
'I'm sorry... Forgive me,' she returned meekly, enjoy-
ing the slight pain as he grasped her upper arm and shook
her like a naughty child.
Back in her tiny cozy living room, Isis smiled slightly,
recognizing that incongruous streak of humility. Her real
self would have told him calmly to 'get stretched', but
within the fantasy she grovelled. And her body loved it.
Parting her swollen nether lips, she touched herself
lightly, stroking up a little of her moisture and pasting it
slowly onto the tip of her clitoris.
'Oh Josh,' she murmured, rubbing gently. 'Oh Josh,
please forgive me,' she begged, back in her dream of
contrition. 'I'm sorry... Please punish me ... I'll do
anything!'
'Bare your breasts, then kneel down and suck me!' He
was already parting his thighs in readiness, tilting his lean
hips, thrusting forward his sex.
Isis had never seen him bigger. She shivered, imagining
her mouth bulging with his flesh, his enormousness hold-
ing open her hps and making her drool and dribble help-
lessly as he plunged in again and again, each thrust going
half-way down her throat.
115

'Do it, cheating bitch!'
Fumbling, she obeyed, and buttons went flying from
her lab coat. Her lace bra defied her, and she whimpered
as Josh dashed away her fingers and wrenched apart the
cups himself.
'That's it! That's better. Now hold your breasts in your
hands. Play with your nipples. Pinch them while I'm in
you.'
Almost before she could touch herself, his wine-dark
glans was butting its way between her hps. She took her
nipples in her fingers, belatedly obeying him as he
pounded her mouth with his stifftiess and made her gag
and splutter as her eyes filled with tears. His fingers went
wild in her hair, digging, grabbing at her scalp, tilting her
head, angling and adjusting so his cock could go deeper
into her throat. He was fucking her mouth now, using her
as basely as she'd wanted. As she'd needed. As against
her conditioning, she'd longed for...
She was a nothing more than a receptacle for his
pleasure, a warm hole to work in, a mouth to flood with
his spunk. He was treating her as a thing now. Using her,
debasing her... and her sex was leaping and raving for
more of it.
In the dream she swelled and pouted and dripped; and
in reality, the same, her clitoris fluttering beneath her
fingertips in a first sharp climax. In the firelight, her pump-
ing hips danced, and she moaned Josh's name, shouted
and jerked, then fell back exhausted to a plateau ... ready
for the next mad rise.
Still throbbing, Isis merged dream and reality, scrab-
bling open the bodice of her nightdress to reach in and
pluck at her nipples. She pulled them, twirled them like
berries in her fingers as dream-Josh pillaged her mouth,
stretching the corners of her soft pink hps as she gasped
and drooled and gulped.
Focusing her eyes in the flames, she saw not the red
and yellow of fire but the soft fuzzy blur of silk-black
pubic hair and a flat brown belly pushing hard against her
sweating face.
116

Expecting jism on her tongue any second, she sobbed
weakly when Josh pulled out abruptly, took his cock in
his fingers and waved it tauntingly before her eyes. Her
own saliva shamed her on its red veined length ...
'No, sucking slut!' he hissed. 'Not this time. Not in your
cheating mouth. You'd like it too much.'
Isis waited, fearful and silent, still holding her fruity,
swollen nipples.
'Take your panties off,' he ordered quietly, standing like
a lord above her, slowly stroking his erection. She obeyed,
then stood, bare-arsed, holding them nervously between
finger and thumb.
'Show me.'
Isis held them up, spreading the juice-dampened crotch
for his perusal.
'Horny bitch!' he said, reaching out without warning
and grabbing her crotch. He squeezed her, once and
roughly, and she fluttered like a bird in his grip - her flesh
pleading for more, and harder.
'Now put them in your mouth.'
Isis froze - both in and out of the dream - boggling at
his gross instruction.
'Do it!' he shouted, and when she put the sodden gar-
ment tentatively to her lips, he took hold of it and pushed
it right into her mouth.
Her taste was rich and raunchy. Saliva pooled beneath
her tongue and her sex softly wept. Thick juices flowed
afresh, overflowing the engorged folds and rolling in a
loose silvery stream down her thighs. She felt blood rush-
ing wildly around her body, puffing up her quim even
more and making her face burn furiously with shame.
With a faint smile, Josh stroked her bulging cheeks, a
gesture so tender it seemed strangely out of character for
this particular moment.
'And now you're going to put on a performance for
me,' he purred, pushing in the cloth a little further. 'Lift
your smock. 1\ick it up at the waist. That's good,' he
murmured when her damp pubic curls were displayed.
Tears of mortification and unbearable lust trickled from
117

Isis's eyes as she stood before him: her panties in her
mouth, her breasts bare, her moisture bright and shining
on her thighs.
'Beautiful... Now turn around, face the couch and put
one leg up on it.'
Confused, she obeyed, then bubbled behind her gag as
he reached around between her thighs, pulled her sex-lips
rudely apart, then pressed her, split and dripping, hard
against the edge of the couch. She mewled with shame
when a finger snaked into her wet groove to make sure
her clit was erect, out of its hood and lodged directly on
the stitched ridge where the white leather panels made
an angle.
'That's it, my little cheat,' he said into her ear, pressing
his erection against the back of her thigh and stroking the
cheeks of her bottom with his fingers, 'Now frig yourself
off on that edge. Do it baby, I want to see and hear you
come ... Now!'
She wanted to scream 'I can't!' but the obstruction in
her mouth wouldn't let her.
'Do it!'
She shook her head, then moaned. She'd hardly moved,
but it had still rocked her sex against the stitching.
'Okay then... I'll have to help you.' His voice was
menacing, barely audible. 'Hold the cheeks of your arse
open.'
'No!' she tried to say through the muffling thing that
silenced her. But her vagina was gently throbbing now,
and the answer down there was 'yes'.
'You owe me, Isis,' he said grimly, 'you cheated me ...
Remember?'
Sobbing, her crotch rioting, Isis struggled to obey, her
own weight crushing her breasts as she slumped face down
on the couch. Her clitoris was still perfectly positioned
and jumping against the leather. Working through layer
after layer of shame, she plucked apart the rounds of her
buttocks and waited - quivering - for the buggering thrust
of his penis.
When the impalement came it wasn't his cock, but a dry,
118

painful, unlubricated finger; a violation ten times more
demeaning.
Even so, she came hugely and cried out through her
gag. The cruel digit bored ruthlessly into her bottom,
forcing her even harder onto the abused bud of her clit
and pinning her there like a mindless, gibbering doll. As
her legs jerked wildly and her quim found a new dimen-
sion, the last thing Isis dreamed of was hot, satin semen
jetting thickly down her naked thigh.
'Wow,' murmured Tricksie as she settled her silver-ringed
hand over Isis's gloved one. They were in La Selene the
next evening, sharing a drink between appointments. Isis
had just described her fireside fantasy.
'That was wild, Ice,' the whore said, her eyes wide. 'I
wish I'd been there now.' Tricksie had spent her night in
magnificent elective solitude on one of her periodical
crying jags for Diabolo. She never actually mentioned
these little misery sprees to Isis, but there was always
something over-smooth and faintly doll-like to her make-
up on the day after she'd had one.
'I could've held you, love,' she went on softly, 'or maybe
even helped with something?'
Her long red-nailed fingertip defined an obscure symbol
on the back of Isis's black kid glove, and Isis felt a soft
rippling answer between her legs.
'You would have had to take these off first!' she
answered with a grin, flipping over her hand and flicking
playfully at her friend's long, false, blood-red nails. You're
a hopeless case, Trix, she thought fondly. The whore had
on an elegant grey dress and matching suede courts, her
hair was in a perfect upswept knot and her make-up,
though comprehensive, was creamily muted... but her
fiery painted talons screamed out pure, high voltage sex
on every receivable channel.
'Of course, dearest.' Tricksie raised the operative finger
to her hps and sucked it lewdly. 'And I wouldn't have
been so rude with my fingers either.' She winked so slyly
that Isis wondered if it were merely imaginery. 'Do I
119

detect a hint of masochism sneaking into your fantasies,
Ice? Only a pain freak would get off on a bone-dry finger
in such a naughty place.'
'I don't think so... I don't know...' Isis examined
her memories, excited again by the potent image of that
shaming finger pushing relentlessly into her rectum. She'd
played mild dominance games with Tricksie, but never
done a full pro-active sado-masochism scene for real. Her
dreams and adventures were full of it, though, and in
them, pain games aroused her beyond measure. Whatever
the role she took on; top or bottom, slave or domina,
whichever way the lash flew, Isis knew her quim would ooze.
'I could help you work it out,' Tricksie offered, her eyes
bright and coaxing, 'Whichever way you want to play ...'
That was true. Tricksie was just as much a switch-hitter
as Isis was, and she'd told many a tall tale, as they'd
fondled each other in bed, of the wild roles she'd been
called on to play in the course of her colourful 'career'.
'I might take you up on that sometime,' Isis said softly,
as lewdness scored her brain from within, stunning her
with unthinkable images again. Stainless steel and rubber.
Stretched limbs. Gags. Moist pink flesh inspected, then
abused with obscene intrusions.
'But not until I've got our friend Mister Mortimer
sorted out. That man really gets to me, Trix... It's sub-
versive. I feel out of control when he's around.'
'Yes, so it seems.' Tricksie's white grin said do-tell-all.
'I think the guy should have a health warning tattooed
on him,' Isis went on resignedly. 'The only way I can
stay on top is to pick a fight with him.'
'On top?' Tricksie waggled her finely etched brows. 'I
seem to recall that was how you dished it out last time.'
'Trix! You know what I mean.'
'Face it, Ice. He's pretty, he's a stud, and you want him.
What's the big deal? Have him!'
Tricksie's small, pointed tongue did a sweep of her soft
red lips. 'I can't see the problem. You throw the switches
for me when I'm tripping but it doesn't stop you having
meV
120

Touche. It was true, she did have Tricksie. Often. Maybe
she was being silly over Josh? Sticking to letters of laws
that both he and she were outside? She'd have to sort
herself, and the situation, out somehow ...
But not with Tricksie, just this moment. Across the
room was a vaguely familiar face.
'Isn't that your next client, Trix?'
A slender, rather timid young man was sitting at the
other end of the bar and trying studiously not to stare in
their direction.
'Oh, you mean Mikey? He's keen. He's not due for
ages yet,' Tricksie said casually, although Isis noted a hot
sparkle in those beautiful emerald eyes.
'I hope you're behaving yourself with him,' she mock-
cautioned. 'He looks extraordinarily young and innocent
to me.'
'You're right about the "innocent" bit, but he's older
than he looks,' Tricksie answered. 'He's one of the richest
men in the city, and exceptionally shrewd. It's only when
it comes to sex that he's a novice ...'
'What sort of adventures does he choose?' Isis was
curious now - intrigued by this wealthy but fey-looking
young man, and his sexual involvement with her inven-
tion. She wondered, too, how he responded to THcksie
and her irresistible full-spectrum sex appeal.
'He lets me choose,' Tricksie said blithely. 'He asked
me to "educate" him all about sex, so we're working our
way through more or less everything.'
'But he doesn't have to adventure to get his education.'
Isis reached out and touched Tricksie's dewy cheek. 'Does
he?'
'I think he's trying things out in fantasy before he tries
them for real.' Tricksie was a little wavery; the small caress
had clearly affected her. Or was it the precious young
Mikey? 'To be honest, I think he's a virgin.' She turned,
dusted a tiny kiss on Isis's leather-covered palm, then
swivelled back to look at the immaculate, unsullied Mikey.
'He's such a sweet thing.'
'Well, you'd better not keep him waiting then,' Isis said
121

briskly. 'And behave yourself!' she added as Tricksie rose
and made ready to leave.
'Of course, I shall. The way you do with Josh.' With a
wicked grin, Tricksie waggled her fingers in farewell, and
then seemed to pour her sumptuous body across the room
in the direction of her shy young client.
Her prey, more like, thought Isis, her mind in sudden
turmoil. Images of Tricksie and the inexperienced Mikey
joined her own of Josh and herself. Four bodies writhed
in a moaning, thrusting tangle. It was an explosive, intoxi-
cating brew.
I can't blame Trix for wanting to get involved, Isis
reasoned. I'm hardly the best example of professional
detachment, am I? And she's missing Diabolo, no matter
how hard she tries to hide it.
She had a sudden urge for several extremely strong
drinks and a few hours alone. To sort her head out.
But as it was, she sipped unenthusiastically at her Astra-
pure, powerless as her thoughts ran in concentric solution-
less circles...
'I'm sorry.'
The familiar voice, from just inches away, made her
start wildly. And blush like fire.
When she turned towards Josh, she felt sure he must
know she was thinking about him. Thoughts that weren't
platonic. She could almost believe he could see what she'd
seen. That it would be in her eyes, both sound and cos-
metically lensed; tiny twin images of their nude bodies
screwing furiously. Close-ups of his prick reaming her slit
in a rhythm both violent and divine.
'I'm sorry,' Josh repeated, slipping onto the stool that
Tricksie had vacated.
'What for?' Isis asked without thinking, then dropped
her gaze to her gloves so she didn't have to look at him.
Lost in her erotic day-dreams, she had forgotten how
badly they'd parted.
'For being a mean-spirited, ungrateful bastard. And for
forgetting that my favourite mad professor always, but
always delivers the goods.'
122

Raising her eyes to his face, she smiled, then couldn't
help her usual knee-jerk reaction... A quick pan down
to take in the rest of him.
As always, Josh looked great. Positively fatal in fact,
with a repentant, boyish grin on his brown and handsome
face.
Clothes-wise he pleased her too. Chosen from what she
suspected was an extensive collection of pure silk shirts,
tonight's was in a fine soft cream, topped with a black
leather waistcoat. His jeans were gloriously distressed
denim and clung to his well-formed masculine crotch in a
way that made her lace-covered and very feminine one
go crazy. She could feel herself pouting and swelling, but
suddenly the significance of his words got through to her
too.
'Did you dream?' she asked redundantly, knowing he
must have. Why else would he apologise?
'Yes,' he said hoarsely. 'You could say that...' He
shifted his weight on the stool, clearly uncomfortable, and
Isis couldn't help but imagine his erection stirring in his
jeans. 'Look, do you think it'd be okay if I had a drink?
I think I need one.'
When white wine was brought and poured, Isis
prompted the deeply thinking man at her side. 'Well then?
You said you had a dream. Tell me about it and I'll know
if it was the right one.'
Josh drank deeply, studied his dusky fingers around the
glass, and began to speak.
'It was like an extension of the adventure. I was... I
was Tricksie again and I was with you.' He glanced up,
his eyes full of heat. A heat that went straight through
her skirt, straight through her slip, straight through the
panties beneath.
'We were in a room. A hotel room.' He paused, glanced
around, seemed to check for listeners. 'You kissed me. I
couldn't move. Your tongue was in my mouth and I felt
hot. I was melting all over. Especially... Esp... God,
this is nuts! How the bloody hell do I describe having a
pussy?'
123

'Try,' Isis encouraged softly, trying to hide the way she
loved him being forced to blush.
'Okay.' He squared his shoulders, took a small sip of
wine, then fixed his eyes on somewhere in the middle
distance. 'I was in bed waiting for you. Thinking about
your body and all the things I like about it. I wanted to
touch you ... Touch your quim, then open my legs wide
and press my own quim against it... I was imagining how
wet you'd be and touching my own wetness at the same
time.'
It was Isis's turn to wriggle now. And be wet. She was
trickling in her panties, running as heavily as if Josh had
reached out and stroked her. His voice was deep and dark
and charged; he might as well have been using it on her
sex directly, each word a solid thing. A finger. A tongue.
A penis.
'And then you were there.' He turned, and gave her a
single quick, searing glance. 'Almost naked. As good as ...
In some thin, silky thing I could see straight through. And
I could smell your perfume.' His nostrils flared, and Isis
nearly swooned. Godammit, even his nose was sexy.
'You got into bed and started m... making love to me.
My breasts were in your hands and you squeezed them
and kissed them and rubbed your face between them. The
way a cat would. Then you were licking and sucking...
It drove me crazy.'
You're driving me crazy, thought Isis wildly, struggling
to sit still. Josh's detailed description was inverting itself
as she listened. Twisting about but not, she realised, a true
mirror image. He was describing things she'd done to
Tricksie, but what she felt was herself being made love
to. Being caressed and stimulated by a strange, formless
amalgam of Tricksie, herself... and even a bizarre femin-
ised version of Josh.
'Crazy,' she whispered, but Josh didn't falter in his nar-
rative. He was somewhere else, aroused.
'But that wasn't enough. I wanted you to touch my
cunt. I opened my thighs and pressed my sex against you.
I... I was crying for you to rub me or something. I wanted
124

your fingers inside me, but you wouldn't do it. Not then ...
You just teased me. You got naked, but you still wouldn't
touch me. You made me lie back, hold myself open, and
just show myself to you. I was so wet I felt ashamed, the
juice was pouring out of me.'
Same here, Isis said silently, her own sex on fire. She
wanted to do what he was describing. To climb up onto
the very bar they were sitting at, haul up her slim leather
skirt and let him pull down her panties and look at her.
'You made me come then,' he whispered. 'You put this
finger -' he raised up his strong brown hand, middle finger
flexed, 'you put it right on my clitoris and rubbed till I
had an orgasm.'
At that they both shuddered. Which was more eerie?
A calm, quiet, utterly convincing male voice describing
what it was like to have a clitoris; or the sharp, hard pulse
in her own real clitoris, a spasm of pleasure from a caress
that was only imaginary? It was weird but she prayed he
wouldn't stop.
'And when I'd come, and I was panting, you opened
your robe and started masturbating.'
Did he know she was throbbing? She suspected he did.
'You looked all pink and pretty down there. Just like -'
He paused, and gave her a long steady look. 'Well, you
know what it looks like, don't you?' He smiled, and before
Isis could stop him or even flinch, he'd reached out and
drawn his forefinger across the marred skin of her cheek.
Isis's sex fluttered instantly and she felt an overwhelm-
ing urge to turn and bite his fingers passionately. She was
in a fever from his words and all it had taken was that
one small touch to make her come. She could feel her
cheeks staining, both perfect and flawed, and she knew
she was an open book.
'You did that on purpose, you swine!' she hissed,
gasping.
'What?'
'You know!'
Josh laughed, a sound as erotic in its own way as his
words had been.
125

'You asked for it. Doubly. You asked. And you caused
the goddam dream in the first place.'
Well sussed.
'Yes, I did,' she replied, clawing back some poise.
'You're my most responsive dreamer ever. I wanted to
see if I could trigger you, make you finish the adventure
on your own. I can do it to myself, but I didn't know if
anyone else could. It doesn't quite work with Tricksie ...
Although she does get enhanced day-dreams the way we
do.'
'Tell me how it works then.' Josh's voice was genuine
and serious. He reached out and patted her gloved
hand, and Isis shuddered minutely, remembering how his
fingers could give pleasure. Remembering a night when
they'd ranged across her naked flesh and had her sobbing
again and again and again.
'Well, it's founded on the imagination-enhancing
characteristics of dreaming. As I said, you're probably my
most responsive client -' A movement behind Josh's left
ear suddenly caught her eye. 'Holy shit! It's her again!
And Ett too ...'
'St Etienne? Oh God, is she here?'
Josh's tension was a palpable force, and she sensed him
fighting not to turn around and stare. Stare at the two
astounding women who had just walked arm-in-arm into
the bar.
One of them was more likely to ping her own sex radar
than his, given certain thoughts she'd had during the last
couple of days. But it was obviously the other, her own
cousin, St Etienne, who had put Josh on red alert. He'd
only met the woman once - but in dream-time St Etienne
had fucked him. Literally.
'Yes, it's cousin dearest, out in full drag with her latest
girlfriend in tow.' She saw him look puzzled. 'A well-
known redhead so trashy she makes Tricksie look like a
Methodist librarian.'
He was still frowning, but seemed loath to look around
and see who St Etienne's companion was.
126

'Think of a long, lean ginger pussy who tends to keep
her own pets in chains,' cued Isis.
'Red Cat?' Josh asked, alarm and curiosity fighting an
intriguing battle across the contours of his face.
"The very same,' Isis answered, smiling a small smile as
he gave in and turned round.
There was plenty to look at.
St Etienne was her usual debonair self, and Isis felt her
usual pangs of disquiet. Ett was beautiful in a wacky and
androgynous sort of way, and it was impossible not to
respond to her. Josh wasn't the only one with arousal
problems right now; but at least he wasn't related to their
cause.
Under normal circumstances, sweet St Ett would have
been the complete conversation-stopping focus of the
room in seconds. But tonight her gelled hair, her mannish
gestures and her Italian designer man's suit in blue-grey
silk seemed positively conservative when compared to the
totem of strangeness at her side. And - even though Ett
was easily as tall as most of the men in the room - she was
dwarfed by the statuesque proportions of the woman who
accompanied her.
Red Cat was well named. The famous rock singer was
dressed predominantly in her favourite shades of scarlet
and her long dreadlocked hair was so red it almost had a
voice and shouted. Her face too was stunning. Her upsl-
anted feline eyes stared out from her dead white com-
plexion with a fierceness that arced across the room like
a deadly feral beam.
She was trouble in letters of fifty-foot neon, but both
sexes fell down like fools before her.
When the famous woman turned fully around, Isis had
to stifle a giggle at Josh's reaction. He all but dribbled
wine down his shirt-front at the sight of the red one's
staggering outfit.
Beneath a gleaming red biker jacket, Red Cat seemed
to have forgotten about any blouse, T-shirt or top of any
kind. All she wore was a micro-fine black lace bra. Her
large breasts jutted brazenly from her open coat, virtually
127

naked in the sheer gauze-like silk. And even though her
breath-takingly long legs were encased in a pair of neo-
brutal red leather chaps there was virtually nothing
beneath those ... Only a minute pair of red leather bikini
briefs kept her vulva from the eyes of La Selene's ogling
patrons.
A tooled and studded belt, and stiletto ankle boots
completed the mind-bending ensemble, but Isis doubted
if Josh had noticed these fetishy accessories. His entire
attention was focused on a single tiny triangle of supple
crimson hide.
'She's shaved. She's just got to be,' he murmured - and
Isis had to agree. The shape of Red Cat's sex was quite
pronounced, a visible bifurcation beneath the fiery wafer-
thin leather.
'Oh, she most certainly will be,' she said out of devil-
ment. 'She's got real live slaves to perform all those
services for her. It's a wonder she hasn't got "Nothing"
cringing at her heels right now. On a leash.'
'Nothing? What do you mean, "Nothing"?'
Josh's face was a picture: curiosity and rampant lust,
what a combination.
'The keyboardist in her band. She calls him "Nothing".
He's her pleasure object. He's probably chained to the
end of her bed even as we speak. Stark naked, with his
cock in a vice.'
The picture of Josh's gaping face grew more revealing
by the second. If Isis had been scared that he could read
her eyes earlier, right now she could certainly see things
in his. Chains. Clamped, swollen flesh. Tortures obscene
and sublimely erotic ...
'You're trying to imagine it, aren't you?' she asked him
softly. 'Punishment. Humiliation. Penis bondage.'
He said nothing, and Isis could see he was struggling
with something he didn't quite understand: his own pecul-
iar fantasy yens. The submissive streak that was so wildly
out of character for the big, strong Josh of the real world.
And as she watched him, she understood a startling new
truth. To be Red Cat's plaything was not the something
128

different he needed tonight... To be the slave was too
simple, no real challenge.
'Listen to me, Josh.' She reached out to touch his face.
'What you're thinking... It's the easy way out. I know
your fantasies. You're submissive. You always end up
"taking it" instead of being the prime mover.' She cupped
his cheek and turned him towards the erotic sexual animal
that was Red Cat. 'The real adventure would be to dish
it out, Josh. Bend someone else to your will. Impose. Kick
ass. Dominate.' Discreetly, she pointed in the direction of
the fearsome singer, who even as they stared seemed to
reach out with her flaming feline aura and engulf them.
'It's no use just copping out and being her slave, Josh. If
you want a real trip tonight, you've got to be her.'
Josh didn't agree, that was obvious.
On all his previous adventure nights, he'd been out and
ready for wiring in five minutes, but this time he seemed
to take ages. When he hadn't appeared after a quarter of
an hour, Isis knocked on the bathroom door, entered, and
found him still drying his cock on a towel. She told him
to get a move on.
Josh frowned, but his firm red rod didn't fail him and
Isis eyed it longingly.
'I'm really not so sure about this,' Josh muttered, his
stiff flesh waving before him as Isis led the way into the
treatment room. Leaping lightly onto the couch, he began
a reasoned argument and Isis was forced to smother a
smile. Logic didn't go too well with a semi-naked body
and a rampant horn of an erection.
'Look, this is all supposed to be for my entertainment,
isn't it? I should have the adventure I want. Right?' he
challenged. 'Well I don't want to be that monstrous
woman, Isis. She's a hot piece, but she's just too fucking
weird!'
Isis regarded him narrowly for a few moments, hoping
her condemning look would be the goad he needed.
This was probably the most sexually imaginative man
she'd ever met. He wouldn't let her down... Because
129

she was looking forward to being Red Cat. To being -
temporarily - a woman for whom the bizarre and the
perverted were simply an everyday norm.
"Are you listening?' Josh demanded when she didn't
answer.
'Yes.' Isis remained cool and resumed her silence as she
fitted a few of the straps and sensors, trying desperately
not to stare at his waving sex and wish she was sitting on it.
When she thought he'd stewed long enough, she turned
towards his strapped and gleaming body. 'And I'm begin-
ning to wonder if you're a coward. I used to think you
were the boldest man I'd ever met. I did have some big
plans for you tonight... But now you seem singularly
lacking in bottle.'
"That's not fair!' Josh protested, and Isis could see the
inner debate on his lightly sweating face, and the ancient
anger of impuned machismo. It was the old, old alpha
male story - me Tarzan, you Jane - but Isis found it
deliriously arousing.
'I-'
Josh stopped short when she took hold of his cock and,
taking more time than she needed, slipped the transceiver
cuff over its rosy, dripping-wet tip.
'Hmm...' She turned and looked him squarely in the
eyes.
'I told you... I don't want to be fucking Red Cat!' His
eyes were closed now, his jaw tensed and working.
'Why in heaven's name not? There are millions of men
who'd love a chance to fuck her.'
'I didn't mean that, you contrary bitch!' Isis was glad
his arms were strapped down now; an angry Josh was
capable of just about anything.
'Oh Joshua, Joshua, Joshua,' she murmured, loving the
sweet sexy intimacy of his full christian name. She'd called
him 'Joshua' before... While his prick was deep in her
body. 'Can't you see? This is another frontier. A real
"adventure". You've crossed the gender divide often
enough, but this is an orientation threshold too. You owe
it to yourself, Josh, really you do.'
130

'But I'm pretty dominant in real life ...' He was teeter-
ing now, she saw, and her next words drove home the
point.
'It's not the same. Not a bit. Believe me, I've tried it.'
That clinched it. The change in his face was startling. If
she'd done it, he wanted it. Their empathy was still true
blue.
'Okay, then, situation normal. You win.'
His slow grin, when it came, was twice as dangerous as
his anger. Isis felt something go 'oof' in her loins; his
smile as potent in her as his strong thrusting cock had
been. 'Let's roll then, shall we?' he whispered, his licking
of his lips a sexy assent.
Not quite 'on it', Isis set about her tasks ...
A personality profile of the Cat was a simple matter
for the 'Zone's computer; the singer's notorious life was
public domain, and Isis had already inputted all the data
she needed. It was all there. An openly sado-masochistic
lifestyle, and pain-based relationships. An existence where
it was quite natural to have a bound man at your mercy ...
Isis looked down at Josh, and with as much tenderness
as she could muster, settled him deep into the shaped
leather of the couch. One keystroke and its lower half
was splitting, easing apart the cheeks of his bottom for
the entry of the anal/prostate transceiver.
How far were they into the fantasy already? she
wondered dreamily, slathering his rear with the cool soft
lubricant and positioning the probe against his anus. Two
more keystrokes set it moving, and she turned and took
his hand, squeezing it reassuringly as the dildo bored its
slow, sure way into his rectum.
Josh's eyes, as he was being penetrated, were almost
her undoing. They widened hugely, glittered with sweet
humiliation, and she was one with him utterly. She wanted
to be plugged in the selfsame way. To have her bottom
stuffed and possessed... To be rammed, lusciously, by
his long thick cock and be nothing more than an open,
subjugated hole for his pleasure.
It took every last ounce of her inner discipline to finish
131

the programming, apply the rest of the sensors, then very
carefully inject the final shot of dream-inducing hallucino-
gen into Josh's bare forearm.
Almost immediately his eyelids drooped and he
moaned softly, wriggling his muscular bottom on the
sturdy plastic mass inside it. Wires rustled as his cock
waved and Isis felt her vulva shiver, struggling with an
entrapment all of its own. She pressed the last few keys,
covered Josh's eyes and then tugged her own headset into
place.
Juices squished in her panties as she settled on her
stool, and she knew that before long there would be more.
With the bizarre events ahead, her underwear and her
smock would both be soaked.
Keeping her voice low, she spoke into his ear. 'Are you
ready, sweetheart? Do you feel the straps? The probe?
Soon it'll be you doing the same to someone else. Making
them surrender. Making them be nothing but yours. You'll
be the Cat, my angel, and his life will be one perfect hell
on earth... He'll be "Nothing" and you'll be
everything... An empress. A goddess. You'll extinguish
him...'
Isis felt her flesh respond to her own incantation; images
formed in the sight within sight. A few flashes of Josh
suffering blissfully at her hands: his body agonised, deme-
aned and exposed ... Then the pictures phased seamlessly
into others. Other bodies, other faces.
'I dunno,' she heard him murmur as he started his drug-
hazed drift. 'It... It doesn't...'
'You mustn't worry,' she said, her voice strong to reach
him as his senses went into overdrive and he became
a person he wasn't. 'This is consensual domination and
submission, my angel. It's done for pleasure... For
affection...' Pressing the final key, she hitched her ride
on his mind. 'There's no hate in it, Josh, only love. Just
love... Remember that. Remember remember
remember...'
132

10
Cat's-Paw
It was morning, and as a narrow beam of sunlight hit Red
Cat the domina's face, the heat of it kissed her awake.
Without opening her eyes, she stretched deeply and luxur-
iantly, offering her long body to the newness of the day
and welcoming the return of her strength. This moment
was a special kind of ritual for Red, something secret,
private and informal. Putting her fingers between her
thighs, she slid them into her sleep-warmed sex, then
brought them back to her lips and licked off their coating
of love-dew.
Sexy pussy, she thought smugly, lapping each digit in
turn, then smiling her slow feline smile. She touched the
wetness again, but didn't stir or rub it. There was time
enough for that when she'd woken up properly - and
surveyed all the good things that were hers.
Lying motionless, her hand still at her crotch, Red Cat
flicked open her eyes but didn't look around. She had
no need to, she knew exactly what this room of hers
contained ... and a silence didn't always mean emptiness.
Stretching again, she looked downwards at her own
body. Sleep had bunched up her red silk chemise and
from the waist down she was completely exposed. Red
had no false modesty - in fact she didn't have any modesty
at all ~ and she applauded the excellent view. A board-
flat belly; a deep, indented navel; slim, athletic thighs that
were corded slightly with muscle. Her quim was bare
and immaculate, shaven and pouting. Moisture glittered
133

thickly in the groove, and her burrowing fingers were
shiny.
There was a lot of her favourite colour down there too.
The crimson of her skimpy shift. Blushing tea-rose pink
where it had twisted against her skin while she slept.
Succulent, dripping scarlet that shone in the chink
between her legs. She shifted her thighs to expose more,
and gasped. Silvery knife-like frissons jolted her loins, her
arousal hot and deep though she was still only partially
awake. She needed to urinate too, and she patted her
clitoris, then hissed between her teeth as her mind filled
with vague scraps of fantasy. Herself with another woman.
That woman massaging her aching bladder in a cool dark
place. Teasing, whispers and agonised moans. It was excit-
ing, but strangely unfocused, and she filed it away for
another time. There was no need to chase dreams and
visions today.
A tiny sound brought her fully awake. It was one she'd
been waiting for and hoping for, and the reason her quim
was so sticky. Still not looking around, or rising from the
warmth of her bed, she flexed her slender fingers and
started to masturbate.
Being shaven was the perfect condition for a confirmed
self-lover like Red Cat. With no hair between her legs, it
was easy to get around and be precise. There was no
straggling thatch to blunt her long hard strokes. And Red's
pubes had been straggly... TTiick and bushy, her quim
had been pretty in a way, but not the sleek uncompromis-
ing shape she'd wanted. It was perfection now, although
she could feel stubble already as she ran two fingers in a
vee down the edges of her thick outer labia. Someone
would have to shave her today, she decided.
For a moment, she tried to remember what it had been
like being hairy down there. Having a dense, furiously red
thicket to match her dreadlocks - the heavy, tumbling fall
of softly fuzzed strands that she'd been growing since the
day she'd first understood herself. The day she'd dis-
covered her secret and awesome nature, then reached out
and possessed its great power. She'd been just a girl
134

then, and even though she was only now reaching her
prime, her magnificent dreads already reached down to
her equally magnificent arse.
Shuffling for a better purchase, her movements made
the bedsprings creak; and as they protested, there was
another of those tell-tale sounds. Two in fact. A faint
muffled groan and the mercurial tinkle of metal falling
against metal. Both were barely audible, but if she'd been
a light sleeper, the second would probably have woken
her. She smiled and noted the 'offence' for later.
Bending her knees, she flung her legs wide open and
admired the abandonment of her pale belly and elegant
limbs. Her slit itself was vivid, trickling and tumescent,
and impatient, she put both hands to work. With a finger
pressing on her clitoris, she put two from her other hand
inside her, probing for the secret, interior pleasure zone.
When she found it and rubbed, a sharp white spasm arced
from one place to the other, and she cried out exultantly.
Yes, oh bloody hell yes! It was gorgeous, but it felt
deliciously like pain... a sensation she understood with
some intimacy.
Yipping like a cur, she prodded within at her full, burst-
ing bladder. Then prodded again, beating the bed with
her heels when it all got too much and she climaxed in a
long hard jolt.
It was sharp and bright and good, but left a need for
more in its wake. The need to pee lingered too, a pleasure
in its own right as the pressure still pushed out her clitoris.
Greediness tempted her to rub again, but she drew back
and refrained. There was the whole day for that if she
needed it.
Shallowing her breath, she listened again. And sure
enough, there were the tiny sounds.
The faint gobbling of saliva as it bubbled around an
obstruction; a body rocking obsessively yet trying at the
same time not to make a noise. Thinking of her own
bladder, she could well understand his torments. Poor
sweet thing, he'd cried like a baby when she'd made him
drink all that water. Last night...
135

Leaping lightly to her feet, she smiled catishly at her
own wince of discomfort. It would be much much worse
for him, she thought, walking around to the foot of her
bed and looking downwards.
A slender, naked and very beautiful young man was
chained to the stainless steel footrail. He was heavily
blindfolded and around his neck was a narrow collar of
plain black leather. His hair was even blacker than the
collar, and shaven to velvet against his scalp. A hideous
ball-gag stretched open his soft red mouth, and his cock
was fiercely erect, its bulging, fire-red length encased in
an elaborate lacing of thin, tightly woven thongs.
Aware of her nearness, he moaned again, as if there
was now no point in being stoic. Red Cat reached down
and very gently removed his blindfold.
Huge nut-brown eyes blinked back at her; bottomless
pools of suffering and kittenlike devotion. He flinched
and let his eyes drift downwards, then gobbled again,
double-damned and knowing it, for having looked at his
mistress's body.
'You might as well look, Nothing,' she said softly, then
thrust her sleep-scented crotch a little closer to his blush-
ing face.
He lurched towards her, eyes squeezing shut at the
misery of movement, but was balked immediately. His
chain had only nine short inches of play. His wiry
shoulders almost popped at the joints, and his arms,
pinioned behind him at wrist and elbow, fought in vain
for their freedom of movement.
'I said "look",' she said, her voice quieter, but sounding
loud. 'I thought you were beginning to learn, Nothing,
but I see I was wrong. We'd better give all this some
thought today, hadn't we?'
The bound boy nodded, and Red noted the pleasing
way his purple-capped penis bobbed and waved in time to
it. She edged closer, and he remained still this time, tears
glittering in his fine dark eyes and a single jewel of pre-
come poised on the tip of his prick. Which was the saltiest?
136

Red wondered idly. Tears or jism? It would be nice to
taste both and compare them, but now wasn't the moment.
Her swollen bladder gave a sudden throb and she
frowned. She was starting to feel uncomfortable...
Returning to her bedside table, she picked up a small
handset and aimed it towards Nothing. The digital padlock
on his collar flashed once and sprang open, then his thin
securing chain dropped away and jingled as it fell against
the footrail.
Red pointed towards a moulded chair of shiny red com-
fyplas that stood in the corner of the room, then pointed
again to a spot some feet from where she stood, a rose-
painted tile that was the floor's natural focus. Nothing got
awkwardly to his feet, gulping around the bulbous rubber
sphere in his mouth, and Red tried to imagine how his
throbbing loins might feel. Worse than hers? Or better?
What was the difference? Bad and good were just two
halves of one whole if you thought about it...
Keeping her face an impassive mask, she watched
Nothing struggle with the chair. Hugely hampered by the
handcuffs, it took him quite some time to drag it to
the rose, but eventually he got it there and nudged it into
position with his nose. Conscious of a great pounding in
her genitals, and that urine was seeping down her thigh,
Red walked slowly across the room and settled on her
red plastic throne.
A lift of her fingers brought Nothing slithering to his
knees before her. He was shaking slightly, his eyes fixed
on the tiled floor. Reaching out with the finger that had
summoned him, she tilted up his chin and studied his
brimming tears; then, still with the same finger, she circled
his horribly stretched mouth. There were beads of sweat
on his upper lip and saliva dribbling from his lower one.
Giving him no warning, she slid her hands around the
back of his head and unfastened the strap of his gag.
Drawing the monster slowly from his lips, she first made
him kiss it, then flung it away across the room. Sticking
her fingers into his mouth, she let him suck them like a
ravenous infant. Her vagina pulsed anew with hunger,
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reminding her of its need to be fed, and sliding her bottom
to the lip of the chair, she opened her legs and pointed
again. Nothing edged forward to obey.
It was a move as familiar as well-worn boot, though for
Nothing, far less comfortable. Red watched him distantly,
letting no sign of her tangled feelings reach her face. It was
easy to look detached, but below, her creature's pathetic
struggles made her flesh convulse and drip. He'd love that,
she knew, even bowed as he was beneath the burden of
a hundred hardships ...
Oh God, boy, you're so lovely, she thought behind the
fastness of her dominating mask. In secret, she admired
the way he licked his dry lips before putting them to her.
The way his plump red tongue darted round the bow of his
even redder mouth. Respectfully. Obediently. Beautifully.
'Get on with it,' she snapped, filling her voice with fury
to hide the way he moved her.
The touch of his tongue, when it came, was divine. He'd
given her magnificent head the very first night they'd ever
met; but now, after months of intensive practice, he'd
become a true virtuoso. His tongue flicked efficiently to
all the best spots, and his pronounced lapping noises only
added to her surging pleasure. Coiling to a point, the firm
wet explorer stabbed hard at her clitoris and she made a
gutteral sound of approval. Then it flattened, swooped
and scooped, and drew lubrication out of her vagina and
back to the very tip of her clit.
Stab, swipe, stab. Flick flick flick. He worked forwards
and back, side to side; and Red fought a weight that was
both mental and physical: the powerful urge to praise him,
to say or more probably scream something that was utterly
and completely preposterous.
With his arms shackled, there was little Nothing could
do but lick her; and conscious of other compelling urges,
Red pressed her fingers to the curve of her belly. Yowling
as pressure knocked the root of her clitoris, she orgasmed
like a wave and yellow-gold urine gushed visibly into
Nothing's open mouth. Her sex pulsing wildly, she emp-
tied her swollen bladder in a glorious, collapsing release,
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laughing inside as he struggled to drink her flow ... even
though more fluid would only increase his own agony.
Still coming, she dashed his face away and rubbed viol-
ently at her jumping clit. Grunting freely, she worked and
worked and worked herself until all was calm and quiet
between her legs, and her soul had returned to the world
of her and him. Replete, with her features completely
neutral, she looked down into the wet, wide-eyed face of
the man who had so obediently served her.
His eyes were huge with distress, yet fired from within
by a familiar radiance. His soft mouth glistened. Saliva,
piss, her juices ... perhaps even his own tears of ecstasy.
A thought intrigued her. He was expressly forbidden to
emit anything from his cock voluntarily, was this his fluids
finding their own way out?
Red dismissed her fancies and stood up abruptly. 'Filth!
How dare you look at me?' she snarled, knocking him off
balance with hardness at a moment when most would
have been soft. 'Get down. Face to the floor. Arse in the
air.'
He obeyed awkwardly, his eyes more tearful than ever.
'Facing away from me,' she ordered, then, as he com-
plied and safe in the knowledge he couldn't see her, she
leant on the chair for support and placed her naked foot
on the upthrust curve of his bottom. She knew he was
suppressing his groans and biting his hps, but nevertheless,
she wrung a bleat of outrage from him as her toes travelled
rudely over his rear, then slid into the groove and pressed
in hard against his anus. She considered forcing her big
toe inside, and heard his harsh gasp as he instinctively
second-guessed her.
Not yet, sweetheart, she told him silently, then kicked
him fair and square on the butt, making sure the point of
impact was exactly on his rose-brown hole.
He was sobbing helplessly as she walked from the room
to her already running shower, and the thought that he
might weep his way through the whole of his wait made
her sex ache all over again.
In the shower, she couldn't stop thinking about him. As
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her maid, Andrea, dried her, she imagined his smooth
young body and what it must be going through. Frus-
tration made him fabulous, and pain made him perfect...
While she cleaned her teeth, she thought of his teeth.
And his lips and his long nimble tongue.
Most of all, as Andrea massaged scented lotion into her
skin, and between her legs the slow, sly massage brought
an inevitable orgasm, Red Cat thought fondly of a beauti-
ful tortured toy - the leather-bound column of her victim's
superb young cock.
She imagined it, bulging in its straps, as she lay recover-
ing from her climax, her nude body white against the black
leather massage table. She could hear Andrea fussing with
towels and toiletries and suchlike, but all the time she was
listening for moans from the the bedroom beyond. Not
hearing them, she sat up and unwound the damp towel
from around her unusual hair, testing its wetness between
her squeezing fingers. Not so bad. A spell under the infra-
red lamps would have it fluffed and ready in minutes, but
she decided to let it dry au naturel.
Andy, go into the bedroom, please,' she said quietly,
reaching for a red silk robe and shrugging it round her
shoulders. If it's made any mess, you have my permission
to punish it, and then you may bring it in here for its
ablutions.'
'Yes, ma'am,' murmured Andrea. Red caught a narrow
smile on the girl's face as she left the room, and she
wondered if she'd been too unkind this time. There was
no love lost between Andrea and Nothing. Far from it.
The blonde maid was insanely jealous of Red Cat's pretty
slave boy and never missed even the thinnest chance to
diminish him.
A black marble counter ran the length of the bathroom
wall, and a selection of lingerie had been laid out of it for
Red's perusal. Every item was costly, custom-made and
exquisite, but without hesitation she chose a crimson satin
G-string and slid it on under her robe. She'd been shaved
and creamed after her shower and the sheer garment
clung like a film to her doubly bared sex-lips. It seemed
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to make her feel more naked than ever, and as she pulled
it up tightly between her bottom cheeks, she felt the string-
like thong caress the crumpled bud of her anus.
Alive with reborn lust, she was on the point of fingering
her quim when there was a sharp sound from the next
room. The crack of skin against skin, closely followed by
a storm of childlike weeping, then more ringing, merciless
slaps. Her stilled finger surged eagerly under the red silk,
wormed its way between her outer lips and hit the target
just as the gulping voice broke and whimpered piteously.
She rubbed quick and hard, and came off again just as
Andrea dragged Nothing into the bathroom, yanking him
along with a finger hooked cruelly through his collar.
Red pushed her ruined G-string firmly into her slit,
then closed her kimono to deny both maid and slave
her sex. Leaping lightly up onto the massage couch, she
assumed the lotus position, intensely aware of her quim
pouching forward beneath the thin red robe and a sodden
strip of silk pulled tight between her still-throbbing folds.
The stimulation was invisible, but strangely enough,
Nothing's abused penis pointed straight towards it.
'Why was he punished?' she enquired of the smirking
Andrea.
'He'd started to wet himself,' the blonde answered, her
pretty face scrunching with disgust. 'He lost control... I
saw him peeing.' Her small, button-perfect nose wrinkled
on the word.
'Well, perhaps, now, we can all see that,' Red said
calmly. Beneath the red robe, she felt her cunt flow over
the imprisoned G-string. 'Bring him to the toilet,' she
nodded to the lavatory, less than a yard from where
she was posed, 'then unlace him.'
The blonde maid did as she was told, with glee on her
doll-like face. There was abject misery on Nothing's more
truly beautiful one, and Red smiled to herself. Humiliation
before Andrea was stern, stern test of his mettle.
She saw him wince and gnaw his lip as the thin strap-
pings were wrenched unceremoniously off his flesh. His
cock was an angry burgundy-red, and the marks of his
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binding were livid darker stripes that criss-crossed the
whole imposing length. He stayed silent beneath what
must have been considerable pain, but sobbed out loud
when Andrea pressed slyly against his belly and his drum-
tight bladder beneath.
'Andy!' Red said sharply, shaken by an empathic throb.
'Kindly get on with it.' Then she watched, rapt, as the
maid's pale fingers encompassed the fiery, quivering prick
and pointed it roughly at the bowl of the toilet.
Nothing's eyes were beseeching. Not this! he seemed
to beg. Red held his gaze and nodded.
The slight gesture was for Nothing alone, but Andrea
took action. Jiggling his irritated organ, she did something
quick and jerky behind him that Red couldn't see but had
a pretty good idea of.
With a loud whinnying cry, Nothing ejaculated, his
wasted semen jetting out into the plain white bowl. After
a minute pause his penis leapt again, gave a couple of
short spurts, then gushed forth a hard yellow stream that
splattered like a hose against the gleaming porcelain.
As the urine flowed on and on, it was his eyes that Red
watched, fighting her own sobs of pleasure as his thick
black lashes fluttered down and fat tears oozed like dia-
monds onto the fawn-gold skin of his cheeks.
Joy and pain. A twin release in conditions that shamed
him utterly...
Red felt her quim convulse again, and ignoring both
maid and weeping slave, she slid off the couch and walked
calmly out of the room, closing the door behind her.
In the bedroom, she threw herself onto the silk-sheeted
bed, opened her legs as wide as she was able and mastur-
bated furiously.
Rubbing without grace or artistry, she writhed and tum-
bled in the same spot where she'd orgasmed before...
but with her finger poised for the final killer stroke, she
stopped.
This is just being greedy, Red, she told herself sternly,
then smiled a slow, wry smile. How on earth could she
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impose order on others when her own interior control
was so hopeless?
Her sex still hot and needy, she closed her legs and sat
up. The day had hardly begun and she was already con-
sumed by mad energies. They were eating her up, devour-
ing her, and yet in a strange way she also felt renewed.
She was being eaten, yes, but only to be spat out again as
something far fiercer and freer and stronger ...
Each time it happened it was the same; her own out-
rageous cravings invigorated her, and her imagination
lifted her to a high, pure realm where both art and disci-
pline could thrive.
Ready for all challenges, she sprang up and began to
dress with her quim still wet. The tissues between her legs
were engorged, and neither sitting, standing, nor lying
brought ease from it, but even so she knew the very lack
of satiation was a goad to her; it was the cutting edge that
she needed.
He and she were going to work this morning, after a
fashion, but mindful of the day's true purpose she chose
clothing that would suit its special requirements.
Lycra.
A brief breast-hugging top and cycling pants embraced
her like a thin red skin. The shorts gripped her vulva like
an insolent hand, aggravating her state of arousal and
soaking up moisture in seconds. She felt the seam slip
between her folds and rest against her clitoris. It reminded
her of...
No, not yet! she thought, pulling them up tighter but
plucking away the fabric from her groove. Smiling again,
she wondered what the inventive Andrea was up to now.
What she was doing to Nothing, how severely, and what
with.
That girl had a million demeaning tricks up her sleeve,
but that was the beauty of being able to hand him over
to a subordinate. It reduced him even further, bent his
will by showing him his own unworthiness. As if to prove
the point, another skin-to-skin smack rang out; audible
143

even through the closed door, as was the high clear cry
of a man in acute, unexpected pain.
'Andy? What's happening in there?' Red called out to
them imperiously. 'I'm ready and waiting!' She wasn't, but
it took just a second to slip on her aerobic ankle boots,
and tie her damp hair back with a thong, one of the thin
leather strips that had coiled around Nothing's stiff cock.
A sidelong glance in the mirror assured her that she was
stunning even without her famous and elaborate make-up.
Cosmetic tattooing of her hps and around her eyes meant
her catlike features were always defined, and her skin -
pampered by Andrea's ministrations - was a pure milk-
white ivory all over without benefit of artificial aid. Red
knew she could be a devil-goddess nude and straight from
the shower if she wanted. She very often did.
The door flew open and Nothing was propelled into
the room, by a well-placed foot, Red suspected from his
ignominious stumble. Their eyes met for a second - plenty
long enough for her to decree that both the stumble and
the look itself were noted and would be dealt with. He
lowered his eyes again, as the conventions laid down, and
Red's lacquered fingertips tingled. He looked so choice.
So ripe. So ready.
Andrea had dowsed him in ice-water and his cock was
cowering close to his body, its generous girth crimped
against his pubes. Red nodded faintly as she gave him
another black mark, and one to Andrea too. Presentation
was everything in this, and a stiff cock essential. It was up
to Andrea to maintain her charge's rigidity.
Red had to admit, though, that apart from his flaccidity,
Nothing was a joy to behold. Water droplets glittered like
rhinestones on his suede scalp and his fine body gleamed
with health despite its night of privation. He was still
naked, apart from his collar, but there was a also a rather
fetching red hand-shape adorning his long muscular thigh
- a good slap well delivered on a skin that marked like
magic. Maybe she could be lenient with Andrea after all?
'Come along! We haven't got all day.' Red swept from
the room, knowing full well that they did have all day.
144

She sensed servant and slave following behind her at the
prescribed distance, and she wondered if Nothing would
risk watching her bottom as she walked. She increased
the lilt of her hips and contemplated an on-a-sixpence
spin to catch him out. No, it was too obvious.
The music room was studiedly gothic, dark as a classic
horror flick until the computer arrays came on. Even then,
the technology itself gave the room a 'Doctor Frank-
enstein' ambience. Red wasn't sure who was the monster
today, but she still loved the atmosphere. It was the perfect
backdrop for anarchy, she thought, and turning, found
both the naked man and the sleazily clothed woman wait-
ing silently for her word of command.
Andy's getting too fond of that costume, Red decided,
subtly annoyed by the sullen blonde and her tacky black
nylon micro-skirt. It's time you were put back in your
place, young lady, she threatened silently. But not today.
Andrea was only the best supporting actress in this
dream...
'I don't need you any more for now, Andy.' Red kept
her face haughty, but grinned inside at Andrea's look of
disappointment. Honesty and single-mindedness were the
girl's most sterling qualities. She loved to terrorise
Nothing and made no secret of it. 'But before you go, one
thing.'
'Yes, ma'am?'
Out of the corner of her eye Red noticed Nothing's
instant tension.
'For God's sake make him worth looking at.' She
nodded in the direction of his cock. It was perking a little
now, but still not as impressive as it ought to be.
'By what means, ma'am?' the blonde enquired, her
voice squeaky with excitement.
'Good grief, girl, use your initiative. I couldn't care less
as long as he's presentable. I've got a guest coming shortly
and I'll want him at full stand when she arrives,' she
finished, almost creaming at the look of pure horror on
Nothing's golden face.
Yes, little one, you hadn't bargained for that, had you?
145

Should she tell him who it was? And would that make
things better... or worse?
Andrea went about her work with gusto. Red saw
Nothing's long fingers clench as the maid slid onto her
knees, and then, as if handling a particularly tasty delicacy,
fed his thickening cock into her heavily lipsticked mouth.
Red liked this feeding image, especially when Andrea's
head started nodding rhythmically and her sticky pink lips
slobbered around Nothing's almost instant expansion.
Moving closer, Red stood behind the gobbling maid
and stared into her slave's brown eyes. His mouth was
twitching and he tried to look away - to the side rather
than down at his own immolation - but Red tapped the
corner of her own long slanted eye and wordlessly com-
manded his gaze.
What are you feeling? she asked without speaking,
knowing beyond doubt that he 'heard' her. She knew also
that he wanted what was happening to him as much as he
hated it. That he loved the shame, the surrender, the
submission. That he flew like a bird on the ache and ache
for denied release, and the far more befuddling desire for
the greater, more complicated shame ahead of him.
She could see the fight on his face; his struggle against
a stimulation so spitefully inflicted. He was being sucked
on and slavered over by a woman who despised and
resented him, and Red could see his spirit being bowed
by the weight of callous arousal, and the knowledge that
there was no hope whatsoever of it being resolved. At
least not for a long, long time.
She could see him begging for it to stop, pleading that
it go on and on and on and on ...
Joy and pain, long may they reign.
'Enough now. Show me his condition.'
Andrea pulled back, then rose to her feet, wiping her
mouth on her frilly white apron. Her hps still glistened as
she slid her pale fingers under the dark, straining bar of
Nothing's penis, and offered it like a cut of lean meat for
her mistress's inspection.
'Good enough, I suppose,' Red murmured thoughtfully,
146

'but work him with your fingers for a minute, and then
you can go.' It was difficult not to laugh as Andrea duti-
fully checked her dainty chronometer before taking hold
of her victim's swaying sex. Red turned away and fiddled
with the mixing console. Mistresses could be seen to be
grimly amused, but giggling insanely was a no-no.
Red had no timepiece, but after what she estimated was
the minute, she turned to review the results of Andrea's
labours. Nothing stood like a statue, his limbs as rigid as
his cherry-red prick and his handsome jaw tight with
agony. There was no doubt about it, Andrea was good at
what she did.
Red dismissed her cordially. The girl would get another
crack at Nothing later, but right now Red wanted him all
to herself.
'Well then? Get on with it,' she said crisply, careful that
her voice didn't betray her.
They got on with it. Nothing was preparing orches-
trations for their new album and in this, paradoxically, he
was the master. The maestro. Red was a talented, purely
instinctive performer who could control her audience
totally and belt out a song without really knowing - in a
purely technical sense - how she did it. She could hear
music in her head but found notation tedious, and the
theory of arrangement stifling. The skilled, artistic trans-
formation of her ideas into finished songs was Nothing's
sphere of excellence.
And that was what created the excitement. Sooner or
later, as the superior musician, he'd slip up and tell his
mistress what to do... And give Red just the point of
order she needed - if one was needed - to subject him to
heavy discipline. She could already barely contain herself,
and as Nothing powered up the system and she sat
down and doodled on the main keyboard, it was all she
could do not to reach into her shorts and stroke herself.
She didn't have long to wait.
Within the first few moments there was a minor
infringement. Nothing's cock brushed against her arm as
he reached out to key in one of the sequencers. Red said
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nothing, but her warning glance had him shrinking back,
his face crimson, his eyes cast down.
The music came together surprisingly well - a cohesive
sound built from Red's improvised but melodic vocals,
and Nothing's synthesised approximations of the various
instrumental lines the whole band would play when they
eventually assembled in the studio.
But for all the genuine musical progress they made, the
whole exercise was - at its heart - just a shadowplay. A
convention. A context for a brighter and more dangerous
game.
The flashpoint arrived - inevitably - when the
accomplished, academic musician attempted to correct
the naturally gifted but basically untrained and untrain-
able singer ...
'But Red, you can't -'
There was a long crystalline silence.
Red stared into the middle distance as her black libido
rose up and bayed to be fed. It was ravenous, untameable,
and it bawled and howled like a living thing inside her.
The thin lycra of her costume was suddenly two sizes
too tight, and her whole body seemed to pulsate like an
enormous, tumid sex. Sparks danced in her hair, and she
wanted to spit white fire at the world and wank until her
fingers seized up in exhaustion ...
'You might want to think again about that, my angel,'
she said quietly, thrilling to her power and her softly
phrased threat. Nothing hung his head, then slid gracefully
to his knees at her side. Red remained quite still where
she was, seated on the old fashioned dark wood music
stool.
'Forgive me, Mistress,' he whispered, and knowing he
couldn't see it, Red smiled with elation. He was locked
into his role now, and the temptation to caress herself was
more urgent than ever before.
But to control him was also to control herself...
Pleasure must simmer like a shaman's potion, get thicker
and richer and darker. And then, and only then, be
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enjoyed at the moment when release was essential and
unstoppable.
'I think not, slave,' she replied after a long, long pause,
ascending to the entirety of her own role. 'You forget
yourself It's time to impress upon you the lowliness of
your status... Reacquaint you with the taste of
obedience.'
'Forgive me, Mistress,' he repeated, eyes still searching
the floor.
Red pounced on an opening.
'Were you given permission to speak, I wonder?' she
mused aloud. 'Perhaps I should stop up your insolent
mouth?' She could see him shaking now, see gooseflesh
on his skin. She almost climaxed at the sight of it.
Rising to her feet, leaving Nothing hunched by the
stool, Red crossed to the bulky, lovingly polished side-
board in whose drawer - the previous day - she'd secreted
a number of 'props'. She took out a ball-gag similar to
the one he'd spent the night in, and then, making an
elaborate show of enjoying herself, rubbed it slowly back
and forth between her legs. Not hard enough to induce a
climax, but more than enough to coat the rubber with the
flavour of her sex.
Red watched Nothing's eyes widen, then his jaws start
working as she buckled the thing into place. Hie rubber
was specially treated to be neutral, so the only taste in
his mouth would be hers... He was forbidden to touch
himself - unless ordered to the contrary - and she shivered
with pleasure as his fingers flexed convulsively at his sides
and his stiff prick wept clear fluid.
'Now, slave,' she went on, knowing what the taste of
her juices was doing - it turned her on, so Nothing must
be going insane - 'Now, slave, let's consider her true
humility might be learned.' Glancing around, her gaze lit
mischievously on another of her carefully placed 'props'.
'Right, over that stool. Immediately!'
Staggering as if he were drunk, Nothing hurried to obey,
draping himself over the solidly built music stool. The
pose was uncomfortable because the stool was designed
149

for sitting on, not lying over. He could neither bend his
legs nor straighten them, and as his arms and upper body
hung forward at an awkward angle, his erection pointed
down towards the carpet. For Red's purposes, his naked
rear was perfectly exposed and presented.
'Hmm...' She placed her hand on his bare bottom,
fingers delicately curling, touching the crack but not quite
stroking it. 'Not bad... A passable display. But it lacks a
certain something. We need to amuse my guest.'
She made much of pausing, of considering. She'd
already decided what the final touch was, but Nothing
needed time to speculate and be frightened.
Returning to the sideboard, she pulled an unused black
candle from one of the room's many antique candelabra,
then walked slowly back to stand beside her trembling
slave.
'Yes,' she murmured, drawing the smooth wax cylinder
tauntingly up the crack of his arse. When she pushed
slightly on the small rosy hole, he bounced on the stool
and whimpered into his gag like a baby.
'Be still and be silent,' she warned, deliberately with-
drawing the candle for a moment to give him hope. 'Open
yourself
Swivelling on his platform of shame, Nothing pleaded
up at her with his great brown eyes.
'I said be still. Open your bottom with your fingers, and
do it now or you'll get a spanking. I'm sure St Etienne
will love it if there's a red backside on display, but I'll be
very angry if you force me into it.'
Another whimper.
'Silence! Open your hole or I'll thrash it for you!'
His whole body shaking furiously, Nothing reached
back with both hands and thumbed open the portal of his
anus. As the tiny orifice winked and fluttered, Red moved
forward, spat on the thin tip of the candle, then gently
pushed it in.
The honeyed flesh beneath her fingers pulsed slowly
in reflex, and Red could well imagine the unthinkable
150

sensations that were roiling inside his rectum. What the
nerve-ends were signalling to his brain ...
'Don't be such great big baby,' she chided, 'It's only
one tiny candle ... Before this day's over you'll be begging
for just a candle.'
He sobbed, and deciding to overlook the sound, Red
massaged his buttocks soothingly.
'Easy, little one. Relax and you might start to like it.
You look very pretty with a candle stuck in your
bottom ...' His sobs deepened. 'I might even suggest that
she waggle it about for you.'
This was all a stroke of pure devilment on Red's part.
St Etienne was her dearest and most like-minded friend,
and in the real world, a woman who Nothing was power-
fully attracted to. He'd admitted several times that he'd
like to go to bed with her, and to exhibit him to her like
this was a twist so delicious it almost made Red giddy.
As if on cue, the internal communicator beeped.
'Your guest, ma'am,' announced Andrea's disembodied
voice.
'Very good, Andy, ask her to come up. She knows the
way.' She placed her hand gently on Nothing's bottom
and fondled him slowly. 'And then will you go and prepare
the special room. I'll be using it later.'
Heated flesh tembled beneath her fingers. But was it in
fear? Or anticipation? Red felt both, and the mix made
her hot sex quicken. She placed her finger on the long
protruding shank of the candle, swirled it lightly, and
heard a tiny moan from behind the gag. 'So much to do
today, my angel,' she murmured softly into his ear.
The door opened, and Red smiled in welcome, delighted
as ever by the face and figure of her striking and unusual
friend.
Addicted to wearing men's clothing, St Etienne was as
bewildering to the eye as she was beautiful. She wore her
hair in a severe shcked back bob, her make-up was
seriously strange, and her mannerisms were as camp as a
drag queen's. It was almost impossible for the uninitiated
to work out where she was coming from, and today she
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appeared to be on some kind of militaristic kick on top
of everything else.
Dressed in a natty set of haute couture fatigues, she
sidled over to Red and stood close beside her, looking
downwards. She seemed entirely unfazed by the sight of
a naked man stretched across a piano stool with a candle
sticking out of his arse.
'My darling Cat, how utterly charming,' she drawled,
patting her sleekly gelled hair, a gesture that Red found
both affected and curiously appealing, 'but you shouldn't
have bothered just for me.'
'Oh ... it's nothing,' murmured Red, her laugh low and
husky.
'That's true,' observed St Etienne, licking her delicately
sculpted hps, 'but Lord, doesn't he have a beautiful arse
on him! And as for you, my dear...' She turned to Red,
her eyes sparkling, her mouth moist and slack. 'You look
good enough to eat.'
St Etienne was one of life's most acute sexual observers
and had a keener nose for a potential fuck than anyone
Red had ever met. Right now, she was staring hard at
Red's crotch, her perfectly plucked eyebrows quirked in
amusement.
'No panties under lycra? Oh, sweetheart, how naughty!'
Her eyes flicked to Nothing's impaled arse, then back to
Red's well-stained shorts. 'It's just like being in a candy
store here. I simply don't know where to start first.'
Red stared back at her. St Etienne was eccentric but
bewitching... and beneath that army drag - or any of
the other peculiar outfits she was wont to wear - there
was a glorious female body that screwed like a wild animal
with lovers of either sex and in any known quantity. She
was the succulent sinful frosting on the feast of Nothing's
great shame. Red felt hungry now - beyond her own
power to suppress it - and with a sigh of resignation she
thrust the heel of her hand against her quim.
'That bad, huh?' St Etienne murmured. 'Though it's
hardly surprising...' She glanced at Nothing's twitching,
naked cheeks. 'Mind if I help myself?'
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'Be my guest.' Still clutching at her loins Red staggered
across to one of the leather-covered wing chairs.
With a perfect view of her friend and the 'amusement',
she settled back into the chair's deep, dark comfort and
felt her flesh shiver wetly. Overdoing it as usual, St Eti-
enne cracked her fingers like a burlesque masseuse, laid
both hands squarely on Nothing's smooth bottom, then
began, slowly, to manipulate ...
'God, what a fabulous bum,' she crooned, mounding
the firm, blushing flesh and pulling it this way and that.
'And this is so yummy.' She flicked the candle.
Nothing was in terrible trouble now. He groaned as the
candle bobbed in his body, the tortured sound stifled by
his gag. Tears dripped continuously from his eyes and the
curve of his back was pink with shame. Strings of juice
were dangling from his penis like sap.
Inside her lycra Red was just as sticky from watching
him. Bloated with blood, her labia ached and throbbed,
and her fingertips slipped and slid as she rubbed at the
stuff of her shorts.
Leaving Nothing to St Etienne's strange whims, Red
Cat gave herself up solely to pleasure. He couldn't see
her now, so it was all right to lose her cool, kick off her
boots, peel off her shorts, and open her legs up wide and
drape them over the chair arms. The upholstery felt like
Nothing's velvety scalp, and the empty air tingled on her
clitoris. Within seconds she was bucking and heaving.
Orgasm took her almost before she was ready. Two
hard strokes and she was arching, coming, crying out;
gouging the chair arm with her free hand while the other
went to work with a will. Massaging and swirling, she
sustained the first note of her climax and played it out as
a high, clear chord.
Yet even as she came, her brain still listened and
monitored.
She heard the sound of a slap. A bubbling gasp. Muffled
words. 'Oh no, you don't, buster! That's not for you to
see!'
Then more slaps, repeating in a fast steady sequence.
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There was a rustling and a tussling, and finally, when she
opened her weighted eyelids, Red saw St Etienne
crouched at Nothing's side, spanking his naked bottom
with her bare hand - and a fair degree of force for some-
one so apparently effete. The black candle lay discarded
on the floor beside them.
4Just warming him up for you, my love!'
St Etienne's eyes were wild, and her face, usually dead
pale, was flushed with desire and exertion.
Nothing was blushing too. Everywhere. On his face and
limbs and torso the pink had turned to rose, and the
cheeks of his arse were already a screaming, singing scar-
let. He was taut as a wire, and Red felt a shudder of
sympathy.
St Eitenne's narrow hand was poised for another smack,
but suddenly she straightened up and left Nothing
clenched and trembling, his hot body still braced for a
blow.
'Jigger this for a game of soldiers!' she exclaimed, dash-
ing an imaginary speck off her camouflage trousers. 'He's
had quite enough fun! And so have you, Mizz Greedy!
It's time I had some jollies!' Patting her smooth hair, she
seemed to be looking around for something, but then
she dipped gracefully, fielded the candle with one hand
and reached between Nothing's legs with the other to
scoop up some juice from his prick.
'We'll just butter our little friend here, shall we?' she
said conversationally, smearing fluid on the candle-point,
'and pop him right back where he belongs!' Nudging aside
one well-beaten cheek, she slid the dead black cylinder
into its living mauve-brown niche.
Red threw back her head and laughed. 'You're priceless,
Ett! Do you know that?' She made a 'come and get it'
gesture to her oddball, off-the-wall friend, 'Come here,
you disgraceful rogue. I'll give you "jollies"!' And with
that she let her fingers drop artfully to her cunt.
St. Etienne's soldierly pants were at half-mast in two
ticks ... and away across the room, his mouth and bottom
plugged, Nothing continued his sobbing.
* * *
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Still hearing him, but now only as a memory, Red paused
in her final preparations. His muffled sobs had been the
soundtrack to a long, fine debauch at the hands - and
the ultra-nimble tongue - of St Etienne. The fact that
Nothing had heard every giggle and sigh, and every suck
and slurp and liquid squelch, had only added to the piqu-
ancy of their pleasure.
St Etienne, bless her, had no qualms, no inhibitions and
no limits; no act was too low to sink to, and no state too
altered to strive for. Yet in a naked, sweating 'dare' game,
Red had matched her orgasm for orgasm. They'd
wrenched bliss out of each other's bodies by main force,
and tried, for the sheer hell of it, to see who could make
the most noise when she came. Red stifled a groan right
now; she was still tender where those unrelenting fingers
had worked and worked her ...
The commotion had had a motive, of course, a purpose
Red had never lost sight of, even while she was writhing
and squealing and having her clitoris chewed by St
Etienne.
Such a cacophony of climaxing flesh had made it
impossible for Nothing not to lift up his head and look at
them. And as Red had unwound herself from St Etienne,
and the last of their panting entanglements, she'd looked
across and met his bugging, anguished eyes, then panned
lower to where his fingers were wrapped round his prick
and semen was pooling on the carpet.
'Shall I smack him again?' St Etienne had enquired,
wriggling into her mottled trousers with a grimace.
Services you right! thought Red now, knowing she wasn't
the only one who was sore.
'No... Thanks, love, but I think he knows what's
coming to him. When I've had a rest after you, that is ...
Come on, Madame Scamp, let's have lunch!' She'd ruffled
St Etienne's still unsullied hairstyle then, and gotten a
howl of mock rage in reply, followed by a deep and search-
ing kiss.
But St Etienne was long gone now. Lunch had been
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eaten, more love made, and Red had finally got her rest.
Now the real game could start.
Nothing had been left with Andrea for the last few
hours. He would have been fed too, from his bowl, but
Red chose not to think of what else he might have gone
through. She'd given the girl carte blanche - the only
condition that he still be fit for tonight. Andrea was prob-
ably still tormenting him right now, even as she groomed
and prepared him for the coming ritual.
His appointment in the special room...
The rite demanded a great deal of both of them, and
Red too was preparing with all due pomp, clothing her
body in visual majesty while the sweat and juice of sex
was still pungent on her smooth white skin.
Breathing in, she pulled on the abbreviated metal corset
that was part of her most spectacular stage costume. Made
of wafer-thin denatured steel, it sat on her curves like a
vapour but gripped like a savage caress when the micro-
buckles locked and the lightweight material regained its
rigid character.
Finishing just above her belly-button, it compressed her
tiny waist and forced her large breasts to bulge up and
out, and her internal organs to mass in her pelvis. Blood
and heat were a bomb between her legs and she could
climax at any moment. Her sex was dripping profusely,
her vulva wet and puffed as she pulled on a G-string made
of thin crimson latex. It was red on Red all over tonight;
even the steel of her relentless corset had a scarlet lacquer
overspray.
Her thighboots were red too, and just as viciously
sexual. Five-inch heels created fierce tension all down the
length of her legs. It felt as if thin wires had been run
between her calves and her clitoris, and every step was a
breath-taking jag. Her clinging G-string was matched by
gloves that went well past the elbow, and even though she
was fully and fearsomely painted, the upper part of her
face was covered by a jewel-trimmed cat mask. Round
her throat was a ruby-studded ceremonial collar, and her
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slim, beloved whip was the only other accessory she
needed.
Omnipotent in her finery, she paused with her gloved
hand on the handle of the door to the special room.
Andrea would be gone by now, and Nothing would be
waiting. On display.
This is it, Red! she told herself, steadying her breathing
and the runaway beat of her heart. He's all yours now ...
It's time to take him to the limit.
The special room had concealed lighting, one mirrored
wall and three white tiled ones. The floor was vulcanised
black rubber.
Inside it, Nothing was also clad in rubber. Thin dark
rubber. At least parts of him were ...
Andrea had prepared him perfectly. Fastened by wrists
and ankles to the four corners of a square steel frame, he
hung in the exact centre of the room; trussed like a bird,
but with all the crucial portions of his anatomy available.
Black latex mitts enclosed his tethered hands and his head
was sheathed in the same grim fabric with holes for his
eyes, nose and mouth. His lips were stretched in a wide
open 'O' around a horrid inflatable gag, and his eyes were
closed as if he were conserving his strength and sleeping
in the cradle of his chains.
The main garment that covered him was a one piece
play-suit of skin-tight rubber; short-sleeved and high-
necked at the top, the lower half shaped like cycle pants.
Cutaways exposed his bottom and crotch, and his bare
feet were pale and vulnerable.
His genitals were vulnerable too, but not bare. Andrea
had crammed him into a small meshed-metal pouch and
secured it in place with a digitally locking clip. The handset
for this, his other fetters and the raising and lowering of
the entire frame, lay on a stainless steel trolley that stood
against the shiny white wall.
There were still some finishing touches to be added.
The final refinements. The last subtle brushstrokes that
only the artist herself could add ...
Silent on the sound-absorbing rubber, Red approached
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the assembly from behind, knowing that Nothing was
aware of her. His buttocks were taut and he swayed
slightly in the frame; and then, when she walked around
to the front of him, his long lashes fluttered and lifted.
Breathing smoothly now, Red stayed silent and menac-
ing as she stood before him and looked into his wide,
whitened eyes.
She knew he could hear through his rubber hood, but
she didn't say anything. She let her actions speak. Pushing
a hand into her G-string, she rode on a long, hot spasm,
then offered its result to Nothing - her gloved fingers,
coated and reeking, pressed against the flare of his nostrils.
Very precisely, she smeared her juice into the small area
of exposed skin, and as his pupils dilated hauntingly, she
felt him breathe in her definitive fragrance.
Testing time, my angel.' She stroked his hps where they
strained around the gag, then touched rubber to rubber -
her gloves against the swollen ball that sealed his mouth.
'But first... We've got to finish the rest of this' She
tapped the gag again and fearfulness glittered in his eyes.
He'd seen what was on her trolley... His buttocks quiv-
ered as she wheeled it into place behind him, and he
started struggling in his chains when she dipped her fingers
in a pot of clear gel and began slathering it heavily on his
anus.
His grunts and thrashes grew louder and wilder as the
anointing continued, and turned frenzied when she picked
up nine small pellets of fast-dissolving glycerine and
pushed them one by one into his rectum.
One hard slap stilled him, and as the back of his knee
sizzled, she finished his packing with a flanged rubber
butt-plug that was as black as the candle of earlier but far
far broader ...
Narrow leather straps secured the insult in place, and
within seconds the glycerine was working.
First his buttocks quivered, then they jostled, and then
he was mincing and waggling in mid-air and throwing
himself through space to the very limit that his bonds
would allow. When Red sidled around to the front of him
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and stroked his rubber-masked face, his eyes were almost
starting from their sockets.
'Don't worry, my sweet,' she whispered. 'You'll soon
forget this! Reaching around behind him, she stroked his
jiggling bottom. He was crying now, and she licked up
his tears and pressed a single, delicate kiss on the corner
of his cruelly stretched mouth.
All that remained then was to lose the trolley, wind a
supportive strapping around her wrist, and pick up her
slim, black multi-tailed whip - her evil and awesome 'cat'.
As she advanced upon her waiting slave, she gave the
instrument of his correction a smooth, sighting swish ...
Thirty seconds later, several discreet phenomena
occurred in rapid succession.
Nine thin woven leather cords sang and cracked across
space, then impacted on bare human skin. Nine thin white
marks turned into nine thin red weals on that same tar-
geted area. A man screamed high and sweetly in the
confines of a woman's hypercharged brain. And Red Cat
the domina had an orgasm.
Three hours later she'd had more orgasms than she could
count, the last one with her cunt crushed across Nothing's
ravaged, pulsating backside.
The heat of him has made her scream too, and only
then, with her own sex finally at peace, had she released
her slave from his torments - the metal cage that had
tortured his cock, and the glycerine that had churned in
his arse. While he'd still been in shock, she'd thrust her
rubber-clad fingers inside him, taken a sure, gentle hold
of his penis, and quickly and lovingly brought him off.
After freeing him, she'd left him alone. Alone with his
thoughts and his dignity. Alone with his muck, his sweat,
his semen and his tears... Alone with a hot running
shower to clean everything away but the glorious marks
of his whipping.
And now, her own shower over, she lay naked, relaxed
and scented in the haven of her silk-sheeted bed. Drifting,
she listened idly to the familiar sounds of the night - birds
159

and breezes, distant traffic, scraps of music. All these
pleased and soothed her, but it was only certain other
sounds that brought her widely and exquisitely awake ...
She opened her eyes, sat up, and looked towards the
doorway.
Nude and beautiful, Nothing stood on the threshold,
and for the first time in twenty-four hours, he was free of
bondage and his handsome face wore a smile.
'Ready?' he enquired, his soft voice composed but still
ever so slightly respectful.
'Ready,' Red answered, her heart swelling.
Raising one slender hand she snapped her fingers...
just as the man who had been Nothing snapped his.
'Darling,' she purred, smothering him with kisses as he
slipped into bed beside her.
'Oh, my lovely, lovely Cat,' he whispered, then hissed
through his teeth as her caress brushed the cheeks of his
bottom.
'I'm sorry, my love.'
'Don't be. I'm not.'
Snuggling carefully against his long, warm body, Red
Cat stretched like the beast she was named for and fit her
own shape affectionately to his.
Then she sighed contently and let sleep and the arms
of the man she adored draw her safely unto their own ...
160

10
Intermezzo III
She brought him up slowly, the measured return to con-
sciousness for her own benefit at least as much his. The
trip had been too deep and too strange, in spite of its
gentle ending, and to launch him stone-cold back into the
real world was asking for trouble. He was still 'under', a
half-naked sleep-walker, when she led him into the lounge
and settled him on the sofa like a drowsy child who had
got up in the night for a drink of water.
It was much easier to fuss around him while he was still
out; do all those cozy solicitous things like smoothing
back his hair, wrapping a blanket around him, taking his
temperature and pulse... Then kissing his cheek, and
sneaking the blanket off again and looking at his body.
Oh dear.
It had been frighteningly good being Red. Multi-
orgasmic for her as the 'watcher' and a whole different
world from the mild dominance scenes she'd played with
Tricksie. A whole different world.
She'd always secretly loved ordering the male Pleasure-
zone customers about. But strapping on a steel corset and
whipping a man's bottom to a bruised and swollen ruin?
That was something else altogether. Not to mention the
other strange pleasures they'd shared. Rubber. Black can-
dles up the bum. What she'd done with, and had done to
her by St Etienne. And that was yet another dodgy can
of worms she'd opened. Suddenly she needed a drink. Or
perhaps several.
It's a good job he's the last tonight, she thought, sipping
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a small neat scotch as she waited for Josh to wake up. But
that fact itself was a huge temptation. It would be only
too easy to ask him to stay over...
It was his vulnerability that was doing it. With echoes
of Red Cat still rampaging through her, having Josh at
her mercy felt dangerously like deja vu. Trouble was,
she was flipping the roles too. When Josh woke up he'd
remember being a dominant, not a submissive slave.
He was beginning to stir already, and as the blanket
slipped, Isis felt a weird pang of need.
By rights, it should be erections that got her going, but
seeing Josh's cock looking all soft and sweet and used,
she felt a great desire to kneel down and kiss it. To lick
him and fondle him with her tongue... Dreaming back
over the months, she remembered his taste, and the way
he stiffened so quickly and got so big. It was a common-
place miracle, it happened to men every day, but she
would never stop finding it amazing.
She'd cleaned him after his ejaculations, but she knew
if she gave in now and sucked him, he'd still taste of
semen, of fresh male sweat. Of beautiful, beautiful
Josh...
Oh boy, that night! Only a few hours but what things
they'd done. She remembered le soixante neufy well
executed for once, the big fat flavour of him in her mouth
while he brought her to the peak with his tongue. She'd
been able to split her faculties in two, concentrate on both
her pleasure and his. She'd not thought about it at the
time, but afterwards, having two sets of memories had
seemed utterly bizarre. It was down to the 'Zone, she
supposed.
And it could all happen again in a few minutes if she
wanted it. Josh had amazing recuperative powers and
she'd no doubt he could rise to the occasion. He was a
down-to-earth sort of man, with a practical mind and
a solid workmanlike body, but as a lover, he had the stuff
of fantasy about him ...
Why not go for it, Ice? she asked herself. You want
him. He wants you. It's going to happen eventually.
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Yet she had the strangest feeling that if she went back
on her word, he'd think less of her. What was that saying
about women and inconstancy? If she offered sex now,
he'd be getting what he wanted, yes, but somehow she'd
be letting the side down.
As his eyelids started fluttering, she put aside her glass
and sat down on the end of the couch - waiting for what,
she wasn't quite sure.
'Oh God,' he muttered, struggling to sit up, his long
frame shaking. 'Oh my dear God ...'
In a flash, Isis was beside him, her nurturing instincts
taking over. What did it all matter? Sex and deals and
principles. Sliding her arm around his shoulder, she pulled
him close to her body.
'It wasn't me,' he mumbled into her white smock. 'It
was incredible ... but it just wasn't me.'
Isis raised his face so she could look into his eyes,
finding tenderness suddenly sexy. 'What's wrong? Didn't
it work? You were "her", weren't you?'
'Yeah ...' He straightened up, seeming vaguely embar-
rassed. 'I was definitely her at the time, but just now...
waking up... It all seemed wrong again. I dunno... I
can't explain. It was all incredible stuff but I think
I should've been him ... been "Nothing".'
'Perhaps so,' Isis said quietly, 'but the challenge was to
try a switch, Josh.'
His muscular shoulders bunched in the circle of her
arm. Against her will, she glanced down at his cock and
saw it rousing.
'I'm not a wimp in real life,' he answered, his sudden
lack of expression more assertive than anger would have
been. Isis felt her heart beat crazily, and sex gush hot in
her loins.
No, this man wasn't weak at all. He'd proved that com-
prehensively, both on the treatment couch and afterwards
in the warmth of her bed. All she'd had to do was capitu-
late once, and he'd taken the lead in everything. He'd
chosen their sex acts. Made her do things. Assumed -
without consulting her - that he was in charge. She'd
163

accepted it because then she'd wanted it. But now, with the
Cat still at work in her mindset, her needs had drastically
changed.
'No, of course you're not a wimp, Josh,' she said crisply,
her skin prickling with heat beneath her smock. 'And
neither am I.'
It got the desired effect. But they were back on thin
ice. And Josh was erect.
Heat flared in his brown eyes, and not for the first time,
she knew he'd instantly and eerily 'read' her. No, he wasn't
a real life submissive, but would he act that way to please
her?
He was well up now, his prick jutting proud from the
silky nest of his pubes. It would be so easy to forget all
deals and trips, and just slip off her panties and slip onto
him. Or even nudge them aside - they were soaking
anyway - and get him in her body while she was still fully
dressed. It had been too long since she'd had straight sex
with a strong straight man. Someone who could fill her
up with authority, yet fuck her as an equal. A warm, caring
equal. Her last fuck as such had been a peculiar, frantic
session with the errant Diabolo. A wild ecstatic bang, but
with precious little sense of anything but raw physical
sensation. The Moon Devil was a superb technical lover,
but emotionally a deadzone. It was debatable whether
even Tricksie had made meaningful contact...
'It's not actually going to happen, is it?' Josh enquired
softly, snapping open her musings.
It could have happened. Almost. But Josh himself had
brought Isis back to her senses. 'There's still one more
adventure,' she offered, hiding her confusion. Her
irrational disappointment.
'Okay, I'll buy that. But if you won't let me bonk you,
at least let me tell you what it'll be like when you do.'
'I beg your pardon?'
A shiver ran down Isis's spine and ended in the cleft of
her sex. Josh's eyes twinkled and she felt it, there in her
fluttering moistness, like a charged and scintillating ray.
'I'll describe my ideal fuck. With you.' He leaned back
164

against the sofa, arching his body luxuriantly and lifting
his hips for emphasis. 'And while I'll telling you about it,
you can deal with this for me.' Without warning he whip-
ped out a long sinuous hand, grabbed one of hers, and
closed it around his erection.
Isis tried to pull away, panicking. It wasn't that she
didn't like holding his cock. She did. But the feel of him
undermined her. Having him in her hand was like having
him in her quim. She tried to wriggle her fingers, but Josh
held her fast.
'No! Be fair to me, Isis. Just hold me, that's all I ask.'
He squeezed, caressing himself through her. 'For now...'
She stopped resisting. When he throbbed in her fingers
like velvet, she didn't want to ...
'Okay then. Talk to me.'
Josh licked his lips, rested his head back against the
chair. As his eyelids closed, he smiled - supremely confi-
dent - and took away his hand.
'You're waiting for me in a bedroom somewhere. Your
flat, I think. You're hot for me. You want my cock in you.
You've been playing with your little girlie, with Tricksie.
And she's made you come... But you want more. You
want meat inside you.'
Oh yes, Josh, I do, she told him silently, flexing her
thumb and finger, sliding, working. This thing in her hand,
this beautiful thing, it had once felt so godlike inside her.
'You're lying on the bed ...' His voice checked slightly.
'Wearing something flimsy. A teddy. Camiknickers or
whatever they're called. It's -' His eyes flicked open for
a second, although Isis had the strangest feeling he wasn't
seeing the here and now version of her. 'It's blue. Dark,
smoky, blue. High-cut legs, lace here.' He ran a hand
across his chest. 'You've been tossing about on the bed.
You're on fire and you can't keep still. The teddy's twisted
up between your legs and I can see the hair... It's the
prettiest thing I've ever seen. Gold and red and brown.
Tortoiseshell. And sticky-wet, where she's been playing
with you. The crotch of your knickers is wet too. Dark.
Soaking dark. I can see it...'
165

Isis shifted uneasily, fantasy real between her legs. She
was sopping, running, her real pants clammy against her
hot, swelling hps.
'You're not quite awake, but you're horny. You start
playing with yourself, touching your breasts through the
lace, pinching your hard little teats. One by one. Pinch.
Pinch. Together, with both hands, nipping hard and hurt-
ing yourself. And your hips are moving in time, your legs
opening wide. I can see more and more. Everything. I
want you so much I could die.'
Eloquent. Impassioned. True? Isis didn't know, but the
hard, red column in her hand said probably. He was steely
between her fingers, his hips moving as hers did in his
dream. Her dream.
'I sit down on the bed beside you but your eyes stay
closed.' Josh's own eyes stayed closed too, but his hands
moved caressingly on his thighs, saying 'stroke me,
woman, stroke me'.
She did.
'I know you want me to look at you ... Really look at
you. You splay your legs wider and I reach between and
pop the little buttons. The crotch of your teddy is sodden,
wet through with your juices. You smell wonderful; strong
but fabulous. Rich. Like a she-cat. Like the spices of the
Orient. You smell as if you've come. A lot.'
Oh God, I'm going to come now! thought Isis wildly.
Her vagina sucked like a tiny mouth, her fingers closed,
and Josh groaned and bucked in her grip.
'I'm sorry,' she muttered, loosening her hold, afraid
she'd hurt him.
'Don't be. I like it.' His eyes opened again, but this time
he was aware, looking at her, smiling. 'Squeeze me, Isis.
Rub me. Please.' Once again, his pelvis rose up to meet
her.
Carefully, measuredly, she began to wank him. Josh
went on with his story.
'I push up the stuff of your teddy. Up to the waist, so
I can see your belly and your lovely soft hair... Your
skin's so white. So moist. You're sweating now. I can see
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it. You're burning up inside because you want me. I don't
touch you yet, though. Not between the legs... I stroke
my fingertips across your stomach. I put one in your belly
button and -'
Isis moaned, loving the image, feeling the impudent
finger in her navel as clearly as if he'd actually touched
her.
'You moan,' said Josh with a soft laugh. 'Then you ask
me to stroke you. To caress your quim with my fingers.
You say 'please', but you've teased me so much I decide
that it's my turn. I take your hand and kiss it, tasting your
juices where you've touched yourself. Then I rub the lace
of your teddy across the tips of your breasts. Sweet stiff
tips ... You lift your crotch off the bed to try and entice
me. You're dying for me to diddle you.'
For her part, Isis was watching Josh's face. Studying his
closed eyes and wondering if she dare slip her hand
beneath her smock.
'Why don't you?' He grinned, his eyes still closed.
'You devil! Keep your mind on your story.'
'You want me to touch you...' His voice was so creamy
and taunting. He was stating facts now, not telling tales.
'I decide to have mercy... put you out of your misery.'
'Chauvinist shit!'
Josh seemed unfazed, but his cock throbbed in her
fingers like a rocket on stand-by. Primed. Loaded. Ready
for glory.
'You want me,' he repeated, her seigneur driving home
his will. 'You're very wet. I touch you and you make that
little sound of yours ... That grunt and a purr thing you
do when you're losing it.'
She knew that sound; her teeth were deep in her lower
lip to keep it inside her mouth now. Her quim was sweat-
ing its nectar, the tissues heavy and needful. If Josh made
one bold move, she was lost. It would be full hard-driving
sex. Cock in cunt; raw lust in heavenly motion.
But he went on talking.
'I rub you, tickle your clit, press you. You're so wet my
fingers slip about. You take my hand and guide my touch,
167

put me where it's best. I rub you hard then and you come
on me. It's beautiful, a great gooey gush. I get two fingers
inside you and I feel your spasm, but I keep my thumb
on your clitty where it matters... I work you and work
you until you're coming continuously. And then, when
you're really out of it, I tip you on your back, spread your
legs and push myself into you.'
Josh matched deeds to words and guided her hand as
in the story she'd guided his. But he didn't follow through.
There was no throwing her down on the carpet caveman-
style, just the race of their woven hands on his prick.
She was being used. She was an improvised mastur-
bation aid, but she didn't give a damn. He'd eulogised her
dream-wetness but now he was the slippery one. Pre-come
was streaming from him, coating their laced fingers and
surrounding his own flesh in a sleek satiny tube. Isis
worked him harder and harder, feeling crazy transferences
from his sex to hers... Sensations. Fluids. Flames of
pleasure. Arousal hard and killing.
'And I come in you!' he shouted, his voice snapping as
his stiffness pulsed in her hand - and her cunt, his echo,
rippled softly. 'Oh God, yes! Oh, yes yes yes!'
His semen was very hot, very thick and very copious.
A pearlescent satin cream that spattered her hand, her
wrist and his belly. The heavy droplets captivated her,
looked rich, opulent and tempting. Without thinking, she
released his softening penis and raised her hand to her
lips, pointing out her tongue to lick up the gift of his seed.
She lapped up every scrap of it, savouring its strange
blandness, the faint whisper of salt, the vague ammoniac
traces. She lapped up his semen, his all, then glanced
furtively along his thighs where some more of it still lay
gleaming.
Josh gasped, and she realised in one great rush of heat
exactly what she'd done.
He was watching her closely, his eyes heavy-lidded, and
when he licked his lips, she blushed furiously. He was in
shagged out post-orgasmic euphoria, but he was still teas-
ing her.
168

'I -' Where had old 'Red Cat' gone all of a sudden?
'Don't worry, I've had what I wanted.' He grinned and
squirmed on the sofa, visibly savouring his afterglow. 'In
my book that was sex, Isis. I came. You made me. We had
sex.'
'We didn't. Not exactly...' She was splitting hairs and
she knew it.
'Maybe you're right,' he conceded, then sent Isis leaping
away as his hand tried to worm up her skirt, 'Let me
touch you, Isis. Now. For real. Let me give you what you
gave me.'
The temptation was huge, but she stayed put, just out
of reach, wishing her stubbornness in hell.
With a resigned sigh, Josh lay back, his cock flopping
on his thigh as he settled amongst the cushions, his smile
weary but mellow and satisfied.
'All right, my delicious doctor, I'm happy with that. I
can wait.' His eyes fluttered closed again. He'd come, and
like most men who'd come, he was going to sleep. 'But
the big question is ... can you wait?'
'Well, I think you're nuts,' said Tricksie cheerfully. She
was lying in Isis's bed, wearing Isis's wrap, drinking Isis's
wine and flicking the pages of one of Isis's books. Isis
hadn't specifically asked her to stay the night, but it hadn't
been necessary. Tricksie had a sure sweet knack of know-
ing when she was desperately needed.
And not having Josh had left Isis needing more than
her own deft fingers.
'You're absolutely right of course,' she said. 'I was cut-
ting off my nose to spite my face.' She sighed. 'I should've
got astride that erection while it was there... Not just
tossed it off for his benefit.'
'Spoken like a true sexual bon vivant.' Tricksie's green
eyes were bright with mischief. 'I hope that means you'll
rectify the situation next time ...' She shuddered express-
ively. 'Because there was talk of "sharing" ...'
'I dunno, Trix. Really, I don't.'
And she didn't.
169

A threesome? She'd done it in her 'Zone dreams, of
course, but not for real. She and Tricksie had both been
involved with Diabolo at the same time, but they'd made
love together. Never been three in a bed.
'It's fun, Ice. You'd love it.'
Tricksie's voice was coaxing, cajoling, and Isis knew that
she too was thinking about the 'event' of three rather
than simply a three-way relationship. She sat down on the
bed at her friend's side, reaching for their shared wine
and taking a sip, savouring the crisp cool fruitiness, but
knowing that nothing but sex could quench her heat.
Why had masturbating Josh unsettled her so much? It
wasn't as if she hadn't done it before. She'd handled his
prick often enough in the course of Pleasurezone proce-
dures. She'd even brought him off before.
But this time things had been different. She'd been
wanting him at the time, really turned on for him in body
and mind, and she'd let him control her. She tried out the
word 'manipulate' and knew it was the right one. Even
though she'd been the one who'd been doing the touching.
'You know something? This is absolutely fantastic,'
Tricksie said suddenly, interrupting Isis's ponderings.
Isis looked puzzled at the glass in her hand, then
realised her friend wasn't talking about wine.
Tricksie was sprawled back against the pillows, her
white breasts spilling from the open gape of her wrap as
she pored over her book, a slim, elegantly bound collec-
tor's volume she'd picked up to read while Isis was
showering.
Isis agreed about the book, it was a favourite of hers,
totally pervy, and a product of St Etienne's prolific, offbeat
and breath-takingly degenerate mind.
It was no wonder Tricksie was gasping and going 'ooh'
all over the place. Isis had read At the Academy of Madam
Woo at least half a dozen times and she'd always ended
up stroking herself. It would probably have that effect
now if she read over Tricksie's shoulder, especially given
the view from there, but nevertheless she slid onto the
170

bed, snuggled up and tried to pick up the book's outrage-
ous pornographic thread.
Words leapt out at her. Precocious words with wicked
weight... 'lash', 'weal', 'pain', 'bottom'... and less obvi-
ously 'governess'. A fast reader, Isis cruised the page,
feeling the loaded prose sink in and do its deliquescing
work even though she'd read it all before.
At the Academy of Madam Woo was a true modern
classic - a historically accurate and lusciously explicit
novel of Edwardian schoolroom flagellation. The plot and
the verbiage were controlled but red hot, to say the least,
and the effects it produced were immediate. It was difficult
to understand why her cousin's elegant descriptions of
thrashed red backsides and exquisite humiliation were so
compelling, but every time she read them Isis felt a strong,
almost lemming-like urge to find someone who would
smack her bottom for her. The orientation, it being told
through the victim's eyes rather than the punisher's, was
the complete reverse of the Red Cat adventure - but the
sense of identification was no less explosive.
She wondered what effect it was having on Tricksie. It
was certainly doing something because Trix was already
shifting her long thighs uneasily, her free hand searching
for her hot spot.
'I've done smacking. It's fun,' she said as she turned a
page, casually flipping open her robe.
'Did you smack... or were you smacked?' Isis asked,
her eyes following the traverse of Tricksie's white fingers
as they slid nonchalantly across her belly, then dove into
her lustrous red thatch.
'I've tried both ... Ooh ... Ooh ... Yes!' She was rub-
bing now, freely and unashamedly, as relaxed about mas-
turbating in Isis's presence as she would have been on her
own. Within seconds she was pumping her loins, gnawing
her lips and grunting and gapsing in an obvious, uninhibi-
ted orgasm.
Isis had never wanted her more.
'Remind me to thank Ett for that when I next see her,'
171

Tricksie said blithely, removing her glistening fingers from
their hideaway and licking them one by one.
'She might want payment in kind,' murmured Isis,
imagining her lover's sweet taste.
'Would that bother you?' Tricksie's voice was suddenly
serious. 'St Etienne's so crazy, so bizarre... She's a real
turn on, you know.'
'You'd have to get in the queue behind a helluva lot of
people... Including Josh and me,' said Isis, enjoying the
shock on Tricksie's beautiful face.
'But -' She paused, and Isis could see all the possible
combinations being run through a sexual computer.
'Together?' Tricksie said at last, 'And anyway, wouldn't
it be illegal or something? Her being your cousin and all.'
'I'm not sure how things like that apply to same-sex
relationships. It's a bit of a grey area. And not a problem
for Ett and I. She is my only living relative, but we're not
actually close in blood.'
'Oh...'
'I always imagine her as the heroine of this book.' Isis
picked up the abandoned Madam Woo from where the
jerking Tricksie had dropped it.
'You mean Louise?' Tricksie cocked her head on one
side, her wine-red curls gorgeous on her bared white
shoulders. 'I don't see that... Ett wouldn't keep dropping
her drawers and taking it. It's not her style at all.'
'Oh no, she's Madam Woo. that's obvious.' It was easy
to exchange Ett's sleeked back hair for a governess bun,
and her cross-dressed, pin-striped chic for the sober
elegance of the archetypal Edwardian schoolma'am. It
was also easy, seductively so, to imagine bending over
before her and exposing your trembling bottom to her for
discipline. A rogue image flitted through Isis's mind. Ett
in khaki, spanking a naked young man in a collar...
Returning her cousin to her institutional black silk
frock, Isis had a sudden sparkling idea that made her
laugh out loud.
'I've just found Josh's last adventure,' she told the puz-
zled Tricksie, then smiled and went on to explain.
172

'Yeah, I see what you mean.'
Tricksie had snuggled close as she'd listened, and her
bare boob was pressed against Isis's arm. Its firmness and
heat were distracting, but Isis still warmed to her theme.
'He enjoys submission. He said he'd rather take CP
than dish it out. And he loves adventuring as a girl...
He's a natural for Louise.' She flicked pages furiously, not
having to look too hard for the juicy bits. 'I wonder if Ett
would lend me the disk for this? We could load it straight
into the 'Zone and there'd hardly be anything else to
write. We could run it as an adventure straight away.'
'Do you think she'd let us?'
'I'm sure she will.' The difference between literary
dream-weaving, and Isis's electronic version was in
essence marginal, and St Etienne had frequently intimated
she'd like to get involved with the Pleasurezone. Cousin
Ice's 'boutique d'amour' as she was wont to call it.
'And would I be in it?' Tricksie's glance was sideways,
sultry and unmistakable, her hunger evident in the hard-
ness of the nipple against Isis's arm.
'Pick a role, sweetheart.'
Isis leaned into the sweet firm curve of Tricksie's breast,
turning pages, but no longer seeing the words. Adventure-
land, her own creation, was a miracle, but there was much
to be said for living in the real world sometimes. A world
where beautiful women pressed their bodies against you,
and their flesh said how much they wanted you. She
flicked another page, then turned to meet emeralds glow-
ing with lechery in a pale and exquisite face. 'But I already
know who you ought to be.'
'Me too,' whispered Thcksie, her breath hot on Isis's
neck. Tapering, red-painted fingertips stole into a different
robe this time, and Isis felt their sexy sneakiness slide
between her towelling lapels, then home in on her tingling
breast-tips like heat-seeking missiles.
'But if I'm Flossie, typecast as a trollop as usual, who
are you, my darling doctor?' The question was punctuated
with delicate tweaks, naughty little tugs and demonic tan-
talising twirls.
173

'Young Belinda, of course,' panted Isis, her stomach
trembling, her breath light and butterflies doing a tango
in her sex.
Tricksie seemed to think about this for a few moments,
her fingers pinching and stroking, pinching and stroking
until Isis was at screaming point and her running cunt was
wetting the towelling beneath her.
'But don't Belinda and Flossie play games with each
other at night?' Both hands were on her now, one hastily
stripping aside the robe, the other burrowing purposefully
between her helplessly opening legs.
Isis nodded, then leapt and arched as a whore's skilled
fingers found her.
'Doesn't Flossie get into Belinda's bed and touch her
pussy?'
Isis nodded again, moaning as Tricksie palpated her
fluttering clit.
'Doesn't Flossie tickle Belinda's naughty little clittie
and make her come again and again and again?'
'Yes! Oh God, you bitch, yes!' Isis shouted as a finger
pressed hard and a star exploded in her cleft - the orgasm
so sure and quick and overpowering that she nearly wet
herself with pleasure.
'Good,' said Tricksie creamily, pulling Isis fully into her
arms and starting to kiss her neck. 'Because I've just read
a smashing bit on page one hundred and twenty-three
that I think we should re-enact.'
'What is it?' asked Isis, shocked by sex and the slurred,
throaty sound of her own voice. Tricksie was a drug...
and she'd just mainlined on her. 'Tell me, you minx!'
'I'd rather show you.' Tricksie's voice was distorted too,
muffled as her hps nibbled a path down Isis's belly to her
ideal and inevitable destination.
There was no more reading that night.
'You mean your cousin wrote this?'
Isis smiled in satisfaction. She'd just given Josh At the
Acadmey of Madam Woo and it was already having
the same effect on him that it had on her. Well, an equiva-
174

lent one. Even as she watched, he licked his lips and
wriggled almost imperceptibly on his stool.
Pretending to turn her attention to her mineral water,
she took a sly glance at him out of the corner of her eye.
He shifted again, and a few seconds after he'd turned
another page, his eyes widened: pupils dilating and dark-
ening in an obvious sexual response. He'd be hard in
his trousers now, his brain filled with images of exposed
bottoms and girls being thrashed and fingered. Of shame,
humiliation and sublime, crypto-mystic submission. He'd
be putting himself in the place of the poor spanked pupils
of Madam Woo - the young women who whimpered and
sobbed for her to stop, but prayed with all their hearts
that she go on and on and on.
Isis had endured all their torments with them whilst
reading the book, and knew with no doubt at all that any
minute now, Josh would demand the same scenarios for
his adventure.
'Well then, Josh, do you fancy getting your bottom
smacked tonight?' she said into the charged quiet between
them. 'A session with your "governess"?'
'I -' Josh began, then stopped. There was no need for
him to speak, the answer was in his burning eyes, the
slight flush on his high, sharp cheek-bones... the bulge
in his tight, black jeans.
He'd enjoyed his time as Red Cat - the data and his
orgasm had proved that - but equally his profile indicated
he'd get even greater pleasure from a 'victim' role, from
receiving the pain rather than inflicting it. The role of a
naughty, punished schoolgirl would be perfect for him.
Especially at the hands of such a 'teacher' as Isis had in
mind for him.
'Face facts, Josh,' she said gently. 'You've admitted it
yourself. The best trips for you are the ones where you
"take it" from women. Rio, Queen Nef, St Etienne.
They've all called the shots, haven't they?' She saw him
nod, slowly, admittingly. 'Now it's Madam Woo's turn.'
Together they looked down at the book, and Josh's fingers
flicked back to the introductory pages.
175

As a luxury collector's edition the novel had been fur-
nished with one or two fine art illustrations. The frontis-
piece was a pen and ink sketch of a sombrely beautiful
woman flexing a long rattan cane between her elegant
fingers. The face was rather indistinct, but to Isis it was
disturbingly familiar.
'What are you grinning at?'
Isis hadn't realised she was smiling, but at Josh's ques-
tion she looked up and faced him.
'I was just thinking how typical of Ett it was to cast
herself in the starring role.'
'I was sort of assuming you'd be Madam Woo.' Josh
looked vaguely disappointed.
'Oh no,' said Isis quickly, feeling selfish, guilty, and
suddenly very hot and bothered.
In bed last night, she'd fantasised compulsively while
Tricksie had caressed her. With a finger moving delicately
on her clitoris, she'd sent her consciousness winging to
Madam Woo's menacing schoolroom and the harsh but
fabulous regime that held sway there. And the fantasy
had become more vivid than ever when Tricksie had really
got down to business.
Isis had writhed and cried in both worlds. In the dream,
Madam Woo had pulled down her rebellious pupil's knick-
ers, exposed her shameful wetness to the whole class,
then beaten her naked white bottom with a leather-soled
slipper.
In the real world of sex, Tricksie had had the very devil
in her. She'd made Isis lie on her back with her knees bent,
holding her thighs wide open with her hands. Ready...
Isis had squealed in glorious outrage when Tricksie had
stuffed her. With a dildo in each orifice, she'd yelped and
sobbed in climax after climax as nimble, knowledgeable
fingers had abused her aching clit. Nipping it, rocking it,
wrenching it to and fro in a rough primeval rhythm that
had made her sweat and writhe and cry. The spasms had
synched perfectly with the blows of Madam Woo's cruel
but imaginary slipper.
The sensations last night had been so huge and sweet
176

that she wanted to regain them through the medium of
adventure; and to this end, when she'd programmed
Madam Woo for Josh, she'd cast the players exactly as
she had while Tricksie had been making her come.
So Madam Woo was still St Etienne. St Etienne - stern,
immaculate and sensational. The trip would be so good it
would blow Josh away, and Isis felt entitled to be selfish.
'Oh no,' she repeated. 'I think we should stick with the
one who created the role, don't you?' She cocked her
head on one side, confident that if Josh was already getting
into his role he'd accept what she said without question.
'Yeah, okay ... Whatever you say.'
It was as if she'd already put him half under. He was
hers, in the palm of her hand, it was intoxicating.
But it's only for now, Ice, she told herself firmly. When
the trip starts it'll all be different. You'll be him, and he'll
be a girl... And Madam Woo's going to thrash the living
daylights out of both of you!
'Would you like me to get you a real date with St Etienne
sometime?' she enquired, her voice as nonchalant as she
could make it.
She was slightly ashamed of her tactics, but she couldn't
help herself. Teasing Josh was irresistible at times like
these. She'd waited until he was strapped to the couch
with all the probes in place and only then started zapping
him with questions.
'I dunno ... No. Yes. How the hell should I know, Isis?
I can't think straight when I'm like this.'
Hardly surprising, she conceded, grinning wolfishly out
of his line of sight. She couldn't think too sharply with a
probe in her bottom either. She caught his eyes, and found
them surprisingly bright and penetrating, given that his
cock was so stiff in its tether.
'How would you feel about that?' He was grinning
himself now, as if he'd sussed her ambiguous feelings for
her divine but peculiar cousin.
She turned the idea over in her mind and found it
intriguing. Especially if she could watch what they did ...
177

Or more probably what St Etienne did to him. Ett never
let a man take control!
'Oh, I think it might be a fun idea to get you two
together for real, don't you?' she enquired sweetly, reach-
ing between his legs to make a fairly unnecessary adjust-
ment to the position of his testicles. She made her fingers
light and deft, but Josh still trembled violently as if he
feared for what she had in her grip.
'Why... why do you say that?' he croaked as her fingers
skimmed up the underside of his prick.
'I've seen the read-outs of how you react to her in
adventures. And the thing is, Josh, she's far more outrage-
ous in real life than she is in dreamtime. She was fabulous
with Nothing. I'd just love to see her work on you. The
living her, that is ...' Her fingers flicked around his cock-
head, adjusting the cuff shghtly, then touching him, just
once, right on the tiny open eye.
'You mean you'd watch?' Josh was blushing wildly now
- everywhere - and Isis was irresistibly reminded of
Nothing.
'Why not? Now I've followed the progress of you "at
it" with all and sundry via thisshe gestured towards the
screens, the read-outs and the monitoring headset. 'And
I've had you myself. It'd be interesting to see you with
someone else now... Purely for research purposes, of
course.'
She was joking, but in a strange way it was also true.
'Jesus, Isis, you're the most fantastic woman I've ever
met... But sometimes I could smack you senseless!' Josh
muttered, then swore profusely as the hypodermic of hal-
lucinogen went unexpectedly into his forearm. He'd been
so incensed he'd never even noticed her pick it up ...
'Now, don't be a kiddie. You know it didn't hurt,' she
soothed, making the final programming adjustments, set-
tling onto her stool and putting on the headset. 'And if
there's any smacking to be done, you'd better get used to
being on the receiving end.'
Josh blinked furiously as the drug began to take a hold.
Already partially in phase with him, Isis sensed the drift-
178

ing of his consciousness and slid the softly lined mask
over his eyes. 'Think of Madam Woo now, Josh my sweet-
heart. Think how nice it'll be to let her smack you. You'll
be good and brave for her, won't you?'
'I dunno ... Mebbe ...'
With the last sequence keyed in and running, Isis closed
her eyes for a moment and a surprising alluring image
formed in the blackness. A woman with severely styled
hair and a seriously serious outfit. A thin rattan cane
swished slowly in the grip of her long elegant fingers ...
'Go to sleep now, my dear,' Isis whispered, opening her
eyes, running quickly over the figures on the screen, then
turning to the bound and wired man at her side. 'It's
school tomorrow, and you've got to be bright and alert.
It's your very first day at the Academy...'
179

10
The Academy of Madam Woo
'Louise Sutherland, you're day-dreaming again!'
Louise snapped to attention, every nerve in her body
a-quiver as the beautiful dark-clad woman strode purpose-
fully towards her.
'What is it, Louise,' Mrs Woolstencraft enquired coolly,
'that is so very much more interesting to you than our
simple French translation? Enlighten us, if you please?'
Oh God, thought Louise, if I do tell her, she'll kill me!
Yes, if the truth came out Louise knew she'd be in
worse trouble than she already was. Madam Woo would
tan her hide if she found out the subject of her pupil's
delicious but foolhardy fantasising. And that, in a way,
Louise supposed, would be poetically fitting.
She'd been fantasising about bottoms. Women's bot-
toms to be specific. Girl's bottoms. Maid's bottoms. Even
the magnificent arse of the governess herself What she
could see of it, beneath that long flowing skirt.
A woman's derri&re was actually the reason she'd ended
up in this peculiar establishment in the middle of what
should have been her summer holidays.
But it wasn't all her fault. Maud had been asking for it
for months. Batting her eyelashes at Louise. Finding
reasons to brush up against her. Especially with those
plump little titties of hers. And the times she'd shown her
drawers when she'd just happened to be standing on a
stool dusting a high shelf.
Louise remembered the moment it had all come to a
head. She'd been reading in the library - reading her
180

father's erotic books, something else she wasn't supposed
to be doing - and Maud was laying the fire. The titillating
literature had already caused a degree of hot commotion
in her own underwear, but the sight of the maid's bottom
so saucily displayed when her skirt pulled tight... Well,
that had been the moment Louise's hormones went
berserk.
Maud hadn't complained, though, when her rump and
her deep warm cleft had been explored through the layers
of her frock and petticoat. And when she'd slipped up her
skirt, peeled down her lacy bloomers and let Louise thrust
her hand inside, she'd moaned softly and writhed on the
invading fingers.
'Ooh, Miss Louise, you shouldn't,' she'd whimpered as
Louise had pawed her dribbling cunny; and she'd been
grunting like a little dog, sitting blissfully on her young
mistress's hand and rubbing her clitty with her own finger,
when Mama had walked in, screamed in abject horror
and promptly fainted clean away from a double shock.
The sight of her daughter doing something utterly
unspeakable ... and to make matters worse, doing it to a
member of her very own sex.
Maud had been banished to Aunt Augusta's now, and
she, Louise, had agreed - to help poor Mama get over
the vapours - to present herself at this dour Academy in
order to 'improve her character'. It was only because she
loved Mama and felt so guilty that she'd submitted with-
out complaint. After all she was a grown woman now! At
seventeen going on eighteen she was far too old to be
consigned to what amounted to a 'dame school'.
'Louise, I'm waiting,' the dame in question repeated.
Although the slender, elegant and surprisingly young Mrs
Woolstencraft - or Madam Woo as Belinda, a fellow 'pris-
oner' had dubbed her - was the very least damelike figure
imaginable. Her large penetrating eyes froze Louise like
a mouth on a pin, and her beautiful bosom in its serious
white blouse and sombre black brocade waistcoat was
almost as mouthwatering as her perfect, though more or
less hidden backside.
181

'Bottoms!'
'I beg your pardon?'
I've gone completely mad! thought Louise, her heart
racing, and to her astonishment and horror, her cunny
getting extremely hot. Being here in this schoolroom was
like being clamped in a pot on a stove; it had cooked her
brains to porridge. Why else had she told Madam Woo
exactly what was on her mind?
'I think, Louise, that you'd better expand on that
answer,' the governess murmured smoothly, patting her
sleekly coiffed hair, 'or I'll have to think you were being
intentionally vulgar.'
'I was thinking about my... er... About my ... um ...
transgressions and that bottoms always seem to be at the
bottom of them ...' Boggling at her own stupidity, Louise
waited for the axe - or something - to fall, then breathed
again as an explosive, spluttering giggle from across the
room temporarily diverted Madam Woo's attention.
'Belinda Gascoigne, this is your last warning,' she said
to the impish figure sitting at the other school desk. 'If
you persist in behaving like a hoyden I shall be forced to
chastise you. Again. You're eighteen now, Belinda. A
grown woman. You should know much, much better than
this.' She turned then and behind their governess's back,
Louise saw Belinda's pretty but unfortunately disfigured
face crinkle in a broad, wicked grin. Not for the first time,
she wondered just what her partner-in-crime's face would
have looked like without that horrid birthmark. Knowing
as she did it that she'd suffer, she laughed out loud as
Belinda made a rude and graphic grabbing gesture and
winked broadly out of Madam Woo's line of sight.
In the next breath, Louise was on her feet with her
right ear in the vice of Madam Woo's slender but powerful
fingers...
'Stand perfectly still, Louise. I shall deal with you in
a moment.' The vice opened, and the cool gaze drifted
downwards. Steely eyes narrowed threateningly when they
lit upon Louise's thighs, and their slow scissoring action -
quite evident even through layers of school skirt, petticoat
182

and bloomers. 'And I've nothing to say about that phenom-
enon.' She nodded, dismissing Louise's flesh, and its help-
less carnal itch as loathsome. 'Except that I hope to see
it subsided by the time I've finished with Miss Gascoigne!'
With that she spun on her daintily booted heel, strode
to her own desk, and rang hard on the small schoolroom
bell.
'I think we'll need Flossie's assistance for this, don't
you, Belinda?' she said almost pleasantly as she advanced
upon her victim, looking determined but slightly flushed.
Louise trembled, knowing what was coming and won-
dering why the prospect of it made the tingle in her cunny
burn hotter than ever. She really shouldn't be getting
those nice, sexy, squidgy feelings now... This was what
was delicately termed a 'correctional' establishment, and
judging by the pallor of Belinda's unmarked cheek, they
were about to be faced with the full meaning of that awe-
inspiring definition.
There was a swift rap on the door, and it swung open
immediately to admit a buxom and rather handsome red-
haired young woman clad in the black dress and white
pinafore and cap of a maid. Louise sent up a silent prayer
that the newcomer - Flossie - wouldn't still be here when
she got her forthcoming punishment. Especially not after
last night...
'Now then, Flossie,' Madam Woo said briskly. 'Miss
Belinda has tried my patience once too often this morning,
and I find that I need your assistance. And the use of
your invaluable pins.'
'Of course, Madam,' murmured Flossie, sashaying for-
ward and, to Louise's mind, blatantly flaunting her mag-
nificent bosom at her. The thin black stuff of her frock
did nothing to hide the sweet rounded breasts that Flossie
had suddenly and wantonly exposed to Louise while she
was getting her ready for bed last night. To make matters
worse now the maid also flashed a sly wink in Louise's
direction.
'Louise!' said Madam Woo, not looking round and pre-
sumably not winking. 'I'd like you to watch closely. You
183

may find this informative. Flossie, kindly put Belinda into
position over the desk and turn up her dress.'
'But, madam-' began Belinda, resisting Flossie's
strong-arm hold. She stilled, though, when Madam Woo
snatched hold of her pretty brown-blonde ringlets and
marched her over to the desk by them.
'I've put up with quite enough defiance, young lady. For
that you'll be punished with your bottom bared.'
Her loins churning madly, Louise noticed a special
emphasis laid on that most topical of words and she
watched, rapt and with her mouth fallen open, as Flossie
pressed Belinda face down over the desk and drew up
first her pretty flounced skirt, and then her delicately lacy
petticoat.
Oh lor, it's actually going to happen! she thought wildly,
biting her lip and wondering if she could manage to watch
any further without disgracing herself and getting her
knickers all sticky. In the furrow between her legs, every-
thing went quivery and her little bud fairly jumped at the
pure stretched whiteness of Belinda's thin, girlish bloom-
ers. The fabric of them was so sheer it was almost a lawn
or a muslin, and the firm globes of a truly pretty bottom
were already clearly on show. Louise could see the dark
shadowed blur of a hairy feminine cleft. She could see -
she'd swear to it! - a faint trace of dampness on the fine
white cloth wedged right at the apex of Belinda's long
slim thighs.
'Hie pins, please, Flossie!' said Madam Woo, and the
maid went about her work, securing the skirt and petticoat
in place. Moving closer, Madam Woo pressed her hand to
the crown of Belinda's right arse-cheek, and to Louise's
almost demented excitement, squeezed it slowly and
gently, 'I'm afraid this will hurt you quite a lot, Belinda
my dear,' she whispered, leaning over, her lips close to
her trembling victim's ear. 'In fact it will hurt you a very
great deal indeed. But you know how much better you
will be for it, don't you?'
Beneath the thin white fabric the waiting bottom
seemed to pulse ... but stubborn Belinda remained silent.
184

Madam Woo squeezed again, the action slow and vol-
uptuous. 'Don't you, Belinda?' she persisted, her voice
low and strangely urgent, a timbre that was shockingly
familiar to Louise. It was how Maud had sounded when
she was being fingered between her legs.
'Yes, Madam,' Belinda's voice was clear and brave this
time, but she gulped as the squeezing fingers strayed ever
so slightly towards her cleft.
Sweet Jesus, what's she doing? thought Louise, battling
to control her breathing and the turmoil in her aching
crotch. Oh Lord, she's almost diddling her!
Madam Woo spun away then, her bright eyes catching
Louise's challengingly for a second, then shuttering
immediately. There were two small spots of colour high
on her elegant cheek-bones, and Louise could have sworn
there was moisture on her upper Up. 'Untruss her,' she
commanded to Flossie, and with a smile of pure salacious
glee the maid slowly and quite theatrically obeyed.
Taking a precise hold on Belinda's knicker elastic, Flos-
sie tweeked the garment downwards inch by inch ... and
Louise thought she was going to faint, have an orgasm or
wet herself - possibly all three at once - as twin perfect
mounds of young feminine bottom-flesh were at first par-
tially and teasingly, and then fully and blatantly exposed to
her. The pretty lace-trimmed bloomers finished up around
Belinda's quaking knees, and then, as if to shame her right
to the core, Flossie deliberately nudged the prone girl's
legs as wide apart as they would go within the bounds of
the containing elastic.
Belinda sobbed loudly, before a single blow had even
been struck.
And Louise sobbed too, in humiliated bliss, as her cunny
fluttered and betrayed her. The feeling was so forbidden
and sweet that she had to clutch herself, and Madam Woo
whirled around like a dancer and caught her in the very
act of doing so.
'And that' the governess said quietly, looking at
Louise's crumpled skirts and the fingers that just couldn't
keep from squeezing, 'that will make things all the worse
185

for you, my girl.' Her voice was chilled velvet as she
returned her attention to Belinda, but her dark eyes still
gleamed with that odd, feverish light.
Louise was having trouble standing up, but with a
supreme effort of will, she locked her knees and managed
to stay aloft. She'd never had a come in the vertical posi-
tion before; except perhaps with that crazy girl at Mrs
Fortescue's party, but that didn't really count because her
hips had bucked so hard when that clever little miss had
sucked her that they'd both fallen over in a panting heap.
All the other times she'd been fairly safely positioned:
either draped across the partner's body somehow, or snug-
gled up in bed with her hand up her night-dress.
By the time she'd regained control of her wavering legs,
other matters were already at crisis point. Flossie was
leaning bodily over Belinda's stretched form, and Madam
Woo had taken a thick, bifurcated leather strap from her
cupboard and was hefting it experimentally.
Louise had been blushing but she felt the blood drop
from her face and disappear to God alone knew where.
Oh no, oh no, she was going to tawse the poor thing!
'Now, Belinda my sweet,' Madam murmured, her voice
soft as a lover's, 'I'm going to beat your naked bottom
with this strap.' She laid the strip of leather almost rever-
ently across the bare white mounds and Louise saw the
pale flesh quiver.
Louise's own flesh quivered too, her sticky httle quim
jumping as the stern dark-clad woman placed her hand
beside the thick leather band and caressed - there was no
other word for it - the very skin she was about to wound.
Belinda jiggled in Flossie's hold, her thighs moving lewdly
and opening even wider. Louise bit her lip, but couldn't
look away.
She could see it. See everything. The swollen wet folds
of the struggling girl's cunt.
She could see her holes, her hps, the soft curly hair.
She could see her pulsating. Moisture glistening on the
redness... It was as if she were waiting for a lover to
186

take her, to stroke her and touch her; not for a thick slab
of leather to beat her white bum into flame!
'Be still, you lewd girl,' commanded Madam Woo softly.
Louise nearly came again as Madam touched her charge's
moist place and her fingers lingered for a full half second.
Belinda's bottom rose yearningly as her tormentor's hand
withdrew.
'Prepare yourself.' Madam Woo stepped back, narrowed
her fine eyes, sighting her target, then in a movement of
supple lightning grace sent the leather arcing through the
air to connect - loudly - with Belinda's proffered bottom.
Belinda made a mewling noise - just as loud - and threw
herself wildly forward in Flossie's unremitting hold.
Louise felt sick, aroused and mesmerised. That sweet,
snowy bum seemed to resonate visibly under the cruel
impact and within seconds grow redder and redder. But
there was hardly time to keep track of the changes as more
blows were already falling with steady, almost metronomic
precision.
The 'crack! crack! crack!' of the tawse seemed to burn
itself into Louise's brain, as did the sight of the jouncing,
palpitating buttocks growing brighter and brighter and
fierier and fierier...
Belinda was not a stoic sufferer. Whimpering and blub-
bering, she waved her legs wildly and waggled her bottom
outrageously under the blows. 'Belinda, behave! Or you'll
get more!' only seemed to make her struggle harder. And
in the few seconds of respite, while Madam Woo flexed
her wrist, Louise could clearly see a thick gelid liquid
oozing between the punished girl's thighs. What's more,
and she could hardly believe what she was seeing, Flossie
seemed to have let her charge shuffle up and balance her
crotch right on the edge desk, and Belinda was
unashamedly working the front of her body on that very
same edge!
When the next blow fell - with eye-watering ferocity -
Belinda gave a huge gobbling cry, her legs flailed, and the
whole of her abused body seemed to leap and convulse.
'You wicked, wicked girl!' cried Madam Woo, her voice
187

sounding choked, excited. Tve warned you about this.'
Louise watched her, fascinated, as her hand strayed to the
front of her long black skirt and she seemed about to
caress herself too! 'Now I shall have to cane you as well!
Flossie, kindly get the straps.'
The maid let go, but Belinda remained stretched across
the desk, her lower body moving gently and her cunny
still wide open and dripping heavily.
She's had a climax! thought Louise numbly. Belinda
had come because Madam Woo had beaten her ... What
kind of girl would do that? Suddenly though, she didn't
care what kind of girl Belinda was; she only wanted to
touch that cherry-red bottom. Smack it a little, perhaps?
Then put her fingers into that perfectly exposed slit and
bring its owner to another groaning shaking orgasm.
It took every last scrap of her self-control not to rush
to Belinda and frig her, regardless of the baleful presence
of Madam Woo, who Louise now realised was watching
her just as closely as she was her victim.
'Take heed, Louise,' she said coolly as she went to her
cupboard again, opened it and perused contents Louise
couldn't see from where she stood. 'Belinda is an unusual
and rather dirty little girl. I think you'll find that when I
punish you, you won't find it quite so arousing. It will
hurt, Louise!' She drew out a thinnish cane, and swished
it assessingly. 'You won't gain a perverted pleasure from it
as Belinda does. It will just cause you extreme pain and
make you cry. Do you understand me?'
Louise nodded, wondering furiously why just the idea
of that pain was having the same weird effect on her that
it obviously had on Belinda. Her cunny was all twitchy
again, and felt disgustingly gooey inside her already christ-
ened drawers. The cane swished again and she had a
sudden quite weakening yearning to feel it flash across
her naked bottom instead of Belinda's.
By now, Flossie had pulled off Belinda's bloomers com-
pletely and was strapping the girl's ankles to the legs of
the desk. The poor creature was perfectly positioned now:
for heavy punishment, for examination... or something
188

even more wicked! Louise stared at the delicate little
rose-brown bud of Belinda's bottom hole and she longed
from the pit of her soul to be able to guide her finger into
it. Belinda would resist of course, but oh how she'd wriggle
and sigh when the naughty, skewering digit went to work.
'This time I'm really going to hurt you, Belinda,' Madam
Woo said quietly, leaning over the secured girl and strok-
ing her tangled hair. 'It will hurt a lot and it won't give
you pleasure. You mustn't scream, but I think we can
make that a little easier for you...' She reached behind
her, waggling her fingers, and with no word of instruction,
Flossie handed her Belinda's discarded bloomers. These
the mistress wadded into a ball then pressed - partially -
into their former wearer's mouth. White cotton and lace
trailed obscenely from Belinda's widely stretched lips, and
Louise wondered deliriously if the mortified girl could
taste her own taste on the gusset...
As Flossie resumed her hold on Belinda, Madam Woo
spun away and took her position. There was something
almost exultant in her stance, and Louise felt both thrilled
and horrified. That dark, menacing beauty was as arousing
as the sight of Belinda's reddened and peach-like bum -
it was a different feeling but in its own way at least as
strong...
God, how she loves this! Louise thought in wonder,
watching the pain-goddess closely as the cane went whis-
tling through the air. And when the wicked thing struck
and Belinda bucked in silent agony, an almost beatific
smile crossed Madam Woo's ice-pale countenance.
White lines became vicious red as Belinda's bottom
took a sustained, unremitting going-over with the cane.
The tethered girl kicked, and squealed into the gag, and
as her own head filled with the muffled sounds of anguish,
Louise boggled at the insane and ludicrous images that
joined them.
The wounded bottom before her became Madam
Woo's: enticingly naked, fizzing red and framed in both
the voluminous folds of her elegant black skirt and the
exquisite ruffles of the most luxurious of pure silk panta-
189

loons. Louise saw - and felt - the stick in her hand...
Then saw herself massaging those lush, maltreated but-
tocks, her fingers exploring their heat, their softness and
their pain.
When Belinda's arse was reduced to a mass of weals,
Madam Woo paused in her endeavours and moved from
her arm's length position to an intimate closeness to her
victim. Her pale fingers moved lightly over the crimson
mounds, as if assessing the precision of her own cruelty.
'How beautifully you mark,' she murmured to the sob-
bing girl. The caress brought a renewed spate of writhing,
as if the intimacy, the fastidious thoroughness of the touch-
ing, was at least as distressing as the beating that had
preceded it. The faster Belinda wriggled, though, the
slower and more fingering the stroking of the fingers
became. As they slid dangerously near to the exposed
privates, Louise saw Madam Woo breathe deeply as if
trying to contain some great emotion, some overpowering
need.
'Flossie, kindly unstrap her,' the governess ordered
softly, seeming to gather herself. Stepping away from her
spectacular handiwork, she turned, 'Louise... Please go
to your room and wait there until lunch-time. And don't
look so relieved.' Her eyes narrowed. 'I'll be dealing with
you later. Right now, Belinda must confess her sins and
be forgiven. And after that I shall take a short rest. Did
you hear what I said, Louise? You seem to be dreaming
again.'
'Yes, Madam.' Louise made her way disconsolately to
the door. It was incredible really, but if she didn't know
better, she'd have almost believed she was disappointed
at not being punished immediately. In front of Belinda
and Flossie ...
As she paused at the door, her heart seemed to clog
her throat. Madam Woo was cuddling Belinda in her arms
and talking to the girl in exquisitely gentle tones. Belinda
was still sobbing and hiccuping, but the glow in her eyes,
and the penitential smile on her curiously marked face
made Louise long to take her place. To endure the same
190

pain and humiliation - to take much more and for far
longer - just to enjoy such perfect tenderness.
Hie last thing Louise saw as the door swung to was
Belinda closing her eyes in agony and bliss as Madam
Woo's long white fingers returned to their work on her
bottom...
Waiting in her room was appalling. Why did she feel so
let down? Why had the sights in the schoolroom aroused
her to such a hair-trigger state of excitement?
She kept seeing Belinda's jiggling bottom again, and as
she did so the urge to touch herself was astoundingly
powerful. She had a vision of diddling herself... Then of
standing behind Belinda's sublimely punished arse and
rubbing her own body against it. She wanted to open her
cunny and press it to that puffed red flesh. She wanted to
work herself up on those plump sizzling buttocks and feel
the heat of them on the sensitive membranes of her sex.
She was only next door ...
Louise knew her urges were absurd and highly punish-
able - they were the reason she was here in the first place
- but almost before she realised what she was doing, she
was out in the corridor and turning Belinda's door handle.
The girl lay face down upon her bed, sobbing quietly
into her pillow as her uncovered bottom seemed to pulse
and beat with an independent life of its own. The delicate
downy flesh was a brilliant, uniform scarlet, laced with a
network of fiercer weals where the cane had added its
agonising insult to the tawse's existing injury.
Louise had never seen a more thrilling sight in her life.
The injuries themselves affected her in a way she barely
understood; her own behind was twitching like fury as if
it longed for the bite of the very same rod.
And what lay around the wounds, and beneath, had a
charm and sweetness too. The pretty turned back petti-
coats; Belinda's really rather shapely legs; her dainty feet
in their short white socks. The puffed up beauty of her
luscious pouting cunny.
191

'Who's there?' the sufferer called out, her voice still
quavery.
'It's me. Louise.'
Belinda shuffled on the bed, moving awkwardly in her
pain. Louise noticed that the girl was holding a tiny lace
handkerchief to her tearful face with one hand and that
the other was lost in the folds of her clothing somewhere.
She took a step forward, and saw Belinda's thighs quiver
and part a little more. The bared cunt gaped invitingly.
'I'm sorry,' Louise muttered, choked by this display of
everything that stirred her most. 'I'd better go.'
'No! Don't go!' Belinda scrubbed at her eyes with her
scrap of a hankie, then pushed it away across the pillow.
When she turned, wincing as she struggled to look over
her shoulder, Louise was astonished to see she was smil-
ing. Winsomely. 'Please stay, Louise. You can soothe me,
if you like.'
'What do you mean "soothe"?' Louise stammered,
drawn irresistibly to the prostrate form on the bed, to the
apple-red buttocks and the wet, glistening quim. Madam
Woo dressed her charges in the short socks and petticoats
of little girls, but the pungent odour emanating from that
open furrow told Louise that Belinda was unequivocably
a grown and eroticised woman. The hussy was lying there
with her cunt hanging out because she'd known Louise
would come to her. And it was obvious now where that
hidden hand was.
When Belinda arched her back and raised her abused
behind, her dainty middle finger could clearly be seen ...
beating hard on her swollen clitoris.
'My bum's so hot, Louise,' the masturbatrix purred, her
voice wheedling and sultry. 'Please cool it for me ... It's
burning up. Please help me.'
'What shall I do?' It came out as a pathetic trembling
croak. 'Shall I get a flannel or something?'
'Oh no, Louise ... A flannel is all nasty and rough. It'll
hurt my bottom even more.' The flesh in question waggled,
the undulation utterly lewd and the desperate frigging
beneath it even more so. 'You must be ever so, ever so
192

gentle, Louise. You'll have to kiss my bottom to make it
better ... You'll have to lick it.'
'I... I...'
'Don't you want to kiss my bum, Louise? I thought you
wanted to make me feel better...' The flaming cheeks
clenched invitingly, and as Belinda hissed with the obvious
pain, her arsehole winked obscenely.
Not stopping to think or analyse exactly what she was
doing, Louise climbed onto the bed, knelt between
Belinda's outspread legs and lowered her mouth to the
temptingly offered bottom. The girl winced and cried out
as hps made contact with her cane-seared flesh and Louise
pulled back, shaking violently.
'No! Please! Don't stop! I like it!' Belinda shouted,
rearing herself up higher. Louise obeyed her, as implicitly
as she would have Madam Woo herself, her loins itching
and aching, and enthralled that something so bad, so for-
bidden and so painful should be so good for both kisser
and kissed.
Belinda's skin was hotter than Louise would have
believed possible; heat rose up in a wave as blood surged
furiously through mistreated tissues. Louise could feel
ridges where the cane had bedded in. Her own sex pulsed
as she laved her tongue across the sweetly savaged bottom
beneath her.
Belinda moved voluptuously under the treatment,
cooing in her throat as Louise licked eagerly. The tongue-
strokes were light, but they must be hurting. Nevertheless,
Belinda gave off all the signs of being in seventh heaven.
Her fingers were working furiously somewhere just
beneath Louise's chin, and the musky juices of her seeping
fanny would have made an ascetic yearn... Louise was
no ascetic, as her presence at Madam Woo's attested, and
the smell of Belinda's sexy flow was driving her out of
her mind.
'Oh, Louise, that's lovely,' Belinda cried out happily,
lifting her hungry, bitchy little body as Louise's tongue
dipped into the crack. 'Please... Please! Oh, Louise,
Louise, do it! Do it! Do it!' Reaching around she cupped
193

one mound of her own sorry flesh, and though she yelped
loudly, she worked her bottom-cheek mercilessly in time
to Louise's snuffling attentions. And trapped beneath her
body, her fingers were rubbing and rubbing and
rubbing...
Louise pressed her own crotch to the mattress, working
herself furiously against it in a bizarre emulation of sex.
Making love to the bed beneath her felt as good in a way
as the real thing. She was licking like a little doggie at the
sweetest of womanflesh ... but in her mind, she too was
being licked and rubbed.
'I'd stop that immediately if I were you.'
Louise heard each perfectly articulated word quite dis-
tinctly, yet the whole sentence made no sense to her at
ah.
'Louise, get up. You're in quite enough trouble already
as it is, but if you don't get up this instant, my girl, you'll
certainly regret it.'
Louise struggled to sit up and achieve some dignity, a
task that was more or less impossible with Belinda trying
to do the same underneath her.
Madam Woo had changed her clothes - and when
Louise finally dared to look at her, she knew she'd never
seen a figure more grimly beautiful than their slender,
forbidding governess.
A prim, high-necked silk dress in deepest black was
moulded to her trim figure in a way that was diametrically
at odds with its nominal severity. A narrow encrustation
of white lace at wrist and throat seemed so unexpectedly
sensual that it made Louise's heart ache. Not to mention
certain less chaste of her organs ...
'Belinda. Stand in the corner with your hands on your
head - facing the wall - and wait. Let your dress drop, if
you will. Exposing your bottom obviously gives you far
more pleasure than it ought to.'
With this, Madam Woo snared the dithering Behnda by
one soft ringlet and marched her over to the wall. 'I'll be
spanking you again in a few moments, young lady, and
believe me, this time you won't like it one bit.'
194

A knock rang out in the charged atmosphere.
'Enter,' said Madam Woo softly.
Flossie had a new frock too, and her crisp satiny 'best'
uniform was even more becoming than her plain one,
mainly due to its extreme thinness and the clinging nature
of the fabric. The black dress was superficially as neat
as a pin, but on a closer look, Louise noticed a vague
dishevelledness. Flossie had clearly been recently involved
in some sort of hectic activity. Hectic and highly pleasur-
able. Her naughty eyes were sparking like jewels, and
there was a bright rosy flush in her bonny cheeks.
Come to think of it, Madam Woo had more colour than
usual too. Just a hazy touch of pink but it was there.
A crystal image formed... and Louise welcomed total
insanity.
Maid and mistress. Lushness and finesse. Mischief and
discipline. The combinations formed deliriously in
Louise's befuddled brain ...
Madame Woo's a lezzie too, she thought wildly. That's
why she likes touching Belinda up. She's a dyke and she
has it off with Flossie when the thrashing gets her all
excited.
'Now, Miss Sutherland,' Madam Woo fixed Louise with
a lovely but basilisk glare. 'As it's clearly unwise to keep
you two salacious young women together, I want you to
go and stand outside my sitting room, and wait there until
I've finished dealing with Miss Gascoigne. Flossie, go with
Louise and make the usual preparations. Do you have
your pins with you?'
'Yes, Madam,' Flossie answered glibly, her pretty face
alight with glee.
Damn that fat bitch! She loves all this! thought Louise,
feeling utterly powerless. She didn't know whether to
loathe Flossie... or adore her as much as Madam. She
was a merciless tease, yet there was something so earthy
and so unavoidably sexy about her that it was impossible
not to desire her. Rashly, Louise glanced at that thin but
sober frock and saw the nipples beneath standing out like
church-organ stops. Oh no no no ... Of course, she didn't
195

loathe Flossie. The girl was vulgar and quite wicked but
those scrumptious breasts made up for everything. Oh
God, those delectable titties! Will I see them again?
Louise wondered blearily, beginning the endless march to
the door.
'Louise,' Madam Woo said sharply just as she got there.
'While you're waiting, I'd like you to consider the bad
habits you so monotonously display. The acts and thoughts
that keep you from being the wholesome young woman
you should be. Will you do that for me, Louise?' Her tone
softened slightly as Louise turned and nodded.
'Yes, Mrs Woolstencraft,' she said, her voice respectfully
low.
Oh yes, yes, yes, Madam Woo! she screamed in her sex-
crazy mind. I'll think about them all right... But, oh God,
it would be so much easier if I could stop thinking about
them.
And then the door was closed and Flossie was frog-
marching her down the corridor.
'Come along, Miss Louise,' she said, her voice rich with
amusement.
Madam Woo's sitting room was on the same landing
but around the corner, and as they reached its door, a
faint 'clapping' sound, followed by a thin squeal of angu-
ish, came floating from the bedroom behind them.
'She's best with her hands,' Flossie said lightly as the
sounds rang out again - then repeated and repeated with
painful regularity.
'How do you know?'
'Now, now, Miss Louise, you know better than to ask
naughty questions,' Flossie came back pertly as she man-
handled Louise up against the wall.
'Does she smack you?' Louise persisted, then tried to
struggle away as she felt hands burrowing in her skirts.
'Hey, get off!'
'Louise! Behave yourself'
Suddenly Flossie's teasing tone was strangely absent,
and in its place was the same steely softness that Madam
Woo used to such chilling effect. Louise felt a great, sen-
196

sual shiver rise up from her toes and gather in the cradle
of her loins. Her hands lost strength and purpose, and
dropped to hang loosely at her sides.
"That's better,' murmured Flossie, scything through pet-
ticoats with practiced ease. How many other girls had she
humbled like this? Made ready for her dark-eyed mis-
tress? 'And yes, she has,' she finished, her voice changing
yet again - to soft breathlessness.
'What?' Louise was shattered. Both by the answer and
by the fact that Flossie had hold of her bloomers and was
pulling them down. Down, down and further down till
they were bunched ignominiously around her ankles.
'She smacks my bottom. That's what you wanted to
hear, wasn't it?' Flossie grinned and pressed her hand
to the heat of Louise's bare thigh.
'I... er... I don't know. I thought you were her... her
accomplice.' It was impossible to choose words accurately
when Flossie was squeezing and pinching and getting
closer and closer.
'Accomplice? That's an odd thing to call me,' she
observed, her fingers brushing soft hair now.
'But you're her maid, aren't you?' Louise choked. With
a couple of quick jerks, her thighs were roughly parted.
'Well, this is a maid's frock, Louise ...'
Breath was hot on her thighs now and for one glorious
moment, Louise thought Flossie would plunge right in
and lick her. Make her all wet and creamy so Madam
Woo would be more displeased than ever.
Suck me! Suck me! she wailed inside, caring not one
jot that Flossie was evading her questions. All she wanted
now was the feel of that soft red mouth.
Flossie's tongue-tip appeared tantalisingly between her
pretty encarmined lips, but alas went no further. Grace-
fully, she rose to her feet and looked Louise in the eye
instead of the fanny.
'Yes, Louise, she smacks me.' Perversely, she'd returned
to the earlier question. 'She puts me over her lap, takes
down my knickers, then spanks my bottom with her bare
white hand ...' Her voice regained its dreamy quality, and
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in that softness was a fine, beautiful modulation that bore
no resemblance at all to her usual saucy 'salt of the earth
domestic' speech. 'She tans me until I'm in burning agony.
Sets fire to every square inch of my cheeks. Just the way
she's doing to Belinda now.'
As if on cue, a harsh wail pierced the private space
between them, followed by an extended fusillade of echo-
ing slaps and the sound of uncontrollable and piteous
weeping.
'She'll touch her now,' said Flossie, her hands returning
suddenly to their former haunts. 'She can't resist it. From
the pit of hell to the vault of heaven... and all done
with the same beautiful fingers.'
'Does she touch you?' Louise's voice cracked as another
set of beautiful fingers caressed her aching slit. Fingers
that were soft and well-kept. Fingers that, if they were a
maid's, certainly never blackleaded a grate or scrubbed
a floor.
'Oh yes, Louise, yes!'
Flossie's bright eyes were unfocused now, as if she
weren't in this corridor with her hand up another girl's
dress, but was stretched and displayed across her mis-
tress's lap, her bottom quaking in readiness. There were
no squeals now, just silky full-throated sobs of an dramati-
cally different character.
Flossie's tongue appeared again, and skimmed her
parted lips. 'Oh yes, Louise, she touches me. And much
better than a man, I can tell you.' One finger bored deeper
for emphasis and Lousie groaned. The effort not to shout
and writhe and come was almost tearing her apart.
'Have you seen those hands, Louise?' Flossie demanded
passionately, her own hands a gorgeous torment. 'So long,
so elegant... Fingers so soft and yet so powerful. She
just has to touch my clitty once and I come.' She swallowed
and her eyelids fluttered as if word had been deed. 'But
once is never enough for her ... She won't ever stop until
she breaks your soul into pieces.'
'Oh! Oh God!' To Louise's rapture it was happening to
her too. Heavy spasms wrenched her clitoris, her groove,
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her vagina. She closed her eyes as pleasure pulsed thickly
through the whole of her loins and she surrendered com-
pletely to the moment. She was vaguely aware of small
movements against her twitching flesh; and then, as
before, her only remaining consciousness was needed to
keep her upright.
After a long blissful stupor, normal thought returned
and she looked down to see a swathe of snowy white
cotton being drawn from between her legs.
Dear Lord, she's quick, Louise thought admiringly.
Almost before the orgasm was over, Flossie had whipped
out her hankie and was wiping her victim clean.
'Mustn't make a mess, must we, Louise?' Flossie's sauci-
ness was back in full flower. 'Madam Woo wouldn't like
to find a girl who's all naughty and sticky waiting for her,
would she?' Deftly, she wiped and mopped; inflicting an
almost heartbreaking pleasure as she did so. 'That's much,
much better, isn't it?' She pressed lightly. 'She'd have been
so cross if she'd arrived and found you all juicy and puffy.
Remember what she said about lewdness of thought and
deed?'
Louise nodded, her shame doubling and trebling as her
skirts were pinned up both fore and aft and she was left
standing with her pale body completely exposed from the
waist down.
'There, my sweet, all pinned up and ready.' Flossie grin-
ned at her handiwork, then proceeded to drop to the floor
and sit down against the opposite wall, her legs crossed
like a fakir. Her rustling black skirt fanned about her, but
with no warning at all, she plucked at its hem and hauled
the whole affair up to her waist.
And now two naked sexes were exposed.
Despite her lyrical descriptions of how Madam Woo
was wont to pull them down, Flossie wasn't wearing any
bloomers. Her black skirt and stockings, her pale skinned
belly and thighs, and her vivid scarlet motte made a fabu-
lously sensual tableau.
Life surged back into Louise's temporarily quiescent
membranes - while her eyes embraced the beautiful dis-
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play before her. She could see the thick glossy luxuriance
of Flossie's bush, the soft, fine curliness of the hair. 'Flos-
sie' by name and flossie by nature, she thought, feeling
giddy. Her flesh twittered in tribute as the maid unbut-
toned the front of her prim dress and exposed her bosom
too. Again, she was completely naked beneath the plain
black bodice.
'You like these, don't you?' Flossie cupped a breast in
each hand, pushed inwards, and lifted, creating a most
extraordinary and toothsome cleavage. She'd done this
last night, the wicked tease, and as before, Louise longed
for the chance to suck them.
But last night, she'd only seen breasts ...
'Hands on head,' Flossie rapped out, as Louise's fingers
flexed and fluttered. 'Madam Woo expressively forbids
her young ladies to diddle themselves.' Her smile widened
archly. 'Funny thing though ... She's never said anything
about her maids.'
Long, immaculate and entirely unservantlike fingers
were suddenly wedged between Flossie's plump thighs;
with one hand she held open her hair-covered labia, while
the other sought the nexus of her pleasure. Her big breasts
hung like fruits, ripe and pale against the dark folds of
her bodice. Her fingers rummaged busily between her
slowly shifting thighs.
'But... But what if she finds you?' Louise stuttered,
her own crotch screaming for such expert attention.
'She'll be a while yet,' gasped Flossie, her hips lifting
spasmodically, her boot heels dragging on the parquet.
'She won't be finished with young Belinda for ages...
Oh! Oh, God!' Her pretty face contorted, pagan and
masklike, as a long sigh of pleasure hissed between her
drawn-back lips.
Two fingers were moving like a piston in her slit, as the
middle finger of her other hand worked hard and long on
her clitty. Louise was half in ecstasy, half in agony just
watching. Not to mention wholly in need of another
orgasm herself
She could hardly believe the sights she'd seen today.
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First Belinda diddling, now Flossie. And if what Flossie
had told her was true, Madam Woo had been at it too.
And that would really be something to see.
As if on cue, a creaking door around the corner at
the other end of the corridor, announced that Flossie's
predictions were incorrect. Madam Woo had finished with
Belinda. Either that or Louise had been watching Flossie's
spectacular little sex show for far longer than she realised.
The next performance was equally miraculous too -
albeit in a somewhat different way. Rising to her feet with
a swift, sudden grace, Flossie let her dress fall over her
streaming fanny, while her fingers were already at her
front and buttoning fast. The strides along the corridor
were brisk, but it was easy to see Flossie would be fully
decent with plenty of time to spare. When Madam Woo
turned the corner, her maid was demure as a nun and
calmly smoothing down her frilly apron. Only her pink-
ened cheeks suggested she'd been up to mischief in her
mistress's absence.
Madam Woo's narrow-eyed stare, however, suggested
that she was aware of both the mischief and its erotic
character. Her dark gaze flicked first to Flossie's blushes
and then to Louise and her spontaneously weaving hips.
'I see those bad habits have got the better of you again,
Louise.' Her voice sounded pained, but knowing what she
did now, Louise suspected it was an act. Madam Woo
actually wanted her charges to be sexually excited. And
in this instance, she wanted her, Louise, to think and act in
the lewdest possible manner. So there was an excuse to
punish her. To touch her body ... To hurt and shame and
arouse her, and in doing so, bring pleasure to the arouser.
The punisher.
This act of punishing was Madam Woo's sexual foreplay,
Louise realised, and in spite of the impending pain -
maybe even because of it - she could hardly wait for it to
begin. With all the braggadocio she could muster, she
flaunted her hips forward; glad that her juices were gleam-
ing on her upper thighs again and intoxicated by her own
smell and its heaviness in the still air of the corridor.
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Insolently she raised her eyes to meet Madam Woo's
intent ones. But not before she'd caught Flossie's
admiring, approving wink.
'That will be all, Flossie,' the mistress said somewhat
coolly. 'You may attend Belinda now, she's in some dis-
tress and her bottom needs bathing.'
'Yes, Madam,' Flossie said meekly, and just as she was
turning to go, Madam Woo's hand shot out with a lethal
cobra-like swiftness and grabbed the maids' thin skirt.
With a flick of the wrist, she whipped it up and bared one
cheek of Flossie's opulent bottom. Her other hand swung
out in a wide arc and fetched a ringing slap on the naked
white flesh.
The chubby round marked immediately, and Madam
Woo ran her fingers over her own perfect rose-pink hand-
print before passing them slowly into Flossie's accommo-
dating crack.
A long shudder ripped through the maid's body and
Louise felt her own slit twitch sympathetically. Her quim
seemed to love the way Flossie tilted her hips and opened
her thighs - the action a rude invitation to her tormentress.
Explore me, it said. Abuse me. Outrage me. Madam Woo
went in with a vengeance and Flossie cooed softly with
pleasure.
'I thought so,' the mistress finally murmured, holding
up the glistening evidence to her own nose, and then to
Flossie's. 'And in future, Floss, remember to straighten
your cap, as well as your frock, after you've been abusing
yourself.' She let the black skirt fall and right itself, then
with her own hands adjusted Flossie's starched white
bonnet which had slipped ever so slighly askew. 'I'll deal
with this matter -' to Louise's shocked delight, she grab-
bed Flossie's crotch again, through the thin shiny cloth,
and squeezed her crudely, 'later. Now go and see to
Belinda, and make sure there isn't anything else I have
to punish you for.'
'Yes, Madam.' Flossie was even pinker now, her face as
flushed as the buttock that had been punished, but she
202

seemed to skip like a lamb with joy as she made off down
the corridor in pursuit of her tasks.
'Flossie is an excellent maid,' observed Madam Woo
dryly, returning her attention to Louise and the 'problems'
exposed by her pinned up dress, 'but she's also a greedy,
carnal girl, and easily distracted from her duties.' As she
spoke she moved up close; so close in fact that her gown
brushed Louise's groin, the satin a butterfly caress as
she stared accusingly into her charge's eyes, 'And on this
occasion, Louise, it seems that you're the one guilty of
distracting her, doesn't it?'
'Yes, Madam,' Louise murmured, her voice small but
her anticipation large and thrilling.
Madam Woo reached past her, sliding heavy silk skirts
across her bare thighs and belly in a manouevre Louise
could only interpret as deliberate, then opened the door
to the sitting room. 'In you go,' the governess said crisply,
seemingly indifferent to the bizarrely displayed body
beside her and Louise's struggles with the bloomers that
hobbled her by the ankles.
It was a pretty room, very feminine, and filled with
a lot of pleasant but rather fussy furniture arranged in
conventional groups. There was a chaise longue, an otto-
man, a pouffe, and an incongruously bulky oaken cup-
board squatting ominously in the furthest corner.
Simple items, but each now assumed it own element of
menace. Any one of them, apart from the cupboard, could
well be the platform for some abject humbling. Even the
cupboard ... She had a sudden vision of herself suspended
naked across the front of it, her behind scored with the
fierce red marks of a beating as she ground her aching
fanny slowly against the gleaming nut-brown wood.
'Stand there.' Madam Woo indicated a spot a foot or
so from the chaise, and as Louise obediently took her
place, the governess sat down gracefully in front of
her. Louise could look down now, seeing the top of that
perfectly groomed head, and yet she was still at a mighty
disadvantage. For a slightly built women of moderate
height, Madam Woo had a marvellous ability to 'loom' -
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and she could even do it sitting down. Atavistic terror
made Louise's thighs shiver, and without thinking, she
pressed her hand to her crotch.
'Oh Louise, Louise... You don't have much control,
do you?' Soft fingers brushed Louise's knuckles, and she
let out an involuntary moan.
'You must learn, Louise.' The fingers moved slowly,
tantalisingly. 'This, Louise ... This part of you is wayward
and selfish. You must learn to master your urges, not
gratify them like a greedy child. And you'll be punished
until you can control yourself Punished severely. Do you
understand me, Louise?'
The slight pressure increased, taunting so delicately that
Louise broke down and sobbed. Never in her young life
had need been so strong, so urgent. She wanted some-
thing, anything to assuage it. She imagined lurching for-
ward, opening her legs wide, and smashing her heated
membranes against the silk of that pristine black gown.
Splitting her aching sex over that slender thigh, and rub-
bing and rubbing and rubbing till an orgasm released her
at last. In an effort at control, she opened her tightly
shut eyes and studied the sheeny dark stuff that covered
Madam's long, graceful, yet always hidden legs. There was
some kind of design to the cloth, she noticed, a brocade
effect, birds or something, and even though it was the
same coal black as Flossie's flimsy gown, the mistress's
was infinitely more luxurious.
And beneath? Did Madam Woo wear drawers? Or was
she naked beneath her austerity? Lush and sexy, with all
her severity just a piquant facade.
Stop it, Louise, she ordered herself, feeling sanity flee
her. There were hands at her crotch, Madam Woo's and
her own, but it was another sweet quim she imagined. For
the hundredth time since she'd arrived here, she filled
her mind with a succulent vision. Her governess's naked
womanhood, bare and ready for whatever stimulation that
lady chose to award it. Her own hand? Flossie's? The
maid's soft, pink mouth? In an instant, Louise saw them
204

on the bed: Madam with her legs gaping open, her servant
bending forward to kiss the place between them.
'Louise? Are you hstening to me?'
Snapping back to reality, Louise felt herself suspended
between a pair of irresistable poles - Madam Woo's per-
fect dove-white hands. One settled lightly on her cheek,
the other remained at her sex. Louise felt her own fingers
being nudged aside and one long, coohsh digit wiggling
its way through the hair to the heat within. As it
reached its target, her swollen, slippery clitty, her face
was gently tilted so her eyes might meet Madam Woo's.
Reluctant yet yearning, she met those eyes. And found
them dark but bright, the pupils hugely dilated.
Unable to speak, Louise nodded; as stirred by the touch
at her blushing cheeks as she was by the caressing of her
clit.
'Good,' Madam Woo said quietly, her voice calm though
her eyes were manic. She seemed almost unaware of what
she was doing between her charge's quaking thighs. 'Are
you ready to be punished now, Louise?'
'Yes,' Louise croaked, her quim throbbing precariously.
'Oh yes! Yes, please!'
'Very well, then.' Madam was utterly decisive, her hands
withdrew. 'Go to the cupboard and bring me the apron
you'll find hanging inside.' She nodded to the large oaken
cabinet. 'Well, what are you waiting for?' she said tartly
in the face of Louise's hesitation.
Even walking was hellish now. Louise waddled across
the room, her sex all puffed and bloated, her labia swollen
with what seemed hke a ton of blood. Each brush of her
thighs was torture, even the movement of air between
them a discreet stimulation. She expected to come any
second, to spontaneously disgrace herself by groaning
aloud. As she opened the cupboard door, she wondered
just exactly how she was going to be beaten.
Reaching for the apron - a heavy rubber monstrosity -
her blood froze at the sight in the cupboard before her;
an array of fearsome instruments that hung on a custom-
made rack.
205

Canes, long and short, slender and chunky, smooth and
knobbly. Belts, straps and tawses; some thin, some mass-
ively thick and brutal. Whips various, and paddles. Not
to mention a merciless selection of restraints to hold a
miscreant in place while she suffered.
'Just bring the apron, Louise. We'll begin with a
spanking.'
Almost faint with relief, Louise obeyed. Madam Woo
smiled as she took the apron and tied it neatly around
her sylphine waist, but there was a mocking light in her
eyes. Taking a moment or two, she settled herself squarely
on the chaise, then parted her rubber-covered thighs and
placed her heels flat on the carpet.
'Come on now, Louise. It's time. Across my lap, if you
please,' she said pleasantly, flexing her fingers as she spoke.
Louise felt cold terror curl in her gut...
What had Flossie said? 'She's best with her hands'.
What did 'best' mean? More effective or less? Just how
much pain could that slender hand inflict?
'Louise!'
With an ignominious lack of grace, Louise laid herself
across the rubber. As she settled in place a great lump
formed in her throat and even though she hadn't been
touched yet, her eyes filled with tears and her throat
tightened with a great roiling of emotion. Sobs shook her
body and she sank into a deep sweet well of surrender.
A hand settled lightly on the small of her back just
beneath her pinned up skirts, and another rested first on
her bottom, then moved between her thighs to edge them
further apart. Fingers danced delicately into the crack,
first feathering her anus, then rising to touch her bottom
cheeks, pressing firmly and prodding, as if testing the
resilience of the target flesh.
'Please,' Louise whimpered, not really knowing what it
was she was pleading for. She scrubbed at her streaming
eyes with one hand as the other hung loosely against
rubber and patterned silk.
'Don't cry, my sweet little Louise,' Madam Woo cooed
in her ear. The governess was leaning over now, her satin-
206

covered breasts almost brushing Louise's back. Her hands
continued to explore and touch, appraising the flesh that
she'd soon be marking and hurting. The search transmitted
itself exquisitely to Louise's naked sex, and she squirmed
in a vain attempt to rub against the rubber beneath her.
'There, there, Louise. Be a brave girl for me, won't you?
A brave, clean girl. I'm going to hurt you in a minute. A
lot. But if you're a good girl, if you're strong and quiet and
pure, I'll be very pleased with you. Do you understand?'
'Yes, Madam,' Louise blubbed, the gentle words and the
fingers palpating her bottom making it harder and harder
for her to control herself.
'Ready now, Louise. I want you to count out each smack
as it falls.'
The hand ceased its fondling and in her mind's eye
Louise saw it arise like Nemesis and pause.
She's taking aim, Louise thought wildly, her body knot-
ting with tension. The muscles of her arse went rigid with
anticipation ... then suddenly the first blow fell.
'Agh!' Louise's body arched under the impact, and her
brain went white andl blank. The pain was stunning.
Breath-taking. Terrible. She'd been expecting something
manageable. Sharp, but titillating. Almost pleasant...
Instead the right cheek of her arse was a solid slab of fire,
the pain so huge she couldn't even remember its begin-
ning. Fresh tears flooded her eyes.
'One,' the wounder prompted lightly, her body subtly
shifting as her hand went up for another blow.
'One,' Louise mouthed, all volume torn away by shock.
Slap! Her left cheek dissolved into flame and she
moaned out a broken 'Two ...'
Slap!
Slap!
Slap!
The blows went on and on and somehow Louise
managed to count. Count with a mind consumed by the
same infernal fire that scorched her buttocks. She was
numb to all other thought as the slaps fell without pause
and her bottom seemed about to burst its skin and disinte-
207

grate in formless agony. She was distantly aware that
Madam Woo was talking to her in soft, encouraging tones,
and that the exertion of the spanking had warmed that
black-clad body and was sending spirals of perfume waft-
ing through the raging red halls of her victim's torment.
The numbers intoned solemnly in Louise's head, but
astounded her by coming out as pig-like squeals. Her
behind seemed to have melted under the inexorable
blows, and in a moment of strange pin-sharp euphoria,
she rose up out of her quivering carcass and looked down
upon the scene. Her own bottom pulsed below her as a
swollen, shapeless pulp... A slender white hand
descended and descended and descended... and the
wretched body beneath it bounced and writhed as if
palsied.
How could Madam Woo do this? How could a human
hand inflict such an inhuman suffering? Surely she must
have flayed her own skin too by now?
Louise realised to her surprise that she was thinking
again - and that she wasn't counting. The spanking had
finished, but her bottom was blazing so consistently and
intensely that she simply hadn't noticed the lack of slaps.
A fresh bout of sobbing engulfed her, and as contact
with parts of her body other than her buttocks was re-
established, she felt the fierce ache of her sex where it
pressed against the slick rubber apron. Her legs had
opened wide during the spanking and as she shifted
slightly, seeking ease for her swollen clitty, she cried out
aloud at the new blast of pain in her bottom.
'Easy, Louise. That's all for now,' her persecutor
murmured.
But it wasn't. The need was as unbearable as the suffer-
ing. Grinding her teeth, Louise wriggled again, then whim-
pered like an infant when her loins burned as hot as her
backside, and a great wash of pleasure disgorged itself
clean through her cunt. To her befuddled mind and her
cruelly smacked body, an orgasm felt the same as being
beaten.
* * *
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The smacking had been only the beginning. Louise's after-
noon became a long round of delirious punishments, and
soon a mere spanking by hand seemed lenient.
Looking back, she realised that her own responses had
almost certainly been the cause of her undoing. Her rutt-
ishness and her frequent pain-inspired orgasms had let
loose a voracious demon in the slim dark-clad body of
Madam Woo. With each paroxysm they ascended another
step of the ladder, and through her own terrorised haze,
Louise slowly realised that she wasn't the only woman
coming and coming and coming. With the acuity of one
in extreme pain, she studied her punisher intently. Madam
Woo's eyes were like hot coals and her cheeks bore that
tell-tale flush that came from far more than wielding a
rod, a strap or a whip.
And yet there had been a devil loosed in Louise too.
While part of her screamed for the ordeal to end, another
darker facet had exulted in each and every stroke or blow
or cut. By the time evening began to fall she was offering
up her buttocks willingly. Waving her hips crudely, pushing
her bottom into the path of whatever fell... holding the
cheeks apart with her own fingers so she could be struck
right in the crack, where the pain bloomed more keenly.
She'd been spread across the pouffe to take the cane.
Stretched over the back of the chaise for a long, vicious
tawsing. Knelt on it, face buried in a cushion while Madam
ran her fingernails over the weals and stripes. At the end,
she'd been returned to the black, silken lap for another
spanking, a virtuoso performance so fine and extended it
was almost a benediction.
Then it was over. With a long, shockingly sensual kiss
Madam Woo had dismissed her. She'd granted Louise
some small degree of dignity by letting down her pinned
up skirts, but she hadn't returned her bloomers.
Blessed privacy. Back in her room, Louise had lain face
down on the bed, her bottom pulsing so intensely she
could almost hear it. After a while she'd got up, eaten the
cold supper she'd been left, and after that, and with a
209

good deal of pain and wincing, she'd made her awkward
preparations for bed.
She supposed she'd have to lie on her front, but when
it came to it, a maniac impulse made her turn onto her
back. A thin but softly padded quilt had been thoughtfully
provided, but even so, fire roared through her injured
bottom cheeks and she hissed aloud as she adjusted
position.
What's wrong with me? she asked herself. Sliding her
night-dress from beneath her, she ground her burning
backside against the cool satin quilt and cried out in pain.
Hot fluid started oozing between her thighs and the ache
there seemed to sweeten and grow, enhanced by the
effects of her wriggling.
Louise didn't properly understand the psychodynamics
of pain, but in this mad place - the Academy of Madam
Woo - it seemed to drive all the residents sex crazy. As
she turned out her night-light, she imagined all the ladies
of the house - both young and older - quietly and deter-
minedly frigging themselves to a standstill.
If they were alone, that was... As her fingers strayed
lovingly into her stickiness, her imagination produced a
feast of sapphic images.
Flossie servicing her mistress with fingers and tongue.
Belinda being caressed by a penitent Madam Woo.
Madam herself creeping into the servant's quarters and
tonguing her maid to a climax. Belinda with her fingers ...
'You don't have to do that for yourself, you know,' said
one soft, mirth-filled voice as another one giggled prettily
close by.
Louise opened her eyes in a panic, and struggling to
see in the dark, located two white-clad shapes hovering
in the shadows. Her door obviously didn't creak like the
one to Belinda's room, and she'd been so lost in her
masturbatory reveries that she'd never even noticed her
visitors arrive.
Her hand fell away from her body as the twin wraiths
drifted to the side of the bed.
'I heard you crying this afternoon,' said Flossie gently.
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The maid looked quite different in her night-dress, but
just as delectable. Especially with her magnificent red hair
streaming loose and unbound across her shoulders. 'That
was some going-over she gave you. I bet your bum's killing
you, isn't it?' she enquired, her voice soft and sympathetic.
'Yes,' Louise said honestly. It didn't feel so bad, though,
when the second night-dressed beauty picked up the hand
that Louise had just had in her quim and kissed it
passionately.
'You're very brave, Louise,' Belinda said quietly, then
paused to suck Louise's fingers. 'She can really lay it on,
can't she? It sounded as if you were getting everything.'
'How could you tell?' Louise would have felt alarmed
and suspicious, but somebody's hand went deftly and
gently between her legs, and its clever actions left little
room in her head for any negative emotions.
'We were outside the door,' Belinda said cheerfully,
easing Louise's night-dress right up to her neck, then
starting to kiss her breasts and suck naughtily on one of
her nipples.
'Both of us,' chimed in Flossie. 'And now we've both
come to soothe you.' Her eyes twinkled in the darkness -
just a split second before she bent over Louise and opened
her quim with a tongue that was long, sexy and mobile ...
and twice as naughty as Belinda's.
Louise writhed beneath their double onslaught, enrap-
tured as the pain in her bottom mixed exotically with the
pleasure at her crotch and chest. Both girls used their
mouths like professionals, and to look down her body and
see Belinda's shiny ringlets dancing as she switched from
one nipple to the other, and then look beyond at Flossie's
luxuriant red locks cascading across her loins, was prob-
ably the most beautiful sight Louise had ever seen.
As if by some silent agreement, both her seductresses
started working harder. Flossie seemed intent on drawing
Louise's entire sex into her mouth, and Belinda coated
both of her tingling breasts with a web of the wettest,
sweetest kisses imaginable.
Louise bucked like a hare on the bed, fire blossoming
211

in her abused buttocks at the very instant she convulsed
against Flossie's lips and coated them heavily with love-
juice. A martyr to ecstasy, she sighed her thanks to both
her lovers and closed her eyes in a transport of bliss.
Only to open them again when a voice from somewhere
nearby said a low, quiet, 'Good night, my dears. Sleep
tight.'
The last thing Louise saw - before pleasure took her
senses completely - was Madam Woo standing in the
doorway, her dark eyes wide and glittering.
She was smiling ...
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10
The Game's Up ...
Isis felt strange. Emerging from dreamland, she clapped
her hands to her smock-clad bottom and wondered why
it didn't hurt. It seemed impossible that it wasn't stinging
and smarting. Josh was already stirring, his long limbs
sliding uneasily, but she decided to take a risk. To touch
herself. Pushing up her smock, she slid her hands down
the back of her knickers.
Explore, Press. Squeeze the cheeks. Nothing. No pain.
No heat. No red-hot glowing tenderness that flowed like
lava through her sex.
It was almost a shame. The dream, Josh's dream, had
been incredible. Incredibly painful; incredibly sensual.
Like her fantasies last night with Tricksie, only more so.
She'd never been punished in the real world, and she'd
had more than most people's share of pain, but suddenly
she began to wonder.
Sliding a finger between her legs, she discovered she
was wet. And not just moist. Her whole sex was awash.
Drenched. Swimming. It could've been what she - no,
correction - what Josh in the guise of Louise had shared
with Belinda and Flossie; but somehow Isis knew that the
pain had been the true driving factor. Hie mover and
shaker. The initiator.
What would it be like to be smacked for real? she
wondered, still kneading herself. To have a red, fiery
bottom without even resorting to the 'Zone'? Ideas surged
outrageously through her mind. Maybe she could ...
213

'It serves you bloody well right,' said Josh, his words
sudden, but his voice soft with humour.
Isis jumped a mile, fumbled, and her panties nearly slid
around her knees. She whirled around and glared at him,
conscious of blushing like a rose, half furious and half
thrilled at being caught, compromised, with her hands
inside her panties.
'Why do you do that?' she demanded, smoothing down
her smock and trying to ignore the insistent need
beneath it.
'Do what?' Josh enquired lazily, shuffling his limbs and
body, then moaning. Isis watched him tense, lift, then sink
back down on the probe. His eyes fluttered closed and his
cock twitched slightly, its head pink and glistening in the
cuff.
'Pretend to be still unconscious and catch me. Catch
me -' Goddam the bastard! Why was he the only man on
earth who could do this? Every other male client was
putty in her hands. Almost literally. But Josh Mortimer
made her tremble and blush and stutter like a bashful
schoolgirl.
The thought of schoolgirls only made things worse.
Being one. Touching one. It was still far too close to home.
'Why can't you just wake up and be grateful like every-
one else? Why are you always trying to catch me out?'
'Would I do that?' He was still wriggling, still rising.
'Yes, you devil!' She reached out and took his pulse,
shaking off the hand that twisted in its restraint and tried
to grab her wrist.
His rate was fast, faster than it should have been for
the recovery phase. It felt more like a man who was on the
up-curve. She concentrated firmly on his wrist, then on
his brow as she did a quick check of his temperature. She
didn't dare look at his cock.
'Hey!' His voice was a purr, all chocolaty and cajoling.
It was crunch-time and she knew what he wanted. 'Come
on, Doctor Delicious ... Why are you stalling? The game's
up now, you know.'
Amazingly for a man who'd just come over and over
214

again in his dream, Josh was already erect again. His penis
had reared up, still wet with the juices of his previous
pleasure, the semen on his thighs a silvery, decadent lure.
Suddenly Isis felt scared. She did want him. She'd
wanted him for a long time, but an old, old shadow hung
over her. She'd come a long way with it, believed she'd
conquered it, but her fingers still flew to her cheek.
'Let me up,' said Josh fiercely, his brown eyes hot, his
gaze locking with hers. 'It doesn't matter! Let me loose
and I'll show you! For God's sake, woman, look at my
cock!'
She did. It was huge now, as stiff and inflamed as if
he'd been celibate a week, rather than fresh from a long
string of orgasms. 'If I thought you were repulsive, would
that happen?' He bucked his hips, waving his flesh at her.
'Jesus, Isis, I'm dying for you. You're beautiful...'
Beautiful? Oh no. Her fingers traced her damaged face,
her mind travelling back to the early days of horror after
the accident.
'Isis! Set me free! Do it now!'
He was strapped and bound but the command in his
voice was total. She felt her sex quiver its answer.
This is it, Ice, she told herself. Snap out of it. What
does your bloody face matter? The man wants you, he's
gorgeous, he's good and kind, for God's sake just have
him. You'll always be scarred, but men like this don't
come around too often.
Her fingers shook as she struggled with straps that were
usually child's-play. His body was superb, long and brown
and made for sex; worked out but not brutally muscled.
Strong, but natural and real and beautiful. His cock was
a great throbbing bar, and his handsome face bright with
desire. She sighed with him as the transceiver withdrew
from his bottom.
'Fucking thing,' he hissed. 'I shouldn't like it so
much...' He was already reaching for her as the treat-
ment couch closed up and became a solid one-piece bed-
shape again.
'Come here, Ice, let me touch you.' He shook off his
215

thin silk shirt and pushed his hair out of his eyes. 'Please.'
His eyes were black with lust, huge, imploring.
Isis felt nervous again, but she began to unbutton her
smock; conscious that her bra-less state was too 'obvious'.
That her intentions would be as revealed as her body.
Josh responded with a long, low, classic wolf-whistle.
She remembered his hands on her firm breasts just a day
or so ago. That had been an accident, through cloth, and
unintentional - at first - on her part. But this was different,
a ritual, a strip for his pleasure. She sobbed when he
reached out and touched her.
Gently, reverently, he traced her curving shape. She'd
expected him to be hurried, desperate and greedy now
the game was over, but his caresses were measured and
frustratingly light.
'I kind of thought it might be different,' she whispered,
arching her back and pushing herself forward into his
hands. She was standing beside the couch, her clothes on
the floor around her, and he was kneeling with his cock
swaying out towards her.
'How so, sweetheart?' Josh was concentrating endear-
ingly on her nipples, palpitating them delicately with his
fingertips, pausing to listen for her tiny sounds of response,
her moans as his nails scraped the dimpled rounds of her
aureoles.
'I... Oh God!' He'd dipped forward now, he was circ-
ling the tip of his tongue round a hard pink peak.
'You were saying?' His breath was agonisingly hot
against her sensitised teat.
'I thought we'd do it properly this time.' She slid her
fingers into his tousled black hair; he was taunting her,
teasing her, but there was no way she was letting him
stop. 'You know... A proper courtship. Dinner, soft
lights, music. All that stuff.' At that moment she couldn't
have cared less if she never ate again. The only sustenance
she required was the man, Josh, sucking rhythmically on
one nipple and pulling on the other in time to his sucks.
Isis felt her own hips take up the beat, driven by the tickle
that tormented her quim.
216

'Tomorrow night, we'll go out to the finest restaurant
in the city and we'll have the best meal you've ever eaten.
With candle-light, a dozen flunkies fussing around you
and even a gypsy violinist if you want it.' Even as he
spoke, Josh was slinging an arm around her waist, and
like the swashbuckling hero he sometimes reminded her
of, whisking her up onto the couch in front of him. Hie
thing was narrowish but long; and with aplomb, he placed
her in a sitting pose astride it, with her hips tilted and her
sex wide open and available.
Moving lithely, he mirrored the position himself, dan-
gling his long legs on either side with knees brushing
hers. His cock pointed rudely at her breasts, and his balls
snuggled dark and bloated against the pure white leather
beneath him. His loins, ready for sex, were perfection to
her eyes, and Isis wondered how she'd ever looked upon
him impartially.
'You can have as many dinners as you like tomorrow,
sweet Isis,' he murmured, running his hot brown eyes all
over her, 'but tonight you're gonna have sex.'
With that, he leaned across and kissed her.
It was a strangely innocent kiss in such wicked circum-
stances, but its gentleness had an explosive edge. The
angling of their bodies - to bring their mouths together -
stretched her cunt and tugged hard on her swollen clitoris.
In its hyper-sensitive state the steady pull was excruciat-
ing. She moaned beneath Josh's plaguing, nibbling lips as
he rocked her slowly and deliberately. He was kissing her
like an exploring adolescent, yet all the time using the
cant of her own pelvis to masturbate her. Even as she
came, shuddering violently, there was no doubt in her
mind whatsoever that he knew exactly what he was doing
to her.
As her hps tried to whimper, he breathed sweet encour-
agement between them. 'Yes, baby, yes! Let it come.
That's it... Let it come.'
And then he was pushing the words, his breath and
what seemed like the essence of life into her mouth with
his tongue. With a hand in her hair, cradling, and the other
217

on her hip, controlling, he blatantly fucked her mouth as
he worked her on the tautness in her clit. She would have
screamed now, if he hadn't taken her voice completely.
When he eased her backwards, supporting her by her
shoulders, she felt liquid move beneath her as the arch
between her legs relaxed, her labia softened, and tension
on her clitoris ebbed. She put up a hand, smoothed her
hair from her eyes but didn't open them, scared to reveal
herself.
Josh was dangerous. Deadly dangerous. Once she let
him, he went right through her barriers and unbuttoned
all the tightly knit layers she'd built up through the years
to protect herself. He laid bare the wide-eyed girl inside
the cool analytical woman, the sex-crazy slut in the pre-
cise, academic doctor.
She loved it.
'Isis,' he murmured, and she felt his fingers beneath her
thigh, easing up one leg to bend at the knee, drawing the
focus of her body from the wet, glowing tissues of her
quim. He was allowing her to think at last.
She drew up the other leg, slid into the lotus, let her
hands drop limply over her bush. And opened her eyes.
It was a ripe moment for someone to say 'I love you'
but neither of them did. The words would probably mean
the end of something when she wanted it to be a begin-
ning. They had to move forward. Keep growing. So she
said, with a grin, 'But Josh, you still haven't fucked me.'
'The night is young, Doctor dearest...' His own smile
was white and dazzling as he reached into her lap, took
her hand, and placed it fairly and squarely on his cock.
The night was old, near gone, when Isis turned over,
carefully, in the crowded space of her narrow single bed.
The care was for Josh, who slept soundly beside her,
his body hot and moist from being so close to hers after
so much hectic activity. It was also for herself. For a
quim so tender after what had really been too much sex.
And for her faintly tingling bottom where he'd spanked
her at her own request.
218

It hadn't really hurt a lot, but afterwards he'd flipped
her over immediately and applied his clever fingers for
pleasure's sake rather than pain.
Isis knew she'd been greedy tonight and that she
deserved her naughty little aches. Long after Josh, who
had come so much in his adventure, had gotten beyond
the ability to fuck, she'd still wanted to go on. And he,
with the grace of his lips and his hands, had obliged her.
They had actually copulated, of course. Had intercourse.
The long promised joining. And it had been simple and
sweet and straight when it happened. He'd just stroked
her between the legs for a few moments, to refresh her
juices, then risen over her like fate and slid in.
The missionary position, so ordinary after the bizarre
complications of adventureland, and yet at that instant it
had been appropriate and divinely special. In orgasm,
she'd cried out his name and heard her own on his lips.
And tasted both their tears.
Then, sometime later, in the afterglow, she'd popped
her audacious question and felt ridiculously nervous as
she waited for the answer.
Josh had laughed; but only in surprise.
'I'm honoured. If you think I can do it, I'll try. I've
been wondering how I'd occupy my time.'
'Welcome aboard, Mister Mortimer,' she whispered
now, brushing a long strand of his hair from across his
sleeping face. 'The ladies are just going to love you ...'
He was a tempting sight, and as Isis was about to tweak
down the single sheet and admire him even more, she
heard a soft knock at the door.
'Nice timing, Trix,' she muttered, sliding out of bed and
padding across the room to let in the only other person
who knew her digital entry code.
Even in the darkness, Isis could feel Tricksie throwing
off waves of excitement as they tip-toed into the flat's
small lounge.
'What's happened?' she asked, feeling hugely excited
herself. By her own exhibitionism. She could just as easily
have picked up a robe when she'd answered Tricksie's
219

knock, but here she was standing stark-naked and not
long fucked before a woman she knew desired her. She
should have been embarrassed displaying herself like this
- straight from Josh and still smelling of him - but all she
felt was arousal.
'Well?' she persisted, feeling blood surge in her body
as Tricksie's wide eyes perused her.
'Oh bloody hell!' Tiicksie dashed the heel of her hand
to her brow in horror. 'I'd forgotten about you and Josh.
Oh lor, Ice, I'm sorry! I just came rushing over. I didn't
think. It never occurred to me that you'd be... Oh shit,
I'd better go.'
'Don't worry, sweetheart,' Isis soothed, taking her
friend's arm and leading her to the sofa. 'You didn't inter-
rupt anything.' The two of them sat down, moving by
unspoken agreement. 'We'd finished for the time being.'
'Oh God, he must be fantastic! You look fabulous, Ice.
I've never seen a woman look as well fu -'
'Trix! Didn't you have something to tell me?'
'I've heard from Diabolo. He called me. He's fine. He's
not dead or anything ...'
Isis suddenly found herself in Tricksie's wildly hugging
arms, the gabardine of a chic trenchcoat feeling strangely
pleasant against her naked skin. She was just wondering
if there was anything beneath the coat, then Tricksie's
words sank in.
Diabolo. That stone-souled conniving bastard!
'Where is he then?' she asked softly, not pulling away,
the left hand of her lust coiling slowly but surely in her
belly. Tricksie smelt gorgeous too: half of sleep, half of
sex, as if she'd been masturbating when the Moon Devil
had called her.
'He's in France somewhere ... He wouldn't say exactly
and he'd locked out the origin code.' Isis felt Tricksie's
arms tighten as she spoke, and sensed an acute sexual
radar tuning in to her own new desire. 'And he's not
coming back for a while,' Tricksie paused then, as if saying
that had hurt her. Isis snuggled closer, kissing her neck
reassuringly. 'But he looks great and he seemed...
220

Umm... Well, I know this'll sound unlikely, Ice, but he
was nice.'
Til believe that when I see it,' Isis said as mildly as she
could manage. 'I don't suppose he said anything about
Pleasurezone, did he? After all, he was supposed to be
working for me.'
'No, he didn't. I'm sorry... I suppose I should've asked
him.' Tricksie's answer was matter-of-fact, but at the same
time she was pulling at the tie-belt of her trenchcoat.
When it was undone, and just as matter-of-factly, she
shrugged the thing off and let it drop onto the settee, a
crumpled beige heap around her completely naked body.
'Never mind,' said Isis, fighting for her own composure
now. Would she ever get used to the magnificence before
her? To such smooth-skinned animal fullness and its siren
call to the side of her that loved her own gender. 'I put
my proposition to Josh tonight and he's agreed. He's going
to join us as a therapist.'
'What? Me and you and Josh?' Tricksie laid red-tipped
fingers on Isis's arm, and then, as if unable to resist any
longer, moved them to her breast. 'That's wonderful! And
even if Diabolo does want in again, I'm sure we'll have
enough trade.'
Isis melted. Tricksie's look was so earnest and winning,
so childlike. But even as the words spilled from her hps,
those fingertips were stroking and circling.
'We'll see,' she answered, linking her hands loosely at
the back of Tricksie's neck and pulling her forward for a
kiss, 'but in the meantime, I think we should all celebrate.'
She pressed her hps against her friend's and probed gently
with her tongue as lust sang like a drug in her veins. If
someone had asked her a little earlier in the evening if
she wanted to share Josh Mortimer, she might well have
declined. But right now, with this special woman she could
admit she loved and not worry about it, the idea of sharing
a man was glorious.
'You mean ... with himV Tricksie said falteringly, nod-
ding in the direction of the bedroom as their mouths
parted. Isis nodded too, putting up her fingers to wipe
221

away a tiny lipstick smudge from beside Tricksie's dawning
smile.
'With him.' Isis slid her arm around Tricksie's bare waist
and urging her to her feet.
Josh was still asleep, but stirred as they approached the
bed.
'Oh love, he's so gorgeous,' mouthed Tricksie, rolling
her eyes.
'Ain't that the truth,' agreed Isis, also in mime and
meaning every word of it.
Josh did look wonderful. His skin was a caramel poem
against the battered white sheets, his black hair was all
over the place, and his long relaxed body had already
stretched across the whole of the meagre bedspace. He
looked good enough to eat, and Isis gave Tricksie a sly
squeeze, then reached across to flick away the sheet that
covered their banquet.
He was already partially erect.
Tricksie gasped and shuddered. Her sweet red mouth
formed a small, perfect circle of wonder and that painted
another incredible picture ...
Tricksie Hiring, possibly the city's most consummate
fellatrice, enclosing that sublime male shaft and sucking
its owner to ecstasy.
Isis felt strangely beneficent. She'd tasted Josh's fine
body already tonight. She's been kissed and stroked and
filled by him, enjoyed him and been enjoyed by him, had
him every which way bar swinging from the ceiling. Now
was the time to be generous, to give him as a gift. To her
dearest friend in the world.
Josh stirred again, his hardening cock lurching to a full
rise, and Isis felt her own flesh answer. In the hot furrow
between her legs a moist flutter matched his stiffening.
Blood flowed, tissues swelled and pouted, a low but
imperious ache made its signal presence felt. Patience, she
told her wayward, yearning body. Let Tricksie go first...
The lovely whore arched her finely plucked eyebrows,
and Isis nodded slightly. No further exchange was neces-
sary and Tricksie slid onto the bed. She moved with all
222

the grace and accuracy of a prima ballerina, but neverthe-
less Josh was disturbed.
The shift of weight roused him, and he stretched like a
long brown cat, rubbed his face drowsily and murmured,
'Isis? Whassamarrer...' still half in sleep.
'Nothing, sweetheart,' answered Tricksie immediately,
and Isis admired the way she eased her slim form between
the lying man's legs and took up a position of near prayer-
like kneeling.
Josh's eyes fluttered open, and both women smiled at
his instant and total disorientation. His mouth dropped
open, and stayed that way for ten whole seconds, then he
matched their grins with a wide one all of his own.
'Well, this is an unexpected pleasure, Mizz Tilling,' he
murmured, his eyes flicking momentarily to Isis's, check-
ing for her smile. When she blew him a kiss, he returned
his attention to Tricksie. 'What is this? An initiation
ceremony?'
'Team meeting, Josh,' said Isis crisply, pulling her special
chair up next to the bed, then dropping her bare body
into it. She could reach them both from its cushioned
comfort.
'We're going to work very closely together from now
on,' she continued, tongue firmly in cheek, yet getting
hotter and more serious by the second. This wasn't a
computer trip any more... It was two real beautiful
people she cared for. 'So this is your compatibility check.
I hope you don't mind?'
'No, I don't mind at all,' Josh said, trying to sit up and
being firmly pushed back down again.
'Just lie back and think of England or whatever,' Trick-
sie said pertly, 'This won't hurt a bit.'
'I'm sure it won't,' he ground out as Tricksie's soft red
lips plunged down on his penis, and his hips bucked up
convulsively to meet her. As she began to draw on him,
sucking and licking and wholly engulfing him, he turned
to Isis and reached for her hand, his expression strangely
pleading.
223

'Yes,' she whispered, taking his fingers in her own, and
holding his look until his eyes snapped closed in extremis.
It was an exquisite tableau, and as Isis took it in, her
other hand flew to her crotch. Tricksie was bent to
her work now, her wine-red hair tumbling forwards across
Josh's thighs and hips and belly, but not quite concealing
her mouth on his cock. Her lush lips were stretched
around him, and as she watched, Isis recalled that same
bulk in her own mouth a few hours ago. That same salt
taste on her tongue, those same harsh cries echoing in her
ears.
She was barely aware of her own small noises as her
best friend gave pleasure to her lover. To their lover.
There was delicious heat in her loins, but she felt confused,
at first, by the way she perceived it. The sensation was
'stroking', her reason told her calmly... but every nerve-
end in her vulva screamed 'suction'.
"IMs is weird,' she whispered, but doubted if either of
her lovers could hear her now.
She laughed softly when she realised what was happen-
ing, then gasped as Josh's hips started pumping strongly
and Tricksie gulped and moaned around the orgasming
obstruction in her mouth.
Isis sighed and writhed herself, her fingers remorseless
on her clitoris as she melted in a white-hot, tri-partied
climax.
But even as she spasmed, even while she sighed and
sobbed, she knew it wasn't really her own hand she'd
come by.
Mad as it seemed, Pleasurezone itself had given her
their pleasure, and probably given hers to them. She
smiled and fell back in the chair, pressing her own wet
flesh, squeezing Josh's hand, and sending out her swelling
heart to Tricksie.
You're a clever girl, Isis, do you know that? she told
herself as her soul expanded in a new gold dream ... then
encountered two others, each just as happy.
You don't even have to switch the damn thing on any
more!
224

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A mysterious stranger sets two young ladies the ultimate
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The Teaching of Faith by Elizabeth Bruce
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Until she met Alex, Faith had never experienced the full range
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The Training Grounds by Sarah Veitch
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Charlotte was expecting to spend her time on the island relax-
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a charismatic man makes her a tempting offer.

NEXUS BACKLIST
Where a month is marked on the right, this book will not be
published until that month in 1994. All books are priced £4.99
unless another price is given.
CONTEMPORARY EROTICA
CONTOURS OF DARKNESS
THE DEVIL'S ADVOCATE
THE DOMINO TATTOO
THE DOMINO ENIGMA
THE DOMINO QUEEN
ELAINE
EMMA S SECRET WORLD
EMMA ENSLAVED
FALLEN ANGELS
THE FANTASIES OF
JOSEPHINE SCOTT
THE GENTLE DEGENERATES
HEART OF DESIRE
HELEN - A MODERN
ODALISQUE
HIS MISTRESS'S VOICE
THE HOUSE OF MALDONA
THE INSTITUTE
SISTERHOOD OF THE
INSTITUTE
JENNIFER'S INSTRUCTION
MELINDA AND THE MASTER
MELINDA AND ESMERALDA
MELINDA AND THE
COUNTESS
MIND BLOWER
Marco Vassi
Anonymous
Cyrian Amberlake £4.50
Cyrian Amberlake
Cyrian Amberlake
Stephen Ferris
Hilary James
Hilary James
Kendal Grahame
Josephine Scott
Marco Vassi
Maria del Rey
Larry Stern
G. C. Scott
Yolanda Celbridge
Maria del Rey
Maria del Rey
Cyrian Amberlake
Susanna Hughes
Susanna Hughes
Susanna Hughes
Marco Vassi
Nov
Dec
Sep

MS DEEDES AT HOME
MS DEEDES ON PARADISE
ISLAND
THE NEW STORY OF O
OBSESSION
ONE WEEK IN THE PRIVATE
HOUSE
THE PALACE OF FANTASIES
THE PALACE OF
HONEYMOONS
THE PALACE OF EROS
PARADISE BAY
THE PASSIVE VOICE
THE SALINE SOLUTION
STEPHANIE
STEPHANIE'S CASTLE
STEPHANIE S REVENGE
STEPHANIE'S DOMAIN
STEPHANIE'S TRIAL
STEPHANIE'S PLEASURE
THE TEACHING OF FAITH
THE TRAINING GROUNDS
Carole Andrews	£4.50
Carole Andrews
Anonymous
Maria del Rey
Esme Ombreux
Delver Maddingley
Delver Maddingley
Delver Maddingley
Maria del Rey
G. C. Scott
Marco Vassi
Susanna Hughes
Susanna Hughes
Susanna Hughes
Susanna Hughes
Susanna Hughes
Susanna Hughes
Elizabeth Bruce
Sarah Veitch
EROTIC SCIENCE FICTION
ADVENTURES IN THE	Delaney Silver
PLEASUREZONE
RETURN TO THE	Delaney Silver
PLEASUREZONE
FANTASYWORLD	Larry Stern
WANTON	Andrea Arven
ANCIENT & FANTASY SETTINGS
CHAMPIONS OF LOVE
CHAMPIONS OF PLEASURE
CHAMPIONS OF DESIRE
THE CLOAK OF APHRODITE
SLAVE OF LIDIR
DUNGEONS OF LIDIR
THE FOREST OF BONDAGE
PLEASURE ISLAND
WITCH QUEEN OF VIXANIA
Anonymous
Anonymous
Anonymous
Kendal Grahame
Aran Ashe
Aran Ashe
Aran Ashe
Aran Ashe
Morgana Baron
£4.50
£4.50
Sep
Oct
Nov

ed. J-P Spencer
ed. J-P Spencer
ed. J-P Spencer
ed. J-P Spencer
ed. Esme Ombreux
ed. Esme Ombreux
ed. Chris Lloyd	£4
EDWARDIAN, VICTORIAN & OLDER EROTICA
ANNIE
ANNIE AND THE SOCIETY
BEATRICE
CHOOSING LOVERS FOR
JUSTINE
GARDENS OF DESIRE
THE LASCIVIOUS MONK
LURE OF THE MANOR
MAN WITH A MAID 1
MAN WITH A MAID 2
MAN WITH A MAID 3
MEMOIRS OF A CORNISH
GOVERNESS
TIME OF HER LIFE
VIOLETTE
Evelyn Culber
Evelyn Culber
Anonymous
Aran Ashe
Roger Rougiere
Anonymous
Barbra Baron
Anonymous
Anonymous
Anonymous
Yolanda Cel bridge
Josephine Scott
Anonymous
THE JAZZ AGE
BLUE ANGEL DAYS
BLUE ANGEL NIGHTS
BLUE ANGEL SECRETS
CONFESSIONS OF AN
ENGLISH MAID
PLAISIR DAMOUR
FOLIES D AMOUR
JOIE D AMOUR
MYSTERE D AMOUR
SECRETS D AMOUR
SOUVENIR D AMOUR
WAR IN HIGH HEELS
Margarete von Falkensee
Margarete von Falkensee
Margarete von Falkensee
Anonymous
Anne-Marie Villefranche
Anne-Marie Villefranche
Anne-Marie Villefranche
Anne-Marie Villefranche
Anne-Marie Villefranche
Anne-Marie Villefranche
Piers Falconer
SAMPLERS & COLLECTIONS
EROTICON 1
EROTICON 2
EROTICON 3
EROTICON 4
NEW EROTICA 1
NEW EROTICA 2
THE FIESTA LETTERS

NON-FICTION
FEMALE SEXUAL
AWARENESS
HOW TO DRIVE YOUR
MAN WILD IN BED
HOW TO DRIVE YOUR
WOMAN WILD IN BED
LETTERS TO LINZI
LINZI DREW S PLEASURE
GUIDE
B & E McCarthy	£5.99
Graham Masterton
Graham Masterton
Linzi Drew
! :nzi Drew

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