The Stallion Page 8

  Alistair bade goodnight and Nadine glared with glittering iciness at Penny and Auberon, but ignored Sir Reginald completely.

  They went off in different directions, Penny holding Auberon’s hand, and Sir Reginald out through the front door for his so-called walk.

  Auberon and Penny went outside, too. Both wished to check on their mounts before they turned in. At least, that was what they said.

  The night sky was deep indigo and scattered with stars. The air was warm, and an owl hooted from a far-off meadow.

  Penny breathed deeply, threw her head back and felt the tickling of her hair against her shoulders. The cool breeze of evening lifted her skirt and wafted around her naked thighs. The muskiness of sexual secretions reached her nostrils. The memory of that orgasm tantalised the crowding nerve ends that clustered around her clitoris. Excitement re-kindled desire. There was still a need within her.

  She shouldn’t complain, she told herself. She’d had two superb climaxes since she’d arrived, but both had been achieved by manipulative fingers not a penetrating penis. And the need to experience such a penetration was getting stronger.

  Speculatively she looked sidelong at Auberon. Perhaps, she thought to herself just a little wickedly and a little selfishly, just perhaps they could both have what they wanted – both her and the young, fresh-faced man walking beside her.

  ‘What a beautiful night,’ she murmured into her escort’s ear. ‘Good enough to get to know each other better.’

  His smile was bashful, perhaps even vague. It irked her to see that he didn’t seem particularly enthusiastic. She eyed him again, and thought of her first impression of him. Head-boy type. And he was rather pretty in a boyish kind of way. Public school, she decided, had shaped his sexual preferences. In the darkness, she grinned. Perhaps, a wicked thought said in her head, Auberon liked other things.

  Gravel scrunched under their feet as they walked the path to the stables. Vague mutters born of wine and brandy drifted in the night air. Sir Reggie appeared to be wandering off towards the shining glass of the orangery.

  Perhaps it was the clarity of the night air, but Penny was very aware of the odour of the man at her side, the spoor of masculine sexuality that lay in a fine film over his skin.

  It was also the night air that brought the sound of other footsteps crunching on the same gravel they had walked.

  Slyly she looked back along the path. Sir Reginald had stopped in his tracks; two figures had joined him.

  Beaumont is a spectator, Ariadne had said. In Penny’s opinion, there were others here besides Alistair who liked to watch.

  As the wine cleared from her head, it occurred to her that this could well be the first chance she would have of trying her luck with Alistair; of putting on a good enough show to at least whet his appetite.

  She looked at Auberon as though she could eat him. Her fingers tangled in his. He smiled at her, a little shyly. As if, she mused, he had thoughts in his head that did not quite match hers.

  Never mind, she thought, we could both get what we want tonight, or at least go some way towards it. First, she decided, she must make no secret of her intentions and her willingness to cater fully to his needs.

  Lightly brushing against his hip and thigh as they walked, her fingers fondled the slight rise that pushed against his fly. His gasp hung on the air between them. He gulped and cleared his throat before he spoke.

  ‘That’s terribly nice, awfully nice in fact,’ he stammered.

  ‘Just nice?’ she asked, and lent an ache of disappointment to her voice as if she were feeling just a touch insulted that her adept probings had not produced a more satisfactory response.

  ‘Very nice,’ he added on the edge of a sigh.

  She moved her hand, ran it around his waist, then slid it over and between the iron-hard cheeks of his behind.

  Ahhh! That’s better, she said to herself as his breath and a nervous cough collided into a kind of choke.

  ‘That’s delicious!’ he breathed at last, his voice one or two octaves higher than it had been.

  So she was right. She smiled at the night. Tonight could finish even better than it had started.

  ‘Is that?’ she asked with sudden cruelty, her nails digging into one tight buttock.

  ‘Terribly,’ he moaned.

  ‘And that?’ she asked again as her nails dug into the other buttock.

  ‘Awfully!’ he gasped. ‘Ahhh!’

  ‘That’s not good enough,’ she said suddenly, thanking her intuition and enjoying the unfamiliar cruelty she brought to her voice and her clawed hand. ‘I’m sure you can do better than that, boy! Don’t you think so?’

  Beneath her nails, his flesh trembled. Her own loins quivered in sympathy.

  ‘I . . . I . . .’ His eyes glittered and she saw a bead of sweat erupt on his brow, then divide and run like melting ice towards his eyebrows.

  What use did she have for his answer? She knew what he wanted, just as she knew they were being followed, and that whatever they did would be watched and enjoyed by those they had been with at dinner.

  ‘This, I think, is what you need!’ she exclaimed, her voice fierce with authority and dripping with promised discipline.

  Taking careful aim, she plunged her index finger into where she judged his rectum should be.

  He groaned as his cheeks tightened over her rigid finger. As much as she could, dressed as he still was in his dark and well-cut evening trousers, she pressed her finger in, deeper.

  They still walked towards the stables, him almost on tiptoe, her finger guiding him like some rigid and oversize puppet to where they were going.

  With undisguised curiosity, she stopped in her tracks and put her other hand on his crotch. Her fingers closed over it like the petals of a flower. There it was, the fruit of her labour, hard, erect and begging for more.

  So that was what he wanted.

  The footsteps behind did not cease. She looked back into the darkness before walking on; she knew they were following and also what their intention was. Well, they would see everything they were coming to see . . . and more.

  If they expected a straightforward fuck, then they were going to be sadly disappointed on this occasion. Much as she might want it herself, she knew that Auberon’s path to that end would be different from hers.

  And they would be watching. She was sure of that, just as she was sure of the light scrunching of gravel she could hear from somewhere behind them.

  ‘We’d better do something about this,’ murmured Penny as she kissed his cheek and undid his flies.

  His prick fell out, white, lean and topped with a foreskin like an unfolded toadstool. The moonlight caught it, giving it a ghostly appearance as they walked on. Like the cane of a blind man pointing the way, it jiggled from side to side as they walked. She enjoyed seeing that, and in order to maintain such an unusual sight, she pushed her finger as firmly as she could into the crack between his buttocks.

  ‘I’m terribly excited, you know. I can’t tell you how much this means to me.’

  Auberon’s voice held all the excitement of a small child with worn, but well-loved toys and a new friend. It was sweet, and only made Penny more curious to know what sort of a man and how much of one he was.

  ‘Don’t mention it. I’m always willing to do a man a favour.’ That at least, she realised, was the honest truth.

  What a picture they must present, she thought, her finger still firmly embedded in his rectum. All the time, she could feel the cheeks tensing, then relaxing, one muscled orb moving with slow deliberation against the other. The effect was arousing to her as well as to him.

  Curiosity gave wing to inflamed sensations. Already she could feel the pertness of her clitoris pushing through the mat of satin hair that shielded it from the outside world. Soon it would demand its tribute, crave without pity for the height of ecstasy that was its due reward.

  But, in the meantime, she would give Auberon what he wanted, and give the approaching band of sp
ectators exactly what they deserved.

  Lit only by the glow of a low moon, the stable block smelt of warm hay and the sweaty flesh of the animals it was home to. In the gloom, the beasts snickered softly and moved gently within their stables.

  As his hand reached out for the light switch, she took her finger from his behind and grabbed his cock. She heard him gasp and saw him take his hand away from the switch.

  ‘This way,’ she whispered as she used his dick to lead him into the adjacent hay store.

  A round window divided into four odd-shaped panes allowed moonlight to stream through and throw a silver pool on the area she had selected to give her debut performance.

  She smiled to herself at the thought. Like a great celestial spotlight, outlining and accentuating everything they would be doing for their very select audience.

  Beneath them the straw was warm, its scent full of the earthiness of ripe meadows, hot summers and unbridled fertility.

  ‘How much do you want what I am going to give you?’ she asked him provocatively, one hand encompassing his hot weapon whilst the other squeezed the felt softness of his balls.

  ‘A terrible amount!’ he exclaimed. ‘A truly terrible amount!’

  ‘How much?’ she asked with some sharpness.

  He squealed like a pig as she squeezed his balls harder and dug her fingernails into his scrotum.

  ‘Truly! Very. Oh please . . .’

  She paused, wondering for just a moment if he might faint. Tremors of mingled emotions enveloped her. There was elation in being in control of such a situation, of having his penis so stiff, yet so vulnerable, in the palm of her hand.

  She swallowed her own excitement and her own need to have him probe into her body. Auberon had definite tastes. If she was to get what she wanted, she had first to satisfy his own particular proclivities.

  She let his prick drop from her hands and, although she had expected her release of him to result in temporary disappointment, she certainly hadn’t expected tears.

  ‘Please . . .’ he pleaded, his voice little more than a whimper. ‘Please . . . anything you want you can do to me . . . anything at all.’

  Now what do I do? she asked herself, her mouth slightly open, and her eyes vaguely aware of figures moving in the gloom.

  Spontaneity was part of her character so it wasn’t too difficult to come up with something suitable.

  ‘Kiss me, and I will carry on. I will give you all that you desire better than you’ve ever been given it before.’

  Ecstasy as well as moonlight lit his face.

  Then he kissed her, his lips warm and soft against hers.

  But Penny was very aware that such tenderness would not be enough for him.

  ‘Dog!’ she exclaimed as she slapped his face. ‘I didn’t tell you to kiss me like that! You can’t kiss my lips. Not those anyway!’

  As he rubbed his face and stared at her wide eyed, she opened her legs and lifted her skirt. Then she peed, her golden rain hot and rising like an autumn mist from the soft straw.

  A whimper escaped Auberon’s throat. Even in nothing more than moonlight, she could see his eyes glittered and his cock had stiffened.

  ‘Take your clothes off first,’ she told him.

  He did. With fastidious precision he folded each item and laid it neatly to one side. She watched in silent fascination. How predictable he was; how moulded by his school-days.

  Flesh quivering with delight rather than repugnance, he knelt before her and steadied himself by putting his hands on her thighs.

  ‘Hands behind back!’ she growled.

  Like an exceptionally obedient dog, he obeyed.

  She opened her legs a little wider and edged closer to his face. To accommodate her, he tilted his head backwards. Before long, his ears were against her thighs. His head was trapped. The lips of her sex kissed his mouth.

  His tongue licked amongst the thick cluster of pubic hair before she opened herself for him with her own fingers. With undulating movements, she moved herself over him so she could take full advantage of his heat-seeking tongue, his chin and his nose.

  He sucked at her like a hungry baby, taking the last clinging drops of golden liquid into his mouth. Then his tongue worked its way over her, prising more juice from her, but this time less salty, more sticky and resulting from desire rather than relief.

  His tongue was now in her, hot, probing, like a small prick, yet more pliable.

  She moaned and, as she clamped his head tightly between her thighs so he could not possibly move, she let her skirt fall over him whilst she unbuttoned her bodice and let her breasts break free.

  Once they were unrestricted she rolled them in her hands, closed her eyes and felt as though she were the goddess Diana herself, bathed in moonlight and riding some creature of the night as she rocked back and forth over Auberon’s open mouth and willing tongue.

  Her eyes opened briefly to survey the darkness. She smiled at it. Then she took off her dress.

  The moonlight streamed through the window and added an iridescent richness to the colour of her hair and an incandescent brightness to the creamy gleam of her skin.

  She was a performer and she loved the part she was playing. The figures in the darkness were of no account; they were just spectators in the auditorium enjoying the show. But, like all plays, there is a first act, then there are the second, third and fourth . . .

  A pool of erotic energy was building up around her pussy and eddying with waves of rising desire to lap against her swollen clit. Despite Auberon’s best efforts, he could not make her come.

  Now, she decided, is the time for the next act.

  ‘Enough!’ she shouted, and pushed his head away.

  She couldn’t have pushed him that hard, yet there he lay, gasping among the straw, a film of her moisture shining like silver around his lips. He looked cowed in body, yet there was an undeniable glint of desire in the bright hazel of his eyes. He was playing a part and enjoying it. Well, she’d really give him something to remember; she’d really use and abuse him for all she was worth. He yearned for it, she needed her own climax, and the watchers in the shadows expected it.

  ‘Hands and knees!’ she shouted at him. ‘Get on your hands and knees!’

  He rolled over and did as she ordered. She walked around him, proud in her nakedness, showing herself off for those whose eyes watched from the darkness.

  If Mark could see me now, she thought to herself with a lewd smile, he’d take me and take me until we were both exhausted. But Mark wasn’t there. Auberon was.

  Auberon had a good body and, despite her determination to play for the crowd, she admired it. With long, sweeping strokes she smoothed her hands down his back, then smacked each cheek so that pinkness replaced the perfect whiteness. There, between his thighs, his balls hung in their soft sac. She raised her foot beneath them so they sat warm and weighty, first on her toes, then on her instep. She rolled them on her foot, enjoying the warmth, enjoying the feeling of power it gave her. She heard his breath quickening, then realised her own was racing, too. In time with the rising of his desire, hers, too, rose and waited.

  ‘Stand up,’ she ordered.

  Hesitantly but with obvious subservience, he got to his feet.

  ‘Don’t hurt me,’ he wheedled.

  Even that, she knew, was just play-acting. Of course he wanted her to hurt him. He enjoyed being hurt, enjoyed that evolution of pain that led him to that final throb of a spent member.

  ‘I will do as I please,’ she told him, and held his prick as if it were just his handle and made of something harder than normal flesh and blood.

  She bound him with items of leather harness that hung on the wall. The ends she found looped up easily into iron rings that hung from a wooden beam above his head.

  She stood on bales of straw to reach the iron rings, then fastened the ends of the harness back through the pieces she’d already looped around his wrists.

  His arms were raised full-stretch and the
tautness of his muscles were outlined by a compliant moon. He hung there – like a sacrificial offering on some pagan altar – waiting for his moment, for his time of giving.

  Surprisingly she found other matching rings in the floor. She bound him to those, too, so his legs were stretched apart, thigh and calf muscles hard and unyielding beneath the softness of her hands and the tightness of the leather.

  When she had finished she stood back to survey her handiwork. She was well satisfied. He formed a near perfect ‘X’, his prick still proud of his body, limbs stretched to full extent, buttocks tightly clenched.

  Like a preying panther she circled him, trailing her fingers over a body that was unburdened with superfluous flesh. There was only muscle, hard, primed to perfection.

  Her eyes wandered over him shining with delight, and she realised suddenly just how much those other eyes in the darkness must be shining, too.

  Her body trembled in anticipation as she admired the tension that rippled his muscles and quivered in hard spasms over his taut behind.

  All the time she laboured, exploring with just the tips of her fingers. The more pressure she applied and the greater the sharpness of her nails, the more his penis grew.

  ‘How does that feel?’ she asked him. ‘Now you’re stretched to my liking.’

  He groaned as she raked her nails over his stem, then groaned more when she squeezed his balls in her hand.

  The sounds from his throat were unintelligible until she had released his balls.

  ‘Glorious,’ he murmured.

  Even now, she knew he would appreciate her abusing him that little bit more until she judged him ready for her own purposes.

  ‘That’s not good enough!’ she said, and took the final two pieces of harness from the hook on the wall.

  These pieces were thin, almost thong-like. Briefly she wondered what horse they were used for – a lightweight one by the looks of it. Not that it mattered. What mattered was her performance on this most auspicious night.

  She tried not to look into the darkness, yet effort was needed to concentrate her eyes and her actions on Auberon alone.

  With a wicked, catlike grin, she threaded the fine strips of leather through his legs, one piece at a time so that his testes were pushed towards the centre immediately behind his cock. They bulged there, round and shiny like overblown balloons.