A Chamber of Delights (2 page)

‘Isn’t that why you rebelled?’

‘And the reason why he chucked me out.’ Gael lapped hard in the hollows of Melindi’s groin.

‘Then get your revenge by inviting his cronies to your parties and exclude him. Take them to my chamber of delights. He’s got nothing like that at the Hall. They’ll soon desert Grymwell for you.’

‘What “chamber of delights”?’ Gael looked up, across the prominent mons, between the firm breasts and into Melindi’s eyes.

‘There’s a large room in the basement of the London house which holds a lot of secrets.’

‘What sort of secrets?’

‘You’ll have to wait and see, darling.’ Melindi pulled Gael’s head into her crotch, rotating her vulva against Gael’s lips. The nectar of Melindi’s arousal welled as she squeezed herself shut. Then Gael put her mouth to the soft, moist flesh and kissed it gently. The sweet musk sped her heartbeat as it filtered up her nose, satin-soft legs warm upon her cheeks. And Melindi’s inner core was hot as Gael pulled apart the long, smooth lips and drove her tongue between them.

Melindi moaned and pressed down on Gael’s mouth. Her clitoris rose and fell as she flexed her hips. Now Gael reached up and pinched the dark nipples gently. The breasts rose too, and bounced with Melindi’s heaving. This tugged the nipples more.

Melindi pulled her legs back further still. Gael raked her flanks, leaving pink trails on the blackness of the skin. Melindi began to pant. She kneaded at Gael’s hair and clawed her scalp, making Gael rasp her harder.

As Gael traced Melindi’s anus with her tongue, her lover wriggled herself against it and whispered, ‘Yes. Oh yes, I’ve always loved the way you do that.’

Gael bit the hollow of Melindi’s groin and made her yelp. She bit the taut skin where the roundel of her bottom met her anus. She nipped and licked and scratched her lover into a frenzy until Melindi let out a cry and the lips of her vulva began to open and close rhythmically. Gael pulled away and watched, fascinated by the pulsing form. She kissed it tenderly, delighting in the way it moved beneath her lips just as Melindi’s other mouth would kiss.

Afterwards, they lay side by side, each of their heads
to the other’s feet, each with an arm between the other’s legs, and a finger deep inside the other’s vaginal sheath, feeling its moistness, toying with its sensuous folds. And then they slept.

THE ENGLISH HOUSE
was everything Melindi had promised. Set in spacious grounds, surrounded by thick hedges, the top storey looked out across a heath on the southern fringe of London. Extensive gardens were fringed by woods, bordering a lake. On the edge of sweeping lawns, a summer-house stood, glinting in the morning light. Bought some years before by Melindi’s father when he had been an ambassador to Britain, this house and grounds was the perfect place in which to execute the plan.

Gael stood at the window of her bedroom, looking over a lingering mist, drawn up by morning sunshine. Below her, a strong young gardener rode a mower, cutting perfect stripes in a large expanse of lawn. Melindi had not told her about him. Gael half wanted him to see her, naked at the window, her breasts so firm and tingling from the shower, her black hair shining as she brushed it out. But she had resolved not to draw this man into her bed. She didn’t want the slightest whisper of impropriety going around the district.

Now she turned to the mirror. Lifting her breasts, she pulled the nipples gently into stiffness. A week had passed since they had felt a mouth. Melindi had flown off to New York. Alone in the world at 22, Gael had no one else. She smoothed her pubis with her fingers. The
bristles had grown longer and softer since she had stopped shaving it. With no one to see its nakedness, there had seemed to be no point. Now the black hair was beginning to obscure its dark pink crevice. A fringe of bristles down the edges of its lips had started tickling. It made her very conscious of herself as she walked, fixing her attention there.

Now she took an eight-inch ivory form, shaped like an erect penis. She squatted and eased its mushroom head between her secret lips, deep into the sheath of her vagina. She smiled. Men were always so surprised at her depth and at the strength of her muscles. As they plumbed that depth, none but the very largest were able to fill her fully. They moaned as she engulfed them and clamped as they withdrew. And they growled when she shut herself tightly as they tried to penetrate her, triumphant when she let them in, thinking their insistent strength had overcome her resistance.

A sheer, white thong now barely hid her pubis as she drew the tapes up over her hips and passed the centre one back between her legs. It parted the cheeks of her bottom and rubbed upon her anus.

Some strutting strides around the room made sure that the ivory cock was tight enough to give her constant pleasure. She loved the feel of the man-shaped thing deep inside her sheath. It gave her an air of superiority as she viewed a man when he scanned her mount and her breasts, presumably imagining how she would look when stripped bare. Then she could say to herself, I know what you want to push between my legs, but I already have one of my own. Although – if she were truthful – it was no substitute for the real thing. Apart from that, it was the excitement of the chase and capture which was so important to her. She never gave in meekly. She made them fight for what she wanted.

Fighting brought her on so much more violently than if she lay with her legs held back and let them rip her
panties off. Having a man view the moistened purse of her sex never ceased to thrill her. She loved the way the sight of it made them hard. But then they knew she wanted them, so she’d close her legs and make them force her open under loud but playful protest. It made her eyes blaze. It made the nimbuses of her breasts rise proudly. The little rings of bumps would stand prominently. Her teats would poke out, yearning for his mouth.

Now she slipped into faded jeans. The belt hung low upon her hips and the cleft of her sex showed clearly in their tightness. A pale pink crop top, pulled tightly over her breasts, left her navel free, a delicious dimple in a soft marshmallow, as Melindi fondly called it.

A lick of ruby lip gloss and she was ready for the day.

The sweeping staircase led down to the foyer of the rambling house. As she descended, the dildo worked deeper between her legs, each step giving her more and more pleasure.

‘Good morning, Miss Gael.’

Gael looked down on the red-haired young woman polishing the brasswork of the large front door.

‘Morning, Sophie. Is my breakfast ready?’

The girl looked slightly petulant. It was as if she did not like being at the beck and call of someone only a year or two older than herself. She thrust out her breasts under their cover of a thin white blouse.

‘The cornflakes are in the pantry and the coffee’s on. If you want an egg, you’ll find them in the fridge.’

Gael nearly scowled but stopped herself. At Grymwell Hall, she had been used to having servants running round her. But that time was past. Now she was only the temporary mistress in this house, and she would not cause an upset by being strict with the little help she had.

Sophie stopped her rubbing and looked Gael up and down. Gael thought that her eyes rested on the V in her
jeans for rather longer than they should. Was the girl inclined to like a woman in her bed?

Tall and slim, Sophie stood up straight, her nipples showing darkly through her blouse. Her jeans hugged every curve of a softly rounded bottom, and as she walked, Gael had noticed how she wiggled it provocatively.

As they studied each other, Gael was drawn to the sensuous lips. Devoid of lipstick but shining wetly as Sophie ran her tongue over them, Gael wanted to put her mouth to them and experience their softness.

The green eyes were clear as they studied Gael’s lips, making them tingle nicely. But Gael turned away. There was no way she was going to get sexually involved with servants, even though the nineteen-year-old siren was becoming more appealing by the minute.

Gael ate a bowl of cornflakes and wandered into the drawing room with her coffee. The large room was plushly furnished in Victorian style, the French windows leading into a sunken garden enclosed by a high wall of weathered brick. She might run naked in the moonlight there and nobody would see her. Her guests might do the same, if they were so inclined. The house was ideal for discreet parties. Large enough for people to spread into its spacious rooms, it was not too large to be unfriendly.

Then there was the secret in the basement. Melindi had hinted that it held something that would surprise Gael. It was securely locked and Gael had not yet found the key. She was reluctant to ask Sophie in case that showed too much interest in the place. But then, Sophie might be quite innocent of what that basement held.

Gael stepped down from the terrace and walked through the garden. She brushed past a riot of flowers and sauntered through a gateway into the grounds. She peeked into the summer-house with its wicker chairs and plump floral cushions. She walked to the
crystal-clear lake, among the trees and turned back towards a little chapel. Though it was deconsecrated and overgrown, Gael had plans for it.

‘Good morning, Miss Gael.’

Gael spun at the sound of the voice, her heart speeding at its rich and mellow tones. She flung her head back, letting her hair whirl around her shoulders as she faced the gardener. Naked to the waist, his smooth chest shone with perspiration. A whorl of tiny, golden hairs spun around his navel.

‘Good morning, Todd. What a lovely day it is.’ She tingled as he studied her mouth, scanned her breasts and then her mount. He smiled as his eyes reached hers once more. Her nipples swelled. She swallowed hard. Todd Flanders was a hunk. And the large bulge in the V of his shorts told her that he was rising at the sight of her.

‘Yes, miss, it’s a very nice day. And it’ll be a hot one again, for sure.’ He changed his stance self-consciously and Gael was certain that the bulge in his shorts had grown. It always gave her such a boost to do that to a man. She squeezed the dildo between her legs and smiled demurely as it slipped up inside her and then down again as she relaxed her vaginal muscles.

She fixed her gaze on the gardener’s blue eyes. ‘Have you finished the lawns?’ She could see that he had but she needed to break the tension growing between them. How old was he? Twenty-eight, give a year each way. Surely much older than herself. Old enough to be experienced with women. A man like that would have plenty of them to choose from. He had probably started at an early age, taking them to the woods, sucking on their little breasts before stripping off their knickers. Slipping his youthful finger through their virgin lips, he had probably . . .

She stopped her fantasy. He might even be a virgin himself for all she knew.

‘What do you want me to do now, Miss Gael?’ He
shifted his stance again, his legs apart, his hands upon his hips.

What didn’t she want him to do? He made her feel so horny. She wanted him to take her somewhere quiet and lay her down in the sunlight among soft, green grass. She wanted him to run his hand up the inside of her leg as she slipped her zip to show him she was naked inside the tight, blue denim of her jeans. Then she would slip them off. She would open her legs and show him how wet she was. Pulling out the ivory dildo, she would work it in and out of herself as he watched. Then she would cast it aside, pull apart his fly as he knelt between her legs and put her mouth over the swollen head of his cock as it sprang out. When she had it wet, and red from the scarlet of her lips, she would guide it to the pulsing hole between her thighs and feel its heat. She would . . .

He coughed at the silence which hung between them. She shook herself out of her daydream and gulped out, ‘Have you cleaned the chapel as I asked?’

He nodded. ‘Want to look?’ Without waiting for an answer, he strode off to the chapel. She followed, feeling meek as she watched the muscles of his back and the firm cheeks of his bottom working beneath the smooth, tanned skin.

When he pushed the chapel door, it groaned. As he lifted a strand of ivy for her to duck under, she scented his perspiration. It sent her pulses racing, his heat radiating to her as she sidled past him. The scent of a man always drove her to irrational action. Add the aroma of an erect cock as she pulled it from his trousers, and she was lost.

Gael resolved anew not to make a move on him. She would not risk it, no matter how tempting he might seem.

The stone-flagged floor felt cold to her sandalled feet. Flanders had cleaned the pews and swept up a carpet of crinkled leaves. A confessional box stood starkly against a whitewashed wall.

‘Were they very devout?’ As she looked up into the gardener’s eyes, his presence made her tremble. My God, she wanted him. By the way he looked and pursed his lips she sensed that he wanted her.

‘Who do you mean?’ He ran long fingers through a shock of blond hair.

‘The people who had this chapel built. Were they very religious?’

He shrugged. ‘Don’t know, miss. It was only when Miss Melindi inherited the house that I came to do the gardens.’

Now as he said Melindi’s name, Gael thought she saw a glint of lust in the blueness of his eyes. Although it quickly died, she wondered how Melindi employed her gardener while she stayed there. Then she wondered if she was being silly by denying herself the pleasure of such a horny male. But perhaps he was shy after all. Perhaps he’d never had a woman. Perhaps she could be his first. Her hands itched to undo his belt and open up his shorts. His penis looked so huge. Large ones always . . .

‘I cleaned up that confessional, as you asked, miss. You can inspect it if you like.’

That shook Gael out of her second fantasy and she opened the priest’s door of the box. He’d polished the brass grille, and the wood smelled nicely of beeswax.

‘That’s excellent. Thank you.’ She gave him a genuine smile.

Now he studied her closely, a serious look on his face. ‘Are you devout as well, miss?’ The question took her off guard. Was he thinking that she was too pious to risk a pass? Damn. She wanted him more every second that he stood there. But it was probably best for him to think she was above such things.