Helena (17 page)

Imagine me
there, Freddie, your English rose, blushing from head to toe as
Jean-Claude let some septuagenarian crack a belt over my exposed
flesh. Imagine how terrible, how exciting, to be laughed at like
that by those dirty old Frenchmen.

And how
Jean-Claude and Frank made me suck on their old cocks until they
shot their ancient seed into me, me all the time dutifully obeying
them because it was part of the game, because it was part of my
education, of my liberation. Me, sucking on their wrinkled cocks,
listening to their wheezy, lusty breaths, laughing at me as I
avariciously sucked them until they came.

Imagine the
meal we had, and the waiter they told me I must fuck before dessert
came. Imagine my embarrassment, a still shy woman, leading him by
the hand, then kneeling on a toilet seat for him. I, pulling my
panties down, running my finger along first my labial lips and then
my bottom, tugging at his cock until I had placed it firmly inside
me and then letting him fuck me and later ream me until I came in
my shameless delirium.

I had to do
everything they said and I did. I took my beatings with an
unsurpassed joy. I took everything. I did everything. I did it
willingly, freely. I did it because I knew, and not even that deep
down, that I wanted to. I knew also that I was making myself ready
for you.

This is the
part that I didn't really want to come to, the part I wished I
could erase from these pages as if I could erase them from my mind.
I am not sure whether I believe in the therapy of catharsis. I want
you to know that as I write, even as I recall those last days of
pleasure my eyes are heavy with tears. It's what happened
afterwards, it's not that I knew you were going. I accepted that.
You see, whether it was love or not, I never really did know. But
you did liberate me. Without you... without you I don't know
whether any of this would have happened. What I mean, Freddie, is
that you went with my blessing. You know that's not it at all.

The final
separation with Gregory was not so terrible. You know that. He told
me that he had sort of known, as he said in his inimitable way,
that we were drifting apart, and that even though in his eyes I
would always be his wife, he knew that he had to let me go. There
followed tears on both sides, but no recriminations, and I have to
say much tenderness.

It was much
harder trying to explain the whole sorry business to my parents,
who were terribly shocked, and didn't really believe the lame
excuses I gave of "drifting apart" of "needing space" of
"irreconcilable differences". I knew that in some way they held me
to be the guilty one, and that nothing I could say could stop them
believing that it was not I who was culpable.

When I came
back, Freddie, I wanted to spend as much time as I could with you.
We only had two weeks. As I had been with the other three, I was
also willing to do anything that you wanted. I let you beat me, do
you remember, lash me with a whip until I screamed with pain. You
sodomised me; you invited your friends to debase me, more so than
you probably needed to do. You knew, I'm sure, from Jean-Claude and
Frank's reports that I had enjoyed being debased, but there was
something else, wasn't there? I felt it instinctively: you were
fighting your love for me, a love that I don't know that I ever
actually felt.

I knew it long
before that night, you asked me to come to Boston with you. I knew
it long before then. I couldn't, I couldn't go Freddie, because
where would my liberation have been if I had. You had liberated me;
you had set me free. I was no longer willing to stay with any man,
even one as wonderful as you.

My one regret
was not going to the airport with you. I know now I should have
done, but I had been through so much, I couldn't face seeing you
leaving like that, the departure gate scene, you flitting through
the gates, me left standing. You see there are always
contradictions. I heard you cried, Freddie, that you cried for me.
Simone told me. I can barely believe it. I don't like to think that
that was why...

One last
story, my love, one last story. The night I found out about... That
horrible night, the shaken voice on the telephone, the... No, let
me tell you what I had been doing before. This after all is a
celebration, and, if you like, a homage to you, to what you have
done for me, rather than to me.

You see I had
taken to walking the streets, not as a paid prostitute I hasten to
add, although there have been times when I have been tempted. Well
that night after I left school was like many others. I took a train
into the West End and searched around for somebody to fuck me,
better still to lash me, to bugger me, to make me come with pain if
they could.

I still, of
course, had my regular encounters with Jean-Claude and Frank and
Simone, and there have been many others added to the list too. Some
of them no doubt acquaintances of you, but I did like the taste of
the new, the frisson of the fresh, the unpredictability of a
stranger in my bed. So I enjoyed very much seeking new pleasure
where I could.

Well that
night in London, as would occasionally happen, there was nobody
that especially took my eye. I decided to go home and relax, maybe
take one of those lingering baths. I am, as you know, an inveterate
masturbator. I don't see any reason to change now.

However, when
I entered my modest house, there was a message on the telephone
from Jean-Claude, saying that he was going to call around and that
he had a surprise for me. He arrived twenty minutes later. It gave
me time to shower and to dress up in something sexy.

Jean-Claude
didn't have just one surprise for me, there were two, and their
names where Andrea and Juliet, two students from the occasional
creative writing course that Jean-Claude would teach at the
university. Andrea was English, petite, and fair-haired cropped in
a pageboy style, and with startling green eyes. Juliet was her
virtual opposite, a girl from the South of France, dressed in a
white cotton dress, the nipples of her ample breasts visible
through the cotton. Her jet-black hair was long and lustrous. She
smiled invitingly with her dark Latin eyes when I invited her to
sit down.

It's true,
Freddie, that as I saw the two girls sitting down, both obviously
enamoured with the handsome Jean-Claude, that I thought about you,
how much you would have enjoyed these two beauties, who could have
been no more than twenty years old. By then they must have already
taken you to the hospital. I can still barely imagine it, your
beautiful body all broken and crushed. Horrible to imagine the
horrible crash. You always loved speed, but you were an expert
rider. It is difficult to imagine you making a mistake like
that.

Anyway,
Freddie, it was clear that Jean-Claude had already had his wicked
way with Juliet. I can usually tell these things; a look of
intimacy, the way, maybe, she had brushed his arm, but the other
girl, Andrea, appeared to be more innocent of his gallic ways.

You know how
well Jean-Claude does it, a couple of drinks, an amiable chat, the
conversation gradually, but quite naturally, angling towards sex.
It starts off as light banter, doesn't it, a couple of jokes, a
little bit of self-deprecation and then the questioning starts.

"So, Andrea,
what do you think of Helena here?"

Andrea
suddenly looked embarrassed. I had already noticed her looking at
me, and quite appreciatively, but when I turned my full gaze on her
she had looked away. In many ways, Freddie, she reminded me of
myself. She answered in that predictable, shy way: "Helena's
great." But said it without conviction.

"She's
beautiful isn't she?" Jean-Claude continued.

"Yes, she is,"
Andrea answered sheepishly, her eyes remaining downcast.

One of
Jean-Claude's hands was around the beautiful Juliet's shoulder. He
lightly placed the other around Andrea.

"I think that
you are very beautiful too, Andrea," I told her.

She smiled at
me more openly, obviously flattered by my compliment.

Juliet was
smiling mischievously. I got the distinct impression that she was
no stranger to this kind of situation. I suspected that she was
already something of a protégé of Jean-Claude.

"Do you like
woman, Andrea?" Jean-Claude asked.

"How do you
mean?" she countered. I was sure that she knew exactly what
Jean-Claude meant. She was blushing now.

"I mean, do
you ever think about making love to them?"

I recognized
that look on her face. I recognized the struggle she was going
through, both frightened and very embarrassed by Jean-Claude's
questioning, but still obviously not wanting any of us to think
that she was such an innocent. There was a desire to maintain a
certain youthful sophistication.

"Well, I've
thought about it, I suppose. I mean I'm not a lesbian or anything
like that, but yes, some woman can be sexy for me." She was
purposefully avoiding my eyes.

"What about
Helena?"

The girl's
blush deepened.

"Maybe." I
could see her bottom lip perceptibly quivering. She swallowed
hard.

Much to her
surprise, I walked over towards her and sat on the arm of the sofa.
I placed my hand gently on the nape of her neck and leaned over to
kiss her. She neither resisted nor responded. My lips lightly
brushed hers. I could feel her body trembling. I was aware too of
Jean-Claude's and Juliet's eyes on me, appreciating the little
scene of my seduction. I kissed her again, only this time more
forcibly, and began to feel her mouth opening up to me. My tongue
slipped gently into her mouth. I pressed her face against mine, my
tongue searching hers and then withdrew.

She was still
blushing.

"I think you
do like woman, don't you, Andrea?"

She didn't
speak, only smiled, although it was clear that she was still very
nervous, maybe even frightened of me.

I got up from
the arm of the sofa and sat beside Juliet on the other side. Her
eyes were inviting me to do the same thing to her that I had done
to Andrea. I cupped the full swell of her breast in my hand and
kissed her equally as passionately on the lips. I could feel that
her nipples were already erect under the cotton of the dress.

I was thinking
of you again, Freddie, because I remember that one time I had done
this for you too. I was imagining that it was you and not
Jean-Claude who was watching.

I pulled
Juliet up from where she was sitting and led her to the rug between
the sofa and the fire. I reached out to take Andrea's hand but I
could see that she was hesitating. Maybe it was the pressure of
everybody's eyes on her that finally made her relent.

I knelt down
on the rug and touched both girls lightly on the shoulder. Then,
placing my hand on the small of their backs, slowly led them to
each other. Juliet was the more eager. Their lips gently met. I
looked at Jean-Claude. He was smiling appreciatively at the
girls.

I was really
wet by this stage. The thought of those two beautiful girls kissing
in front of me, my hands gently stroking their heads, the thought
too of Jean-Claude fucking us all, of the innocent Andrea
succumbing to our seduction, of sucking on her tight pussy.

Andrea was
wearing a knee-length denim skirt and a plain white blouse. I was
confident that Juliet would follow my actions, once I gave a lead.
As the girls pulled apart I began to unbutton Andrea's blouse. I
had noticed already that her breasts were quite small but her
nipples were disproportionately large. Juliet understood my
intention quite clearly. While Andrea looked at me as equally
astonished as when I had walked over to her and kissed her, Juliet
began stroking her hair, comforting her. Considering that Andrea's
clothes were about as dowdy as mine used to be, her underwear
revealed a certain chic sensuality. I stroked her thick nipples
through the white lace of her brassiere. Juliet was already pulling
Andrea's blouse over her shoulders. She unhooked the bra so that I
could feast my eyes on her perfect little pear-shaped breasts.

I could resist
those nipples no longer. I took her teat deep into my mouth and
sucked on it appreciatively. Andrea gave out a little satisfied
sigh, obviously becoming less tense with every moment. Juliet began
sucking on her other breast. How delightful it all was, to tweak
those thick swollen nipples between my finger and thumb and then to
suckle against them, listening to the increasingly excited gasps of
pleasure emanating from Andrea's mouth.

While we
licked and sucked on Andrea's breast, my hand slipped down to her
thigh, slowly inching up the hem of her denim skirt until I finally
made contact with her white panties. With the tips of my fingers I
massaged her quim through the lace, feeling the wetness of her
sexual excitement. By this stage Andrea was very aroused.

I slowly
pulled down Andrea's panties, revealing the delicious sight of her
sex, the light pink of her wet pussy lips and above the little
wisps of her fair pubic hair. Her hand had reached down to protect
herself in a token display of resistance, but I had simply grasped
it, kissed it, and let it fall, wherein Andrea showed no more
desire to obstruct me. I pulled up the denim skirt to reveal her
pretty mound to my companions in seduction. Gently I parted her
legs, my hands placed on the white of her upper thigh pried them
apart. I glided my index finger over the wetness of her pussy lips
and then, I'm sure, to the delight of Jean-Claude I sucked on it,
tasting her fresh young love juice. I wanted more.

While I lapped
tantalizingly at her pussy, I could angle my head to watch the
delightful spectacle of Juliet disrobing, pulling off first the
cotton dress over her head, then unhooking her patterned bra,
liberating her fulsome breasts for us all to see. What a saucy girl
this Juliet was! What a tease! She took her own breasts between her
fingers and gently plucked on her nipples before offering them to
Andrea to suckle on. What a delicious sight it was to watch
Andrea's mouth stuffed with the delectable breasts of the more
experienced girl.