Star Slave

 

 

STAR SLAVE

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

By

Nicole Dere

 

 

Star Slave first published in 1999 by Chimera Books Ltd. Published as an eBook in 2011 by Chimera Books Ltd.

www.chimerabooks.co.uk

Chimera a creation of the imagination, a wild fantasy

 

Digital Edition Converted and Published by

Andrews UK Limited

www.andrewsuk.com

 

New authors
are always welcome, or if you're already a published author and have existing work, the eBook rights of which remain with or have reverted to you, we would love to
hear from you
.

 

This novel is fiction - in real life practice safe sex

 

This eBook 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 written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. The characters and situations in this eBook are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.

 

Copyright Nicole Dere. The right of Nicole Dere to be identified as author of this book has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.

 

‘Hi. Come on in, darling. I'm just about to turn in. I'm absolutely dead. I thought they'd never go!' Felicity Keynes put her hands lightly on John's shoulders and turned her head sideways, offering her cheek to be kissed.

Her cousin paid the expected homage, thinking as his nose touched briefly the fragrant curtain of straight black hair which swung at her movement how beautiful the slender figure was. He never failed to respond to her beauty, in spite of his familiarity with it through all the years of their adolescence.

The brother she never had, she was fond of calling him. They were almost as close as brother and sister, he acknowledged, though his thoughts were often extremely unbrotherly. As now, when, having shut the door of the apartment behind him, she turned and carelessly slipped the black silk robe off to the floor, allowing him a splendid view of her nakedness as she walked through to the bathroom. She called over her shoulder, ‘Come and talk to me in the bath. Help yourself to a drink, if there's any left. Those bastards have probably drunk me dry.'

With some difficulty he dragged his eyes away from the sight of her taut little behind swaying ahead of him, and turned into the living room. It was wrecked with the aftermath of a party. Glasses and plates, crumpled napkins and overflowing ashtrays covered almost every surface, and the heavily sweet smell of cannabis hung in the blue tinged air.

‘You want one?' he called, hearing the sound of the water gushing.

‘No thanks, I've had more than enough. You know I can't drink. I'm well pissed.'

He had to go into the tiny kitchen to find a clean glass.

He poured a generous measure of whisky from a nearly empty bottle, and filled his glass from an open soda bottle. She was bending over the deep blue tub, whipping up the contents to an ice-cream foam. She slid into the water with a luxurious sigh.

He watched her lovely breasts disappear into the clinging peaks of lather. She had slipped a towelling bandanna around her hair, lifting it on top of her head, where it fanned out in a rich plume. ‘God, that's better!' Her head rested on a small foam cushion, and she closed her eyes. The eyelids were dramatically shadowed, the make-up increasing the appearance of exhaustion. Yet the tiredness only seemed to add to the air of youthfulness. It was hard to believe she was, at twenty-two, nearly two years his senior. She looked no older than when she was sixteen or seventeen.

The eyes, when she opened them, were startlingly large. ‘Well, bro? How's the world treating you? I don't blame you one little bit for steering clear of the party. Such a bore, most of them.'

‘The price of fame,' John quipped. He perched on the small cork-topped stool. He was not joking. Felicity was already making something of a name for herself as a stage actress, and now this deal for her to star in a television drama, which was the reason for tonight's celebration, would make her face and name familiar to practically every household. He sniffed exaggeratedly. ‘Been smoking the weed, have we? You can smell it from the car park.'

She gave him a wrinkle-nosed grin of comic guilt. ‘Well, I had to do something. You know I don't drink. Thank God we had some.' She assumed a clownish dolefulness. ‘It's not much fun with Michael away up in the wilds of Scotland.'

As always, when she mentioned her fiance's name, John felt that tiny quiver of jealousy, even though he knew it was absurd. Mike was a perfectly decent sort, if more than a little stuffy, and certainly a good counterpoint to Felicity's sometimes volatile temperament. And she swore she loved him. ‘I want to have his babies,' she'd told John, soon after they'd started going together. But not for a good while yet, her cousin suspected.

Felicity was extremely ambitious as far as her career went, and it was going to go a long way. In fact, this latest leap might well cause one or two problems in her love life, John surmised.

‘Have you told him yet?' he asked, and saw a swift but unmistakable flash of genuine guilt pass across her lovely features.

She knew at once what he was referring to, and shuffled uncomfortably in the warm embrace of the water. Her role in this telly pic, which was to extend to six hours of viewing, was one that Michael would not accept with equanimity, she guessed - no, knew, she corrected herself gloomily.

She was playing the part of Kathy Weldon, the junior partner in a female pairing which emerged from nowhere to take the fashion world by storm. But Stella Mann - the surname carefully chosen by the writer - was the senior partner in more than a business sense. Their lesbian relationship was the central theme of the drama, and the clincher which would gain them the highest ratings of any of the channel's productions yet, the independent backers assured her.

She had been hesitant about taking the role on - but not for long. Yvonne Lightman, her agent, had stared at her in disbelieving scorn when she'd voiced her doubts. ‘It will make you, darling. And the fee!' She was right. It was astronomical compared with anything she had earned so far. But the nudity clause was to be exploited to the full.

‘We're practically doing it on camera!' Felicity had squeaked. Though when she thought about it, she didn't really mind all that much. It was really what Michael would think of it all that was disturbing her. Optimistically, she decided she could persuade him that it was all for art's sake. However, she had not succeeded yet. She'd not even broached the subject, which accounted for her guilty look at John's question.

‘It's just a question of getting him in the right mood, darling,' she sighed. ‘Anyway, I'm all signed up. We'll have our Rolls yet, my pet!' She sat up, and he watched the suds sliding off her breasts. The nipples were small, scarcely bigger than his, and very pale. ‘Do my back for me, will you? This is a rare treat these days.'

He knelt, and pushed up his sleeve. He took the sponge and began to gently rub at the flawless shoulders and the curve of that exquisite back. He felt his prick hardening against his clothing, and his anger at her returned. They had grown up together. As a child, he was used to seeing her naked, to sharing nudity with her. Their fathers, who were brothers, had been close then, and John and Feely - the unattractive epithet he had bestowed her, to her initial chagrin and their parents' amusement - spent a great deal of time together, especially in the long summer holidays, abroad, or in the country. Their habit of bathing together had gone on until well past propriety, until parents tardily realised it was no longer seemly.

Felicity remembered now, as she leaned forward, enjoying the sensation of the sponge moving over her skin, the trickle of water as he held it above her. She giggled. ‘Why don't you get in? It'll be like old times.'

Suddenly, he felt his heart racing. He tried to match her lightness. ‘Don't be such a prick teaser, Feely. I might just take you up on it.'

‘Beast! You haven't called me that in ages. Anyway, I'm not teasing. I meant it. Bath night's nowhere near such fun as it used to be.'

He was sure her voice sounded catchy, too. He stood, and started to pull his shirt over his head. He half expected her to shriek out in dismay, but she didn't. Hastily, he slipped down slacks and underpants, tore them off, and dragged off his socks. His penis was swollen, elongated, stirring, though not yet erect. She gave a squeal of protest as he leapt in and splashed down opposite her, his feet touching intimately against her limbs under the foam. ‘Hiya,' she sniggered, leaning forward towards him. ‘Long time no see.'

‘What are you referring to?' he asked, and she chuckled wickedly.

She splashed water over him and flung the sponge. ‘Here, wash yourself you mucky pup. And don't forget to do behind your ears.'

‘Bossy as ever, Feely,' he grinned, and complied with her orders. Suddenly he felt her foot brush against his prick, her toes waggling, to stir the throbbing column to excited arousal.

‘Whoops, sorry.' She gave a dirty leer. ‘Feely by name and nature, eh?' The foot touched him again, the big toe grazing the underside of his balls and gently lifting the stiffening shaft. ‘Now who's a prick teaser?' she murmured huskily, those huge eyes holding his.

Suddenly he looked almost frightened. ‘Don't,' he said tensely. ‘That's not fair.'

‘Why not? It's just a bit of light relief. Nothing wrong with that, is there? Or is it too incestuous?'

‘Yes,' he answered. ‘Too dangerous, too.'

‘We should've done this when we were kids. All that time - I thought you didn't fancy me.'

‘I don't,' he said, trying to smile. ‘I'm not really into girls - if you'll pardon the expression. Or hadn't you heard?'

She nodded. ‘Jeremy was saying something about you being gay. Mummy and daddy didn't want to talk about it, of course. Is it true then?'

He could feel himself blushing. His shoulders moved in a shrug. ‘What you might call a grey area at the moment.' He suddenly caught hold of her dainty foot, digging in hard with his thumb and fingers, keeping it away from his beating prick. Everything was still hidden beneath the creamy surface. ‘Anyway, what about your beloved Mike? He wouldn't exactly be chuffed if he could see you now.'

‘Wouldn't he? Are you so sure? He's not quite as uncool as you might think, bro. But the point is, he isn't here right now, is he? He's miles away.' A slow, siren smile spread over her face. Her eyes smouldered as she gave him a superb vamp's look. ‘Mary Ann always makes me randy. P'raps you should try some, instead of booze.'

Her foot squirmed, but he held onto it. Then she gasped as he reciprocated her movement, and she felt the pad of his foot press firmly against the soft flesh of her mound, the toes pressing against the dark patch of her pubic hair. They broke the surface, at the base of her belly. ‘See how you like it,' he grinned. He moved again and she shivered, her thighs opening a little. She thrust back against his pressure. ‘You like it,' he said. ‘Hmm, that's nice.' His foot was working now, moving against her silky softness, and she was alight with excitement. ‘It's like walking in a mossy stream.'

‘Guess we both like it,' she gasped. She leaned forward, searched under the water and seized his prick, her fingers gripping it tightly. She began to move, firmly, slowly, drawing the foreskin up and down the column she could feel throbbing under her touch.

‘Don't!' he cried, but she didn't let go, and he made no effort to escape. She worked him harder, the water swirling about her arm. The dark red helm of his penis reared up out of the bubbles.

‘Just a bit of relief,' she panted. Her face reddened. ‘It's what we both need, I guess.' He was fully erect now, his column jutting, hotly filling her hand. She was jerking him faster, feeling the potent surge of him, triumphant in her power over him.

‘No!' he cried out tightly, in real alarm, and reached to seize her slim wrist. Her fingers closed like iron about the base of the helm, which purpled, hugely swollen. With her free hand she pulled off the towel swathed about her hair and tossed it over the side of the tub onto the floor. Then, in a welter of foam, she knelt up, dipped her head forward and, with a delicious shiver of fear, lapped at the shiny dome and tasted the tangy flavour of the emission from the tiny slit. Her lips parted, stretched wide, and she sucked dizzily at him, taking his throbbing strength deep into her throat.

His hand fell limply away from her, and he gave a moan of pure surrender. She lapped and nuzzled, worrying his rearing prick until his body stiffened, his belly heaved upward, and he gave a shrill cry, his dark head stretched back against the deep blue of the tub. Instinctively, she jerked her mouth clear as the great surge of his come erupted thickly over her chin and throat and the fist which was still holding him captive. But then she bent once more, eagerly, and lapped with an ecstatic shudder at the residue of his fluid, which oozed thickly from his already wilting penis.

She hastily sluiced herself clean while he lounged back, his eyes closed, his face pale. Savouring the feeling of triumphant power she could feel stirring within, she quickly and competently washed his shrunken, satin soft prick, the helm already concealed once more beneath its hood, the size cutely diminished.

‘There now!' she said, the amusement evident in her tone. ‘That'll teach you to get cocky with me, little bro!'

 

‘Are they twins?' Lord Burnopside gazed with appreciation at the slim figure of Felicity Keynes across the large room. She was bending close towards her companion, one slender arm raised to his shoulder. They were almost the same height, and his build was scarcely less delicate than hers. Their facial characteristics were strikingly similar, enough to make Lord Burnopside's question a valid one. Felicity was wearing an insubstantial wisp of a dress, of a lacy fabric which was semi-transparent. A thin strap held it over one shoulder, the other was bare. Her breasts, innocent of any other cover, showed mistily through the material. The dress ended around the upper thigh. She wore no stockings or tights, and the tiny black V showing at her loins could well have been her pubis, though it was, in fact, a black satin G-string. She was laughing heartily, and turned now to the burlier figure on her left, whose features were altogether more conventionally handsome, in a masculine way.