The Gift of Shame (10 page)

It was then that her eyes fell on the glass-topped table on which she had been sodomised the night before. There lay scattered the sketches Jeffrey had made of her before bringing her here. How distant that time seemed now. It was the time before commitment. Was this to be Jeffrey’s first ‘test’ of her?

Her thoughts were brought from reverie by words which resonated with future promise. ‘I shall paint her!’ Qito cried, then, coming even closer, his perfect teeth gleaming unnaturally white against his walnut skin, he smiled into her eyes. ‘
You
are deserving of immortality.’ She felt, uneasily, as if his piercing gaze could see deep into the wanton soul that now lived behind them. ‘Come, child,’ he said, and taking her by the hand led her to stand before him as he sat on the couch and brought her hips square to his eyes. ‘Open yourself to me,’ he murmured.

Helen knew exactly what he meant but hesitated. Glancing to Jeffrey she saw he had seated himself at some distance and now regarded her with an expression of aroused amusement before he gave an almost imperceptible nod. Even as her incredulous brain questioned its instructions, her hands reached down to her labia and, with a curious feeling of innocence, opened them.

‘You see!’ cried Qito. ‘We look into the gateway of all life and the portal to Paradise!’ Qito’s fingers had joined hers to probe deeper into her. ‘There are so many petals to this rose, and as each unfolds it reveals yet more mystery.’ Addressing himself to Jeffrey, who discreetly stayed behind Helen, he cried: ‘So why did Nature hide it away? Disguise it, entangle it with brambles through which every man must find his way back to his source? To hide such beauty while the male equivalent is flaunted, exposed, and displayed is ludicrous!’ Qito’s fingers left her warmed and now throbbing ‘source’. ‘Nature made a grotesque mistake.’ Qito’s scorn softened as he spoke directly to her. ‘Come, child,’ he said. ‘Look!’ Glancing down she saw that Qito had opened his trousers and was fully exposing himself. ‘Compare this pathetic male answer to your woman’s mystery.’

Drawn, either by his hand or her own volition – she was never able to say which – she found herself kneeling before the couch and taking his limp and wrinkled penis in her hands.

‘It is a blunt instrument. No?’ he was asking her. ‘Without
the
tender hand of a woman it has the significance of wet string. Tell me what you see,’ he urged.

Her mind raced. She held in her hand the penis of a man who might be a world-acclaimed genius, but was also a man she had only just met while her lover stood silently aside and watched.

While she struggled for coherence she could only wonder why this act of intimacy with a stranger felt so natural and normal – as if she had previously greeted a hundred men this way.

Oppressively aware that Qito still waited for her answer she wondered what words she could use?
Were
there words for such a moment? At the same time she felt filled with a sense of discovery – as if this was the first penis she had ever seen or held – and, with Qito’s eyes, she saw it as something strangely closed, hooded, vulnerable – timid even, and she felt moved to bow her head and tenderly kiss it as she might have to comfort a suffering child.

‘A mother’s response!’ Qito’s voice sounded full of delight as she reached forward just an inch further to take him softly and tenderly between her lips. When the penis flexed in her mouth she felt triumph flooding her body, soaking her with confidence. Filled with a sense of giving life, she now eagerly reached for him, suckled him, and was gratified by the fleshy swelling response. On her knees, naked before a stranger, she was consumed by a zeal to bring the helpless infant between her lips to threatening, punishing adulthood, yet curiously she also felt detached – as if what she was doing was not real but being done merely to prove Qito’s point.

The act had no context unless it was that Jeffrey watched and, hopefully, approved – but did he? Beyond his initial nod she had heard no word of encouragement – no sign that he
was
even aware of what she was doing. She sucked on Qito but wanted the pleasure to be Jeffrey’s. Her mouth fully enthused, she could not beg his judgement. With her eyes bent close into Qito’s surprisingly firm belly she could not see him, and so her nostrils filled with the slightly pungent perfume of the man, she could only strain her ears for some sign that Jeffrey was near and knew that this was for him, not for Qito, and far less for herself.

When she felt the first sting of leather on her buttocks, excitement flooded through her entire body and she almost cried out with relief. Suddenly what she was doing made sense, was parenthesised and made a part of her relationship with Jeffrey. The leather teased fire from her loins, and, like a whipped horse, she redoubled her efforts, sinking the fully erected and engorged shaft deep into her throat.

Now she knew that Jeffrey was not only near but taking a part, punishment became reward. Hearing Qito begin giving out muted sounds of pleasure increased her excitement and she knew that victory was hers, even as Jeffrey raised her crouched haunches to make more prominent a target of her all too willing flesh.

As she felt the first awakening seed, low in the now fully hardened shaft, she impulsively broke off for a moment to call to Jeffrey for harder, faster strokes and, as they came, her spirit soared, exulted beyond anything she had ever before known and, predatory now, sank the flesh deeper into her mouth while her buttocks sang with the pleasure of Jeffrey’s whipping. It was the first time she had known pleasure and absolving punishment to be served on the same dish – and it tasted sweet!

Qito came with the stinging heat of a volcanic eruption, and she was determined that not one drop of him should escape her voracious mouth. Feeling Qito softening in her
mouth
she wanted to cry out and voice her frustration. She wasn’t finished, but so close she thought it would be a crime if she should be left distracted but unsatisfied. Then, even as she drew breath to protest she knew she should have trusted in Jeffrey.

His hands reached around her to lift her, bodily, still curled up in the kneeling position, from the carpet to the glass-topped scene of last night’s immolation, and was thrilled to see that the mirror still lay there. Kneeling again, she looked down into the sweat-streaked face of a totally distracted, almost demented woman, who moaned in anticipation as she felt Jeffrey addressing himself.

‘Fuck me!’ that demented creature cried and then let the words become a long moan of pleasure as she climaxed the moment Jeffrey thrust himself deep inside her. ‘Yes!’ she screamed and, when Qito came to stand before her raised, kneeling figure, she grabbed for his hands and brought them to her lips. Jeffrey was so roused and hard that his thrusting, savage and punishing, was exactly what she wanted. ‘Punish me!’ she screamed into Qito’s caressing hands. ‘Punish me! Fuck me!’ and then felt Jeffrey surging, erupting, embalming the pleasure forever in her mind.

Exhausted, Jeffrey withdrew and let her sink to lie, in a curled foetal position, on the glass table, where Qito looked down in glee. ‘See,’ he cried. ‘Her whole body lies in the shape of a smile.’

Qito looked from the satiated but defensive posture to Jeffrey, where after a momentary exchange of locked glances they turned away, avoiding each other’s eyes with the shy awareness that they had both been savagely aroused over the body of the same woman – an act that both united and separated men at one and the same time. It was to that same woman that Jeffrey leant to kiss her gently on the neck.

Helen, roused by the kiss, moaned and reached out a blind embracing arm and drew him into a kiss while turning over on the glass to offer up her whole body. Holding him close, so that she could look directly into his eyes, she smiled. ‘Is your wanton forgiven?’ she asked.

Jeffrey shook his head. ‘She is cherished,’ he murmured.

Confidence soaring, she looked for Qito and, bending her head backwards, found him stuffing his penis out of sight but still standing over her. Her arm now reached for his blessing and Qito – his eyes bright against the walnut colour of his tan – looked almost aflame as he leant forward and, awkwardly, upside down, confirmed on her the benediction she sought. ‘Where did you find such a glorious creature?’ he asked of Jeffrey.

Jeffrey, sitting tentatively on the glass-topped table, put an arm about her shoulders and drew her to him as he answered. ‘Well, you know, Christmas and all, you get the most surprising gifts!’

Qito’s laugh resounded. ‘Every man should have such a gift!’

‘Well, now, you’ve had her, too.’

‘To have is not to possess!’ Qito said.

Listening to the two men, Helen could hardly believe they were talking about her. Turning to Jeffrey for comfort she asked: ‘Am I “possessed”?’

‘Totally,’ he assured her.

His words gave her comfort. ‘Thank you,’ she murmured.

Turning her face to him and begging a kiss, she marvelled that she had done something that a week before would have been unthinkable, and then heard it discussed as if it had been no more than a social courtesy.

Qito was turning away, his voice fading as he spoke. ‘An old man has no place between lovers,’ he declared. ‘I am going to
leave
you …’ He was coming back to them, shrugging a bulky fur-collared coat over his summery clothes. ‘… but I shall never forgive you if you do not bring this wild woman to my show tonight.’

‘I’ve no intention of going
anywhere
without this woman!’ Jeffrey retorted, and then, standing, hugged the diminutive teddy bear the top coat had made of Qito. Springing upward from the table Helen felt filled with enough love to spare a little for Qito. She had to dip her head to kiss his cheek as he pulled her into a strong, wiry, embrace.

‘Together we shall make a masterpiece,’ he told her. Then, waving a hand to Jeffrey, turned for the door. ‘Until tonight,’ he called.

It was only as she saw Annabel hurrying to see Qito out that Helen remembered her existence. Suddenly shocked with herself she turned to Jeffrey. ‘Annabel was here?’ she asked. ‘Did she hear everything …?’ The look on Jeffrey’s face told her that she had, and Helen stood, aghast – hand over her mouth – as she heard the door close and the soft sounds of Annabel’s return.

‘Would anyone like a drink?’ Annabel asked with such insouciance that Helen almost burst out laughing.

‘We’d love one,’ answered Jeffrey.

The moment Annabel had gone, Helen turned to Jeffrey. ‘Whatever must she think?’ she asked in hollowed, self-horrified, tones.

‘She probably thinks, as will everyone else, how lucky I am.’

She looked into his eyes and noticed for the first time that they were grey with exquisitely placed segments of black. They were beautiful eyes she decided, and she felt herself melting before them. ‘Don’t ever let it stop,’ she whispered then, feeling her body starting to tremble, and hastily added, ‘I rather like the idea of being possessed.’

‘And
I
meant it – I want to possess you rather than just “have”.’

‘You already do. I just need you to keep reminding me.’

They stood apart, like duellists looking for an opening, with distinctively differing thoughts. Jeffrey felt blessed while she felt an irresistible, masochistic mist enshroud her.

‘Do something to me,’ she breathed. ‘Now – this minute!’

Jeffrey’s smile was lazy. ‘Don’t you think you ought to think about getting ready?’

‘For what?’

‘Didn’t you hear Qito invite us to his showing this evening? It’s a huge affair. A gala in fact. I want you to look devastating.’

‘In
what
?’ she seethed. ‘You brought me here naked.’

‘That would be devastating,’ he agreed. ‘But hardly suitable for presentation to the French President.’

‘The President of France is going to be in London?’ she demanded in a voice filled with sudden alarm.

‘No,’ said Jeffrey patiently. ‘We are going to be in Paris.’

‘Tonight?’ she squealed.

‘Well that’s where Qito’s gala preview is being held.’

Helen’s mind was running wildly beyond coherence. ‘But … Paris? Tonight?’ Exasperated, she turned to Jeffrey. ‘It’s impossible!’

The infuriating smile still on his lips he spoke. ‘No it isn’t. Paris is a thirty-five minute plane ride – little more than a cab ride when you think about it.’

‘But I’m not ready. I’ve nothing packed. Nothing
to
pack! Jeffrey – this is impossible!’

‘Nothing’s impossible,’ he said, coming towards her and seeking an embrace. ‘You have the gown I brought you.’

‘That’s still in my apartment.’ Bustling with sudden urgency
she
turned back to Jeffrey. ‘I’ll have to go back to my place. What time are we expected?’

‘A President of a Republic doesn’t “expect” – he commands. We must be there by eight.’

‘Oh Lord! How will I … how can I …?’

Jeffrey smiled. ‘You will,’ he told her. ‘I’ll have Turner drive you home and I’ll pick you up from your place at six, but you’d better put something on in the meanwhile.’

Panicked, she started a fervent hunt for her long-discarded raincoat only to find that a smiling Annabel was already holding it out for her to slip into. ‘I take it you’ve no time for the drink?’ she asked.

‘I’ve no time for
anything
!’ Helen protested, then, as the coat settled about her shoulders, she was reminded that she had rarely been other than totally naked for the past twenty-four hours. The close proximity to Annabel also brought about another crushing memory. ‘Did you …?’ she asked, then, as Annabel smiled noncommittally, went on, ‘I’m sorry if you were embarrassed.’

Shaking her head Annabel’s smile not only continued but brightened. ‘Envious, perhaps,’ she said. ‘But certainly not embarrassed.’

Flashing the girl a grateful smile, she turned as she heard Turner arrive. ‘Jeffrey?’ she called. ‘I’m going.’

Jeffrey appeared from the depths of the apartment and, reaching out his arms, gave her a gentle kiss on one cheek and then, as he leant into the other, whispered under the eyes of the patiently waiting Turner, ‘I’m tempted to fuck you again before you go.’