The Pleasure Quartet (15 page)

I looked up. The liquid gold was having a similar effect on Iris. She shone in the pale moonlight, her dainty silhouette a shadow within her dress, the shape of her body a mass of yearning for
my senses and sensibility. But she was looking up at Thomas, with a look of adoration that, I knew, was only partly due to the quality of the champagne. He had an arm around her waist. Claiming her
for tonight, I realised.

With reluctance I guided my gaze away from them. All of a sudden, I felt empty, with only the caress of the champagne on my tongue keeping my spirits afloat.

The sound of splashing and laughter down in the pool.

I turned to watch them. Two young women were lazing in the water. One had dark, long hair, floating across her shoulders, and the other was closer cropped and blonde. They looked as if they
didn’t have a single worry in the world. They were also both stark naked.

I kept on watching them, admiring the ease with which they bobbed in the water, so natural, and how their naked skin caught the moonshine.

The blonde girl noticed me and swam towards the edge where I was standing.

Holding on to the pool edge, she looked up at me with a smile. ‘Why don’t you join us?’ she suggested. ‘I’m Mandy.’

‘I’m Moana.’

‘What a lovely name. Are you Australian?’ She’d mistaken my accent, as so many did in England.

‘From New Zealand,’ I corrected her.

The other nude young woman in the swimming pool lazily pushed herself through the underlit aquamarine waters towards us. ‘She’s Christine,’ Mandy said.

‘Come on down.’

‘I’d rather not,’ I said. I was becoming somewhat self-conscious. I looked around and noted that Thomas and Iris were no longer with me.

‘The water’s lovely,’ one of the girls said. ‘They keep the pool heated, night and day. It’s why we always come back here, not just for the work.’

My high-heeled shoes were feeling tight, so I kicked them off, lowered myself down, sat on the ridge and dipped my feet in the water. It was indeed unpleasantly tepid. The lakes and sea back
home were colder; this felt like being in a bathtub.

Christine took a hold of the pool’s kerb and pulled herself up. She was skinny but her breasts were full, her nipples in the semi-darkness the colour of ripe cherries. Out of the water
from the waist upwards, she threw up a leg and briefly caught her balance before her other leg followed and she raised the rest of her body onto the ledge.

Dripping, she stood facing me, her genitals generously exposed to my eyes. She had no pubic bush. She picked up a towel and began drying her hair. I felt breathless. At first, I was confused. I
had never encountered a full-grown woman whose sex was so smooth before. Was it a birth defect or something, I wondered? The outline of her opening was both straight and sinuous. Then, as I focused
and my gaze fixed on her mound in almost microscopic enquiry I noticed here and there minute dark dots, hair growing back. She had shaved.

My confusion was replaced by lust. How would it feel licking a sex as smooth and unencumbered as this, parting its lips with my tongue and fingers? My face must have reddened or she noticed my
terrible fascination.

‘Do you like it, darling? I’m told it’s going to be all the vogue. Lots of European women do it. Show everything off, eh?’

I was frozen to the spot and tongue-tied.

By now, Mandy, the young blonde woman, had also exited the pool. She was not a real blonde.

From a group at the other end of the pool, a tall, thin, balding man in evening dress and a large bow tie had detached himself and was walking towards us.

‘Ah, it’s the Minister,’ Mandy remarked. ‘He’s caught a sight of the goods . . .’

Neither of the girls seemed in any hurry to dress as the older man reached us. They were actually flaunting themselves. I found this difficult to believe. He ignored me and gallantly kissed both
Christine and Mandy on the cheek, quite undisturbed by their unavoidable nudity. I was too overcome by the circumstances to hear the few words that passed between them.

Whispers.

The Minister nodded and both the young women spun and took him by the hands.

As they were about to leave, Mandy called out to me.

‘Maybe you’d like to join us? He’s good fun, John is, and likes a bit of variety.’

The words stumbled out of my mouth.

‘I don’t think so. I’m waiting for a friend. Anyway, I’m just a guest here.’

‘Aren’t we all?’ one of the women chuckled.

They were swallowed by the nocturnal darkness as they headed back towards the illuminated mansion. He clad all in black, the two girls pale and naked in the flickering of the burning torches
under the moonlight, holding on to his arms.

‘Your loss, girl,’ either Mandy or Christine shouted out.

I stood there on my own. The water in the pool lapping across my ankles, the beautifully obscene vision of Christine’s bare cunt still fixed in my retina and the way it made my blood
simmer with a thousand cravings.

I don’t know how much time passed. Shadows moved around the pool area like fireflies, dancers hovered, twirled and moved on, the tall shaven-headed black attendant the sole fixed point in
my landscape. I was beginning to feel the cold. I resolved to walk back to the main building and seek out our room, although I was under no illusion I would find Iris there tonight. I rose, shook
the droplets from my feet and grabbed the shoes in my hand. I would walk back barefoot as my feet felt swollen.

But first, I wanted a final glass of that delicious champagne. It would warm me up, I knew. The valet saw me coming and held out a glass at the ready.

‘Madam.’

‘Thank you.’ We were the only ones around and I wanted to appear polite. ‘What’s your name?’ I asked.

He didn’t answer, retreating behind a wall of silence, as if instructed not to mix with the guests.

I brought the glass to my lips, anticipating the buzz, the fizz of the drink and the way it would electrify me.

Then retraced my steps back.

And got lost.

A sense of panic overtook me.

Stepping rapidly through a deceptive avenue between a parade of oak trees I thought I had traversed earlier I reached a low wall of thick bushes, and experienced a dreadful sense of
déjà vu, picturing myself as Alice no longer in wonderland but in a place of discombobulating evil. I began to run. I dropped the high heel shoes. My breath came haltingly. I felt as
if I were rushing headfirst through a maze, like a crazed automaton.

And emerged once again by the pool.

The coloured barman was no longer visible, nor was the table laden with beverages. Was it the same pool, or another?

In the distance there was the reassuring sound of music, a faraway waltz the ghost dancers must be turning and spinning to. But closer to me now was the muted whisper of other voices, moans,
murmurs, almost animal sounds but lacking any sense of genuine menace. I squinted. There at the corner of the pool, movement. Had Mandy, Christine and the minister returned?

The light was weak.

The sounds increased as I approached. Frantic, breathless.

A woman was in the pool, standing in the shallow end, bare-breasted, her skin pale as moonlight. Sitting on the edge facing her was a tuxedo-clad man with his legs apart. And she was sucking his
cock. Swallowing him whole. With appetite and fervour, the dark shape of his penis bobbing in and out between her lips. Her eyes were closed. His head was thrown back and the guttural sounds I had
previously heard rushed from his throat. I was frozen to the spot and a feeling of utter despair overcame me as I imagined Iris, right now, in some room in the nearby mansion, doing the same to
Thomas. On occasions, we had in jest discussed fellatio as girls do, always concluding that it was possibly the most disgusting thing in the menu of sex. Yet somehow now, I was convinced Thomas had
convinced her otherwise and she was taking to it like a duck to water, feasting on him, tasting him, her sweet lips being stretched beyond repair by his long, thick cock. I felt sick, and more lost
than ever.

My eyes fixed on the couple at play by the edge of the pool, acclimating to the surrounding darkness, I began to distinguish further shapes beyond them in the grass, slow movements, further
sounds. I squinted. A woman and two men, she on all fours, one of the partly dressed men in her mouth, the other behind her thrusting with rageful, staccato movements, the sounds of lust cutting
though the night air.

What was this place? What had I got myself into? I was both repelled and fascinated by the unfolding spectacle. Knew that if I now ventured further in the grounds I would inevitably come across
even more tableaus of desire unleashed. A new world. Realised the elegant ghost dancers of earlier were just this night’s hors d’oeuvre and I was now getting a glimpse of the main
courses.

The shuffle of steps behind me. A voice.

Crystal-clear, nonchalant, superior.

‘Ah, one of my brother’s little playfriends! A taste for voyeurism, maybe?’

It was Matilda.

I turned round.

She looked even more regal than she had earlier, as if the surrounding spectacle of debauchery only served to enhance her looks. Her dress captured every inch of light the half moon above cast
down at us.

She held a leather leash in each hand as she wandered towards me.

At the end of each leash, a naked man, on his knees, one stick thin and hairless, the other stocky and furry to the extreme. Between their thighs, their soft cocks and balls dangled, as if
superfluous parts. Both wore masks, so I was unsure who they were or if I had caught sight of them earlier.

She noted my surprise.

‘My pets,’ she said and tugged on the leashes. ‘They’re very obedient, and love it when their mistress takes them for a walk, don’t they?’

Neither of the men responded. As if insulted by their lack of reaction to what had actually been a question, Matilda turned a dainty ankle and dug her needle-thin high heel deep into one
man’s buttocks. He hissed in pain. ‘Yessss, mistress, I like it . . .’ She withdrew her heel. It had left a red dent in his rump. She raised her leg and presented her shoe to his
mouth. The man obediently licked it.

I swallowed hard. Despite my jumbled thoughts, I had found the spectacle rather satisfying. Maybe right now, because of Thomas, I was angry at all men.

Somehow Matilda could read my mind.

‘Darling, feel free . . .’

She pulled on his leash and the stocky, kneeling man turned and displayed his raised arse to me.

‘Look at that worthless package between his legs, darling. Come on, make him cry a bit.’

I bent over and, looking up at Matilda for encouragement which her wide smile provided, took hold of the man’s dangling genitals, and squeezed his ball sack as tight as I could. His body
shuddered but not a sound left his throat.

I realised I had been holding my breath back.

‘You can afford to do it harder,’ Matilda intervened. ‘He’s a good pain whore.’

But my anger had already subsided. And I had no wish to inflict permanent injury to the helpless man. Aside from the fact that having handled his sponge-like ball sack, my hands now felt dirty
in the extreme.

‘What is this place?’ I asked Matilda.

‘It’s where all desires can be purchased, my dear. As simple as that. Supply and demand.’

She turned on her heel and made to depart, her twin submissive poodles behind her, crawling on their knees across the grass.

I had so many more questions to ask.

I stood in place for a while, the sounds of rutting and sex like the ebb and flow of a curious tide surrounding me. Ordered my thoughts.

The night was lightening and the glow of the burning torches close to the mansion finally guided me back towards it.

On the left of the building there was a red tent. All the other marquees scattered across the grounds were white. My curiosity was provoked. By now, I was eager for further revelations. I
approached its drawn curtain flaps with some amount of trepidation and entered.

Carpets, couches, beds.

All occupied.

The sounds of sex.

Soft purrs, whispers, squelching, a peal of laughter, a groan of unbelievable pleasure, exhalations of pure relief and terrible yearnings, a veritable concert of the senses.

A tall man, with his back to me. White-haired. Trousers bunched around his ankles. Standing ramrod straight.

Someone on their knees, facing him. Naked, thin arms holding the man at his waist, as if pulling his bulk towards her mouth, to take his cock even deeper.

My heart stopped at the thought that this might be Iris somehow. That Thomas had convinced her to enter this diseased dance of lust of her own free will. By now, I understood what Matilda had
said about supply and demand. This was a place where the rich and powerful came for their pleasure. Where it was them and us, and people like Iris and I were only seen as instruments for that
pleasure. I wondered how much the young women who made themselves available here were paid?

I sidestepped the tall man.

And gasped.

It was not a woman sucking his cock with gusto and greed, impaled on him.

It was a young man.

His eyes were glazed as he busied himself, on the verge of orgasm, his cock below at full mast, as he took the stranger’s vigorous penis into the very depths of his throat.

It was my cousin Gwillam.

I took a step back. Confused.

As I did so, the stranger roughly pulled away from Gwillam’s mouth, pulling him by the hair as he did so.

‘Now, you little cunt. Now,’ he said, his voice full of disdain.

Gwillam turned round and draped himself over the back of the neighbouring couch, offering his rear to the man, even obediently holding his cheeks apart. The stranger moved nearer, his cock
seemingly enormous and throbbing to my untrained eyes and, in one swift, practised movement, pushed himself into Gwillam’s rear like a spear through butter.

I know I should have really looked away, but I watched in dread fascination every single minute of my cousin being fucked by another man.