II. Déjeuner sur l’herbe.
“Do you come to France often?” asked Sarah, more for something to say than out of geneuine interest.”
“No,” replied George. “It was Lancaster who kept insisting that I should come. And now that I’m here, he promptly ups sticks and goes back to England.” She laughed.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “But that’s just what he’s like.”
“You should laugh more often,” he said. “It suits you.” She looked at him, then down at the ground. Charming as well, she thought, how was she going to resist him? “How did you first get to know him?” he asked.
“Who? Arthur?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said.
“One of my tutors introduced me to him,” she replied. “At college. He told me I could learn a lot from him.”
“So,” said George. “What did you learn?”
“A lot,” said Sarah vaguely, glancing back at George with a look which challenged him to deny it, or else to find out more.
“About what?” asked George.
“About life,” replied Sarah.
“And sex,” stated George. She looked at him, then away. It was true. He had really opened her eyes to the world of sex, and to her own nature. After their first little adventure bent over his desk, they had made love everywhere, in his office, in his car, in the park, on the top of a double decker bus, even in one of the back alleys behind the college. “He’s amazing. I don’t know how he gets away with it. I don’t think there was a single good looking student he didn’t fuck sooner or later…. male or female,” continued George.
She was shocked. Surely that wasn’t true. The idea that he had made love to other girls was bad enough, but boys as well…. She looked at George.
“You mean…” she hesitated to formulate the words. George nodded. My god. The man had taken her virginity, had told her she was the special one, that there was nobody else… She coughed. George laughed.
“Don’t tell me you were in love with him,” he said.
“Of course not,” she replied. How could she have been so naïve? But was it true? Or was George just playing the goat? She tried to hide her confusion. “Shall we start?” she asked. “I’m starving.”
“They won’t be long,” said George. She glanced over at the woods, speculating briefly on what they might be doing. George changed his position, coming closer to her. “He showed me some photos,” he said.
“What?” she asked.
“He showed me some photos he took of you,” clarified George, looking directly at her, “naked, on the beach.” She was shocked. Those photos were not for public consumption. She had stripped naked for him, he had taken some very intimate photos, and they had then made love as the tide came in over them. It had been a special evening, with only the stars as witnesses. “Very nice,” said George. “You have a great body. And he’s a very good photographer.” He turned, and, as he turned, he rolled towards her. “Why don’t you just let it happen?” he said, putting his hand on her knee. Their eyes met, and he then slid his hand up under her skirt until his fingers came into contact with her sex. She pushed him away.
“No,” she said. “Not here. Not now.” But his touch had electrified her, and she realized that she wanted him, or, more precisely, that she wanted to be fucked. The response came like a cascade over her, completely engaging the better, or different, intentions she might have had. The betrayal she felt at what Lancaster had apparently done just added to the desire, since, while part of her could feel hurt, there was another part of her that laughed at herself, the innocent virgin, who had been pumped full of the semen of a man twice her age, who had effectively used her as his sex toy for three months, and who had then gone off and showed intimate photos of her to all and sundry. She wondered what else he had told George about their relationship.
She had backed away from him, and was now sitting on her backside, her short skirt up around her thighs, giving him a very nice view of her sex bulging under the thin fabric of her panties.
But it was at this point that Emily returned with Frederick. Sarah glanced up at her as she approached, and changed her position. Emily was busy picking things out of her hair.
“Nature’s all very well,” she said, “but why do there have to be so many prickly things?”
“It’s nature’s way of defending itself,” suggested George, still looking at Sarah.
“I suppose so,” replied Emily.
“Every rose has to have its thorn,” he added. Emily looked from Sarah to George, and back again.
“So have you two been getting to know each other?” she asked.
“You could say that,” said George. Sarah looked down.
“I see,” said Emily, though it was not clear that she did. “Well, don’t just stand there like a wet clothes, Freddie. Serve the lunch.”
Freddie obliged, evidently now fully under the sway of the dominant Emily. Sarah could not help wondering what it would be like to dominate aman in that way, though for the time being she was content to be dominated, as Lancaster had dominated her. The thrill of being told what to do, especially when she was being told to do things that were decidedly naughty, was still strong for her. All those nice little intimate commands like ‘bend over’, ‘spread your legs’, ‘wider’, ‘open your mouth’ and so on had a sort of hypnotic appeal for her. But anyone who “I remember we were on our way to Cannes, I think it was,” said Emily. “Harry had some crazy idea about gate-crashing one of the parties for the film people, you know. But before we got there, he took a detour to go down to one of the beaches. I ended up with sand everywhere, and I mean everywhere. That’s nature for you.”
“Don’t complain,” said George, taking a sandwich from the container offered to him by Frederick. “You know you can’t orgasm properly if there’s no pain involved.”
“Hm,” said Emily. “I don’t know about that. What do you say, Sarah?”
“Pass,” said Sarah, beginning to eat, and resisting the temptation to speculate publicly on something she considered private.
“Freddie?” prompted Emily.
“What?” asked Freddie.
“Do you think that pain is a necessary ingredients to a proper orgasm?” asked Emily.
“Pain?” queried Freddie.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” exclaimed Emily. “Somebody gives the boy a kick.”
“Well, I’m sorry,” said Freddie. “I haven’t been following the conversation.” In fact, he had been thinking about Sarah and Emily’s promise, made the day before, that he would be able to fuck her before the end of the day. He Thought the idea improbable, as he had already tried several times to take hold of her, but she had always refused. Perhaps now with Arthur Lancaster out of the way, it would be different, he thought. At all events, having just ejaculated prematurely all over Emily, much to her announcement, he found that this had in no way abated his sexual arousal, in fact, quite the reverse.
“Where’s the wine?” asked Emily. Freddie looked disconsolately over towards the car. “Don’t tell me you’ve left it in the car,” said Emily.
“I’ll go,” said Sarah, getting to her feet in an attempt to inject a little politeness into the proceedings. She was beginning to suspect that Emily and George had set out that morning to seduce their two younger companies, and, having used them to satisfy their lust, complete their humiliation by treating them as servants for the rest of the day, and, perversely, she could not deny that there was something in the scenario that appealed to her quite strongly. During her relationship with Arthur Lancaster, being used for sex whenever and wherever he wanted her had become normal, and had begun to condition her sexual response. She loved the fact that he might demand sex with her at any moment, and anywhere. She loved the touch of his hand, his intimate cares at unexpected moments, the tokens of his possession of her.
She told herself to concentrate on finding the bottle and corkscrew, trying to stop her imagination from suggesting how she might let George have her without appearing to be too much of a slut, but the little tyrant between her legs, having now been aroused, keeping going her on, and she found it difficult to concentrate on anything else.
She finally managed to locate the wine and a corkscrew in the back of the car. As she did so, she heard the motor of another vehicle approaching. She pulled out of the car, and watched from the side of the road as a very fine, red sports car went by. She did not get a good look at the driver, as he was obscured behind the reflections on the window glass, but it seemed to her that he gestured a greeting. She smiled, looked After the car, watched as it nearly worked into one of the trees growing on the side of the road, then turned back to the group, a little reassured that they were not the only people on the planet.
“Voilà” she said, showing them the bottle and opener. Emily had her portable in her hand. She had evinedly just received a message. She looked directly at Sarah.
“Lancaster sends his love,” she said. “He says he hopes the ring is not too uncomfortable.” Sarah realized that they were all looking at her. “What ring would that be?” asked Emily, cutting her phone.
“I had a piercing done,” said Sarah after a brief hesitation, glancing over at the two men. “Before Arthur left.”
“Ah,” said Emily. “Clitoris?” she suggested.
“Yes,” said Sarah, looking again at the two men.
“And is it uncomfortable?” asked Emily.
“A little,” confessed Sarah.
“Want me to take a look?” suggested Emily.
“No,” said Sarah.
“We can go over there,” suggested Emily.
“No,” repeated Sarah. “It’s OK, really.” But the idea of having her sex inspected by Emily while theTwo men looked on was something she found almost irresistibly excited.
“Well you shouldn’t leave it too long,” said Emily. “If it gets infected it can become a real problem. Where did you have it done?” She clearly did not want to leave the subject.
“The jewellers in town,” replied Sarah, again glancing at the two men.
“Not Mr Graniac !” excaimed Emily.
“Yes, I think that was his name,” replied Sarah.
“So what was it like, having that grubby little man fingering your clip?” asked Emily. Having found something to embarrass Sarah, she was clearly intent on making the most of it.
“It was a leaving present,” replied Sarah, avoiding the question. “Arthur wanted me to wear it. For him.” Freddie pulled the cork from the bottle, and began pouring the wine.
“Did it hurt?” he asked, handing her a glass of wine.
“A little,” she confessed, taking the glass. In fact, it had hurt quite a lot, as Mr Graniac had not used any sort of anaesthetic, and had been rather clumsy with her, perhaps intentionally so.
“Personally, I can’t understand why anyone would want to have their clip pierced,” said Emily.
“Well,” interjected George, “as I said before, some girls like the pain. They have to be hurt a bit before they get properly aroused.”
“So it seems,” said Emily, looking directly at Sarah. For a few moments, nobody spoke. Frederick poured another glass of wine, and handed it to Emily. “How about you, Sarah?” she asked, taking the glass. Sarah hesitated. In fact, as the pain of being pierced had subsided, Mr Graniac had taken the opportunity to slide his finger up into her vagina. She should, of course, have complained, but the reaction of her sex to being treated in this way was too powerful. Although all her efforts, she could Not stop the arrival of a long and powerful orgasm that was triggered by his actions.
“Not especially,” she lied, taking her place once again on the blanket.
They began to eat, theireating punctuated by Emily’s requests for more prawns, more salad or more wine.
“What could be nicer,” she exceled as she finished another glass of Bourgogne Aligoté. “A real French déjeuner sur l’herbe.”
“Only one thing missing,” stated George.
“What?” asked Emily.
“A proper dessert,” replied George.
“Oh, yes!” confirmed Emily, bursting into a fit of laughter. “A proper dessert!”
“There’s some yoghurt,” suggested Freddie. Emily laughed some more.
“Are you going to tell them?” she asked, turning to George.
“Why not?” said George. “We were traveling with the artist Marengo in Spain. He had picked up a young Spanish girl, who he persuaded to become his model.”
“Apparently, she was still a virgin when he met her,” interjected Emily.
“Yes,” continued George. “So he told me.”
“Anyway,” continued George, “we stopped for a picnic, much as we have done today, and, reaching the end of the meal, Marengo askedWhat there was for dessert.”
“He was told that there was no dessert,” said Emily. “Unfazed, he turned to this girl and told her to lift her skirt.”
“At first she didn’t want to do it,” said George.
“Typical Spanish pussy,” said Emily, taking the last strawberry and stuffing it into her mouth. “Wants desperately to be fucked, but doesn’t want to admit it.” Sarah looked away. Was that, she wondered, how Emily saw her?
“Anyway, it soon became apparent that the little slut was getting excited by all the attention,” observed Emily.
“And she provided him with the perfect after dinner repast,” completed George.
“While everybody watched?” asked Freddie.
“Yes,” confirmed George. “While everybody watched. Somebody held her from Behind, while Marengo pulled down her panties. He then knelt down in front of her and worked her sex with his fingers and mouth until she came in front of everybody.” Freddie laughed. George looked over at Sarah. “You’re not amused?” he queried.
“I wouldn’t say it was funny,” said Sarah. “Just a bit vulgar.”
“Ah,” said Emily. “Vulgaire. And yet he was a great painter.”
“And a great aesthetic,” added George. “And it was obvious that after having been brought to it, the girl got a great kick out of being made to come in public,” said George.
“Yes,” said Emily. “She was one of those demure, Catholic young ladies who you would think would never open her legs for anyone who wasn’t either a bishop or the saviour himself.”
“But all that fake holiness gives the whole thing a certain charm,” said George.
“Maybe,” allowed Emily.
“All that rustling of soft silks, all those surprising glances, hand fondling and suddenly, violent sex…” continued George. “And the girl’s pussy was very pretty,” he added. Freddie laughed again, but a certain seriousness had now entered the conversation.
“What constitutes a pretty pussy anyway?” asked Freddie. Emily, who had begunto get sexually excited again by their pornographic talk, looked at him oddly.
“In the case of Juanita,” she explained rather coldly, “it was a neighbor cleft beneath a substantial but well ordered bush. Something on which any man, or indeed woman, would have been happy to suck.”
“What says you Sarah?” asked George.
“Pass,” said Sarah, again trying to avoid entering into the conversation at all.
“Something resembling a fruit,” suggested Freddie. “A ripe fruit.”
“A guava, a paw paw or a fig,” suggested George.
“A fish,” said Freddie. Emily burst into laughter. George made the opening and closing motion of the mouth of a fish with his own mouth. “Or a magic mushroom,” suggested Freddie.
“Oh no,” said Emily. “That’s more the phallus.”
“And what,” asked Freddie, “constitutes a handsome phallus?”
“I’ll show you,” said Emily, stretching over towards George. She looked him directly in the eyes while she undid his trousers, opened them out, andfished out his penis. “That’s a handsome phallus,” she announced, taking it in her hand. It was only half erect, but it was already of a size to make Sarah wonder whether she would be capable of accommodating it. She looked away, but couldn’t resist looking back again.
George, like Arthur Lancaster had been circled, but his penis was both longer and stouter, and the head seemed better formed, more Regular, like the helmet of a soldier, and of more general proportions. Emily continued to play with it until it stood fully erect, glancing occasionally at Sarah to gauge her reaction. George allowed her to do whatever she wanted with him, lying passively back supporting himself on his elbows. She began to alternate her stimulation between her hand and her mouth, until his erection reached a high point. His penis was, thought Sarah, a very beautiful thing, a thing pulsating with life and energy, and it was clear that Emily was taking a sadistic delight in repeatedly arousing it to a state just before ejaculation and then leaving it to subside.
Sarah kept telling herself she should leave, but she could not deny the fact that she found the sight compelling. She spent the next ten minutes looking away, as though trying to morally condemn what was happening, then looking back, unable to deny her own voyeuristic interest.
She was caught in two minds. Leave, or stay? She looked over at the château. Somehow it seemed to beckon her.
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