Black Orchid Page 6

  Antony lay back his head and closed his eyes, giving himself up to the familiar, pleasurable sensations caused by Alexander's clever mouth. God, he loved it when he initiated sex like this, coming up to him when he least expected it and enticing him away from whatever he might be doing with his dirty words, so lovingly phrased.

  He knew exactly how much pressure to apply, when to suck and when to lick and . . . Antony groaned as he began to come, thick, short spurts into the back of Alexander's throat. Alexander milked him dry, swallowing every drop until he had grown soft in his mouth. Then he withdrew his head and, looking up at Antony through his lashes, he grinned.

  'In a bit of a hurry, weren't we?'

  'You little bastard,' Antony replied affectionately, his voice hoarse, 'you know exactly how to get what you want out of me, don't you?'

  Alexander cocked his head to one side and regarded him quizzically. 'Does this mean you're going to lean over the arm of this sofa and let me fuck your delectable little arsehole?' he asked lightly, in the same tone of voice anyone would have asked for a refill of their drink.

  Antony said nothing, merely standing up and dropping his trousers and shorts to his ankles. The bulge in Alexander's trousers was satisfaction enough as Antony wandered round to the edge of the sofa and positioned himself over the arm, presenting his buttocks to the beautiful youth who watched him, in an act of supplication that had him growing hard again at the mere thought of it.

  He pressed his face into the soft, pungent leather as Alex lubricated the tip of his member and eased it into position. There was a brief, exquisite resistance as he pressed on, then he was filling him, screwing him onto his hot pulsating shaft. Gripping Alexander round the waist, he plunged in and out steadily, pulling slowly part way out of him, then driving the length of his hardness back in before slowly withdrawing again.

  Antony felt hot, his own penis rubbing rhythmically against the soft leather of the sofa arm almost painfully. He felt he could not stand much more, yet Alexander went on and on, faster and faster until Antony's back passage burned and throbbed.

  Alexander was ruthless, ignoring Antony's increasingly pained gasps as he neared his own climax. And when, at last, he came, it was with a shout of triumph. Seconds later, Anthony exploded over the sofa, allowing Alex to pull him onto the soft pile carpet as his sperm pooled on the soft leather.

  Alex's mouth was hot as it sought his and he put his arms around him, holding him close as they kissed.

  'God! I love you!' he whispered fervently.

  Alexander stroked his hands soothingly down his face.

  'I know,' he replied, repeating, almost sympathetically, 'I know.'

  5

  Maggie watched as the women surged forward to shove money down the miniscule gold posing pouch flaunted by the stripper. She felt curiously removed from the scene, as if it didn't quite have anything to do with her.

  One thing she was sure about, though, was that after six weeks of enforced celibacy, her close proximity to Judd's virile, healthy body was slowly driving her wild. Since fetching her another drink, he had resumed his position behind her and was cradling her comfortably against the hard length of his body. Wriggling her bottom slightly, Maggie smiled as she felt the tell-tale tumescence in his trousers.

  She could take or leave the act on stage, the real, warm, willing man behind her was just what she needed. She was just about to twist her head and suggest to Judd that they find somewhere a little more private, when the youth with the gold pouch, bulging now with booty, hobbled into the wings and the stage was filled with swirling blue smoke.

  In spite of herself, Maggie was intrigued, watching with mounting excitement as from the smoke there emerged the most gorgeous hunk she had ever seen. Maggie held herself still as her eyes assimilated the vision before her.

  He was very tall, well over six foot in his bare feet, and the breadth of his shoulders was in keeping with his height. They were strong, powerful, the muscles well defined, stopping just short of the extremes of the serious weight lifter. Even from where she was standing, Maggie could see the hard, carefully developed planes of his pectorals through his waistcoat as he flexed them and struck and held a body builder's pose, his biceps bulging impossibly large as he bent his arms at the elbow. He was naked from the waist up except for the button-less, electric-blue leather waistcoat which was held together by two leather loops.

  The hush which had descended across the room as he appeared gave way to tumultuous applause as he turned his back on the audience and began to gyrate his hips in time to the music. All eyes fastened on the firm, neat behind in the electric-blue leather trousers, so tight that they clung lovingly to every masculine curve and crevice.

  Maggie felt a wave of pure lust roll over her and she unconsciously pressed herself against Judd's accommodating body. She couldn't take her eyes off the man on the stage. His long, straight black hair was fastened loosely at the nape of his neck by a strip of blue leather. Her fingers itched to untie it so that she could see that coal black hair flowing loose over his tanned back.

  He looked over his shoulder at that moment and she held her breath as he looked directly at her, as if feeling her hot gaze above all the others. His profile was as strong as the rest of him, the bones of his nose and jaw sharply defined, almost hawk-like from this angle. As he turned slowly round and the light caught his face fully for the first time, Maggie saw that his cheekbones were high and prominent. With his glossy long, black hair, they gave him an almost North American Indian look which she had always found powerfully erotic.

  For a moment, she thought she had imagined he had looked straight at her, then he sought her out again and she was pinned by eyes which were startling blue in his dark face. As he began to dance, he seemed to be performing for her and her alone and Maggie couldn't take her eyes off him.

  As he moved sinuously along the catwalk towards her, Maggie felt her legs begin to shake, her sex, already slick with moisture, swelling uncomfortably in her tight briefs. The man stopped at the end of the catwalk, a mere few feet away from where she and Judd were standing, so close that she could see the faint sheen of perspiration on his naked shoulders.

  Suddenly, he dropped to one knee and, leaning forward so that the top of his head was almost touching the ground, he undid the thin strip of leather which bound his hair and threw it aside. His hair cascaded around him, brushing the floor. Maggie had never seen such black, glossy hair on a man. Momentarily, she wondered what it would feel like spread across her naked body . . . She gasped as the man threw back his head and jumped up, speeding up the tempo of the dance, making his hair fly wildly about his face and shoulders.

  Maggie ground her hips against Judd in a frantic attempt to ease the ache which was building between her legs. She sighed and fell weakly against him as he insinuated his hand between their two bodies and up the back of her skirt and began to rub her rhythmically through her knickers. It wasn't enough.

  Sensing her need, Judd unfastened the ties at the sides of her briefs and pulled them tormentingly through her legs from front to back. He kissed her neck and massaged the rounded globes of her buttocks, tantalising her, making her wait for the cool touch of his fingers against her sex. Maggie moaned softly, past caring that they were in a room full of clapping, laughing women. The intimate, smoky blue darkness of the room was enough to shield them from prying eyes should anyone take their attention off the stage.

  No one did, for the man performing on it had them all enthralled. The tempo had slowed again now and, once again, he caught Maggie's eye and held it, unsmiling, as he danced. Maggie felt her cheeks grow warm and struggled not to react as Judd's fingers at last played over her hot, moist nether lips. She was sure that the man on the stage could not see what was going on behind her back, yet she had the strangest feeling that he knew, none the less.

  With uncanny timing, he snaked out his tongue and touched the tip slowly along the inside of his upper lip just as Judd dipped two fingers into her
hungry sex. The music soared in her ears as she watched, mesmerised, as the dancer circled his hips slowly before pumping them sinuously back and forth in a blatantly sexual gesture which mimicked the movements of Judd's thrusting fingers.

  As Judd worked his forefinger over her clitoris, the dancer's movements became more and more feverish until, suddenly, he threw back his head and shuddered, his face screwed up in simulated ecstasy as if he had climaxed, before stretching his body like a sleek, satisfied cat. Maggie came at once, leaning her entire weight against Judd as she spasmed, to stop herself from falling.

  As she came to herself again, she looked up at the man on the stage and he smiled at her wolfishly. He knew! Maggie didn't know whether to feel embarrassed, ashamed, or aroused by what she had just experienced. She chose the last.

  Forgetting Judd now that he had so efficiently dealt with her first, insistent need, Maggie walked to the edge of the stage, her eyes never leaving the man dancing on it. She leaned against the edge of the catwalk so that her face was level with his strong, brown feet and gazed up at him, oblivious to everyone else. She half expected him to back away to a safe distance, but he stood his ground as he began his slow striptease.

  The bright blue eyes stared straight at Maggie as he began to undo the loop on his waistcoat and she caught a flash of gold as the sides momentarily flapped open. She frowned slightly and he danced away from her, performing a perfect back flip before dropping to his knees at the end of the catwalk.

  His bulging, leather-covered crotch was level with Maggie's face and she pulled her eyes away with difficulty so that she could watch him peel away the miniscule blue waistcoat. Her eyes opened wide in surprise as she saw that both his nipples were pierced by identical, narrow gold hoops between which was clipped a fine gold chain. In the middle of the chain, which glinted against his smooth brown, hair free chest, was one larger link, connected to which was a second chain. This hung loosely, following the mid line of his body and disappeared into the tight leather trousers.

  Maggie tore her eyes away with difficulty and found he was looking straight at her again, as if gauging her reaction. Only vaguely aware of the wolf whistles and clapping which mingled with the heavy, pounding music swelling around her, Maggie wondered what he would do if she reached forward and tugged on the centre link of that fine gold chain . . .

  He offered her hardly any resistance as she pulled him slowly down towards her. Maggie could not take her eyes off the way the skin of his hard brown nipples pulled and hardened under the slight pressure. She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue as she imagined the sensation of encountering cold metal against her lips in counterpoint to the warmth of one perfect, tumescent nub.

  The throb between her legs intensified as he suddenly gripped her wrist with one hand and stopped her insistent tugging. She looked up at him ruefully, holding her breath as he brought his lips within inches of her own. Softly, so no one else could have heard, he breathed,

  'Later.'

  Maggie had never heard such an exciting, promising word. Later. She let him go, reluctantly and he turned to the rest of the audience who, she now realised, had begun to grow restless. They went wild as he grabbed at his crotch and swivelled his hips crudely.

  He knew exactly what they wanted, Maggie thought admiringly as she stood back and watched him dance. As the crowd whipped themselves up into a good-natured frenzy, the man dispensed with his leather trousers and posed again, giving them time to absorb the impact of his golden, heavily muscled body, covered only by an inadequate G-string made of some kind of black netting.

  Maggie's eyes fastened on his barely restrained penis which was squashed into the straining G-string. The gold chain disappeared inside it and she caught a glimpse of a third gold ring. The heat rose within her as she realised that the foreskin of his penis was pierced in the same way as his nipples and that the three centres of arousal were linked by that simple arrangement of fine gold chains.

  The music surged into several ever increasing peaks as he danced and whirled towards the back of the stage, adroitly avoiding the hands which grasped at him all along the catwalk. The crowd went wild as, half way down it, he dropped onto his stomach and performed several, effortless press ups in a blatant simulation of the copulatory act.

  Maggie felt weak as she imagined herself under that firm, thrusting body, the thick black hair falling over her face as he drove into her. She could not have dragged her eyes away from him even had she wanted to as he rolled and jumped lightly to his feet, retreating to the back of the stage.

  As he reached the back curtain, the blue smoke began to gather around his feet and slowly rise. The music built to a crescendo as, with perfect timing, he peeled the tight G-string down his legs and his leashed cock sprang up, held in tension by the chain which attached it to his nipples.

  A collective gasp rose up from the audience as it swelled and grew, a magnificent animal which was all too soon concealed by the swirling blue smoke which rose up and obscured him. By the time it had cleared, he had gone.

  Maggie did not hang about to watch the energetic young himboes who exploded onto the stage the moment the soloist's music had died away. The image of that huge, hard cock was indelibly printed on her memory. 'Later' would be too long – she wanted the man in blue, and she wanted him now!

  It was easy to find him. Along the corridor which ran behind the stage there were three doors. Two were standing open and a glance inside told her that their occupants were even now strutting their stuff front of house. Costumes hung neatly on hangers in order of wear, everyday clothes lay haphazardly in heaps over chairs and on the floor. A large crate of beer stood half empty and, in one room a heavy fug of stale cigarette smoke hung in the air.

  The third door was firmly closed. A hand written plaque was hanging from the doorknob with a cartoon star and 'Electric Blue' written in a bold, sloping hand in black ink. Maggie hesitated for a second before turning the handle, without knocking.

  He was standing in front of a mirror, towelling his sweat streaked face and neck with a thick, white towel. He did not turn as she slipped through the door and locked eyes with him in the mirror. Without a word, he slowly towelled his chest and under his arms. Maggie could smell the heavy musk of his body. She licked her lips nervously.

  On the stage, under the spotlights, he had looked approachable, harmless. Here, in this confined space where only the muffled beat of the music could be heard, he seemed to fill the room, taking over the space with his nervous energy so that he seemed like a wild animal, a panther waiting for a chance to spring.

  While she was seeking him out, the vague notion in Maggie's mind was that he would be easy, that she would be in charge of their encounter. Now, though, as he slowly laid the towel on the table and turned to face her, she knew she had been mistaken.

  Electric Blue was no sex toy. He was fully in control and something told her he could be dangerous to know.

  Maggie moved round him towards the couch. His eyes followed her, unblinking, unsmiling, so that they both circled, like two wary boxers before a fight, each waiting for the other to be the first to speak. In the end it was he who broke the tense, sexually charged tension.

  'How are you paying?'

  Maggie felt her mouth drop open at the unexpected question and she quickly closed it again.

  'Paying?' she frowned, unable to quite believe her ears.

  Electric Blue flicked a derisive glance over her which somehow inflamed her desire even more.

  'I don't give private shows for free.'

  His voice was deep, throaty and, for a few seconds, Maggie enjoyed the sound of it, rather than hearing the words. When they did sink in, the anger finally began to push its way through the haze of lust which had enveloped her from the moment she first saw him.

  'You want me to pay?' she said incredulously. 'You're not serious?'

  'Deadly. It'll be worth it.'

  She laughed, thinking for a moment that he was joking, though hi
s face was deadpan. His next words left her in no doubt that he was indeed deadly serious.

  'I take cash, Visa and American Express. No cheques.'

  'I have a Gold Card – will that be acceptable?' she said, her voice dripping sarcasm.

  'Very,' he replied and held out his hand.

  Maggie stared back at him, unable to believe her ears. This . . . person, actually expected her to pay for sex with him? He was hot, but then, so was she, on a good day. She certainly wasn't so desperate that she had to resort to paying for it!

  She was about to stalk out of the dressing room when she remembered the conversation she had had with Janine all those weeks ago. 'That's what we working girls need now,' the other girl had said, 'Gigolos, guaranteed safe, hired with an American Express Card.'

  Electric Blue was still waiting patiently, hand outstretched for her sought after piece of plastic. It occurred to her that if she paid for his services, he would do anything she wanted him to – anything her heart or, more specifically, her body, desired. And he was very beautiful. If he was as dynamite in the sack as he was on the stage it might well be worth it. She smiled slowly.

  'How much?'

  He named a price which made her heart skip a beat. She narrowed her eyes at him.

  'I'll expect a refund if I don't get value for money,' she snapped.

  'Any complaints will be dealt with by the management,' he replied, straight faced.

  Maggie reached into her bag and took out her purse. She watched as he passed the plastic card through the machine he produced from a drawer in the table and handed the slip to her to sign.

  'Would you like a receipt?'

  'A receipt?'

  'Set it against expenses. I could be a hotel room, or a meal for a client?'

  Maggie shook her head.

  'No one would ever believe I could eat that much guacamole.'

  He shrugged and put the credit card machine away. Then he strode to the door and locked it.