The Dream Pills - Chapters 1 & 2
Given that I'm rather pleased with the novel, and given that there is a great deal of smut in it, I thought it might as well get some kind of airing, rather than just gather dust in my laptop.
So with the proviso that this is (vaguely) a romantic novel (albeit full of loads of very filthy smut), I'm going to start serialising it in here. I hope to be back with proper new erotica for you imminently, but in the meantime, I hope you enjoy The Dream Pills. More to come next week - and drop me an email, I'd love to hear from you!
The Dream Pills
One: Certain Tastes
Sarah hurtled down from the sky, laughed defiantly into the breeze and pressed the foot pedal to the maximum. The warm wind caressed her face as her speed increased, the rushing currents of air gliding like curious fingertips through the dark, streaming tangle of her hair. Her senses were alive, responding to every last rhythmic buck and heave of the atmosphere around her, riding it, swept along by it.
“Come on, old girl... faster! Faster!”
Flocks of birds scattered in panic as she approached them, startled by her presence as she soared through the sky. Each subtle flex of her fingertips on the controls sent her this way and that, dancing through the air, plunging down into the clouds and then re-emerging, laughing with glee. Plumes of dappled, candy-floss cloud trailed in curling rivulets behind her.
“Okay... steady as we go now... wooaah!”
The words were ripped from her mouth as the ornithopter lurched again into its descent towards London. The rapidly rotating cogs and wheels of the ornate sky craft creaked and groaned against each other, straining against her sudden downward manoeuvre. She tugged on another lever, keeping the wings steady as she encouraged the machine to glide, listening carefully to every sound, checking and rechecking the controls.
The blades of the ornithopter whirred over her head, her feet firm on the pedals, her hands wrapped tightly around the control levers as she banked the machine sharply to the left. Beneath her, the jagged silhouette of the London skyline glistened in the sunshine.
Sarah never tired of this view: of the monolithic towers and the gothic church steeples; the brick maze of streets and cobbled lanes; the houses and the steampipes and the factory chimneys. Buildings of every shape and size passed underneath her, and from up here in the sky everything looked so utterly perfect.
“Come on, then... that's it... further down...”
She tugged harder on the levers and clicked the gears into place, feeling the craft resist her for a moment and then settle again, swooping gull-like over the huge, stately dome of St Paul's Cathedral and circling playfully around it. The gas lamps were still lit in the streets below: a glittering cobweb of light scattered between the rooftops as the sun began to rise behind her.
The architecture beneath her gleamed enticingly in this early morning light. In a couple of hours the sky would be filled with soot and steam, but dawn over the London rooftops was something else entirely - a clear, sparkling wonderland of brick and stone, of decadent towers reaching up towards the clouds to scratch the sky.
Concentrate on the landing, Sarah thought, gritting her teeth as she focussed on the descent. Her leather catsuit was pinching between her thighs, riding up uncomfortably as her body strained to keep the ornithopter under control. Try not to be distracted, landings can be tricky. Forget about the tight outfit for a few minutes.
She flicked a couple of switches and felt a small jolt as the wings engaged fully beneath her. A hiss of steam poured from the rear nozzle and the leathery canvas rippled along the wings as they began to flap slowly, easing her further down towards the streets below.
Beneath her, perched on the top of an unassuming office building, the glowing landing pad pulsed with warm gaslight. Another couple of tugs on the levers and she banked in the sky again. The wings flapped faster, the rooftops now almost close enough to touch as her machine fluttered its way down.
“Come on, old girl... that's it... down we go...”
With another flick of her gauntleted finger against a switch, the feet emerged from underneath her seat with a reassuring clank. There was another soft hiss and a gentle ka-bump as the machine dropped down expertly onto the landing pad.
Sarah breathed a small sigh of relief at the safe landing. Her fingers danced across the controls, powering down the machine, the wings slowly retracting.
She lifted up her goggles, unstrapped herself from the seat, hopped down onto the rooftop and dusted herself off.
Time to go see Grandfather. I definitely can't be covered in dead flies. I need to look good for this.
Brushing the last of the insects out of her hair, she strolled over to the fire escape, opened the door and stepped inside. Taking hold of the baroque lever attached to the wall, she pulled it down with a playful flourish. A gush of steam hissed up from the floor around her, momentarily engulfing her in its foggy, damp haze.
Gaslight softly illuminated the small velvet-padded cubicle as it began to descend. A clockwork motor embedded in the padding on the wall ticked off each floor as the elevator plunged down through the building, and a small bell pinged as she finally reached the lower level.
The door hissed open, revealing the secret space of her destination: the inner workings of The Organisation.
Down here in the heart of the building, business was as brisk as ever. Agents and technicians scurried to and fro along the gothic wood-panelled floors and through the maze of winding, ornate corridors. They nodded politely to Sarah as she strolled past them, heading towards Grandfather's office.
She had already convinced herself that this was not going to be a good day. Her usual routine had been utterly shaken up, her life as a Steam Agent no longer as predictable as she was accustomed. She was entering uncharted territory here, newly promoted to the ranks of the elite agents and expected to prove herself. The flight in her new ornithopter had been fun, but her new costume and rank were going to take a great deal of getting used to.
Who knew the costume could be this uncomfortable? The skintight catsuit was still riding terribly up her crotch, the various belts and attachments strapped loosely around her hips and thighs felt far too heavy and cumbersome, her boots were way too chunky and impractical, and she was convinced that everyone was taking a really good look at her bum.
“Hi, Sarah! You're looking good. The new uniform really suits you.”
Lee Steiner smiled at her as she passed by on her way to another appointment. Lee was carrying herself much more confidently, her own Steam Agent costume looking as though it had been sprayed onto her, emphasising every curve.
Sarah returned her smile. “Thanks, Lee. It feels a little weird but I'm starting to get used to it. Can't stop, though, I'm on my way to see Grandfather.”
“Well, just so's you know, he's been smoking that pipe in his office again. Don't breathe in too deeply.”
“I've never seen him without it,” Sarah grinned, “I've started to think it might be surgically attached to his face. Let's have a coffee some time and catch up properly, yeah?”
“Works for me.”
Sarah watched as Lee set off down the corridor.
Damn it, how does she make her costume look so good? It fits her like a glove. Do they pour her into it every morning or something?
Sarah continued down the corridor, putting the notion out of her mind. Today was an important day: the day of her first solo case. Was she ready for the big time? Was she really prepared to go out there on her own and risk life and limb for The Organisation? The catsuit said yes, but she wasn't feeling quite so confident.
She had won this promotion fair and square, putting in the training and the ground work on a number of tough cases, impressing her superiors with her quick thinking and her willingness to risk everything. But still there were those nagging doubts in the back of her mind. Assisting on other cases was all well and good, but did she really have what it took to run her own case achieve the right results?
Sarah reached Grandfather's office and knocked on the sturdy wooden door. His secretary answered the door, smiling at Sarah and glancing down at her costume.
“You might want to pull that zip down a little,“ she suggested. “I find it puts him in a much better mood. You know what he's like.“
“Good call,“ Sarah said, “this one could be a toughie.“ She took hold of the zip at her neck and tugged it down, displaying a generous amount of cleavage. The secretary smiled conspiratorially and pressed a button on her desk.
“Sarah Chance is here to see you, Sir.” The door to Grandfather's inner office hissed open and Sarah stepped inside.
“Sarah, how lovely to see you! Please take a seat.”
Grandfather indicated a plush leather chair that was facing him on the other side of his sturdy wooden desk. As Sarah sat down and made herself comfortable, he poured a cup of tea from a gleaming, silver teapot, added a small splash of milk, stirred it in for her with a small silver spoon and pushed the cup across the desk towards her.
“There you go, a little caffeine to get the brain in gear. I swear by it. Dunno how I'd manage without it.“
Grandfather's fireplace spat and crackled reassuringly behind him, warming and lighting the office. Rows of bookshelves lined the panelled walls and a clock ticked patiently on the mantelpiece. Hanging from the walls were an assortment of old school photographs, watercolour landscape paintings and sporting certificates, and the head of a large stag protruded from above the fireplace.
Grandfather was reassuringly old-fashioned. Visiting him was like visiting a headmaster – slightly nerve-racking but comfortingly familiar. His face showed the pull of time: pleasantly creased and lined, with a large bushy moustache that seemed to emphasise his authority. He raised his eyebrow as he watched Sarah wriggle a little in the padded leather chair, trying to ease the crotch of her catsuit into a less restrictive position.
“Still getting used to the new uniform, I see.” Grandfather reached over to the side of his imposing desk and pushed a small tray of cakes in her direction.
“Does it really need to be this tight?“ she asked. “How the heck do people wear this?” Sarah fidgeted a little more and then finally gave up. She picked up a small bun from the tray, removed the wrapper and took a hefty bite.
Grandfather smiled at her. “You'll get accustomed to it. We try to make it feel like a second skin, but admittedly it's of more use in the field than it is walking around in here. Trust me, there'll be a lot of people out there in the corridors who will be especially envious of you in that uniform. It shows off your new status, Sarah, try to enjoy it.”
“Understood, Sir. So you wanted to see me?”
Sarah took a good look at her boss as she nibbled on the bun. There were so many stories about his life years ago as a Steam Agent, of his glamorous world-hopping adventures. She couldn't help but feel a little ludicrous and potentially disappointing sat in front of him like this, dressed like an exotic dancer and chomping on a cupcake, with her catsuit unzipped way too low for decency.
Maybe taking the bun had been a mistake. Whatever points she had gained from showing off her cleavage had probably been lost from succumbing to the temptation of the cake. If she lost a crumb down there it could be a disaster.
“I've got a case for you, Sarah. Something I think you'll enjoy. I know you've been asking for something of your own to get your teeth into. I think you're ready for it if you still want to prove yourself.”
“I do, Sir. I've been working very hard. I'm sure I can do a good job for you.” Sarah sat up straight in the chair, determined to make a good impression. She was definitely now regretting picking up the cupcake. She was still holding it, and she knew that it made her look just that little bit less dynamic.
“It's just a small job, Sarah. An opportunity for you to meet up with a European agent and trade a little information. We believe this knowledge to be vital to the safety and security of the British Empire. I'll need you to obtain the confidence of this agent and to come back with the information that we require.” Grandfather took a sip of tea and smiled at her softly.
“Couldn't he just telegraph it to us?” Sarah knew that it was an impertinent question. She took another hesitant bite of her cupcake.
“The agent is French,” Grandfather replied, as though the answer was sufficient in itself. When she shot him a quizzical look, he leaned towards her over the desk and dropped his voice for a moment. “We've had something of an on / off relationship with the French of late and they haven't been so willing to share intelligence. They seem to require an intellectual and emotionally engaging approach to establish trust, before they're willing to give us the information that we need. Consequently, you'll be required to act as an ambassador as well as an agent. A light touch will be crucial. I'm sure you understand.”
“I've had plenty of training in delicate negotiations, Sir,“ said Sarah. “Not a lot of experience in the field, but I think I'll be able to get the results you're looking for.“ She hesitated for a moment. “What do you mean by 'a light touch'? Is there something specific that you're looking for here?”
“I'll be frank with you, Sarah,” Grandfather replied, leaning back in his seat and taking a sip of his own tea. “This French agent is known to us and he has certain... tastes. We were required to offer a choice of agents for him to talk to. He specifically chose you. So you need to get this right for us or the deal will be completely off.”
“Certain tastes?” Already Sarah was wondering what Grandfather was getting her into. “Are you asking me to seduce him? Is that what he expects? I haven't done the Mata Hari training module yet. Will I need to?” She finished off the cake and placed the wrapper carefully on the top of the desk.
Grandfather laughed and gave Sarah a gentle smile. “There should be nothing of that nature, I can assure you. The gentleman simply likes a pretty face. These French, you know?“ He took a puff on his pipe, the smoke drifting up towards the ceiling. “However, given that we're still not entirely sure of the way in which the negotiations will be handled, I'm going to ask you to take someone along with you to watch your back. You can consider him your chaperone if you like. Will that be a problem for you?”
“I guess I'm fine with a little assistance if you think it will be necessary, Sir,“ Sarah replied, slightly flustered by the suggestion. “But ideally I was hoping to be working alone. Whom did you have in mind?”
Grandfather pressed a button on his desk and spoke to his Secretary. “Felicia, would you please send Jones in to see me?”
Sarah's breath caught in her throat. “Jones, Sir? Are you sure about this? I mean, since that thing in Madagascar...”
The words had barely left her lips when the door opened and a tall, good looking gentleman walked into the room. He smiled and offered his hand. “Hi. You can call me Jones. It's the only name I use. It's a little pretentious, I know. Sorry about that.“ He grinned unnecessarily. “You'll be Sarah Chance, I assume? They told me all about you.”
Without meaning to, she could feel herself blush as they shook hands. His eyes sparkled cheekily as he smiled at her and his grip was firm and assured. She could barely look away from him. Jones was stunningly attractive.
“You can let go of my hand now, seriously,” said Jones, smiling again as he eased his palm politely from Sarah's grasp. He pulled another chair up alongside her and took his seat.
Sarah glanced across at him, unable to resist checking him out. He was dressed in a formal black suit and white linen shirt. A black tie was smartly knotted underneath his collar. The ensemble fit him like a glove, emphasising his shape and the curve of his muscles underneath the suit. His face was clean shaven, his features aquiline, his black hair cropped short. He winked back at her as she looked at him, and Sarah suppressed another small blush.
Grandfather poured a cup of tea for him, sliding the cup across the desk and looking Sarah in the eye.
“Jones should be a steady hand for you. He's been on the job for a few years now and he always brings in good results. On this job he'll be acting as your support, guiding you where necessary and keeping an eye on you. Are you okay with that?”
“Yes, Sir, I guess so, if that's what you wish.” She glanced towards Jones again, taking him in properly for the first time. Jones caught her eye again and grinned back at her.
“Your contact is Claude Benoit from the French Service,” said Grandfather. “I've arranged a meeting for you this afternoon at the Russell Hotel, just around the corner from the British Museum. He'll be expecting you at 2.00pm. Wear something provocative, it always seems to help in these situations.”
“Yes, Sir. I'll do my best for the Empire.”
“I'm sure you will, Sarah.”
two: submissive little fantasies
Sarah flicked through the pages of the report handed to her by Grandfather, absorbing the details of the case and sifting through the notes relating to Claude Benoit, her French contact.
Information on the man was brief and sketchy, as was common with people in her line of business, but he was clearly an experienced agent. He appeared to be known and trusted by The Organisation and he had plenty of experience with undercover operations.
Sat next to her at the small table, situated in the centre of the spartan, grey meeting room, Jones quickly and casually skimmed through his own copy of the same file. For him it appeared to be little more than a cursory glimpse. If anything, he was paying far more attention to Sarah than he was to the file, glancing up from time to time as she looked through the notes. She could feel his gaze on her and was trying to ignore it.
“You're not a fan of studying,” Sarah noted, catching him looking at her again and raising her eyebrow.
“I kind of don't need to,“ Jones replied. “I've met Benoit before.” He closed the file and smiled at her from across the table, leaning back into his chair. “I know him reasonably well, to be honest. Much of the information in here was taken from my own previous cases, so there are no surprises. He's French, so he's obviously a bit of a charmer. You know how they are. But we can trust him. That's probably all we need to know.”
He grinned at her again. It was a nonchalant smile, disarming and overconfident all at the same time. The mark of experience, perhaps, but Sarah felt unnerved by it. Was he showing off? There was a twinkle in his eyes, but as she caught it he looked away.
“Still, it doesn't hurt to make sure that you're fresh on the current information,” she replied. “I need to know that you're completely up to speed before we meet him.”
She looked at him, studying his face. For a second or two their gaze held. Jones paused, as if uncertain what to say.
“I'm up to speed, I promise,” he said. “You really don't need to worry.” He smiled at her again and then broke the gaze, easing up from his chair. He strolled across to the drinks machine and dropped his paper cup into the basket.
Sarah allowed her gaze to wander down to his bum. He had been looking at her without attempting to disguise it, after all, so she felt that it was fair game. She drew a deep breath and closed her own file, returning her concentration to the matter at hand.
“Look,” she began, wondering how best to phrase it, not wanting to seem too brusque, “I think I need to be honest with you here. I've... heard about the Madagascar thing. It's hard not to hear about this stuff, it's kind of all around the Organisation. There are rumours that you lost your partner, that you fell to pieces afterwards. They say that you're not on top form any more. I don't want to make any premature judgements on that, but you should know that I'm wary of taking you on. I'm aware of your previous experience and of your reputation. But this operation needs to run smoothly and I need to be fully in charge of the case. So you'll be answering to me. Are we agreed on that?”
“Blimey, are they saying all that about me? I really had no idea. I'm here to help, not to hinder. You can rely on me.”
“I hope so.” She paused for a moment. “To be honest, I'm surprised that they've put us together.”
“What do you mean?” He leaned back against the machine and straightened his tie. “Surprised in what way?”
“I'm surprised that they put you together with me as my assistant. I'd heard that you were something of a loner, that you preferred to run your own cases.”
“Grandfather thinks I'm a little out of practice,” he replied. “I've been off the job for a while, to be honest. Since... well, since the Madagascar thing that obviously seems to be all around the offices. You could say that I'm on parole at the moment. And so here I am.”
“And do you think you're ready to work again? I've heard stories...”
“You shouldn't listen to tittle-tattle,” he replied, smiling softly. “I've been in this business for a while. I'm aware that it can be dangerous and I know the risks. Sometimes we... lose people. The Madagascar thing... well, it was more personal to me. I'm not going to say that I was unaffected by it. But it's the job. One deals with it, you know?”
Sarah looked at him. A wave of sadness seemed to overwhelm him for a moment. He broke her gaze and turned away, took a deep breath and composed himself.
“Either way,” he said, brushing it off, “I want to get back to work. And I know Claude Benoit very well. I can help to ease the situation for you and make sure that we get what we need.”
She eased out of her chair and smiled at him.
“Then I'll rely on you for that.”
* * * *
Sarah brought her ornithopter down to a gentle landing on the cobbles outside her Covent Garden apartment. She unstrapped herself from the seat, locked the starting crank and hopped out onto the street.
Covent Garden was full of activity at this time of the day. Omnibuses shunted back and forth along the cobbled streets, their engines spitting and whooshing as they carried commuters around the city. Steam poured from the funnels and gaskets as the machines trundled and clanked along the steel rails. Shoppers bustled around the small shops and stalls searching for bargains. Delivery boys sped by on the latest steambikes, their baskets full of bread or papers or meat or live chickens, weaving through the crowds and darting along the maze of lanes criss-crossing the city. Street traders called out their wares, their sing-song voices drifting along the busy lanes and side streets:
“RIPE BA-NA-NAS... COME AND GET YOUR RIPE BA-NA-NAS”
“PORK SAUSAGES... TWENTY PENNIES-A-POUND”
“GAS LIGHTERS... SPARKLY AND NEW... GET YOUR GAS LIGHTERS”
The warm summer sunshine shone down, battling through the clouds of soot starting to fill the air from the huge factory chimneys. Massive steampipes belched hot gas into the atmosphere. Neon signs glowed on every street corner, selling the latest wares. Sarah loved London passionately, never tiring of it, always happy to call it her home.
She dusted herself down, tugged her goggles up onto her head and stretched a little. She really needed to get out of her catsuit. It just about passed as flying gear but it was drawing unwanted attention her way. She was keen to get inside, slip herself out of it and absorb the events of the morning.
Removing her gauntlets, she headed across the cobbles, lost in thought.
Jones was a problem for her. Despite his experience, he was clearly still broken from the previous case and definitely wasn't over his loss in Madagascar. Could this cause issues further down the line?
And then there was that other thing. Jones was breathtakingly beautiful. There was no other way to put it. He exuded confidence, good looks and charm.
And there was the way he had looked into her eyes when he spoke - she hadn't been able to look away from his eyes. And the curve of his lips when he smiled... that gentle little crease at the corner of his mouth. And his voice was so soft, almost a purr. And then there was the way he brushed his fingers through his hair when he spoke to her, that gentle movement of his fingertips. Everything he did seemed considered and calm and poised. She envied him his ability to drift through life so easily and to look so damn good whilst he was doing it.
But she couldn't let any of that distract her, not on her first solo job. Sarah had work to do, and The Organisation was relying on her. She had no intention of letting them down. If that involved rehabilitating an agent still affected by his previous case, then she would have to get on with it as best she could.
Pools of sunlight drifted through the scattered market stalls, falling onto her face as she made her way through her front door and into her apartment.
A little relaxation for a while would be a good thing, until she needed to get herself dressed for the afternoon meeting with Benoit. Dress to impress, that was the key to a successful endeavour. She had definitely read that somewhere.
She tossed her goggles next to the fireplace and made her way upstairs. She had a good couple of hours before she needed to meet up with Jones again, which was more than enough time to get herself ready.
She tried to think about the French agent, wondering how best to handle him and put him at his ease, but her mind was still filled with Jones - with the look of him, with the scent of him. He smelled like citrus fruit on a summer morning.
Now there's an odd thing. Why did I notice that?
Sarah took hold of the zip tucked under the neck of her catsuit, slid it all the way down to her belly and peeled her way out of it. She tugged off the belts around her waist and thighs, slipped out of her boots and stripped naked for the shower. She was tense about the forthcoming meeting and she could feel it in the pit of her stomach. She knew how much could possibly ride on it, wondering if she would be able to pull it off and come back with the information that Grandfather was relying upon her to procure.
And knowing that Jones would be there next to her, watching her... well, that was making her nervous too. Would he be taking notes and reporting back to Grandfather? Would she be demoted and stuck in an office somewhere if she didn't perform as expected?
She could feel the knot in her stomach tightening as her nerves took over. This was no good. If she carried on like this she knew she was going to be a nervous wreck by the time she reached the French agent. She needed some serious stress relief.
Stepping into the bathroom, Sarah slid under the shower and tugged the heating lever, hearing the gas fire up. She gasped gently as the warm water begin to snake down over her body, the warmth flooding over her soft skin, caressing her, her hands drifting over her body and bathing herself, her imagination wandering a little as the heat sensitized her skin.
Stress relief... now there's an idea...
There was one thing had always worked for her to relieve that tension, one sure way to calm herself down. It was even given a mention in the Organisation handbook, as an obvious means with which to ease the ongoing stress that such a dangerous job could inflict upon an agent. Life in the Organisation was often a day to day fight for survival, and in such an environment it had long been recognised that sex played a crucial role. It wasn't simply a matter of being prepared to use sex to obtain results – it was also recognised that a little self-stimulation went a long way towards keeping agents calm and focussed on the job.
The handbook was very clear in such matters – if about to face a situation in which nerves might affect a result, take some time for yourself. The more pretentious agents would claim that they used meditation and chanting to achieve these results, or that they listened to calming music. Such ideas had become something of an inside joke around the offices. The well-used phrase: “Oh, I spent the weekend meditating in Tibet“ pretty much meant just one thing.
Sarah felt a warm shiver run through her senses. One of her hands drifted over her bare breast, her other hand already roaming down between her legs, the water splashing from her skin as her fingers explored, gently touching herself, surrendering to her desires.
She smiled as she remembered Grandfather's brief reaction when she had mentioned the Mata Hari training module. The course had been his set up on his initiative a long time ago, and there were some around the offices who felt that it was simply an excuse to get into the pants of willing young agents. Due to the nature of the training, no records were permitted to be taken of the course – agents simply passed or failed. Even the identity of the tutors was kept on a need to know basis.
But stories still circulated: tales of heated sexual shenanigans taking place, of threesomes and foursomes and all manner of other such deviances. No-one really knew what went on during the week-long training module, other than that it was designed specifically for those likely to encounter sex as part of their work, and giving them certain methods to deal with such encounters.
Sarah had always thought that it sounded like a great deal of fun.
She allowed the idea to drift into her thoughts as she touched herself, wondering how much she had heard might be true about the training module. Did Grandfather sometimes sit in on those sessions, as had often been rumoured? Almost certainly not, she was sure, but the idea was still fun. She wasn't attracted to him at all, but something about the idea of him being there seemed to suddenly strike a chord with her. She decided to run with it.
Perhaps he'd be sat in a corner of the room, quietly smoking his pipe, just watching the events unfold.
Watching me. Watching what happens to me.
This was definitely working. Sarah felt a ripple run through her body as the ideas began to tumble through her head, forming the fantasy.
Watching me... not taking his eyes off me... and he's excited by it... and I have no idea what's going to happen to me... but I've been told to succumb... to accept whatever happens... to let it happen... to want it to happen...
Sarah gasped gently, taking a nipple between her fingertips and squeezing it softly, her other hand busier down between her legs, skidding rhythmically around her clit as the fantasy slowly formed in her head. Her touch felt so good, her thighs trembling, her senses alive.
She eased her head under the warm running water, feeling it pour down her neck, across her shoulders and over her breasts. She breathed a little harder, clutching her breast tighter as the rhythm of her fingers increased around her clit, her imagination wandering further.
Okay, so he's watching me... and he's turned on, just like I am... and there's a stranger in the room walking towards me... I don't recognise him... I can barely see his face... oh and I can hear another man coming up behind me... god yes that works... two of them... okay... moving right up against me...
Sarah let a soft moan escape her lips, echoing around the bathroom as her fingers plunged deeper between her thighs. Already the men in her imagination were undressing her, tugging off her clothes, touching her, their hands all over her...
Both of them moving all over me... their hands on my neck... over my breasts... ohh god... touching me... stroking me... a hand snaking down to my cunt... ahh fuck... and I know I mustn't stop them...
She fell back against the wall, the water tumbling down her breasts, arching her body up towards it, needing that sensation. Her skin tingled with pleasure, responding to the warmth. Without conscious thought her fingertips made their way down to her sex, her thumb still rubbing against her clit as she slid her fingers across her cunt.
She was so very, very wet.
And Grandfather's still watching me... sat right there in the corner of the room as the two men touch me... he's watching it... and he's letting it happen... enjoying it... fuck... and I'm pushed forward... and there's a cock right at my mouth now... so fucking erect... god... and I can't stop this... and I don't want to stop it... I take it into my mouth... licking it... sucking it... sucking the stranger's cock... ahhh fuck...
The warm water spattered over her, streaming down over her body. She gasped softly as she felt her cunt begin to part around her exploring fingertips, her thumb increasing the rhythm around her clit, stroking herself a little faster, a little harder.
And the one behind me... I don't even know who he is... he could be anyone... I haven't even looked at him... and I can feel his cock right against my cunt... he's going to fuck me from behind and I don't even know who he is... and even if I wanted to stop him I can't... and he doesn't wait... he just shoves it right up inside me... fuck... shoves his hard cock right up into my cunt... ohhh fuckk yes...
Her fingers plunged deep inside her cunt, her sex squeezing and pulsating around them as she curled her finger, rubbing tentatively against her g-spot, moaning as she felt the connection. Her thighs were taut as her fingers worked inside herself, faster and harder, pushing and rubbing, the water still splashing over her, her body bucking against her fingers now, getting closer, ever closer, needing to come, right on the edge of her orgasm.
And he's fucking me and fucking me... ohh god... ramming it into my cunt... and I don't want him to stop... it feels so fucking good... and I'm sucking the other cock in front of me... and he grabs my hair... forcing his cock into my mouth... I can't stop him... ohh god and the one behind me is fucking me harder... ohh god don't stop... fuck me... fuck me...
And she could feel it now as if he was right there with her, as if his cock was right there inside her. She could feel his body thrusting harder against her, clutching onto her, driving deeper inside her... and she could see the stranger in front of her, forcing his cock brutally into her lips, sucking him more eagerly, wanting him to come in her mouth, wanting him to spurt his cum all over her face.
Fuck yes... on my face... that's what I want... spurting all over my face... ohhh fuck...
Her fingers pushed deeper into her cunt, wet little sounds accompanying each thrust, desperate to come now, needing it.
And the one fucking me... he shoves his cock in deep... harder now... ohh god harder... and I can barely take it... and I know he's going to come... fuck... he's not going to stop... and he's throbbing inside me... ohh fuck that's it... do it in me... cum in me cum in me... and he starts to come... ohhh fuck yes... right now... filling me... spurting inside me... in my cunt... ohhh fuck in my cunt... ohh god and I want to come... and I'm pushed down on my knees... and the other one's masturbating right over my face... pumping it hard... fuck fuck fuck... and he starts to cum... spurting his spunk all over my mouth... on my face... fuck that's it... and Grandfather's watching me... his hand around his cock... masturbating... and as I start to come he comes too... spurting... his hot... cum... ohhh fuck... ohhh fuck ohhh FUUCKK... NOW...
And that was all she could take... she grabbed frantically onto the edge of the shower, her thumb skidding around her clit, her fingers thrusting deep and hard into her cunt, and she cried out with pleasure as her orgasm hit her, flooding through her, a hot rush of ecstasy as she came intensely, her senses overpowered, her body spasming again and again and again...
Until slowly Sarah caught her breath, her body still trembling, easing her wet fingers carefully out of her sex, gasping again as they brushed against her sensitive clit, the water still pouring down over her body, drifting over her skin.
She took a deep breath, trembling softly. The stress was all but forgotten, her nerves wonderfully calmed.
Submissive little fantasies? Whatever next? My god...
The meeting with Claude Benoit, the agent from the French Service, was only an hour away.
It was time to get ready.