Tempting Gemma 4 Read online

  “Are they all like that?” Gemma asked, still staring at the tall glass doors through which the young woman had disappeared. She was trying very hard not to be shocked. “Naked, I mean, or the next thing to it?”

  “They are, yes.”

  “Do they just serve drinks or…?”

  Obliquely, Winfred replied, “Their job title is ‘member relations associate’. They’re quite well paid but those who score well on the regular surveys that management conducts are eligible for sizeable bonuses. As you may imagine, it’s more than a bit competitive.”

  The idea of any young woman being ‘competitive’ where Charles was concerned did not sit well with Gemma. Not one teeny-weeny bit. For a moment everything before her--the baronial club hall, the doors to the terrace, the rolling lawns beyond slipping away into twilight--were enveloped in a red mist.

  “How do you put up with it?” she asked tightly.

  Far from being put out by so personal a question, Winfred shrugged. “As I said, Clive and I have an agreement. He can look, he can even touch. But when it comes to anything more, he remembers that he has a loving wife.”

  “And that works?”

  “So far but then I realized the moment I met him that Clive was excellent husband material. He likes the comfortable and familiar. That can’t be said for all the others.”

  Gemma couldn’t bring herself to ask where Charles stood in that regard. On their honeymoon and since returning to Ardsley, he had given her his undivided attention. But would that last, especially when presented with a buffet of ready-and-willing young women vying for bonus points?

  “Has anyone ever considered burning this place down?” she asked.

  Winfred laughed. Tucking Gemma’s arm through the crook of her own, she started them both in the direction of the terrace.

  Pleasantly, she said, “I favor blowing it up. Empty, of course, I wouldn’t want anyone to be hurt. A nice big explosion with nothing left but a smoking crater would be perfect.”

  “It could be done with shape charges properly placed along the weight-bearing beams,” Gemma observed.

  Winfred looked at her in surprise. “How on earth do you know that?”

  Rather than explain that she had come across “The Anarchist Handbook” in the basement of dear old Mary Magdalene, Gemma said, “I read a lot.”

  “Oh, well, as long as you’re not wasting your time with novels. Dreadful things for young women, or so we are told.”

  They both chuckled at the folly of men who imagined themselves knowledgeable about such matters. So absorbed were they in their swiftly forming friendship that they failed to notice the two pairs of male eyes that swung in their direction the moment they stepped out onto the terrace.

  Clive and Charles rose as one and went to greet their wives.

  “You look lovely,” her husband said, taking Gemma’s hand and drawing her close.

  She caught just a hint of whiskey on his breath. He was smiling and looked far too handsome in evening dress for anyone’s good, especially hers.

  “Thank you for the diamonds,” she murmured, looking up at him through he lashes. “You’re quite spoiling me.”

  Charles took a step back and surveyed her. His gaze was more than warm. The lovely gown with its strategic embroidery might not have existed at all. “I knew they’d suit you.”

  Emboldened by his regard, she shot him a grin. “They gave my maid a terrible start.”

  “Did they?” He looked delighted. “What did she do?”

  “Never mind. At any rate, she’s forgiven. Are we having drinks?”

  Belatedly recalled to his husbandly duties, he nodded. “Yes, of course, what would you like?”

  Gemma thought for a moment. She felt the need to brace herself for the evening ahead but without running the risk of any fuzziness.

  “Just a glass of wine, if I could?”

  Charles scarcely raised a finger before an exquisite blonde hurried over.

  “Sir?” she breathed, the single syllable seeming to carry a weight of meaning.

  “Champagne for my wife,” he said. “The ’97 Veuve Clicquot.”

  He remembered her favorite. And that he had a wife. Perhaps the evening wouldn’t be so bad after all.

  With a smile, Gemma pressed close against her husband. Obeying instincts she hadn’t known she possessed, she slipped a hand over his broad chest and shoulder to cup the back of his neck and draw him to her. The tip of her tongue teased the seam of his lips. Gaining entry, she kissed him boldly.

  Until then, he generally had been the one to make the advances. Before she could begin to wonder how he would take to being on the receiving end, a low groan broke from him. His big hands cupped her buttocks, pulling her hard against his rapidly growing erection.

  For a timeless moment, the world ceased to exist. There was only the two of them, locked in an embrace so passionate that Gemma would happily have reprised the scandalous performance at their wedding reception.

  And so they might have had not the sudden silence reminded them that they were not alone.

  “I say,” Nigel said when they reluctantly broke apart, “time for that later, what?”

  “Indeed,” Charles murmured but his gaze remained locked on his wife’s as though for him, only she was worthy of notice.

  Chapter Five

  Dinner was served in the conservatory overlooking the club’s gardens. An upside down forest of small, glittering lights dangled from the curved glass ceiling. Lemon trees in large pots scented the air, mingling with the heady perfumes of bougainvillea and rare orchids.

  The party was seated around a long, damask-covered table set with the finest crystal and china. Gemma thought it all quite elegant, apart from the centerpiece.

  Where a pleasant floral arrangement should have been, there was instead a nude young woman tied spread-eagle to a large bamboo plank that had been placed down the center of the table. From her high, full breasts to her waxed cunt and along each tapered thigh, her lovely body was adorned with colorful pieces of exquisitely formed sushi and sashimi, all arranged on pressed sheets of black seaweed.

  Observing Gemma’s surprise, Winfred murmured, “It’s called nyotaimori, the serving of food on the naked body of a woman. The chef here is from Kyoto, where it originated in the geisha houses popular with samurai. It’s become a traditional way to celebrate victory.”

  “How fascinating,” Gemma murmured. Far be it from her to disparage anyone’s cultural heritage but even so--

  “It’s a bit dehumanizing, don’t you think?” As much as being treated like a platter rather than a person could be.

  Winfred raised a brow. “A bit. The young woman is expected to remain completely still and refrain from any interaction with the diners.”

  “She can’t manage that on her own? She has to be tied?”

  A sigh escaped the countess. “Members are not above seeing what they can do to fluster her.”

  Mindful of Winfred’s advice to at least appear to be a good sport, Gemma decided that the wisest course was to just sit back and watch. Barely had they taken their seats than the gentlemen revealed vigorous appetites that only increased with the constant flow of sake and champagne.

  Soon enough, the silver chopsticks set at each place were abandoned as they plucked up choice morsels with their fingers. Shortly thereafter, a game was announced that required hands to be kept behind backs and only mouths used. That prompted much hilarity.

  For the most part, the young woman managed to retain an aura of detachment but she jerked just a bit when Sienna, getting in on the fun, plucked a translucent sliver of tuna from the crest of a lush breast, fed the tasty morsel to Nigel, and proceeded to amuse herself licking and sucking first one nipple and then the other until they were both well stretched and taut. Meanwhile, Ophelia clamored up on the table with an assist from Freddy and plied her agile tongue between the young woman’s thighs.

  As the gentlemen cheered this display of sexual impartialit
y, Gemma observed her husband’s reaction. Having knocked back his fourth-or was it fifth--sake, Charles was clearly enjoying himself. And yet, she had to admit that his behavior was restrained compared to that of the others.

  The decadent indulgence reached its peak when Beaufort persuaded Ophelia to make way for him. Expertly parting the young woman’s nether lips, he flicked her clit.

  “Have you ever seen such a ripe little button?” he inquired. “It’s really quite shameless.”

  “She needs to be taught a lesson,” one of the Fernsby girls said. “We’re the ones who are supposed to have fun, not her.”

  Beaufort sighed. “I must agree. We can’t have the lower orders carrying on like this. But what to do…?”

  His gaze fell on the dollop of wasabi paste just below the young woman’s navel. Leering, he dipped his finger in and swirled it around until the tip was well covered with the pale green condiment, then spread her labia even wider.

  As the realization of what he intended dawned on the young woman, she shook her head frantically. Watching, Gemma thought it impossible to determine whether her reaction was real or merely part of the game. At any rate, Beaufort was not to be dissuaded. He rubbed the fiery relative of horseradish directly onto the glistening bud of her swollen clit.

  The result was predictable. Such over-stimulation of her private parts caused the young woman to cry out and strain against her bounds.

  “Bear up, sweetheart,” Freddy Tewes advised, grinning. With a nod to his girlfriend, he added, “Why don’t you help her out?”

  Ophelia gleefully obliged. She selected a long, thick daikon radish, part of the array of fruits and vegetables decorating the table.

  Holding it up for all to see, she gloated, “This should do the trick.”

  Gemma didn’t want to watch; she thought what they were doing was quite shameful. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to look away.

  The young woman’s copious lubrication assured that the impromptu dildo slipped in easily. Scarcely a dozen vigorous thrusts were required before she cried out, her back arching in the throes of anguished release.

  “Damn,” Freddy said as he handed over a twenty pound note to Nigel. “I thought for sure that would take longer.”

  “Never underrate Ophelia,” Nigel replied sagely. “She could make a stone gargoyle come if she put her mind to it.”

  As the young woman panted softly and her tormentors cooled themselves with champagne, Charles stood.

  “If you’re all quite done,” he said quietly, “I propose we retire to the bar.”

  “Seconded,” Clive called out.

  He needn’t have bothered; Charles wasn’t waiting for a vote. Taking Gemma’s hand, he led her swiftly away.

  Chapter Six

  Around a corner from the conservatory, Gemma found herself thrust up against a wall. The others were trailing behind; for a few scant moments, she and Charles were alone.

  “I need to fuck you,” he said, his voice thick and hard. “I’ve needed to all day but these bloody people--”

  “Do it,” she moaned, thinking of the young woman stretched out on the table, shamed and used, yet still helpless against the sheer power of animalistic release. “Don’t wait. I’ve been hot for hours and so wet--”

  A long shudder ran through him. “Fuck, yes! I want to feel you come on me, your cunt clenching, milking me for every last drop.”

  He bent his head, biting the tender lobe of her ear just hard enough to send a delicious stab of pleasure through her.

  With a groan, Gemma grabbed hold of both ends of his tie, undone sometime over the course of the evening, and tugged him farther into the shadows. Together, they stumbled into an alcove just beyond the sight of anyone passing by.

  She was naked beneath the dress. They had only to pull up her skirt and--

  “Oh, god, please,” she moaned. “Don’t wait!”

  Together, they undid his trousers. His cock sprang hot and thick into her hand. She arched a leg over his hip, drew him to her and--

  “There you are,” Bernie said. If a voice could frown, his did. “I say, old man, can’t that wait? Celebration’s not over yet.”

  Charles groaned. He leaned his head against the wall beside Gemma’s and muttered. “He’s my oldest friend and now I have to kill him.”

  Just then, she would have gladly helped bury the body. But she still couldn’t help feeling a smidgeon of sympathy for Bernie.

  With a sigh, she whispered, “He’s taking our marriage hard.”

  Still unaccustomed to her perceptiveness, Charles shot her a startled look. “True, but he can’t claim to be surprised. He knows that I can’t care for him as he’d like. Just not made that way.”

  “Still, you don’t want to hurt him, do you?”

  “No,” her husband admitted. “As I said, been friends forever. I’d like that to stay true.”

  “Well, then,” she said, resigned. “I suppose we need to make an effort.”

  She let her skirt fall and stepped back a little, waiting as he did up his buttons. When they were both more or less decent again, they stepped from the alcove.

  “Sorry to hold you up,” Charles said. “Gemma had something in her eye.”

  Bernie pretended to believe them. Dragging his gaze to her, he, too, made an effort.

  “Oh, well, then, hope you’re all right now.”

  “Perfectly, thank you. What an extraordinary day it’s been, don’t you think? Such goings-on.”

  “Not over yet,” he advised gruffly.

  They exchanged a tentative look of sympathy. Bernie hesitated a moment, then offered his arm. Smiling, Gemma took it. With Charles trailing behind them, they made their way into the bar.

  An hour later, Nigel was in the process of paddling the bare bottom of a member relations associate compliantly bent over the billiards table. Off to the side Beaufort and Freddy were enjoying the oral services of two others.

  Mercifully, a handsome member of the management, elegantly turned out in frock coat and trousers, had managed to rouse Bernie from his morose contemplation of his friends’ antics. Murmuring that he needed a bit of fresh air, he was able to make his escape.

  Gemma couldn’t help but feel a twinge of envy. Clive and Winfred had already slipped off somewhere. Sienna and Ophelia were amusing themselves with each other while the Fernsby girls were…

  Gemma looked away from them swiftly. It was all well and good to be scandalized but the truth was that if she had to wait for Charles much longer, she would be giving them all a shock.

  Her husband was lounging in a club chair, his long legs stretched out in front of him and his erection still in clear evidence, tenting the fine wool of his evening trousers. He was watching his friends with tolerant affection.

  Deciding to take matters into her own hands, Gemma walked over and perched on the arm of his chair. When she was sure that she had his attention, she said, “Do stay if you’d like, darling, but Brad and I want to go home.”

  A startled laugh broke from him. Eyeing her warmly, he said, “I will have you know, madam, that my cock and I are firmly attached. We are soulmates, in perfect amity. Whither he goest…comest…whichever, I do the same.”

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” she said, holding out both hands to draw him from the chair.

  That took some effort for he was very large and just a bit drunk. That had the effect of making him playful. Grinning, he tugged back and tumbled her onto his lap.

  “No need to wait. Good ol’ Brad’s rarin’ to go.”

  Gemma was tempted. The others were all well occupied and the state she was in, it wouldn’t take long to drop kick her right through the goal. Even so, she was reluctant to share what, with every passing day, felt more intensely theirs alone.

  “We need privacy for what I want to do to you,” she said.

  If it were anatomically possible at that point, Brad perked up even more. So did his soulmate.

  Standing, still holding his lo
vely wife with her legs wrapped around his waist, Charles announced, “Night, all. Marvelous time! See you back at the manse.”

  And off they went.

  Thanks to the dedicated professionalism of their driver, the amorous pair reached Ardsley Manor safely. They even managed to make it through the front entrance and into the main hall, at which point the young footman who had been waiting up for them hesitated only briefly before beating a retreat.

  Sex on the grand staircase was not precisely comfortable but neither noticed. Extended face down across several treads, her knees precariously balanced on one while her fingers dug into another, Gemma scarcely felt the caress of cool air as Charles tossed her skirt up over her head. Suddenly enveloped in a veil of sparkling silk, she was heedless of anything except the desperate, burning need for his devilishly talented cock.