Secrets

by Emma Allan

Genres: Erotic & Steamy Romance

Synopsis

Lucy and Dennis Buchanan are new to the Close, a leafy community of well-heeled residents. The neighbours are friendly, particularly the mistress of the manor house, the voluptuous Myra Parnell. Myra is rich and beautiful and very inquisitive. She likes to know everyone's secrets too - especially their deepest and darkest ones.

For Myra has a secret too. She runs an exclusive club devoted to erotic excess. She'd like the Buchanan's to join - but first they must pass the entrance test . . .

Discover Piatkus Entice: temptation at your fingertips - www.piatkusentice.co.uk

Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group

Print pages: 256

Sample

Lucy Buchanan loved sex. She always had. From the first hot, illicit fumblings of youth, through the eager coupling of her first lovers, to the more sophisticated delights of her twenties, it had fascinated her. In fact, it was the main reason she had married her husband, Dennis. He was simply the best lover she had ever had. Fortunately he seemed to feel the same about her, for her eagerness and facility in everything to do with sex made their love-making mutually exhilarating to a degree neither had experienced before.

Lucy drew the bedroom curtains. It was dark out and the street lights on the road were too far away down the long drive at the front of the house to cast even the faintest glow into the room. She switched on one of the bedside lamps, then opened the bottom drawer of her bedside chest and took out a dark red silk scarf which she draped over the lamp, transforming the light to a dim rosy glow. It was the first time in the new house, she thought to herself. It would definitely not be the last.

She looked at her watch. It was six o’clock. Dennis would be home soon. Stripping off the counterpane and bedding she sat on the edge of the mattress. She was naked. She had taken a long and leisurely bath, scenting the water with her favourite body oil. Its perfume clung to her now.

They had sited the mirror on the wall opposite the bed. It was large enough to reflect the whole bed. She looked at herself in it, her long blonde hair gathered in an elasticated band at the nape of her neck, her big blue eyes staring back at her quizzically, asking her what on earth she thought she was doing? Nice girls don’t masturbate. By that definition she was not a nice girl. She was naughty. Always had been and always would be. She piled the pillows one on top of the other and lay on the bed so her head was propped up and she could look down her body and into the mirror. She kept her ankles together primly. Her body was lean and trim. She worked hard to keep it that way and was proud of her efforts. Though she was not tall her legs looked long, the smooth flesh sculpted into distinct contours by the underlying muscle. Her waist was narrow and her belly so flat it was almost concave, but despite her slenderness her breasts were full and heavy, their weight making them hang from her chest like the ripe gourds of some exotic fruit.

Lucy opened her legs slowly, watching intently in the mirror as the soft, creamy flesh of her thighs parted to reveal the whole scarlet slit of her sex. Her blonde pubic hair was thick and curly and grew in profusion but she and her husband took a great deal of pleasure in trimming it carefully to a perfect equilateral triangle on her mons, then shaving away every single hair from her labia, so her sex itself was completely depilated. The sharp point of the lower angle of hair did not obscure the very top of her labia, but it drew attention to it, like an arrow on a signpost of her body.

As she opened her legs wider, stretching them across the bed, she could see her labia opening. She could see every detail, the rubbery, thick outer lips and the more delicate inner ones. She had always thought it looked like the centre of an orchid, suffused with a spectrum of reds, from deep crimson to pale pink. At its core she saw her vagina wink open too, the mouth of the dark tunnel a ragged oval shape. With two fingers of her right hand she spread the upper crease of her labia apart, revealing the pink promontory of her clitoris.

The sight aroused her. Her big, dark brown nipples, surrounded by a large band of lighter brown areolae, were already hard. She circled the palms of her left hand over each one in turn and felt them tingle, the sensations she had generated coursing downward, tendrils of feeling, like tiny fingers, wrapping themselves around her clitoris.

She reached over to one of the bedside chests and opened the top drawer where she kept all her toys. As it was the first time in her new bedroom she wanted to make it special. With Dennis she had experimented with a whole panoply of sex aids, trying anything that claimed to enhance sexual pleasure. Some had been discarded immediately, their effect marginal or nonexistent. Others had palled more slowly but in the end had been thrown out. But there were three or four items which had become part of their sexual repertoire and which they would not now care to be without. The selection of dildoes in various sizes, came into this category. Lucy took one from the drawer, not the biggest by any means, but large enough for what she had in mind. She took out a small blue glass jar too and lay it on the sheet beside the dildo, then extracted a more esoteric item. It comprised of seven shiny chrome balls, each slightly larger than the first, joined together by a black nylon cord threaded through a hole drilled in the centre of each ball. The smallest was not much bigger than a raspberry, the largest the size of a chestnut.

The balls were solid and heavy and chunked together as she lay them on the bed.

She was ready. Her pulse was racing excitedly, just handling the items arousing her, reminding her sexual psyche of the numerous occasions they had given her pleasure in the past.

She unscrewed the cap of the glass jar and scooped her fingers into the thick white cream it contained. Bending her knees she arched her buttocks off the bed and applied the cream to the little corrugated ring of her anus, slavering it over the outer rim then pushing her finger inside so that that too was well oiled. The penetration made her gasp. Satisfied that all the cream had been applied she picked up the string of metal balls. She held the largest against the slippery orifice and pushed it in. There was momentary resistance, then her muscles relaxed and the metal ball was sucked up into her anus. She gasped again. Slowly she fed the remaining six balls into the tight, well greased passage, each intrusion producing a shock of pleasure that enhanced the sexual excitement she was already experiencing.

For a moment she did nothing, allowing a whole gamut of sensations to wash over her. She lay on the bed looking at her sex in the large mirror, the black nylon cord extending from her anus and above it the scarlet maw of her vagina glistening with the juices her excitement had inevitably produced. The balls felt heavy and cold but for some reason she did not understand their presence seemed to create a whole new erogenous zone, pulsing with feeling, alive and alert.

Slowly she pulled herself back under control. She picked up the dildo and dipped its tip into the jar of cream. It was a plain cylinder of cream plastic with a smooth, torpedo shaped head and a grooved shaft. No attempt had been made to imitate the shape of an erect male penis as in some of the examples Lucy possessed. With her right hand she clutched at her fleshy breasts. It was the hand she had used to oil her anus and the residue of the cream made her breasts shiny. As her fingers brushed her nipples she felt another strong pulse of pleasure.

Her other hand directed the dildo down between her legs. With the lightest of touches she eased the tip of the dildo into the folds of her labia right at the top. The cream felt cold and made her shiver. The shiver set all her nerves on edge, readying them for what was to come.

Gently she eased the dildo down onto her clitoris. The first touch made her moan softly. She looked into the mirror and saw her labia fold around the cream plastic as if in a kiss. The black nylon cord ran down onto the white sheet, like the fuse of a bomb, which, in a sense, was precisely what it was.

A surge of need overtook Lucy. She had been teasing herself up to now, using her toys to provoke and titillate but now she needed more. She found the gnarled ring at the base of the dildo and turned it. Instantly a faint humming filled the air. She turned it again immediately to increase the power, in no mood for half measures. Her clitoris throbbed as it was assailed by the strong vibration.

‘Wonderful,’ she said aloud.

She circled the tip of the dildo around her clit, the vibrations travelling down her labia and to the mouth of her vagina. More tellingly they were transmitted to the heavy metal balls which began to oscillate against each other creating waves of feeling that rippled out through the thin membranes that divided one passage from the other. Deep in her sex she felt something stir, the engine of orgasm beginning to turn.

Lucy reached down with her right hand to grasp the black nylon cord. The end was looped to make it easier to grip. As her body trembled, as she felt ever increasing waves of pleasure, she pulled on the cord, until the first and smallest ball was at the gate of her anus. Readying herself for the shock of feeling she watched herself in the mirror, her hand holding the cord out taut in mid-air.

‘One,’ she cried aloud as she pulled the first ball out. The little ring of the sphincter reacted with a flush of pain that turned so quickly to pleasure she could not distinguish between the two. She pulled again. ‘Two,’ she said as the second, slightly larger ball, was forced out of her body. Another wave of sensation engulfed her, making her moan. Her clitoris was now affected by a double assault, the vibrations from the dildo invaded by the sharp stab of pleasure from her rear, one constant and regular, the other sudden and intense.

‘Three.’ Lucy pulled again. Another heavy ball was forced through the narrow passage. Another surge of feeling shot through her, routed, or so it seemed, directly to her clit.

She was coming. She had no masturbation ritual. She did different things at different times, played with herself in different ways, used different toys. But she had done this enough times to know that she would get the biggest orgasm – long, and powerful and totally involving – if she could hold herself back until the last ball. Number seven.

‘Four,’ she cried, her voice becoming increasingly stressed. The shock of feeling closed her eyes. There in the darkness her mind played though a hundred erotic images from her extensive sexual experiences, large erections penetrating her in every position, in every orifice.

How long could she hold on? It was difficult. She had to judge how strong her sensations were, how quickly they would accelerate past the point of no return, where she would no longer be able to control them.

‘Five,’ she shouted hoarsely, tossing her head from side to side on the pillow, each expulsion producing a larger wave of feeling as the balls got bigger. She would have liked to have paused, gather herself and catch her breath, preparing for the onslaught the final two balls would create, but the express train of arousal that tore through her body could not be stopped.

‘Six,’ she hissed. The shock of the sixth ball hit her clitoris with such force she thought it would pitch her out of control. But she managed to hold on. She jammed the vibrator hard against the little lozenge of flesh, and pulled the nylon cord taut, feeling the last metal ball poised inside her.

She had been so wrapped up in herself she had not heard the car, nor the front door or the footsteps on the stairs. Nor, with her eyes tightly closed by the last explosion of feeling, had she seen him cross the bedroom floor. The hand that covered hers was a surprise but not an unpleasant one. She allowed it to pull her fingers from the black cord, then grasp it firmly. As she felt lips sucking on her nipple and her body arched involuntarily off the bed, the cord was yanked down, the ball shot out of her rear and a wave of pleasure engulfed her. The orgasm, held back for so long, escaped at last, exploding through her so forcefully she dropped the dildo, having no energy to do anything else but wallow in the exquisite and intense sensations.

‘Seven,’ she said eventually, when the crisis had passed, as though it were the last note of a scale that had to be played no matter what.

Dennis was kneeling on the bed, his eyes roaming her naked body, a large erection distending the fly of his trousers.

‘I’m afraid I started without you,’ she said.

‘So I see,’ he replied. ‘You’re such a naughty girl.’

‘Why don’t you punish me then?’ she said closing her legs and rolling over onto her stomach, presenting him with her pert and curvaceous buttocks, their flesh soft and silky.

‘Exactly what I had in mind,’ he said, getting up and rapidly stripping off his office clothes. His cock was already erect.

The doorbell rang twice.

Lucy was in the kitchen. Though all the unpacking had been accomplished there was still a lot of arranging and rearranging to be done – what she wanted in which cupboard – especially as she had so much more space in this new kitchen compared with the rather cramped space she had been used to before. She was working out where she wanted the saucepans. Leaving them laid out on the work surface she went to answer the door.

‘Good-day,’ the woman said as she opened it. ‘I’m Sophie Greenham from next door. Well, you know what I mean …’ She was pointing over the neatly laid out lawns to the left of the house and through the trees to a large modern bungalow also surrounded by extensive gardens. The woman was a pretty, short, plump blonde, her cheeks chubby and her green eyes rather small. Her flaxen blonde hair was cut into a neat bob that swung back and forth as she moved her head. Her accent was very thickly Australian. Behind her in the drive was a Jaguar saloon in British racing green. ‘I’ve been meaning to come over and visit since I saw the removal van but you know how it is, something always crops up. Anyway, I’m here now so welcome to the neighbourhood.’

‘Thank you. Come in, come in. I’m Lucy Buchanan. Would you like a drink?’

‘Don’t mind if I do.’

Lucy stood aside to let Sophie in then closed the door behind her and led her through into the kitchen.

‘Let me take your coat.’

Sophie shucked herself out of a dark blue car coat with huge lapels. Under it she was wearing a tight gold lurex body and a tight skirt of the same material. It would have been appropriate for evening wear but looked out-of-place at lunchtime. The clothes highlighted her ample proportions. She had no waist to speak of and her breasts and hips were generously curved.

Lucy hung the coat in the hall.

‘Tea, coffee, wine, G and T?’ she offered.

‘G and T would be nice.’

‘I’ll join you.’

For all the woman’s bizarre appearance Lucy liked her. She radiated good fellowship.

‘You’re really gorgeous,’ Sophie said. She was looking at Lucy critically, her eyes roaming her body in a manner that was not at all detached. Lucy was also wearing a body, a black cotton one with matching leggings. It was not difficult for Sophie to see the exact dimensions of what lay beneath.

‘Thank you,’ Lucy said not knowing how she should react. She certainly didn’t feel gorgeous.

‘Sorry, force of habit,’ Sophie said abruptly, her expression changing.

Lucy wasn’t sure what that meant but didn’t want to ask. ‘Ice and lemon?’ she asked.

‘Please.’

She fixed the drinks as Sophie sat at the large oak refectory table the Buchanans had bought specially to fit the available space.

‘So, do you think you’re going to like it here?’

‘Wonderful. We just love this house. It’s much bigger than our old one. Much more roomy. And the gardens are just lovely.’

‘The Hudsons did a lot of work on the garden. They were always out there digging. Have you got children?’

‘No.’ Lucy brought the drinks to the table and sat down. ‘To tell you the truth we didn’t want any. Too selfish probably.’

‘Me too. But I think I’ve got a problem anyway. Funnily enough there aren’t many kids in the neighbourhood. Guess we all like our freedom too much.’ She picked up the drink. ‘Nice to meet you.’

‘You too.’

They clinked their glasses and sipped at the gin.

‘How long have you been here?’ Lucy asked.

‘Getting on for three years.’

‘And you like it?’

‘Everyone’s very …’ She searched for the right word, ‘… friendly.’

‘Who owns the big house at the end of the road?’

The Buchanans had been attracted to their new home by its spaciousness and by its beautifully planted gardens, but its location was another factor. They were fed up with the noise of urban Fulham and had decided they wanted more fresh air and peace. Though it meant Dennis would have to become a commuter the journey from Epsom station was comparatively short and the station was only a mile away from the leafy lane where they’d found the house. Moreover the neighbours were all separated by large gardens and tall, mature hedges, giving almost total privacy compared to the terrace they had lived in before, where the neighbours were right on top of them and could be heard every time they flushed the loo. But of the nine houses in the lane, one was in a different class, the house at the far end, an eighteenth-century manor house approached through two imposing wrought-iron gates and a long carriage-drive. The drive circled an elaborate bronze fountain – a representation of the sun which seemed to be supported by the column of water spraying up underneath it – in front of the large panelled double doors under the portico at the main entrance. Lucy had only glimpsed it through the large beech hedges that surrounded the grounds, but it was impressive, immaculately maintained, and had obviously cost a small fortune.

‘Oh, Myra Parnell,’ Sophie replied. ‘Haven’t you met Myra? I thought she would have been around here by now.’ The expression on Sophie’s face had changed. She suddenly looked edgy and nervous. ‘Perhaps I’d better go.’

‘Go? Why?’

‘Myra likes to see the newcomers first. It’s a thing with her. I’d better not say too much.’

‘Too much about what? Is she a nice woman?’

‘You could definitely say that. Don’t let her know. . .