A Girl in the Hands of Blacks
By
Jay Merson
© Copyright. Jay Merson 2002.
The right of Jay Merson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted under the Copyrights, Designs and Patents Act 1988. Illegal copying or distribution of this title in any form or by any means is strictly prohibited All characters in this story are aged eighteen years and over.
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Chapter 1
She gagged and wretched as the hot spurts of sperm splashed against the back of her throat, the thick globules sliding down her throat and the taste simply awful. Added to that was the sensation of more warm cum being pumped up into her rectum, a most revolting and disgusting act that would remain firmly etched in her mind forever, she felt.
Once the last of the five men had come inside her, the holds on her wrists were released, Katherine slumped and slid off the desk to half sit – half lay on the floor, her face covered by her hands and her body shaken by great heaving sobs of misery.
“Phone me when you have the money,” Desmond said as a chuckle and nodded to his friends that she should be taken out and dumped in the street. But there was to be another white girl that would soon be in the hands of these Blacks.
***
The shooting party moved slowly up the slope of the sprawling estate whilst the beaters moved into position on the other side of the woods. They gathered round for drinks, hot rum laced with lemon, to help keep out the chill English weather. The members of the party chatted, not so much about the shoot but on every subject that the landed gentry were given to on such occasions. Talk of their servants, mansions, the stock exchange and their horses, of functions and parties and of who next would fall foul of the upper class social codes so strictly enforced in their society.
“Tell me,” the young lord Grantham said as he led his companion a little away from the group and out of ear shot, “the girl we saw yesterday afternoon on the tennis court, the tall, blue-eyed blonde…”
“Aaah,” his friend said knowingly and sipped at his drink, “Arabella.”
“Mmmm, what a wonderful name,” the young man sighed wistfully and lit a cigar. “One that totally befits her good looks and…”
“Her long legs, you certainly seemed to take a great interest in them when we were watching her play.”
His friend sighed heavily, wistfully, as though conjuring up visual images of the girl.
“That little white pleated skirt of hers, flipping up as she swung and moved; flashing tantalising glimpses of her frilly panties. She moved with such grace, in loping strides that seemed to accentuate her slim waist and little breasts so nicely.”
The friend smiled and nodded his agreement. “Lovely she certainly is and her legs? Well, what can I say, every man’s dream. Slender thighs like that are designed for one purpose only – to grip around a man’s waist or head.”
The young Lord gave a half-chuckle.
“I’ve thought of nothing else but her since, at dinner last night she looked radiant, so elegant and desirable. That low cut dress and the gold necklace set her face off as mask of attraction for me. It is a shame that I couldn’t have been seated closer to her and was able to engage her in conversation, tell me more of her.”
The two young men moved back a little as the shooting party formed a line and the birds began to fly out from the woods. The companion, Jeremy Stanton, took on an advisory tone.
“Beautiful she most certainly is,” he said over the sounds of the guns going off, “but caution is required there.”
“How so, she isn’t married is she?”
“Let’s just say that as a Lord of the realm you would be well advised to seek another.”
“Few women,” the young Lord protested, “have gained my immediate attention, but she most certainly has.”
Jeremy sighed in resignation. “Very well, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. Arabella Lancaster-Symes, aged twenty-eight, the unmarried daughter of Baron Rockforth that we are guests of this weekend.”
“Unmarried you say, and with her looks?”
“A viper in a velvet bag – I warned you.”
“Go on.”
“Of Germanic decent, hence her height and blonde hair, her mother - the baroness - is part German and the baron pure English. As you know, it’s the way the English aristocracy works in matters of marriage, title-to-title and no commoner accepted. Ex-model, now works part-time for a large company in London, more though to show herself around than to actually work. They in reality pay her to do virtually nothing, but the prestige of having her as an employee gains them many clients.”
The young lord nodded and stated emphatically, “I must meet with her.”
Jeremy declined a shouted invitation to take his turn to shoot, turned back to his friend and continued.
“Look,” he said, “she is known for homing in on other women’s husbands and boyfriends, not a good investment for you I think. Best forget her; she has made too many enemies already and looks set to swell that number.”
The young lord was undeterred, “Introduce me, please, Jeremy.”
The man sighed heavily in resignation.
“Very well, it’s your funeral then,” the friend said with a tone of regret in his voice, “but I will do as you ask, at the very next opportunity.”
The two men moved back to the shooting line, the young lord Grantham trying to conceal the bulge that his erection had formed in the front of his trousers.
***
The bed was rocking, the head of it banging noisily against the wall as she rode him. Seated astride him with his cock buried deep up inside her pussy Katherine jerked her hips hard and fast in a jarring motion, sighing little gasps of pleasure as she did so and her ample breasts jiggling with her body movements. A moment or two passed before she slowed and finally stopped.
“What’s wrong Gregory? You don’t seem very enthusiastic tonight; your cock isn’t even fully hard.”
He lay there looking up at her, afraid to admit the real reason; her temper was fearsome at the best of times but on a subject such as this - unthinkable. The evil and vengeful streaks that she possessed were something not to be provoked, soft and gentle was the way with Katherine or suffer for it one most certainly would.
“Just a little tired.”
“Liar,” she said evenly, “that isn’t the reason. You’ve been tired before and still gone at me like a man with a thirst.”
“Thoughtful then, I have a lot on my mind.”
Katherine clenched her buttocks and clamped her internal muscles spitefully tightly around his cock then pressed her fingernails threateningly down on his hairy chest.
“Who is on your mind?” she demanded her voice now icy and filled with threat.
Gregory tensed and drew breath, it was almost as though she knew or was trying to confirm. Her jealousy was well known, she was a maniac, a demented and wicked bitch when the green-eyed monster within her rose. Her last boyfriend had suffered several stitches being inserted in his cock to repair the knife wound she had inflicted on him, Gregory broke into a sweat simply of the thought of that.
“It’s just work and lack of business of late.”
“Liar,” she hissed venomously through gritted teeth and drilled her long fingernails hard down into his flesh. “It’s another girl – you have met someone else haven’t you?”
“Christ! Katherine, that bloody well hurts.”
“Tell me who she is,” she raved and began tearing her nails cruelly down his chest.
He bucked his hips violently in an effort to throw her off him, grasping at her wrists to ease the raw pain in his chest.
“Katherine…Please.”
“Tell me you two-timing bastard. Tell me.”
Her hands now flailed wildly to slap at his face in a heated assault of demented jealousy. She evaded his attempts to pin her arms and clamped her thighs around him to maintain her seat on top of him. Faster and harder she slapped at him, hissing like a cat and clawing at his face into the bargain. The struggle continued with her clinging to him like a leech as she vented her jealous anger on him.
In one final and desperate attempt to break free Gregory gripped her black hair at the side and pulled savagely down and away from him, throwing her heavily to the floor screaming like a wild cat. He leapt off the bed, touching at his ripped cheeks to stem the flow of blood oozing from the scratches. He backed fearfully away toward the bathroom as she rose from the other side of the bed.
Katherine’s eyes were narrowed, her body hunched and poised to spring. She was like an animal, a mountain lion with her hands raised and claws ready to inflict yet more damage. Spittle sprayed from her lips as she hissed through clenched teeth.
“Tell me who the slut is.”
He swallowed hard, the man was shaking and confused.
“We met purely by accident,” Gregory stuttered hesitantly in an effort to placate her and then backed quickly further away as she leapt up onto the bed. “It wasn’t a planned thing we just…”
He ducked as the heavy alarm clock flew across the room at him and smashed into pieces as it hit the doorframe above his head.
“Tell me you bastard!” she screeched and danced around angrily on the bed like a demon in a dance of death. “Tell me her name.”
The man held the door handle in readiness and stepped back into the bathroom, calling then through to her.
“Arabella…”
“Bastaaaaaard!” she screamed and launched herself off the bed and at him.
Gregory slammed the door shut and locked it only a second before her full weight thudded against the door and she began beating wildly at the thick oak panelling with her fists. He sat slowly down on the toilet, shocked and shaken, his trembling hands again soothing the ripped flesh of his cheeks. He wished to God at that moment that he had never succumbed to the charms of the beautiful and wicked Arabella.
***
She stood at the top of the wide stone steps, looking down onto the large gravelled parking area, watching the departing guests get into their cars and wave their goodbyes.
Arabella was dressed in a fluffy pink, Angora jumper that clung tightly to her body, emphasising the swell of her neat little breasts and her narrow nipped waist. A red chiffon scarf was tied around her throat, the tail ends of which fluttered in the light breeze blowing across the estate. Red glossy lipstick highlighted her full lips as the focal point of her face and contrasted starkly with the blonde of her long hair. Black boot-cut trousers clung to her slender thighs like a second skin and pulled harshly up between the tops of her thighs and over the mound of her pussy. The girl stood confidently, arrogantly even, bathing in the admiring looks of the men and the envious glances of the women, as they filed past.
Up the steps the two young men moved, against the flow of the departing guests, the young lord Grantham totally engrossed in his admiration of her.
“Arabella,” Jeremy said as they reached the top and stood next to her on the wide stone-slab terrace. “May I introduce you to a very good friend of mine, Lord Grantham.”
“Charmed,” she said politely and held out the back of her hand, which the man dutifully kissed and held a little longer than he really should.
“Miles,” the young lord added, “Miles Grantham.”
She broke a weak smile. “Ah yes, I read of you in Time Magazine recently I believe. Cars I seem to recall.”
“Rally driving,” he offered, “I have completed the Monte Carlo rally several times now.”
She wasn’t impressed and looked past the men, deliberately displaying her disinterest and looking down again at the departing guests.
“Are you married, Miles?” she enquired with a wicked glint sparkling in her blue eyes.
“No,” he said a little too quickly and then tempered his tone. “Engaged of sorts but not yet wed.”
She gave a faint hint of a smile.
“To a…A girl from the north I recall from the article.” The distaste she felt for what she considered to be the common northern people, sounding clearly and deliberately in her voice.
“More just friends really but planning to marry at some stage.”
At that remark Arabella turned to face him, her wide moon-like eyes and stare conveying more than words could ever do.
“Are you attracted to me, Miles?”
He swallowed hard and felt his cock jerk in reaction, “Yes,” he stated emphatically, “very much so.”
She smiled and looked away.
“Would you like to offer me dinner perhaps?”
“Well…Yes, yes I would,” he flustered, thrown by the directness of her approach.
“With your girlfriend present?” she asked mockingly and posed theatrically with her weight on one leg. She looked back to him, fixing the young lord with a cold stare that defied challenge and yet hinted at her interest and availability, if he were brave enough to match her frank approach.
“No, not with her present,” he said almost as an apology.
Arabella smiled broadly, her tone when she spoke was low and husky, “Excellent, then we have a date, phone me.”
Before he could answer she had turned and was walking away, her hips swinging and the tightly clad cheeks of her backside rolling teasingly.
“My God,” Miles Grantham breathed in awe.
“You might well need his help too if you are hell-bent on this suicidal course to wreck your proposed marriage,” Jeremy said.
The young lord was still looking wistfully to the doorway through which she had disappeared.
“For her – I would ruin my life.”
Jeremy patted him on the back.
“And that my friend,” he said advisedly, “is exactly what is in store for you if you continue to pursue the tarantula, Arabella.”
Chapter 2
Katherine’s lips pinched tightly together and her eyes narrowed to a wicked and dagger-filled stare of deep hatred when she saw her. Across the crowded Knightsbridge Street, from the doorway of Harrods, she watched her and then moved in pursuit as Arabella strode toward Kensington High Street.
The girl was a bitch, a two-timing and man-stealing bitch that needed a lesson in manners and social codes, Katherine felt. Tall and leggy, she was stuck-up and thought too much of herself, she would attract and entrap other women’s men, would toy with them, ruin the relationship and then move onto the next man. She was a temptress and marriage breaker, an egoist on a quest of self-assurance, one that should learn just how it feels to be on the receiving end and to suffer as she had made others. Katherine could just imagine the slut, fluttering her long eyelashes and using her big blue eyes to entice her Gregory, of her purring and sidling up to him, entrapping him in her web. Gregory was a wimp, a shadow of a man, a mouse amongst others but; he had money and influence, was in with the right crowd and had all the contacts to live the good life, the very reasons that she suffered him. Like him she did not really but for another woman – and Arabella too – to move in on her man and to snatch him had shamed her. Shamed her before the whole of the Kensington social set and her friends – and that she simply couldn’t tolerate. Would not tolerate, she would gain her revenge and sweet it would be when that time came. Her honour had to be restored and to be seen to be so; her future in social circles demanded it.
Into Kensington Palace Gardens Katherine followed her, deep hatred and jealousy welling up inside her, like pressure in a barrel simply waiting to explode. A veritable bomb with a terrible potential, mixed with an equally terrifying coldness with which to ignite it.
At the round pond Katherine halted, checked her watch and noted the time and date. It was the same routine as it had been for the last two weeks now, three days each week. Arabella would leave her office, walking so as to flaunt herself, parading like a peacock before the leering passersby. She would go into the park at lunchtimes and home in on the crowds so as to gain maximum exposure of herself - to men.
Katherine jerked her head to the side, flicking her black hair off the side of her forehead and then a wicked grin creased her face. Not for much longer would the snotty Arabella be stealing other women’s men – of that she was certain.
***
The young Lord Grantham sat on the very edge of the settee, his gaze fixed and his mouth dry. His hands were coated in perspiration as was his brow, his erect cock throbbed a dull and lustful pulsing within his trousers as Arabella entered the room.
“Like it?” she asked brightly, knowing full well that she looked devastating and was simply seeking confirmation. Gone was the long evening dress she had worn for dinner, the transformation from the formal to the casual total. She wore her hair down now, the long silky strands falling over her shoulders in a golden cascade of pure alluring and beauty. Black eyeliner and mascara highlighted her blue eyes and her lips were painted glossy red, so red as to be whorish on other women but on Arabella’s full and succulent lips - perfectly sensual. A crisp, white and long-sleeve blouse clung to her upper body, hugging every contour of her shape to emphasise her slender body and the firm jutting thrust of her neat breasts. Through the thin material the outline of her tiny black bra could just be seen, adding a most thrilling hint of naughtiness to the appearance of the girl. Polished black shoes with high heels shaped her long legs and slender thighs to perfection, the hem of her little white kilt stopping only inches and almost indecently short of her crotch. The heavy twill material had fine red tartan pattern dyed into it, the light colour giving her a look of innocence about her, and a most appealing one at that. The front of the mock Scots kilt flapped over and was pinned high up, to allow it to part at times and to give tantalising glimpses of her upper thigh as she moved.
“Fantastic,” Grantham breathed and fixed his gaze on the long expanse of thigh she was offering beneath her tiny skirt. He swallowed hard and felt his cock jerk in reaction as the girl turned to the side. Her pert backside stuck out so very wonderfully, the little skirt clinging to the fall of her upper buttocks and then hung down prettily to portray the firm roundness of her body beneath. At the front it hugged her flat lower stomach and then rose out again as it moulded around her pubic mound, Grantham felt his pulse racing as he tried to visualise her pussy beneath. To see her in profile was a true privilege and the way she was standing so very arousing, her little breasts pressing hard against her blouse, so hard that the material around the sides and clung under her jutting orbs to clearly define their wonderful shape. Arabella stood so arrogantly and confidently, with her back arched and head up, bathing in the attention he was lavishing upon her. She was a teasing bitch, a wonderfully beautiful and attractive teasing bitch. He gave a low and throaty groan as the girl turned again, presenting her back to him, her hands on her hips and feet set apart to further accentuate the thrust of her taut buttocks toward him.
The girl looked back over her shoulder, her eyes sparkling sexual devilment and her full red lips parting in a more sensual smile, “Nice eh?”
Grantham tried to speak but no words would come, he swallowed and shifted in his seat to ease the strain of his erection pressing against his trousers.
“Nicer than that…Hussy from the North?”
“Much,” he blurted too readily and flushed slightly at his reactive response.
She giggled softly and then strode to the window, rolling her hips like a fashion model and her little skirt swinging side to side most appealingly. At the window she halted, bent slightly at the waist and rested her outstretched arms on the windowsill.
From the back her little skirt had ridden up, displaying her long and tapering legs in all their glory, up almost to the beginnings of her buttocks. The little bitch even braced her legs, tensing them to shapeliness and for his benefit in a blatant offering of her body to him.
“Tell me,” she coaxed in a low and sultry tone that sent waves of tingling convulsions gripping his throbbing cock. “Tell me how much better looking I am than your girlfriend.”
“Much nicer,” he enthused readily, his gaze one of leering yet filled with schoolboy fancy, “Taller and slimmer.”
“Yes,” she agreed softly.
“Shapelier and so elegant, your hair is nicer and your eyes so pretty and inviting.”
“And my body?” she asked teasingly and turned. Arabella leaned her back against the side frame of the window, lifted one leg to rest her foot on the low sill and beamed a knowing smile back at the dumbstruck man.
He flushed his face full red under her teasing and taunting. Where her leg had raised her skirt now hung down and in, barely covering her mound, the hem so tantalisingly in line with the bottom of her pussy mound. The long expanse of thigh offered reached back to the inside of the joint and he fancied, he could actually see the beginnings of a hint of white panties.
“Out of this world,” he flustered. “Your body is well, simply fantastic.”
She sighed heavily to display her impatience and irritation.
“Listen,” she stated firmly and as though the rules needed to be clarified for him. “You want me, you want my body and the only way you are going to get at it is to talk to me. Tell me what I want to hear, you tell me that I am nicer and more beautiful, but I know that already. Describe my body in detail, what you like about it and more to the point.” She paused to lower her voice to a thick and husky whisper filled with knowing sexual intonations “What you would like to do to me.”
His excitement was at fever pitch now, his politeness beginning to slip under the raging ache to have the girl.
“Your legs,” he said meaningfully and fixed his gaze on her parted thighs, “So long and shapely.”
Her expression changed, to one of a serious yet sexually excited sternness. Arabella moved away from the window, slowly sauntering back to the centre of the room to stand before and just a little back from him.
“And, what else?”
“Your breasts, so neat and firm, so touchable and…” He gasped as she covered each of her breasts with her hands and cupped them, the long slender thumbs with the red painted nails rubbing sexily across the tips. “I’d love to touch them.”
“Mmmm,” she muttered in encouragement.
“To be allowed to kiss and lick them.”
“Unnh,” she uttered and began massaging the orbs sensually.
“To take your nipples in my mouth and bite them gently.”
“Oh yes,” she muttered and sucked in air to add emphasis to her exclamation. Arabella then began to unbutton her blouse, her delicate fingers working most sexily to free each and gradually opening the front of her blouse. As the two halves parted the swell of her breasts was revealed, her silky orbs pushed up and together by the restraining black bra to form a firm and most inviting cleavage.
Grantham stood, the front of his trousers pushed out as a tent, his hungry gaze on the sweet firm valley of her breasts. The young Lord was sweating, his face flushed and his eyes blazing high thrill and excitement. He fumbled at his fly, his fingers catching the zip in his urgency, his hands trembling and his whole body pumping with sexual need. He drew breath as the smiling Arabella pulled her blouse fully open and pushed her chest out toward him. His stiff cock sprang free and reared up as he tensed. The man groaned as his cock jerked in spasm and a forceful jet of his cum jetted out to soil the front of her kilt and to splash on her thighs.
Arabella began to laugh, her head threw back and the volume of her mirth increased a mocking and sneering laugh at the man that she had brought to orgasm without even touching.
***
“Marvellous party,” Charmaine said brightly and obviously impressed by the lavish surroundings of the Hilton hotel. “Such splendour and all for an engagement party too.”
The other four revellers agreed, all except Arabella who sighed heavily and pulled an expression of dutiful sufferance. Her tone when she spoke was spiteful and catty, designed to wound and to hurt, “I suspect that hotels in the north of England are somewhat more modest.”
Charmaine was a little taken aback but remained polite and didn’t respond in the same tone.
“Perhaps, but I don’t often visit such establishments,” her tone was even but she was making a point. “My finance owns an estate and it is there that we mostly enjoy better surroundings.”
Arabella had a wicked glint in her eye. Her full red lips parted in a wry smile.
“Ah yes. Miles Grantham, little Lord Grantham, your fiancé that races cars.”
Charmaine was crestfallen and it showed in her expression, “You know him?” Charmaine blurted as the other guests melted away to leave the two women together. The subject was turning to one of Arabella’s knowledge of other women’s men and that was a sure signal to the guests that a polite retreat from the coming fray was in order.
Arabella pushed her chest out, pleased that she had achieved her aim and had inflicted both uncertainty and hurt, “Yes,” she said casually and then lowered her voice and smiled, “very well as it happens.”
“Before I met him I take it?” Charmaine sought confirmation, her bottom lip beginning to quiver.
Arabella looked over the heads of the milling guests, an air of total indifference about her.
“If two nights ago, a candlelit dinner and then…Well - let’s just say ‘afters’ shall we – was before you met then yes.” The wicked glint in her eye flashed devilishly and she took on a pained and regretful tone. “It is such a shame that he suffers premature ejaculation though, not a good marital prospect I must say.”
Full tears were streaming down Charmaine’s cheeks now, she turned her back on the grinning Arabella, sniffed heavily and dabbed at her eyes then set off in search of a phone to hear Miles’ version of the events.
Arabella stood erect and triumphant, sipping at her drink and scanning the huge room for other likely male prey.
***
The south London ghetto area of Brixham was its usual nightly bustle of activity. Bars, nightclubs, gambling arcades and illegal drinking dens were crowded with blacks of all nations, with a few whites living alongside them in perfect harmony. Loud rap music pumped out, thumping its tuneless drivel onto the streets to please the many groups of youths gathered on the street corners. The talk was of women, cars and drugs, of crime and ways of evading the law, the usual and normal topics of discussion in the crime-infested area of the city.
The few whites that frequented the area were not locals, mostly of the criminal fraternity; they blended in perfectly despite the contrast in their colour, benefiting from the protection that the area itself offered simply by reputation alone. Police nor strangers rarely ventured there, preferring instead to avoid the area completely and the troubles that visiting such an area would surely bring.
The black-haired white girl then, Katherine, attracted much attention as she strolled as casually as she could around the corner of the main street and into one of the murky side streets, one with a reputation that exceeded all others. A stranger was rare sight there at nights and an unaccompanied female even more so, she drew glances and comments, chuckles and sniggers before the more serious comments about her were voiced.
“Woahh! Just look at that piece of white ass will yer!” One black youth said to his three companions.
The trio turned to ogle her. The slim legs, the neat backside and the look of total bewilderment she carried about her.
“Bet she sucks cock well enough,” one commented as he leered at the girl. “I’d like to have those lips of hers around my helmet.”
Another of his companions sniggered. “Black cocks naturally.”
The four men laughed, joining the discussion that was being repeated in each and every group of men the young girl passed.
Aware of the attention she was attracting, Katherine continued, determined to find the place she sought, the address on the slip of paper grasped tightly in her hand. At about a third of the way down the narrow street she halted, checked again the address and looked up at the neon signs above the doorways trying to locate the ‘Blue Moon’ club. She was nervous, frightened even, the groups of evil looking youths made her tremble but she was determined to gain a positive result now that she was here. Katherine took a deep breath, steeled herself and ventured further on.
***
Arabella strode confidently along the long carpeted corridor of the office complex toward the chairman’s office. The swinging of her backside increased as she neared the reception waiting area, Arabella pushed her chest out to pull the thin red jumper even more tightly across her jutting breasts. She looked good and knew it - and the men did too. She loved the way they ogled and drooled, hungry and sexually loaded gazes of admiration and deep lust for her. It made her nipples firm and her clitoris stiffen to hardness, it did too cause her pussy to moisten, and teasing was such fun, so very self-complimenting. A surge of high thrill shot through her to end in a terrific gripping deep in her vulva as she reached the open and man-filled area.
Suited men, representatives, real estate men, casual visitors and company directors alike all fell silent as the tall beauty strode slowly past. Their heads turned, eyes fixed in incredulous stares as they followed the progress of the stunning blonde girl. They took in the way the short pleated skirt clung to the shape of her slender thighs at the front and bounced prettily at the back with each stride she took. Her long legs shown in profile were the main points of attention, the sheer black nylon coating hinting at them being stockings and rather than tights, fuelling the imagination as to what skimpy underwear if any lay beneath her skirt. Her little breasts bounced temptingly to portray that she possessed ample but neat and firm little orbs, her bust in perfect proportion to the rest of her body.
One man nudged his colleague sitting next to him and sighed wistfully.
“What I wouldn’t give to get my head between her thighs eh?”
His friend smiled wryly.
“The virgin slut she is known as. Flaunts herself and teases, offers herself and yet – never delivers the goods.”
“Can’t believe that,” the man said craning his neck and leaning forward in his seat to catch a last glimpse of Arabella before she turned the corner and was gone from view.
“Heard it many times,” the first man said reaching for a magazine and flicking idly through the worn and dog-eared pages. “Several men I know have taken her out; got her back to their place and thought that they were on their way to paradise, only then to be sorely disappointed.”
“How do you mean?”
The man lowered his voice and shifted closer, his tone hushed and secretive, “Her only love is herself, she teases and gives the come-on, even undresses sometimes…”
Oh God,” his friend groaned longingly, “Oh to see that.”
“But only to display herself and to gain admiration and attention – she has never been known to fuck. Goes for married men and those involved in long-term relationships, seems to delighting in breaking up the happy home. Almost like a vocation in her life, take another woman’s man and then drop him instantly and look for another victim. It is as though she lives her life seeking confirmation of her attractiveness and little else.”
“No single men then?”
“Never, or never known to associate with.”
“Lesbian perhaps,” he mused, “Shame if that is the case, what a waste.”
The man shook his head and stated flatly.
“Not a chance. I am told that she finds the very thought of two women together utterly repugnant.”