II. Déjeuner sur l'herbe.
"Do you come to France often?" asked Sarah, more for something to say than out of genuine interest."
"No," replied George. "It was Lancaster who kept insisting that I should come. And now that I'm here, he promptly ups sticks and goes back to England." She laughed.
"I'm sorry," she said. "But that's just what he's like."
"You should laugh more often," he said. "It suits you." She looked at him, then down at the ground. Charming as well, she thought, how was she going to resist him? "How did you first get to know him?" he asked.
"Who? Arthur?" she asked.
"Yes," he said.
"One of my tutors introduced me to him," she replied. "At college. He told me I could learn a lot from him."
"So," said George. "What did you learn?"
"A lot," said Sarah vaguely, glancing back at George with a look which challenged him to deny it, or else to find out more.
"About what?" asked George.
"About life," replied Sarah.
"And sex," stated George. She looked at him, then away. It was true. He had really opened her eyes to the world of sex, and to her own nature. After their first little adventure bent over his desk, they had made love everywhere, in his office, in his car, in the park, on the top of a double decker bus, even in one of the back alleys behind the college. "He's amazing. I don't know how he gets away with it. I don't think there was a single good looking student he didn't fuck sooner or later.... male or female," continued George.
She was shocked. Surely that wasn't true. The idea that he had made love to other girls was bad enough, but boys as well.... She looked at George.
"You mean..." she hesitated to formulate the words. George nodded. My god. The man had taken her virginity, had told her she was the special one, that there was nobody else... She coughed. George laughed.
"Don't tell me you were in love with him," he said.
"Of course not," she replied. How could she have been so naïve? But was it true? Or was George just playing the goat? She tried to hide her confusion. "Shall we start?" she asked. "I'm starving."
"They won't be long," said George. She glanced over at the woods, speculating briefly on what they might be doing. George changed his position, coming closer to her. "He showed me some photos," he said.
"What?" she asked.
"He showed me some photos he took of you," clarified George, looking directly at her, "naked, on the beach." She was shocked. Those photos were not for public consumption. She had stripped naked for him, he had taken some very intimate photos, and they had then made love as the tide came in over them. It had been a special evening, with only the stars as witnesses. "Very nice," said George. "You have a great body. And he's a very good photographer." He turned, and, as he turned, he rolled towards her. "Why don't you just let it happen?" he said, putting his hand on her knee. Their eyes met, and he then slid his hand up under her skirt until his fingers came into contact with her sex. She pushed him away.
"No," she said. "Not here. Not now." But his touch had electrified her, and she realised that she wanted him, or, more precisely, that she wanted to be fucked. The response came like a cascade over her, completely engulfing the better, or different, intentions she might have had. The betrayal she felt at what Lancaster had apparently done just added to the desire, since, while part of her could feel hurt, there was another part of her that laughed at herself, the innocent virgin, who had been pumped full of the semen of a man twice her age, who had effectively used her as his sex toy for three months, and who had then gone off and shown intimate photos of her to all and sundry. She wondered what else he had told George about their relationship.
She had backed away from him, and was now sitting on her backside, her short skirt up around her thighs, giving him a very nice view of her sex bulging under the thin fabric of her panties.
But it was at this point that Emily returned with Frederick. Sarah glanced up at her as she approached, and changed her position. Emily was busy picking things out of her hair.
"Nature's all very well," she said, "but why do there have to be so many prickly things?"
"It's nature's way of defending itself," suggested George, still looking at Sarah.
"I suppose so," replied Emily.
"Every rose has to have its thorn," he added. Emily looked from Sarah to George, and back again.
"So have you two been getting to know each other?" she asked.
"You could say that," said George. Sarah looked down.
"I see," said Emily, though it was not clear that she did. "Well, don't just stand there like a wet cloth, Freddie. Serve the lunch."
Freddie obliged, evidently now fully under the sway of the dominant Emily. Sarah could not help wondering what it would be like to dominate a man in that way, though for the time being she was content to be dominated, as Lancaster had dominated her. The thrill of being told what to do, especially when she was being told to do things that were decidedly naughty, was still strong for her. All those nice little intimate commands like 'bend over', 'spread your legs', 'wider', 'open your mouth' and so on had a sort of hypnotic appeal for her. But anyone who could appreciate the exciting niceties of being dominated could also appreciate the appeal of taking the complementary role.
"I remember we were on our way to Cannes, I think it was," said Emily. "Harry had some crazy idea about gate-crashing one of the parties for the film people, you know. But before we got there, he took a detour to go down to one of the beaches. I ended up with sand everywhere, and I mean everywhere. That's nature for you."
"Don't complain," said George, taking a sandwich from the container offered to him by Frederick. "You know you can't orgasm properly if there's no pain involved."
"Hm," said Emily. "I don't know about that. What do you say, Sarah?"
"Pass," said Sarah, beginning to eat, and resisting the temptation to speculate publicly on something she considered private.
"Freddie?" prompted Emily.
"What?" asked Freddie.
"Do you think that pain is a necessary ingredient to a proper orgasm?" asked Emily.
"Pain?" queried Freddie.
"Oh, for Christ's sake," exclaimed Emily. "Somebody give the boy a kick."
"Well, I'm sorry," said Freddie. "I haven't been following the conversation." In fact, he had been thinking about Sarah and Emily's promise, made the day before, that he would be able to fuck her before the end of the day. He thought the idea improbable, as he had already tried several times to take hold of her, but she had always refused. Perhaps now with Arthur Lancaster out of the way, it would be different, he thought. At all events, having just ejaculated prematurely all over Emily, much to her annoyance, he found that this had in no way abated his sexual arousal, in fact, quite the reverse.
"Where's the wine?" asked Emily. Freddie looked disconsolately over towards the car. "Don't tell me you've left it in the car," said Emily.
"I'll go," said Sarah, getting to her feet in an attempt to inject a little politeness into the proceedings. She was beginning to suspect that Emily and George had set out that morning to seduce their two younger companions, and, having used them to satisfy their lust, complete their humiliation by treating them as servants for the rest of the day, and, perversely, she could not deny that there was something in the scenario that appealed to her quite strongly. During her relationship with Arthur Lancaster, being used for sex whenever and wherever he wanted her had become normal, and had begun to condition her sexual response. She loved the fact that he might demand sex with her at any moment, and anywhere. She loved the touch of his hand, his intimate caresses at unexpected moments, the tokens of his possession of her.
She told herself to concentrate on finding the bottle and corkscrew, trying to stop her imagination from suggesting how she might let George have her without appearing to be too much of a slut, but the little tyrant between her legs, having now been aroused, kept goading her on, and she found it difficult to concentrate on anything else.
She finally managed to locate the wine and a corkscrew in the back of the car. As she did so, she heard the motor of another vehicle approaching. She pulled out of the car, and watched from the side of the road as a very fine, red sports car went by. She did not get a good look at the driver, as he was obscured behind the reflections on the window glass, but it seemed to her that he gestured a greeting. She smiled, looked after the car, watched as it nearly careered into one of the trees growing on the side of the road, then turned back to the group, a little reassured that they were not the only people on the planet.
"Voilà "
she said, showing them the bottle and opener. Emily had her portable in her hand. She had evidently just received a message. She looked directly at Sarah.
"Lancaster sends his love," she said. "He says he hopes the ring is not too uncomfortable." Sarah realised that they were all looking at her. "What ring would that be?" asked Emily, cutting her phone.
"I had a piercing done," said Sarah after a brief hesitation, glancing over at the two men. "Before Arthur left."
"Ah," said Emily. "Clitoris?" she suggested.
"Yes," said Sarah, looking again at the two men.
"And is it uncomfortable?" asked Emily.
"A little," confessed Sarah.
"Want me to take a look?" suggested Emily.
"No," said Sarah.
"We can go over there," suggested Emily.
"No," repeated Sarah. "It's OK, really." But the idea of having her sex inspected by Emily while the two men looked on was something she found almost irresistibly exciting.
