The Courts of Pleasure

All the characters and events in this novel are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Chapter 07

Katia captures Cliff, and the Buyers seek Sarah

A wash of water, a tumbling mountain stream, a torrent of rain, the sounds pounded insistently upon Cliff's senses. Slowly he came awake in the empty bed. His eyes focused on his own image amidst the rumpled sheets in the huge mirror over the bed. The peal of Sarah's familiar laughter brought him fully awake as she and Vi, both naked waltzed through the door fresh from their shower.

He gazed rapturously at them. their exuberant high spirits and laugher bespoke an erotic tension between them roused by the mutual caresses of soaping and stroking one another in the bath.

Cliff leaned back against the headboard to watch them primping fresh from the shower. Vi's long dark blown-dry tresses fell in luscious disorder down her shapely back, as Sarah drew her to the bed.

"You've got such a beautiful mouth" Vi sighed coming to Sarah with her lips. "I loved it when you kissed my pussy in the shower just now and your tongue rimming my pucker was fantastic," she murmured planting a lingering kiss on Sarah's lips. "Did you like it too?"

"You know I did," Sarah whispered. "Your sweet young cunt is utterly divine and you've got a really passionate little pucker."

Vi smiled up at Sarah, "I love it when you talk dirty," she murmured, her tongue flicking out, licking at Sarah's lips, tracing their shape with its tip before slipping between them.

Sarah closed her eyes and sucked softly at its firm lively wet shape, feeling that surge of excitement in her belly that always heralded her arousal. She could feel Vi's hands coming to her breasts, the girl's fingers toying with her nipples, sending those shock waves of arousal ricocheting down into her loins.

Opening her eyes she caught sight of their tableau in the mirrors around the bed, this image of herself in the arms of this ravishingly beautiful youngster while Cliff played with Vi's nipples in his own nakedness, his organ already in full erection beside the girl's loins. Their day began as it had ended in an orgy of utter delight.

*****

In summer Plainfield didn't simmer in the heat, it parboiled in hot humid mugginess, but Southshore benefited from the cool mass of Lake Michigan's fresh water beside it.

Vavosar Feake felt the difference when he got out of his car and examined the apartment house before him. Anticipation itched within him. He had studied Trapnell's transmission with increasing interest that was only heightened by the revelations of this Sarah Moore's face. It was then he knew that his share of this underground transaction would be well worth the effort in securing her.

The first hint of frustration arose in the lobby. The mailbox for 1210 was labeled "Ackerman". Moore had married maybe? Was she living with someone else? His pudgy thumb punched the doorbell insistently, until the door swung open a crack at last.

"Special delivery letter for Sarah Moore" he intoned into the narrow opening, moving so that the woman could see his postal uniform. "You'll have to sign for it ma'am."

"There's nobody here by that name," the voice returned, the crack widening to the length of the security chain.

Feake studied the face suspiciously. It was thin and pinched, the eyes dark and far too old for the woman in the transmission. "Can you give me her new address? This is high priority mail."

"Never heard of her. Ask the super." The door slapped shut in his face and he stared at its unrewarding emptiness, the knots of anger gathering in the angles of his jaw. The super when he found her was more helpful. "Sarah Moore? No Sarah Moore. We had a Sarah Murdock in 1210, but they moved out days ago. Don't you have a forwarding address?"

"No," Feake grumbled, "did they leave one with you?"

"Most likely." The super rummaged through the pile upon her desk extracting a worn ledger and fingered the pages. "Murdock," she muttered. "Nothing! That's strange." She held the ledger up for Feake and he stared at the absent entry space.

"Well, we'll find her. Thank you."

His car had heated up and his fingers were wet as he keyed 'Sarah Murdock' into his computer. In an instant he had the husband's name, the car registration and description but no new address.

"Shit" he muttered glancing up at the housing complex before him; a decent place. It cost plenty to live here. They must have jobs, good jobs. It would take some time, the usual procedures couldn't be followed anyhow. They would find her and then she would simply... disappear for good.

*****

The July morning promised to fill The Court with warmth and stillness as Sarah surveyed the stacks of boxes piled in the hall and prepared to spend the day unpacking. Upstairs Cliff dallied in the bathroom. When she came into the kitchen it was filled with the odor of freshly brewed coffee and Vivienne stood by the counter, a bowl of waffle batter in her hands.

"Oh Vi, you're a godsend," Sarah moaned. "I wondered what I was going to do for breakfast."

"Getting settled is always a chore but we'll have you comfortable by evening," Vi smiled happily at her. Sounds wonderful," Sarah sighed as Cliff sauntered into the kitchen.

"I had this fantastic dream," Cliff offered " Two gorgeous girls fucked me last night and most of the morning too!"

"Really?" Vi giggled. "In my dream this great guy with this incredible cock and this utterly lovely woman drove me absolutely wild with passion."

"No kidding you guys," Sarah mused. "I didn't have time to dream at all last night. I was having too much fun to go to sleep. But I still can't believe I did the whole thing," she gasped incredulously at last. They made the breakfast together then. Cliff pitched cheerfully in with the task and they soon found themselves seated together by the windows in Sarah's studio. Across the lawns the cottages glimmered in the morning sun and here and there the residents appeared on their porches and along the walks between their homes.

Morning greetings and the sounds of conversations echoed between the buildings while Sarah studied her new neighbors and Cliff interposed, "I'll give you a hand putting this stuff away before I go to work." They set about the task together and by mid-afternoon the Murdocks had moved in and Cliff had left for work.

Sarah stretched and gazed happily about her, "The house seems like home already. We only have one thing to do yet."

"What's that?" Vi asked.

"Stretch a canvas. You can help me. We'll do a big one." They selected the framing strips and unrolled the crisp heavy fabric. Severing the piece of canvas from the roll Sarah sniffed the chalky odor of the ground. She loved that smell. She fitted the frame together and Vi laid the canvas over it, tacking the four sides while Sarah used the stretching pliers. They worked their way around the frame, stretching and tacking until the cloth sang with tautness, carried it to the easel and racked it. Standing back Sarah studied the white mat expanse before her. Slipping her arms around Vi's waist she cuddled her against her bosom. It was all beginning now, this wondrous new adventure.

"It's awesome," Sarah declared. "It's such a challenge, but I love to have it there staring me in the face. That's the way I always begin. The first strokes mean everything. It's frightening, appalling, wonderful. And I have to be bold with it or it all comes to nothing. So I have to get ready, I must have that sureness within me that it's time to begin."

Together they studied the empty expanse of the canvas in the bright light of the studio. Vi slipped her hand into Sarah's hair and nestled her cheek against Sarah's savoring the warmth of the caress.

"I've never had a commission before," Sarah mused, "I've always been totally free to paint whatever struck my fancy. If someone wanted the result, fine. If they didn't that was okay too. The act of creation was all that mattered to me. I had canvases stacked all over our place until Cliff began to bitch about it. It was either paint over them or throw them away. Finally I tried to pedal them to half a dozen galleries but no one wanted them. 'Too indulgent' they said.

"Indulgent?" Vivienne chuckled.

"Yeah, they said they were impressed but they couldn't display them, too suggestive, too sensual. Their whole attitude just pissed me off so I kept bringing them in anyhow and finally someone told me about this obscure little restaurant, Bulfinch's, that might hang them. They took half a dozen of my flower pieces and four abstractions and they were gone in a week. I don't know who patronized Bulfinch's but whoever they were they took most everything I gave them over the last few years."

"And that made Cliff happy?" the warm moistness of Vivienne's breath drifting across her cheek Sarah snuggled her face to Vivienne's.

"Well at least it got the clutter out of the apartment."

"I gather he's not into the arts," Vi observed quietly

"Mostly he's into fucking. He's impulsive. And whatever he's got he wants more of it until something else comes along. Speaking of which. Did you notice what an impression Katia Vyrobrovna made on him?"

Vivienne laughed. "Well let's face it. He's an irresistible flirt and she's a real beauty. Does it bother you?"

"It used to, but not any more. He's had his affairs for sure. God knows that's how we got together, and the leopard doesn't change his spots. Cliff's idea of art is seducing some cute little sweetie like you Vi. I'm beginning to wonder if that's mine too," she laughed suddenly with a little kiss on Vi's cheek.

Vi turned her face and their lips mingled softly. "Come on! I want to show you something," the girl enthused suddenly, and pulling Sarah after her she led the way to her cottage. The screen door slapped behind them, Sarah found herself in Vivienne's world and the day passed in bliss.

****

Cliff nudged the Pontiac carefully into the garage and eased himself out of the narrow space between his car and the Cadillac beside him. His eye drifted critically over the vehicles to Coverly's roadster resplendent in the late afternoon light and envy touched his heart.

What a joy to own a car like that. He went to it and touched it again, running his hand over the heavy enameled steel of the trunk, thumping it gently with his knuckle listening to the deep resonant solidity, his caress lingering as he viewed the perfection of the wheels with their heavy wooden spokes, and the smooth glistening leather of the seats.

His hand drifted to the warm bright arc of the steering wheel and closed about it while he studied the glittering levers of the shift and the brake below. It would be a breeze to drive this car, he had been totally tuned to Coverly's manipulations. A flick of the magneto, a quick rotation of the crank and it would come to life under his hands. He contemplated the luxury and the sensations of the ride rose in him again and settled somewhere between arousal and impulse when he reluctantly left the garage and entered the park. Emerging from the laurel arbor into The Court sweat glistened on his forehead even in the deep shade and he mopped his temples. He took in the cottages before him, settling not on the Rose Cottage but on Vivienne's.

What he wondered was that little sweetheart doing right now? Sitting in the shade of her porch no doubt with an iced drink in her hand, wearing one of those filmy dresses that revealed as much as it concealed.

The pleasure of anticipation pulsed in him, its beat in syncopation now with other pulses, rhythmic thuds and thumps punctuating the music from a piano. The sounds swelled from the cottage on his right, drawing him up onto the porch. The door stood open inviting him into the clear crisp sounds of Katia's voice counting time over the piano for the dancers before her.

The room was lined with mirrors and the six dancers, increased by their reflections, filled the room with movement. He could see that Katia was totally unaware of him, her being utterly focused on the beat and the steps unfolding before her.

He waited studying the shapes of the six girls and the two boys. They were all young, in their teens and early twenties he guessed. The boys in baggy tops and tight bottoms, the girls in a motley of leotards or skimpy bras and high cut panties, were streaming with sweat in the heat. Cliff appraising the girls for the best legs, the best breasts, the best bum, settled on the little brunette in the right front and tried to catch her eye. At first she wouldn't look at him, but then when she finished a turn he caught the little smile on her face and the quick glance she threw at him before she focused on Katia again. He was sure then that her movements were more revealing, her display even more interesting and directed at him as he picked up on Katia's voice:

"...and four, and five, and Denise don't lift your shoulders on the battement fondu, keep your preparation lower...and seven, and eight..."

A little of the magic went out of Denise's display but Cliff consoled himself with the perfection of her legs and the delicious curve in her lower back until the exercise collapsed in the sharp clap of Katia's hands.

"Okay everybody, that was very good. Class tomorrow as usual at nine, and rehearsal at one. Hopefully it won't be so hot. Thank you."

There was a spattering of applause from the dancers before they transformed into weary breathless flat-footed athletes lugging bulging satchels out of the room. Cliff smiled at Denise as she passed and she tossed him a quick curious glance before evaporating into the late afternoon heat.

He turned to Katia. She was watching him from beside the piano, her upper body subdued in the uniform black of her leotard, her legs bold in her white tights.

"I was passing by and I heard thunder," he said.

"And did you see lightening?" she returned.

He nodded, "It was dazzling." "Maybe there's going to be a storm." Her eyebrows lifted questioningly.

"Can't come to soon for me," he purred. "Yes, this heat is almost unbearable isn't it?" Katia lifted the towel from the piano, dabbed at her neck before draping it over her shoulders, and looked him full in the face.

He was struck by her transformation from the supper in the Tower House when he had first met her. In the candlelit shadows of the atrium she had looked utterly seductive and the loose folds of the Grecian tunic revealing the lithe strength of her torso and her long beautiful shapes. Her facial features he saw as exotically alive with her Russian eyes bold above her prominent cheekbones, her mouth generous, the lips chiseled and full in her beautiful face.

In her presence before him now he was suddenly and acutely aware of the need to experience the athletic physicality in her.

And then she said, "How about a swim?"

"A swim?" "You do swim don't you?"

"Yeah! Where?"

"In the pond."

"I don't have a suit."

"You don't need a suit." "Well sure. Hell yes."

"But you might want a towel afterwards," she laughed. He watched her walk to a doorway with that curious turnout in her stride, her toe-shoes making little thuds on the wooden floor, her trim buttocks concealed beneath the flounce of the tiny skirt over them. She passed through leaving silence and only his own image in the mirrors. Cliff observed his reflections from three sides, un-rumpled in spite of the heat, his suit-coat folded neatly over his arm, the creases still sharp in his trousers, the military square in his shoulders, his tie loosened but not draggled. He swept his hand over his forehead in a compulsive and unnecessary gesture to smooth his hair lying in neat blond waves without a part. His eyes, blue, bright and wide-set gazed agreeably back at him from the mirrors as he appraised his tan. A dip in the skinny would be no embarrassment to him.

A rustle in the silence and he turned to Katia approaching him barefooted, gowned now in simple terry cloth robe, the bulk of two large towels filling her arms. "Ready!" she announced. "Thank goodness for the pond, it's a gift from the Goddess on days like this."

The Court was quiet except for children playing somewhere amongst the cottages. He was thankful for her silence, for her recognition that they had no need of chatter. Her walk was brisk and easy as she led him to the place where he had seen Vi begin her nude swim on the Solstice evening.

A broad terrace of steps led down into the water and descending Katia slipped neatly out of the robe and dropped it at the verge. He hadn't expected her to be naked but she was, and he clung to her image easing gracefully into the water. She rolled over on her back stroking easily out into the pond. Feeling her eyes on him he took his time disrobing, folding his clothes neatly before stepping down into the water.

The pond was surprisingly deep, the waters deliciously cool, and out in the center he saw her face in the black wreath of her swirling hair before she began stroking away from him. He dove and began a crawl, but when he looked for her she was still ahead of him, her arms flashing in the sun, a wake stirring at her heels.

He forged ahead, breathing expertly between strokes, his body cleaving the water with the power of his arms and legs until he reached the bend in the pond where he paused for breath, treading for buoyancy.

Ahead the waters stretched in a broad crooked shinning band into the woods, the shoreline dotted with rocky outcroppings, ledges, and tiny bays but she was nowhere in sight. Cliff turned and looked back glimpsing the shinning tower of the Tower House through the trees over the glare of the water. Scissoring his legs he breast-stroked towards the nearest shore scanning for her amidst the rocks and grottos, working his way along the shallows from empty beach to empty beach.

A throb of disquiet began within him. Could she have gone under? He could hardly believe it, she had seemed such a strong swimmer. An outcropping ahead promised a view, and he made for it, reaching up for a grip on the rock. And then there was a force on his legs, arms that grappled with his ankles, and the surge of a lithe young body against his, her weight pulling him under. He rose sputtering into her face, into the challenge of those wide Russian eyes and the impudent laughing mouth.

Her dark shinning crown gleamed and he reached to duck her but she was beyond him, stroking quickly and easily out of his reach. He lunged for her and it was her agility against his power. Always she was just ahead of him, reading his maneuvers and feints, diving beneath him and encircling him with the graceful competence of her body.

They dueled in silence, the movement everything. The wild wet exuberant game of tag an exercise in enticement. He glimpsed her flashing limbs in the cold clear churning waters, the long smooth curves of her flanks above the swell of her hips, the slope of her shoulders and the descent of her back to her firm long buttocks that rolled easily to the glimpse of her mons and naked labia, the firm curves of her small breasts and tightened nipples.

The flash of her ankles teased him, rousing him, baffling him with her elusiveness when he tried to herd her into the shallows. He was breathing hard now, panting in the unaccustomed exercise, his limbs suddenly limp in anoxic weakness and then she was behind him where he couldn't see her and he paused to gather himself.

He felt her palm on his shoulder and as he captured her wrist with his hand she rolled the length of her body into him. Her curves nestling luxuriously into his moved sinuously against his phallus. Her hand found him, held him, stroked maddeningly up his shaft, and instantly he was erect.