Sinful Deceit Read online

  SINFUL DECEIT

  by

  RAY GORDON

  Sinful Deceit first published in 2000 by Hodder & Stoughton. Published as an eBook in 2013 by Chimera eBooks.

  ISBN 9781780803173

  www.chimerabooks.co.uk

  Chimera (ki-mir'a, ki-) a creation of the imagination, a wild fantasy.

  New authors are always welcome, or if you’re already a published author and have existing work, the eBook rights of which remain with or have reverted to you, we would love to hear from you.

  This work is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. The author asserts that all characters depicted in this work of fiction are eighteen years of age or older, and that all characters and situations are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.

  Copyright Ray Gordon. The right of Ray Gordon to be identified as author of this book has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  This novel is fiction - in real life practice safe sex.

  Chapter One

  When I was young I'd frolic in the garden. In my angelic innocence I'd sit cross-legged or roll about on the lawn. People would visit. Aunts and uncles, friends and neighbours. They'd sit on the patio sipping tea. My mother would flutter among them with a plate of biscuits. She was a butterfly. While the visitors spoke of their adult world they'd keep watch over me, watch me play. I was safe, secure. Crossed-legged on the lawn I made daisy chains beneath the summer sun. I was pure in my innocence. I loved the grass, the flowers. I was a small flower. The garden seemed big. Sometimes my best friend Sharon would come round and we'd play in the garden together.

  But with the passing of time, things changed.

  I was a virgin until eighteen. Untouched, my fully developed body had never been seen by a man. My first boyfriend, David, had initiated me in the gentle art of mutual masturbation. His hand down my knickers, fondling, stroking, massaging. My hand around the solid shaft of his cock, working up and down over the purple bulb of his knob. His fountain of sperm had intrigued me. Spurting, gushing, jetting. My orgasm stole my mind.

  We were by a river. He slipped my knickers down, pulled them off my feet. My thighs were spread, my sex crack open. The fleecy down of my blonde pubes glistened beneath the summer sun. I felt the hardness of his penis entering my vagina. Penetrating me, impaling my quivering body. He breathed heavily, his hot breath on my flushed face. Oblivious to the deflowering, the birds sang in the trees. David stripped me of my virginity, took me across the threshold to womanhood. He'd been gentle. My needs had been fulfilled before his.

  Men looked at me in the street, their eyes burning into my breasts, my thighs, the rounded swell of my firm buttocks. David became possessive and jealous. He'd complain bitterly if I as much as returned another man's look, reflected a smile. In his jealousy, he slowly drove a wedge between us. His resentfulness distanced me. Sex with David finally became cold and loveless. An act lasting a few minutes once a week. His needs were fulfilled before mine.

  Just after my eighteenth birthday, I ended the relationship. I felt free, like a bird soaring in the blue sky. In my bed beneath the cotton-wool clouds of my billowing quilt, I comforted myself by masturbating. My Halloween candle friend was pleasing. It was masculine, male in its length and hardness. A poor substitute. But David's erect penis with its sperming knob was unwelcome.

  As the weeks passed, David and I met for a drink on the odd occasion. He wanted me back. But I felt that he'd stifle me, cage me as a bird. He was persuasive, talked of his undying love for me. I finally agreed. We were boyfriend and girlfriend again. I didn't want to be a girlfriend. I had a candle friend. The hard shaft of David's cock entered me eagerly, his sperm filled me willingly with gushing spurts. I thought he was with me for love, but I was wrong. I was there for his cock. My body was for his pleasure, his shafting, his sperming. But I was to fly away. The door to my cage was to unexpectedly open. My life was to change. A changing I'd never thought possible.

  "Kirsty!" my mother called. "You're going to be late for work." I bounded downstairs, buttoning my blouse as I entered the kitchen. The familiar aroma of tea and toast filled my nostrils. The radio was on. The disc jockey talked of road works, traffic hold-ups. A letter lay on my plate. Unknown handwriting. A foreign stamp. By air mail. Par avion.

  "Aren't you going to open it?" my mother asked. I caught her blue eyes. Enquiring, seeking. questioning. "It's from Greece," she said with a hint of excitement. Sitting, I drew my chair up to the table and opened the letter. The handwriting was small and neat. Tidy. Dear Kirsty. My eyes fell to the bottom of the page. Love from Uncle Jack. Had he watched me play in the garden? He would have seen my crack as I'd sat cross-legged.

  "Who's Uncle Jack?" I asked my mother as she dropped two slices of white bread into the toaster. I preferred brown. She turned and looked at me, her eyes searching again, questioning. "The letter," I said. "It's from Uncle Jack."

  She cocked her head to one side. "I've not heard of him," she finally replied. "There again, we have so many relations scattered around the world that..."

  Her words drifted above my head unheard as I read the letter. I've been trying to trace John, my brother. And guess what? I came up with your name and address. I didn't know I had a niece. I doubt very much that you've heard of me as your father and I were parted when we were very young. I know nothing about you and would like to meet you. A photograph would be nice. Write and tell me about yourself.

  "So he might be a relation from the Australian side," my mother continued.

  "He's father's brother," I murmured abstractly. I never knew my father. "I didn't know he had a brother."

  "Neither did I," she sighed, placing two slices of toast on my plate. "He never talked about his family. When he died... Come on, Kirsty, you're going to be late."

  I slipped the letter back into the envelope and ate my toast. Butter that wasn't butter and thick-shredded marmalade containing more sugar than fruit. I hurriedly drank my tea. There was no time for cereals. I was going to be late. I should have got up earlier. Had I not comforted myself with my candle friend... My panties were wetting with my girl juice. My bud craved the gentle caress of my fingertips.

  David had phoned the day before and invited me to dinner at his flat that evening. He wanted me to be his penis friend. I didn't want to go. I'd rather have settled on my bed with my fingers and my candle. I knew that I should go to David's, but I didn't know why. Why do we do things we don't want to? Birds and butterflies do as they like.

  My work bored me, the computer screen hypnotized me. I thought of Uncle Jack, imagined him living beneath the Greek sun. He'd be bronzed with silver-grey hair. He'd drink wine and eat olives, feta cheese salad tossed in virgin olive oil. He'd swim every day in the crystal-clear waters of the Mediterranean. He was an artist, painting the dark faces of Greek girls framed by their jet-black hair. My imagination ran away with me.

  I arrived at David's flat and scrutinized him. His face was pale, drawn. He was wintery England, not summery Mediterranean. He had clean, slender fingers that had worked in a office for too long. He was twenty-eight. Twenty-eight years of nothingness. Why had he never been abroad? Too busy working in an office to live. Did he want to swim in the clear waters of the Mediterranean? He offered me Martini and talked of marriage. My thoughts had flown to a sun-soaked, sandy beach in Greece.

  "But we'll have to wait until we're married," David smiled. I hadn't been listening to h
im. Married? Was Uncle Jack married? "Looks like my promotion is on," David said. He grinned as he brushed his dark hair back with his fingers. "The money will come in handy for when we buy a house." I looked down at my thighs. A suntan would be nice, water running over my bronzed skin as I emerged from the Mediterranean in my bikini.

  "We'll have to move to London, of course," he said as a matter of fact. "Once I'm head of sales, we'll have to live in London." I was taken for granted. He hadn't noticed my new dress. Short, revealing. Red, alluring. I was an object to be moved to London. The men would pack me in the back of the van with the three piece suite. My feelings and desires didn't come into the plan, his plan. I desired my candle friend. "I realize that property is expensive in London, but you won't need to work," he said, refilling my glass. "I thought we'd have two children. Have them early so we can..." His words were meaningless. My future with David didn't exist. Two children, the patter of tiny feet.

  "I had a letter from my Uncle Jack," I interrupted him, sipping my Martini. I would have preferred Greek wine.

  "Who's he?" David asked, screwing his face up. He looked retarded. "You've never mentioned him before."

  "I didn't know that he existed."

  "Oh, right. OK, shall we eat?"

  Finishing my drink, I wandered into the dining room as David went to the kitchen. He'd laid the glass-topped table. I hate glass-topped tables with chromed tubular legs. Place mats, knives and forks, glasses, two candles... No flowers. Cold, uninviting, formal. But the candles intrigued me. Long, thin, tapering. My candle friend was thicker, masculine. It had... he had become curved over the years, curved for close-fitting comfort. My panties wetted with my juices of desire as I thought of climbing into my bed. My candle friend beckoned. My vagina pined for him. My clitoris stirred impatiently beneath its pink bonnet.

  "Chilli con carne," David announced proudly as he walked into the room and set a plate before me.

  "That's looks nice," I replied. I wasn't hungry. "Do you like my dress?"

  He sat opposite me and began to eat. "Yes," he said, briefly looking up from his food as one would look up from a book. "You wore it to Ian's party."

  I'd only bought it that afternoon. "That's right," I smiled. Did he know the colour of my hair?

  After the meal, we sat in the lounge. David settled beside me on the sofa, his groping hands wandering up my inner thighs. He wanted my girl crack. My girl crack wanted my candle. I sighed, looked about the room and talked of mundane things. The room was mundane, as was the background music. Some tuneless classical piece that filled the room with an air of sullenness. Perhaps the sullenness came from me. David's fingers persisted between my thighs, his cock rising beneath his tight trousers. Making my excuses, I left. I couldn't face the heaving and grunting and panting of David on top of me. His pale face grimacing, his penis pistoning, his sperm flowing... Lust, not love.

  Another letter arrived from Uncle Jack the following week. I should have written to him. I don't know why I'd not got round to it. Kirsty, I've had an idea. Why don't you come and stay with me for a couple of weeks? I have a lovely villa on an island. We could get to know each other. Bring a friend, if you wish. The following day, a plane ticket arrived. Gatwick to Athens. I'll meet you at Athens Airport. I couldn't take the time off work. I had nothing to wear. I had no spending money... Standing naked before the mirror in my bedroom, I admired the gentle curves of my femininity. A suntan would be nice.

  "Why not?" my mother said as she fluttered about the kitchen. "I'd not miss an opportunity like that if I were you. You could take David."

  "I don't know," I sighed. "What if...?"

  "You're eighteen, Kirsty. Enjoy yourself while you're young. You've never been abroad, and neither has David."

  "I wouldn't want to go with David." Did I sound heartless?

  "He's a nice young man. Why not take him?"

  "Because he's nice."

  She stopped fluttering and frowned at me. "What do you mean, Kirsty?"

  "Nothing," I sighed.

  "Take Sharon, then. I know she'd jump at the chance."

  "Maybe."

  Mother's always right. Sharon jumped at the chance. I felt pleased. We'd sunbathe, enjoy a drink in the evenings. I doubted that my uncle was into the nightlife, and I felt somewhat easier about the holiday knowing that Sharon was coming with me. She'd be company, someone of my own age. We'd drink and laugh and dance all night. Would we share a bed? Memories of Halloween night flooded my mind. My juices of love flowed.

  Sharon came to my house within minutes of my phoning her. Her blonde hair bounced in a bob. She couldn't stop beaming as she followed me upstairs to my bedroom. Anticipation reflected in her blue eyes, she spun round and gazed at me. A short red skirt and white T-shirt veiled her curvaceous body. Her nipples were pressing through the tight material of her T-shirt. I don't know why I noticed. More memories rose from the depths of my mind.

  She leapt onto the bed and began chattering about Greece. I glimpsed her red panties nestling between her shapely thighs as she moved about excitedly on the quilt. Red, alluring. The quilt was pink, it clashed with the red material veiling her secret place. Her panties bulged seductively over the swell of her sex lips. My stomach somersaulted. Did she still masturbate? Did she have a candle friend? I sat on the end of the bed and gazed at her pretty face, her fill red lips. I wanted to ask her whether she massaged her clitoris to orgasm, but daren't.

  Her words floated about me, drifting around the room and settling on the carpet like dead petals. Her red lips moved in her talking, her tongue peeped, but I wasn't listening. In her innocence, she sat cross-legged. Was she making daisy chains in her mind? I again focused on her panties, the tight material running between the smoothness of her naked thighs. The groove of her sex crack was visible through the thin cotton of her panties. The material hugged her lovingly. Was I jealous of her hugging panties? What was hiding from me inside my head?

  "And we'll go to all night discos," she trilled, her hands waving above her head as if she were dancing. The bed rocked as it rocked when I masturbated. Her skirt rode further up her naked thighs. I couldn't drag my eyes away from the enticing swell of her red panties. My musing was uncharacteristic. "We'll spend our days on the beach and then go to the tavernas and the discos," she continued enthusiastically. Several curls of her blonde pubes sprouted either side of her tight panties as if trying to escape. What was I thinking in my pondering? And why?

  Was Sharon innocent? I wondered as she brought her slender legs up and rested her chin on her knees. Her panties bulged between the firm pale flesh of her thighs. Bulging, swelling, straining to conceal the plump cushions of her lips of love. My stomach somersaulted again as she raised her head and her thighs fell apart. My juices oozed in their seeping. My bud of self-loving grew in its arousal. In her moving and chattering, she reclined on the bed and lay her head on the pillow. Her legs were long, her skirt short, revealing the convex triangle of red material veiling her girl-sex. My candle friend lay beneath my pillow. Silky-smooth, slightly curved, sensual. My candle lover lurked only inches beneath her head. He beckoned me in my arousal.

  Gazing at the tight material running between Sharon's thighs, my eyes widened. In her incessant chattering about Greece, she'd allowed her legs to part further. I focused on the indents at the tops of her thighs. The material of her panties was narrow, unable to cloak the swell of her outer labia. My juices trickled, my clitoris stirred. An overwhelming desire to caress her gripped me. In the depths of my confusion, I wanted to be naughty.

  "How much spending money will you take?" she asked.

  I dragged my eyes away from her intimacy and smiled at her. "I don't know," I replied. "I suppose I'll have to offer my uncle something for having us."

  "I reckon he's rich," she giggled. "Sending you a plane ticket... He's got money, all right."

  "Are you still seeing Kevin?" I asked. I imagined the solid shaft of his penis driving between the soft lips of her vulva. "Or is
it off again?"

  "It's off," she sighed, sitting up and leaning against the headboard. She pulled her skirt down, shrouding her red panties. "You know what he's like."

  "Boring?" I proffered.

  "Very. Did I tell you about the time we went to his brother's party?"

  "No, you didn't," I smiled, slipping off the end of the bed and walking to my dressing table. My panties were damp. "I'm going to change," I breathed. "It's hot this evening."

  "It's the weather," she grinned as I unbuttoned my dress. "Anyway, we went to his brother's party and he made a right fool of himself. He was messing around and..."

  Standing before my dressing table, I unbuttoned the front of my dress. I didn't understand my thinking, why thoughts of Sharon's naked body wouldn't leave my mind. I wasn't in control of my senses, I knew as I opened the front of my dress and gazed at my reflection in the mirror. The mounds of my firm breasts swelled beneath my bra. What was I doing, and why? My womb quivered as I imagined Sharon's sensual mouth engulfing the brown protrusions of my nipples. I desperately craved her intimate attention. Perhaps I wanted to satisfy a fantasy.

  Sharon chatted about Kevin, glancing at me now and then as I pulled my dress over my head. The crotch of my blue panties was soaked. I could feel my vaginal juices flowing, oozing. I wanted Sharon to see my panties, the stain of my juices of arousal. In her rambling about the party, she didn't notice. I wanted to pull my knickers down. I wanted to pull her knickers down. Within my heart dwelled the bud of a mysterious flower. With the passing of time, the bud had opened, the flower was beginning to bloom. I was flowering.

  I moved about the room, doing this, doing that. My breasts strained at the silk cups of my bra. They sought freedom. My cleavage was deep and alluring. My panties bulged below the slight swell of my stomach. Explore all avenues, my mother always said. I wanted to explore Sharon's avenue. I'd once been so close to her vagina, her sensitive clitoris. My heart raced at the thought. Anticipation swamped me.