Naked Lies Read online

  NAKED LIES

  by

  RAY GORDON

  Naked Lies first published in 1999 by Hodder & Stoughton. Published as an eBook in 2012 by Chimera eBooks.

  ISBN 9781780802619

  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

  I am not what I once was, nor ever again will be. Changes around me, changes in others, rippling but relentless changes in myself, were to transform me. Like a hapless butterfly in the summer sun I was to be caught, laid bare, dissected - violated beyond belief. My fragile peacock colour, my delicate femininity, my very soul abused, erased, I was to die and metamorphose into an entirely different creature.

  What creature? To this day, I am unsure. Winged or in cage, or in a cage with wings, I am ignorant as to the nature of my being. All I know is that I am a creature of great intrigue, of boundless heights and depths, of great perversity. Do I wallow in the mire? Or soar in a clear blue sky? Only time will tell.

  Never would I have believed that a plot was being drawn against me. A wicked plot to rock my very core - to use me for debased sex. My naked body chained, whipped with a leather strap, my buttocks thrashed with a bamboo cane, every orifice plundered, I was to travel far beyond the boundaries of what society believes to be normal sex.

  But what is normal sex? Is it the missionary position once weekly? The nightly entwining of naked bodies in sixty-nine? And what is love? Are sex and love so tightly bound together that they can never be detached? Since my transformation, the two to me are as alien to each other as the Earth and Mars. Before, I thought I knew love, that tender alliance expressed through sex. Now I know only sex. Cold sex, as devoid of the warmth of love as mid-winter.

  Do I miss love? For my soul, I would like to believe so. And what of sex - cold sex? Sadly, gloriously, this new, perverse creature cannot live without it. Will it always be so? I sometimes wonder in my chains. Again, only time will show.

  Casting my mind back to more conventional days, I wonder who was more devious than whom in perpetrating the plan against me. Who the wickeder? That fateful summer morning almost a year ago was only the beginning of a plan so incredible, so devious, that even now I find it difficult to comprehend. That bright, sunny, normal Monday morning when a loud knock sounded on the back door and changed me, my life, forever, will remain etched as on granite in my memory.

  Who on earth would go round to the back of the house rather than ring the front doorbell? The dustman? I pondered, as that fateful knock sounded. Tossing the sponge into the sink as I turned on my heels from the washing up, I dried my hands hurriedly on a tea towel. No, the dustman called on Tuesdays.

  "Oh," I smiled coyly as I opened the door to Den, our new neighbour. Wondering what he wanted as he brushed his dark hair away from his deep-set eyes, I opened the door wider. "Er... how are you?" I asked. Clutching a magazine, he looked over my shoulder as if making sure I was alone.

  "Couldn't be better," he grinned, pushing past me brusquely into the kitchen.

  I was taken aback. He'd only moved in a couple of months previously and had become pretty friendly with my husband Mat. I knew him only to say hallo to, perhaps mention the weather should we pass in the street. We certainly weren't on familiar enough terms for him to barge into my kitchen like that!

  What did he want? I again wondered. He knew that Mat was at work, so what was he doing here? A friendly visit to get to know me, perhaps? Closing the door, I thought about offering him a cup of tea, but he didn't allow me the opportunity for such an English pleasantry.

  "You're a very attractive woman," he remarked coolly. "A very sexy woman." My eyes widened at his impertinent remark. So much for the friendly visit! "You have a good body, Jane."

  "Er... I'm... I'm busy right now," I stammered, surprised and mystified by his brash manner.

  "The washing up can wait," he winked, glancing at the dishes piled in the sink. His eyes caught mine, his stare almost accusing. "I have something that'll interest you far more than washing up. Take a look at this," he grinned, eagerly opening the magazine.

  Standing beside him, I nervously hooked tendrils of my long blonde hair behind my ears. His masculine frame towering above me, I realized how good looking he was. Wearing a crisp white shirt and tight blue jeans, he radiated an air of male prowess, strength, that I'd not known before. But what was it he wanted to show me? A holiday brochure? A car magazine?

  "I don't want to see that!" I gasped, focusing my startled eyes on a familiar-looking naked girl sprawled across the centrefold, her open vagina crudely exhibited between her parted thighs.

  "Don't you recognise her?" he asked, surprised.

  I paused to take stock of my whirling thoughts. "No, of course I don't!"

  "You should, Jane." He chuckled, holding the magazine closer to my face. "After all, it's you."

  My stomach sank as he sat on one of the four pine chairs and spread the magazine out on the table. A wicked glint in his eyes as he looked up, he scrutinized me, my pert breasts teasing my tight blouse, my long shapely legs. Noticing him staring at my thighs, I began to tremble as fear gripped me. Alone in the house, anything could happen. Alone, defenceless, vulnerable... But this was my neighbour! Surely he wouldn't try anything?

  A chill of foreboding ran down my spine as his lustful gaze rested on my thighs. I couldn't believe this was happening. Den, showing me a dirty magazine, accusing me of being the naked tart blatantly displaying all she had between her legs... I tried to convince myself that I was dreaming, but the horror was all too real.

  "Well?" he finally smiled, dragging his lascivious gaze from my quivering thighs, caressing the model's ice-cubed nipples with his fingertip.

  "Well what?" I asked shakily, my heart racing wildly.

  "Admit it, Jane - it's you, isn't it?"

  "No!" I gasped, my breathing unsteady as my anxiety rocketed.

  "How old are you? Twenty-five, twenty-six? I reckon you were about eighteen when this was taken. Nice firm tits, tight cunt..."

  "Take your filthy magazine and get out of my house!" I spat, flinging the back door open. Glimpsing the garden, at least I now had an escape route should he...

  "It's a shame you've adopted that attitude," he sighed. "I really thought... Oh well, I'll show Mat the photograph. I don't suppose he knows that his twee little wife was once a porn queen."

  "I was not a porn..."

  "You can see from a mile off that it's you, Jane. Look, the hair, the features... Any fool can see that it's you."

  "It is not me! What the hell do you think I am?"

  "I don't know what you are now, but I can see what you were then." His eyes seemed to deepen, reflecting a base inner desire as he stared hard at me. "So, what's it to be?"

&
nbsp; "What do you mean?"

  "Do I show Mat, or..."

  "Or what?"

  "Or are you going to pose for me, the way you posed for the photographer?"

  My face flushed, my hands trembling uncontrollably, I closed the door and sank into a chair opposite my unscrupulous neighbour. Mat had always been extremely suspicious and possessive - jealous in the extreme. The blatant little beauty could well have been my double. If he were to see the photograph... My chest tight, my stomach churning, I swallowed hard. He'd never believe me if I denied all knowledge of the lewd picture, that was for sure! Instinctively, I knew that this was the beginning of a horrendous nightmare.

  Gazing at the pouting girl again, I focused on her vaginal lips, devoid of pubic hair, swollen in arousal. It was inconceivable! What the hell was this man trying to do to me? My heart banging hard against my chest, I rested my arms on the table and clasped my quivering hands. I had to put a stop to this nightmare, and quickly.

  "It's not me!" I asserted firmly.

  "Take your blouse off," Den instructed me unashamedly, grinning as he ogled me across the table, my nipples clearly defined by the tight satin of my blouse.

  "No! Look, Den..."

  "No, Jane, you look! This could ruin your marriage. If Mat found out that you were nothing more than a tart, your marriage would be over." He paused, obviously giving me time to think - time to sweat. "Well, what's it to be?" he finally repeated.

  "You can't do this! Christ, you can't force me to..."

  "You're right, I can't force you to do anything. But I suggest you do as I ask or you'll find your marriage destroyed."

  Triumphantly, he flicked over the page of the magazine, displaying a photograph of the girl bending over, her bulging vaginal lips nestling between the indents at the top of her shapely thighs, perfectly symmetrical below her rounded buttocks. "Look, I'll make it easy for you," he smirked, as if showing me some empathy. "Just take your blouse and bra off."

  My trembling fingers toying with my hair, my eyes wide with fear, I stared hard at my perverse neighbour. This had been a normal Monday morning, washing up the breakfast things after Mat had left for work, my best friend, Carole, coming round later for coffee... And then, bang! My whole world blown into oblivion within minutes.

  "If you think I'm going to..."

  "It's up to you," Den interrupted me. "Either you do as I ask, or Mat sees the photographs."

  "But it's not..."

  "Of course it's you! Stop playing games and admit it."

  Admit it? Perhaps it was best to confess, I pondered in my rising confusion. He'd go on and on, insisting that it was me, and then he'd show Mat and cause no end of trouble. Gazing through glazed eyes at the glossy photograph, a small voice echoed within me. Own up, Jane. Own up. Was I listening to my thoughts?

  "When you were younger you were quite a tart. There was Brian Johnson; you shared a flat with him. Then there was Derek, you lived with him for some time."

  "How do you know that?" I asked incredulously.

  "I know more about you than you think. I'll bet Mat knows nothing of your sordid past."

  "My past is not sordid."

  "There was James, the black guy you screwed around with."

  "How do you know about James?"

  "As I said, I know more about you than you think. Admit that it's you, Jane."

  "I was at university," I eventually sighed, wondering at my sanity. "There was this photographer and... I needed the money."

  "So you stripped off and sold your body."

  "I didn't sell my... It was only photographic work."

  "And I have the evidence, Jane."

  "Look, if you show Mat, he'll..."

  "I know only too well what he'll do. Just your blouse and bra, that's all I ask."

  How on earth did he know about my past relationships? He must have met someone who knew me, I decided. What else did he know about me? Hopefully, not the relationship I'd enjoyed with a considerably older man. If Mat were to discover that, he'd go insane with jealousy!

  My fingers playing with the top button of my blouse, I knew that Den would come back again and again. It wouldn't stop at my blouse and bra, it would go on - my skirt, stockings, panties, and then... And then sex. I wanted to die.

  "Come on!" he coaxed me, turning back to the centrefold. "Let's see how your tits compare. A sort of before and after!" he chuckled.

  "Den, I..."

  "Just your blouse and bra. It's not a lot to ask, is it?"

  "Will you give me the magazine if I do it?" I murmured, astonished that I was even considering complying with his lewd demand.

  "We'll see."

  "But you could come here every day and insist that I..."

  "I said, we'll see."

  Slowly releasing the top button of my blouse, I moved my fingers down to the next, my eyes transfixed on Den as I continued my enforced undressing. Would he go once he'd seen my breasts? I wondered fearfully, strangely aware of my favourite song playing on the radio. The song would bring memories flooding back - not, as before, sweet memories of my honeymoon but acrid hauntings of my depraved neighbour ogling my naked breasts.

  Apprehension swamped me as I imagined baring my breasts, displaying my nipples. Again, I thought of Mat, his suspicious mind, what he'd say if he were to see the photographs. He'd always questioned me about other men, whether I'd fancied so-and-so at a party or fantasized about other men when we made love. He'd been going on about pornography recently, the way girls demeaned themselves - he'd never believe that the model wasn't me. As if an icy finger was running down my spine, cold fear gripped me. Did I have a choice? No, I decided I didn't. Blackmailers afford their victims no choice.

  Pulling my blouse open, I slipped the garment off my shoulders, revealing my straining lace bra. Images of Mat formed in my racked mind as I placed my blouse on the table - his smiling face, his immaculately groomed brown hair. He'd be back that evening to kiss me, ask me how my day had been. What would I say? What could I say?

  "Go on," Den urged me, staring at the valley of my deep cleavage. "You're nearly there." Nearly where? I wondered. Nearly showing my breasts, my nipples? Nearly committing adultery, for God's sake.

  Reaching behind my back as I supported myself on my trembling legs, I unhooked my bra. The silk cups falling away from my firm breasts, my sensitive nipples stood erect, proud, from the darkening discs of my areolae. Remorse engulfed me as I looked down at my breast buds. What on earth was I doing? Hanging my bra over the back of the chair, I stood before my neighbour as he rose to his feet, my face flushing with embarrassment as he scrutinized my mammary spheres, my brown milk teats. A solitary tear rolled down my cheek.

  "Nice, very nice!" he praised me. "You have wonderful tits."

  "May I dress now?" I asked softly, my head hung in shame.

  "No, not yet."

  "I've done as you asked!" I returned, lifting my head and tossing my hair over my shoulder defiantly. "What more do you want?" I knew what he wanted. What all men want.

  He grinned as he focused his glinting eyes on my erect nipples, obviously contemplating my question. I tried to produce more tears in the futile hope that he'd feel some compassion, but they wouldn't come. Desperately trying to find the inner strength to resist the fiend, I found only weakness.

  "Your nipples are nice, long - suckable."

  "No! Don't you dare to..."

  "Think of your marriage, Jane."

  I did think of my marriage as Den cupped my breasts in his warm hands as if weighing them, squeezing my globes, my nipples distending, pointing accusingly towards his perilously close, lecherous countenance. Living in the beautiful old country cottage my aunt had left me, I had a loving husband who worked hard in London to support our enviable lifestyle. With his and her BMW's, at least two holidays abroad each year, an abundance of love and a warm sex life between us, our marriage was good. After five years together, we had it all... yet here I was destroying all we'd built! The sensations p
ermeating my firm breasts as Den tweaked my nipples, I winced as I thought of my sex life with Mat.

  Although there was no swinging from chandeliers, no all-night sessions of burning passion and desire, we enjoyed the closeness, the warmth of love and friendship our lovemaking brought. Mat was the perfect gentleman - considerate, unselfish, never overlooking my needs. He'd take me to orgasm during foreplay, ensure that I derived satisfaction when we made love. Could I face him again after this - live with a lie? Could I live with myself, let alone Mat?

  As Den sucked my milk teat into his hot mouth, his teeth gently sinking into my sensitive brown tissue, I jumped. "No!" I squealed, pulling away. "That's not part of the deal!"

  "Deal?" he frowned, painfully pinching and twisting my nipples.

  "You said..."

  "I told you to take your blouse and bra off, I didn't say anything else. There was no deal, as you put it."

  "But..."

  "Does Mat suck your nipples?"

  "Piss off!" I hissed, holding my hand to my head as confusion fogged my tormented mind.

  "Oh, don't be like that! Doesn't he lick your clitoris to orgasm?"

  His crude words reverberating through the haze of my mind, I squeezed my eyes shut as he again engulfed my nipple in his drooling mouth. His zealous tongue snaked around my bud, teasing, tasting. Breathing in his unfamiliar aftershave, I wondered what the hell I was doing standing half-naked in my kitchen with my neighbour suckling my naked breasts. How could I allow this blatant violation of my body? Opening my eyes, looking down at his lips pressed against my startled areola, I watched in disbelief as he sucked and mouthed on my nipple.

  It wouldn't end there, I knew. His hands moving down to my smooth stomach, tickling my warm flesh, he caressed my navel. Further, his fingers descended, pressing against the softness of my sex mound through my skirt. No, it wouldn't end there!

 
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