Lara Takes A Chance (MFF). free porn video

Lara hardly notices when he takes the stool beside her at the hotel bar. But when she hears him speak, gives the barman his order, his voice compels her to turn and stare.

He is older than she had anticipated; older than his voice would have her believe. And he is certainly much older looking than the picture of Kurt Avar she has carried in her mind since a young girl. But viewing him in profile still leaves her room for doubt, eyes unconvinced. She needs to see him face to face.

 And then, as if on a director's cue, he turns and gifts Lara his million-dollar smile. Yeah, it's Kurt Avar alright, though looking his age —  which must be at least sixty, she guesses. Something inside Lara deflates; actors such as Kurt Avar are meant to stay young forever.  

She wants to return his smile but her mouth is having none of it, frozen by some ghastly palsy. She quickly turns away and feigns interest in the screen above the bar, the latest farrago of Brexit lies.

"Same again, Karl," she hears Kurt Avar saying.

The barman uncaps two bottles of Bud and places them on the bar. But Kurt does not immediately take them, instead turns again to Lara and says, "Excuse me, Miss." He pauses until Lara turns to face him, and only when he is sure of her attention does he continue. "But I could not help but notice how stunningly pretty you are." 

She had expected better and momentarily cringes. But what-the-fuck! Tonight she'll take any compliment, no matter how cheesy. 

See how he scrutinises you, how his eyes lavish you with interest.

"You certainly know how to get a girl's attention," she says while holding his gaze.

"Be careful, my dear. A beautiful barfly such as yourself — some dark, handsome stranger might scoop you up and carry you away in a jar."

"Fat chance of that happening."

"I've not seen you in here before?"

"I don't usually drink after work."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, really." She sees his scepticism. "But tonight, I needed to unwind a little before going home." 

"I know all about unwinding — had forty years of unwinding in bars."

"I bet you've never had a day like mine."

"So tell me then. How was your day?"

She forces a smile. "Thank you for asking, but you really don't need to know."

"I'll be the judge of that."

"Okay, if you insist. I've just spent twenty minutes on the phone with that insane bitch from head office otherwise known as Mrs Wendy Grangeover. Seems my days with EasySolutions International Limited are well and truly numbered." She holds up her tumbler of scotch and ice, "So, tonight, I'm treating myself." She puts the rim of the glass to her lips, lifts the bottom and drains it.

He turns and calls to the barman. "Another for the lady, please, Karl." 

She picks up the glass Karl has set down on the bar but does not drink, instead swirls the amber liquid around the glass and listens to the ice rattle. 

Kurt watches her with bemused eyes, then asks, "What's your name, sweetheart?" 

"Lara. Lara Beechwood. And thanks for the drink, but I really shouldn't, Mister Avar. It is Kurt Avar, isn't it?"

"For my sins, yes it is, dear girl." He offers his hand and she takes it. A shiver of pleasure runs through her veins as he holds it gently while asking, "And how old are you, Lara Beechwood? I would have said far too young to recognise a relic such as I."

 "Dad's favourite film was that Roman epic thingy you did. I had to sit through it so many times as a kid. But you narrated that Dylan Thomas poem. We did it for GCSE English Lit, and I loved that — your voice, especially."  

"Ah, Under Milkwood. Some say my finest moment, the definitive rendition, though I doubt dear Richard would agree if he were still with us." 

A faraway look comes into Lara's eyes as she begins,". . . it is the grass growing on Llaregyb Hill, dewfall, starfall, the sleep of birds in Milk Wood." 

He is astonished, compelled to respond in his best Shakespearian tenor: "Listen. It is night in the chill, squat chapel, hymning in bonnet and brooch and bombazine black . . ."  

There is a moment of silence before Kurt surfaces from some private place. "Still on the syllabus then?" he asks as he lets her hand slip from his dry, warm palm.

"How should I know? It's six years since I left school. I'm twenty-two." She holds up her ring finger for him to inspect. "And an unhappily married woman, to boot." God! Did I say that out loud!  "I have two babies: Carly and Joey. Now, how-the-fuck do you suppose that happened to Lara Beechwood, Mister Avar?" She takes a sip from her fresh drink.

"You make it sound as life is done with you, but you're young and so pretty. You could have the world at your feet."

"That's not how it feels to be me."

"To be sitting beside a gorgeous twenty-somethings like yourself is such a dark pleasure for a man of my years. It is if I am engaged in the most sordid of crimes. Oh, to be twenty again."

"And there's me thinking you were already dead," Lara says, her snark quite pointed.

"And the sad thing is, dear girl: too many women wish that I were." 

Her hand in her bag, she extracts a phone and holds it up. "Would you mind?"

Before he can answer, she slides off her stool and stands beside him. His arm goes snaking around her waist when she leans her head against his shoulder. After the virtual shutter clicks, she studies the image. Unhappy, she extends an arm and clicks again. Better.

"Thanks," she says, inching herself free of his arm's constraint. He is reluctant to let her slip away, and so she twists to face him, breasts now pressing against his lower ribs. Their eyes lock as Lara asks coyly, "Would you mind, Mister Avar, but I'd like to take my body back to my stool now." But he does not release her, studies her, commands her gaze to linger. 

"Please, Mister Avar . . ." she mock-begs, her voice flirtatious, her eyes unwavering.

He laughs and withdraws his arm, his palm caressing her butt-cheek as it slides down and away. Beers in hand. His parting shot, "Maybe we'll catch you later, Lara Beechwood?"

 "We?" she asks, her voice betraying her sudden panic from realising he is leaving her alone.

"I'm with a dear friend."

"A friend?"

"Behind you." He watches her turn, eyes scanning faces. Her bewilderment amuses him. "There." He leads with his eyes. "Do you see the stunning redhead?" He waits for her understanding. "Her name is Jenny," 

Alone at a table, Jenny pays them no heed. She sits with her phone in hand, thumb coming and going over the screen. And then it is as if their combined attention has settled on her and shaken her. She looks up suddenly and appears startled like someone rudely roused from sleep. Seeing how they watcher her, she becomes momentarily uncertain. Kurt gives her a conspiring wink and she immediately understands. She smiles, becomes poised, radiant.

To Lara, Jenny is the epitome of womanly beauty, a feminine ideal that embodies everything she had hoped one day she might become. With a platinum Bulgari snake necklace about her neck, her designer clothes, hair salon crafted, and her makeup just right, Lara thinks Jenny could be on her way to the Golden Globes to accept her award. At least, that is the movie that plays out in her mind when first she sets eyes on Jenny Backbarrow. And for a fleeting moment, the sight of this extraordinarily attractive woman causes all the wretchedness Lara harbours about her own life to well up. There is real despair now in knowing fate has withheld from her the kind of life this Jenny person must surely be living. 

 And now Jenny's eyes have found her, pierced her to the very core, and then all Lara's envy and self-pity are swept away in an unanticipated instant of erotic gnosis. At that moment, those intensely knowing eyes become a binding that holds Lara fast, sending her mind soaring beyond chronology and locality. It is a eureka moment for Lara, one in which the sparks of erotic anticipation crackle and snap from synapse to synapse, surge electric-blue throughout her body.

Still reeling from such an intensely erotic visual exchange, Lara turns to Kurt, an iron rod of self-control moderating the tone of her voice as she says, "Jenny is lovely. You must be a very happy man to have her as a friend, Mister Avar."

"Oh, my dear girl, a man such as I can never have too much loveliness, too much happiness — don't you agree, Lara Beechwood?" He studies her intently as he continues, "But you must understand, my dear, I am a very inclusive individual. I welcome loveliness with open arms. We both do, Jenny and I."

 "I'll try to remember that," she says, hardly sure her response is in any way meaningful. She turns away from him and looks up at the screen, takes another sip from her glass. Her thoughts have become a hullabaloo of indecision, a riot of apprehension.

"Make sure you do, dear girl, because you, Lara Beechwood, you are the essence of loveliness." And with that parting shot he takes his drinks and returns to Jenny.

 She cannot trust herself, knows what she decides now is critical. To give herself refuge, she feigns interest in the news playing on the screen above the bar, telling herself to drink up and go and not look back. Go home to Alan — but why should you! Perhaps another drink? Wait and see what happens, see how they go about this. It might be fun.

But she does not encourage them by turning and casting glances their way. If they want her, they will have to show how much. 

Her fourth scotch. She wonders if they have left the bar, slipped away without her noticing. Fuck! You blew that one. You can't even drive now, will have to phone Alan and get him to pick you up. Hopefully, he will have the kids tucked up in bed, stories read, night lights dimmed. It's only a ten-minute drive. It won't hurt for him to leave them. But he won't come, will he! He'll be furious you're drinking again. He'll tell you to get a taxi. "You have feet . . ." he'd said the last time she'd phoned him from a bar. "Fucking-well walk if you have to".

She gets out her phone but does not have the guts to call him, already knows what he will say, that she has broken the promise she made. Instead, she stares at the image on the screen in the palm of her hand, her memento of Kurt Avar. He's too old, she tells herself. And that Jenny person may be beautiful, but she's not so young. But you are still young, Lara. It's the only reason they want you.

She texts Alan: I need you to come for me.

His reply is instantaneous: No one wants you here drunk. Best go back home to mummy and daddy. 

She texts again: I'm not drunk.

His reply:  It's gone nine. You must be. Go to your mum's and sleep it off. I'll call you tomorrow. We can talk then. Get things sorted.

As she reads, the weight of a hand on her shoulder startles her. His voice compels her to turn:

 "Lara! We're leaving now. And were wondering, Jenny and I —"

"— What were you wondering, Mister Avar?" she asks, even though she knows only too well what they were wondering. 

"Whether you need a lift, that perhaps we could run you somewhere?" 

"I have my car," she says flatly.

"You're in no state to drive." 

"My husband — I mean, my father will come for me. I was about to phone him. He lives in Newtown. A five-minute drive.  

"Not your husband?"

"Tonight, Mister Avar, my husband can rot in hell!"

"You say your father lives in Newton? We pass that way, don't we Jen? So it's no trouble at all." 

"No trouble at all," Jenny confirms.

"But where are my manners," Kurt says. "Lara, this is Jenny Backbarrow, rising star of stage and screen. Jenny, say hello to Lara Beechwood, the world's most lovely barfly."

"Hi, Lara," Jenny says. "And pay no attention to this daft sod. Comedy was never his strongest point."

"But Jenny, my dear, you forget my role as Cockus Colossus in Carry On Caesar! It left the critics speechless." 

"He means, no one even mentioned his performance in any of the reviews."

"See how cruel she is to me, Lara?" Kurt says.

Lara looks at Jenny, and in the pause that now wells up between the three of them, she sees how the woman studies her. Those eyes! Full of wild expectancy. And it thrills her to know these two strangers desire her — this woman, especially. It is intoxicating to know fate has washed her up on their shore, a world she can never even hope to know.

But you can use this, Lara.

Sliding off her stool bluffing gracefulness, she stumbles when her feet make clumsy contact with the ground.

"Oh, sweetheart," Jenny says, rescuing Lara with quickly outstretched arms. It is like aikido, the deftest of katas, a subtle disarming that in an instant captures Lara and sweeps her into the safe harbour of Jenny's left arm. The two women stand side by side like twins fused at the hip since conception, Jenny's hand emerging just below Lara's armpit, her fingertips pressing against the side of her breast, four claws of a sleepy kitten gently kneading. 

 "We'll take good care of you, Lara," Jenny says, her voice motherly and hushed for her sickening child.

"I haven't eaten," Lara says. "I only intended to have one drink, that's all. I'll be okay in a minute." She rests her cheek against Jenny's shoulder.

"You should be all tucked up in bed," Kurt says.

"If only I were," Lara says sleepily. "But my bed is such a cold and lonely place now."

"What about hubby?" Jenny asks.

"He can go fuck himself!"

Lara does not see the glance the couple exchange — though she senses their blossoming certainty of her acquiescence.

"Kurt's bed is the warmest this side of anywhere," Jenny says.

"Are you kind and gentle people?" Lara asks.

"The kindest," Kurt says.

"The gentlest," Jenny adds.

It is a pincer movement. A double outflanking. Kurt to her left and Jenny her right. As they hurry her through the door and out into the night, Lara asks herself if she would still be doing this if he weren't Kurt Avar. The way she feels tonight, she just-fucking-well-might. She has become that girl: the one couples imagine magically arriving at the foot of their bed.

To an onlooker, by how they handle her, the pace they set as they hurry Lara across the hotel carpark, this could be an abduction. And to Lara, that is how it feels, and she wonders if there will be handcuffs and rope back at their home. It is good they support her by the arms because suddenly she succumbs to a paralysing panic. It is as if her legs have abandoned her, turned and fled. She is left suspended between the ushering couple, carried along by their urgency, their desire to get her back to their home and into their bed.

Oh-God! If I die tonight, no one will know. When the police come asking, Karl will tell them Kurt Avar and the beautiful redhead bundled the missing girl away. But surely that means they wouldn't risk it — even if they wanted to — would they? They'd be caught. But what if Karl is part of it, is joining them later. No! That will not happen. The man who holds you is Kurt Avar — his beautiful Jenny. 

When they reach the car, his fabulous Bentley, it's like an arrest. They handle her just the way she has seen it done on the telly, his hand on her head urging her to duck. As they ease her through the rear passenger door, the hem of her skirt rides up, the back of her nyloned thighs sent skidding across the fragrant soft leather. But she is beyond the pretence of modesty now. There will be no tugging at the hem of her skirt for decorum's sake. 

Once settled, she rests her cheek on Jenny's shoulder and closes her eyes. The vehicle becomes a magic carpet spiriting her away from the appalling disaster of her life. When she looks again, there are no streetlights beyond the glass. All she sees is the ghost of her reflection — hardly a reflection at all. A shade on its way to the underworld. Beyond the glass, the passing countryside is inky black under an unseen, starless sky. 

Jenny is talking, saying something about Kurt's new series. It will be his big comeback. A Netflix costume drama. A spectacular, she says. Shooting begins next spring. The director owes Kurt a favour. There might be a part for her too — a proper part, not just walk-on. 

"My agency is always on the lookout for extras," Jenny tells Lara. "That's how I met Kurt. It was a crowd scene, and he picked me out. I'll give you their number later."

Lara closes her eyes again, thinks Jenny's voice quite bewitching. But she knows this talk of an opening into the world of movies is pure bullshit. Dear God, she knows bullshit when she hears it. All she can think of now is how Jenny's tongue will feel between her spread-eagled legs. She has never forgotten the sweet gentleness of another girl's tongue, her one night with Becca all those years ago.

But look how that turned out. This time there will be no aftermath, no regrets, no recriminations. Sod what people think. Sod everyone: poxy bosses; poxy husband; poxy life; poxy — no, not them. They're good kids. They don't deserve a mother like you, Lara. Shit! Is it so wrong to want to escape now and then, say fuck to everything?

There is excitement in the couple's voices, the words they exchange underwritten by blatant carnal expectancy, the spice of indecency seasoning every sentence. Their intentions towards her are delivered on a platter of innuendo and hinted promises. Lara has become the centre of their world, a magical being, the succubus they have conjured into their lives.

Kurt watches Lara through the rearview, then turning his head from the road ahead and addressing Jenny. "She hasn't passed out, has she, Jen?" he asks.

Jenny brushes the hair from Lara's eyes and studies her face. "Are you still with us, Lara?" She looks up at Kurt. "I think she's had too much to drink."

"Fuck it! That's all we need."

"Lara, babe. Can you hear me?" Jenny asks, her lips closer now, her breath warm on Lara's cheek.

 Lara feels the woman's hand squeezing her knee. Just kiss me. No kiss arrives. "Just a little sleepy," Lara finally says.

"We don't want to take advantage, sweetheart."

"But I want you to. Why haven't you taken advantage yet?" Her words are as slurred as her thoughts are inchoate.

"We want to get you home, Lara, make things special for you," Jenny tells her.   

Although she can hear every word they say, Lara no longer responds, is happy to know they cherish her presence, is the sole object of their desire.

"She's just sleepy," Jenny tells Kurt. "When we get home, if we fill her with coffee she'll be fine.

"And then — will you go first, or should I?" Kurt says.

"I have my new toy," Jenny says, her voice full of anticipation and delight.

"You must lick her pussy first, my dear."

"You mean before I fuck her with my new toy?"

"Of course, you must! You need to prepare her. Etiquette demands it. After all, she is our guest."

"And then, Mister Avar," she says decidedly, "When I am certain she is well and truly prepared, only then will I fuck her."

"And I shall watch."

"And afterwards, I shall watch you when you fuck her too."

"And how glorious the fucking her will be," he says like a king from Shakespeare.

Each becomes lost in their own thoughts. Then: "Is she wearing stockings or tights?" he asks.

"What would you prefer?" Jenny asks.

"Do you even have to ask?"

"Shall I check for you?"

"I think it only proper that you do."

Jenny's hand moves over Lara's knee again, quickly sliding up her inner thigh. "What a lucky boy Mister Avar is tonight," she says.

"Oh, the darling-sweet-girl." 

"Does thinking of me touching her make you hard, Mister Avar?"

"Down there it does. I'm like granite."

"She has a zip at the side of her skirt."

"Where does it lead?"

"Shall I see?"

"Only if you tell me what you find in there."

Lara becomes aware of Jenny's tinkering fingers, her skirt fastenings loosened. Then the zip is down, and a hand's stealthy exploration begins. Lara dare not stir, holds her breath, remains possum-still as Jenny's hand slips inside her skirt, snaking snuggly into the body of her tights, the chill of her fingers and long nails sliding the slope of her abdomen and into her panties, then downwards over her mons.

"She's ever so wet down here, Mister Avar," Jenny says.

"How wet?"

"We might need towels," Jenny says. Then there is disappointment in her voice as the car begins to slow. "Oh, we're here. It's time to wake up, sweetheart." She slides her hand back up over Lara's belly, out the way it came. Once her hand is free, she raises her fingers to her lips and licks them with relish before re-fastening the zipper at the side of Lara's skirt.

 The crunch of tyres on gravel brings Lara back from her twilight world, her willing self-abandon. Soon she will have to move and make decisions. But all she wants to do is to relinquish responsibility, for Kurt and Jenny to do the deciding. If only they would carry her to their bed without another word, then she would be docile and biddable, allow them whatever they desire. But she knows she must gather herself, walk and talk, play the game of seduction when all she craves is anonymous ravishment.

She looks out the window and sees the house, its twin porch lights beacons of welcome. The car glides to a halt, the engine killed. There is only the gentle hum of the fan beneath the bonnet. Kurt is quickly out of the car and opening her door, taking her hand as she emerges from the luxury cocoon of the Bentley. 

Standing is a chore, so unsteady on her feet. But the chilled air revives her, sobers her. The rude slap of the nighttime reminds her of her situation, how no one knows where she is, and that these people are strangers. She asks Kurt, "You did promise to be nice to me, didn't you?"

"No one could treat you nicer," Jenny tells her as she comes around the car. 

The house is spacious and exquisitely furnished, its walls hung with fabulous modern art. But Lara does not take in her surroundings, watches Kurt and Jenny anxiously.

"I could do with another drink," she says.

"I think you've had enough?" Kurt says.

"Just a little something to smooth the edges."

"You go upstairs with Jen, and I'll bring us a little something up."

Once in the bedroom, Jenny says, "You're a brave girl to come home with us — two strangers." 

"You mean a stupid girl! Do you and Kurt make a habit of picking up drunken women?"

"Kurt and I have only been together for nine months, so this is kinda new for me too, you know. But you've dodged my question."

"He's Kurt Avar. What girl would pass on the opportunity to rub shoulders with a real-life film star?" She cannot help the snark that colours her words. But as she looks at Jenny, her tone softens, becomes rhetorical. "Besides, tonight I want to to feel something. Anything! Have you been with girls before? I bet you have?"

"None as pretty as you, Lara."

"Cut the crap! You don't have to lie to me to get what you want. I'm here, aren't I?"

"You don't think much of yourself, do you?"

"I know who I am, where I belong."

"With your looks, you could find a place for yourself anywhere, Lara."

"But, Jenny, I'm so much more than just my looks. I write too." 

"Really!" 

The surprise in Jenny's voice cuts Lara deeply. "You weren't expecting that, were you? Someone like me who writes."

"So tell me, what do you write, Lara."

"Poems. And I've finished a play."

"You will have to let us see your work. If it's any good we could —Kurt knows someone. We'll talk about it in the morning. And have you been with many girls, Lara?"

See, she's not interested in your writing. 

"Once. At Uni. A total disaster," Lara says.

"Oh, why's that?"

"Neither of us knew what we were doing. Then she — the other girl, Megan, that is — got all remorseful. And then I got all remorseful. I was stupid, said cruel things."

"What kind of things?"

"I accused her of getting me drunk just to seduce me."

"And do you still think that now?"

"No. It was what I wanted too. I've regretted my nastiness ever since.

"You've drunk quite a lot tonight," Jenny says.

"I'll be telling no tales in the morning if that's what's worrying you."

"A man like Kurt has to be so careful with how things are these days."

"I'm sure he does." She starts towards Jenny, holds her gaze intently while saying, "Don't you want to kiss me? I've wanted you to kiss me from the first moment I saw you."

"Best if we wait for Kurt."

"Why should we?" Lara is close now, breast pushing just under Jenny's heftier chest.

"He doesn't like to miss out."

"And I don't like to be kept waiting." 

Lara goes up on tiptoe and kisses Jenny's cheek, then turns away and begins to wander the room. 

"Where's this lead?" she asks, partly opening the door she has found.

"The en-suite. Would you like to freshen up?"

"That would be nice?"

"Mind if I join you?"

Lara does not reply, continues to wander. She thinks how it is such a big bedroom, as large as the entire upstairs of her own house. 

"And so many closets," Lara says as she gingerly opens another door to find rows and rows of women's clothing hanging there. She leaves the door ajar, reaches in and runs her fingers over the beautiful fabrics, the fine cotton, the silks and velvets. "Yours?"

"Come away, Lara!" Kurt will go ape-shit! They belonged to Karen."

"Karen?"

"His second wife. You must have heard of Karen Feyless?"

"She was married to Kurt? No, I never knew that."

"For two years."

"She killed herself, didn't she?"  

"Shhh! He's coming.

Kurt enters the bedroom carrying a tray with champagne in an ice bucket and three flutes. "You two lovelies getting to know each other?"

"We're great friends now, aren't we, Lara."

"Bezzy mates," Lara says.

"Lara and I are going to shower," Jenny says.

"Okay if I watch?" he asks.

"If you like," Lara says. "But would you mind if I have a taste of that bubbly first?"

"Only if you let me undress you — for your shower?" Kurt says.

Lara studies the couple while she sips her drink. Her mind is bobbing on a rising tide of sexual expectancy, thoughts racing ahead, imagining how after her shower they will use her, and that it will be one long night of continuous fucking. She harbours no illusions, has not fallen for their sweet talk, promises of bit-parts and script-reading. She understands they want her body and nothing more. And that is okay with her; every inch is theirs to take. In return, she will extract from their lust all the pleasure her body can bear. 

In the bathroom, Lara bunches her hair high on her head with a bobble from her bag and then watches Jenny do the same. She is not at all distracted by Kurt as he undresses her, unhooks her bra and lets it fall. He cups her girlish breasts and squeezes, gently assessing, purring with delight while he nests them in his palms as he kisses her exposed neck, licks and snaps with barely controlled exuberance. His hands go sliding down her flanks, gathering her pantyhose elastic with hooked thumbs to draw the stretching material down over her thighs, her knees, calves and ankles. Finally, she lifts each foot in turn to let the elongated fabric pass.

And while Kurt undresses her, Lara continues to watch Jenny, alone in the corner shedding her clothes. How sleek and toned the older woman's body is. Her breasts are vigorous, taut, her flesh smooth and tanned. Lara can hardly contain herself, imagines how it will be when she takes the older woman in her arms, touches her breasts and hips, kisses her full, ruby-greased lips. 

Kurt steps aside and allows Lara to step into the shower alone. She fumbles with the controls and sends a jet of icy water down onto her head that makes her squeal. Jenny hurries into the large cubical to take control of the thermostat gauge.  

Billowing steam soon envelopes the pair, and Jenny's soap-sudded palms begin to explore Lara's body, every dip and curve. Lara turns this way and that, amenable to the nuances of Jenny's gentle coaxing, lifting her arms to allow her soapy palms to massage deeply with rich suds. Then more gel and lathering, soapy hands travelling down and parting Lara's legs, fingers sliding between the firm but pliant cheeks of her bum. Lara thinks nothing has ever felt quite so delicious. Then the tingle of power-spray as Jenny takes aim and rinses Lara's flesh free of foam and froth.

"Do me now," Jenny says and hands Lara the tube of shower gel.

Lara turns away from the hissing jet of water and squeezes the rich and fragrant gel into her palm. When she is ready, she turns and faces Jenny, who turns away and says, "My back first." 

Lara reaches out with both soapy palms and begins at Jenny's shoulders. Her hands work insistently, spreading the lather down the expanse of her back until she arrives at her bum. To touch a naked woman so intimately sends tingles racing up along her arms, spreading out throughout her body, electrifying her nipples and pussy. She slides her hand sideways between Jenny's buttocks, massages purposefully, savouring the give and take of the flesh beneath her fingers and palms. For just one moment, she lets two fingers press Jenney's pucker-sealed anus, and it gratifies her to hear her moan with pleasure. And then reaching under so that her hand cups Jenny's pussy, she rubs and rubs, all the time wondering if it would be wrong to bring Jenny to orgasm so soon.

Jenny turns around and hands Lara the nozzle before twisting up the power, Jets of hot water sting her flesh, and she swears in mock annoyance, turns her back, tries to escape the water's hissing bite. And all the time, Lara laughs like she's not laughed since — since she doesn't know when. 

Steam-fogs the glass door. For the next few minutes, they are free of Kurt's voyeuristic scrutiny. Water from their play-splashing runs down the glass as Jenny wrestles the nozzle from Lara's grip one last time. They laugh and fall into each other's arms, pulling each other close. Lara sends her hand skating over Jenny's back, down to the small of her back to map the heft and curve of her hips. And as she does so, every last knot of her uncertainty untangles. 

When they emerge from the shower, their flesh is a rosy pink, and Kurt hands each woman a soft, dense sheet towel. 

When dry, their towels wrapped about their torsos, Kurt says. "Perhaps, Jen, this might be the right time to show Lara your collection of toys. Let her choose something?" 

"Has a girl ever fucked you with a strap-on, Lara," Kurt asks when they are all back in the bedroom. 

Lara does not answer, watches with eyes like saucers as Jenny unpacks her toys and lays then out on the bed.

"Jenny's been a strict lesbian for the last ten year, but I'm pleased to say after meeting me she has seen the error of her ways — though she does get the old itch back now and then, don't you, Jen?"

"Certainly flaring up tonight," Jenny says, holding up a particularly enormous black dildo. "Anything you fancy trying, Lara?" she asks.

"I don't know about any of this . . . I thought you could both just be nice to me, hold me, you know?"

"Oh, you poor darling-girl, Kurt says. "Jen! Perhaps we are being a little previous. Why don't you start by sharing a kiss with this lovely young girl."

"That's fine by me," Jenny says as she comes to Lara and takes her in her arms."

Kissing a beautiful woman again is what Lara has fantasised about so many times since her night with Becca. But as Jenny walks towards her and then takes her in her arms, she finds she is trembling. 

This won't be two girls mucking about — like just — in the shower. This is going to be intense.

At first, Jenny's kisses come as questions, pecks that demand Lara answer: Is this what you want, Lara? They seem to ask. Her tongue slides across Lara's pursed lips, bottom and top. Or perhaps this? Now her tongue is probing with twists and curls that become profoundly sensual. But Lara remains paralysed, her breath and heart racing. 

Jenny's kisses become an interrogation. Little by little, Lara's lips and tongue respond, confessing her need. And when the kissing subsides, Lara finds she is a captive, held fast in Jenny's arms. She rests her cheek against the cleavage of Jenny's large breasts and breathes in deeply, inhales her soapy warmth. She relishes the comfort of such silken flesh against her cheek. Even though she knows she is merely an object of this woman's lust, it is easy to make herself believe she is loved. 

 How long is it since someone has made you feel this way? 

"Ah, my beautiful girls. My beautiful, beautiful girls." Kurt's voices is a hook tugging at Lara, pulling her from the bottom of the ocean of self-forgetting into which she is sinking. 

He is behind her now, his hard cock pressing into the small of her back. When did he get naked?  

He is the oldest man to have ever touched her body sexually. Each of his hands cups a breast — squeezed into place with ninja ease between herself and Jenny. Next, he will want to kiss her. Will she be able to? He is so old. But he is a film star, is Kurt Avar. When it happens, she will close her eyes, imagine the younger Kurt she remembers from that old movie she watched with her father all those years ago.

She raises her head from Jenny's breast, looks up into her astonishing eyes and begs more kisses to forestall his old man lips, his renovated teeth and snakey tongue.

Bounded by Jenny to her front, Kurt behind her, Lara senses how they take cues from each other, every synchronised kiss or touch as if long choreographed. The famine is now over, long starved their mouths rejoice on her flesh, a banquet newly laid out. They cannot get their fill of her, teeth and lips trawling every square inch of her skin. 

Jenny is tasting each nipple, one and then the other, teasing by nipping, a play-worrying which she celebrates with guttural growls. A bitch pup is tugging at a toy. Her lips move ever downwards, teeth snapping as they travel over Lara's belly, her mons, and then way down below the thicket of pubes. She kneels and adjusts Lara's legs, even as she stands, parting them in order to view the stark rawness that awaits her tongue's attention. 

Lara is in awe of the unspoken bond that flows between Jenny and Kurt. The couple are connected at the deepest of all levels, working in tandem, each simultaneously responding to the subtlest of Lara's bodily cues? Kurt supports Lara, takes her weight as she leans back into him so that more of her pussy becomes exposed to Jenny's frantic tongue. And then Lara is up strait again, and Kurt sinks to his knees behind her with his face buried between her butt cheeks, held apart by prising fingers.  

Lara's palms gripping Jenny's shoulders, the talons of her nails digging into her flesh. This clawing is all that connects Lara to a fast diminishing reality. She presses down hard, digs deep into flesh as her orgasm washes over her. And then there are no more thoughts for Lara left to think. When the ecstasy has passed, only then do they relinquish her, let her sink to her knees. They kneel together as if in prayer.

Kurt coaxes her to her feet and takes her in his arms. In spite of his age, his body is firm in all the right places — remarkably so. His embrace is protective, reassuring, and there is a musky, male redolence to him. It is as if his pores secrete some subtle scent, an attar not applied, something intrinsic to the man himself. It is like nothing she has ever known, and she wonders at the expense of it. He puts his fingers to her chin, compels her to attend to his eyes as he says, "As soon as I saw you, Lara Beechwood, the way you were at the bar . . . I sensed your need, had to have you."

"Am I what you imagined?"

"You only have to feel how hard I am for you." 

He takes her wrists, pilots her hand to his cock pincered between their bodies. To Lara, it feels no different than any young man's cock. 

When he goes to kiss her, and she instinctively turns away — and then quickly catches herself, regrets her unkindness and accepts his lips, his emphatic tongue. She welcomes it much as she might a dentist's drill, eager to get it over and done with. But when she closes her eyes, allows his skill to infect her with its rampant certainty, he becomes the young Octavian, his iconic starring role. And it moves her deeply to know Kurt Avar is kissing her. His body may be older than she wishes, but his renown, his wealth and unassailable talent are compensation enough. To her, at that moment, he is Augustus Caesar, the role that won him his one and only Oscar all those years ago.

Amidst their kiss, he catches her off-guard, lifts and carries her to the bed. She squeals, amazed by his strength. 

Jenny has her toys spread out on the quilt and is fumbling with her strap-on of choice. "Shift your things," he tells her, and she takes the dildo she has chosen and places it on the bedside table before gathering up those remaining and taking them to a cupboard. Kurt stands and watches her while holding Lara like a babe in arms.

"I want you to suck my cock before I fuck you," he whispers, his voice hardly containing his excitement, before easing her down onto the bed. When he has done so, he comes and stands by her head, says, "Tell me how badly you want my cock."

She feels ridiculous saying it but says it anyway. "I want you to fuck me hard —harder than I've ever been fucked before."

"Tell me again. How badly do you want it?" 

When she reaches for his cock and takes hold of it, she laces her words with an irony her body does not share. "I want it so badly, Mister Avar — so, so badly." Her fingers encircle it, and she draws it to her lips and opens wide, takes the greater part of inside her mouth. What a welcome her tongue puts on now the prodigal son is home.

Kurt allows her please him for only a minute before saying, "Just a taster. But we'll return to this chapter a little later." He reclaims his cock, eases it from between her lips. "This way," he says, manoeuvring her so that she lies flat and sideways across the breadth of the bed. He arranges her limbs, and she becomes a manikin — of sorts; a cliched prop at some final-year art student's installation. Her legs spread, knees arched, to be organised, manipulated in such a way and pillaged of all responsibilities is what Lara needs right now.

I will be his fuck-doll: pull my string and hear me moan.  

He has displayed her cunt to the world, stares and stares at it as no man has ever stared before. Then him reaching out, his fore and index fingers probing, sinking into her to the knuckles, pumping and gathering her secret secretions, carting and slathering what he has harvested over his cock. And when he comes for her, closes in with rampant cock in hand about to fuck her, she does not have to guide him. He is an old hand, knows about women, his cock a rod of certainty. No adolescent fumbling here.

 He fucks her with slow, considered thrusts, has settled in for the long haul. Being old has its compensations. Steady as she goes. As he paces himself, his right-hand cradles the rear of her skull. Soon his palm slips down so that his forefinger and thumb become a vice about the back of her neck. He eases up her head, her shoulders following so her torso is at fort-five degrees. It is awkward, and she has to support herself with her upper arms, elbows as deep piles set into the mattress. Her fingers clutch the under-sheet as his thrust become meaner, harder, vindictive.

Jenny approaches the bed with strap-on in hand. She cannot master the fastening, needs help. She watches the pair momentarily and then places the strap-on the bedside table before she eases herself onto the bed beside Lara, commences to kiss her as Kurt continues to fuck her. It is not an occult kiss; her tongue does not explore the depths of Lara's mouth, goes flickering over her lips, circumscribing them, teasing Lara's tongue to come out and play.

The combined effect on Lara of their mutual attention is beyond description. Jenny's tongue is as insistent as Kurt's cock, is saliva rich, rendering the inside of her mouth an oasis of rich spital. She has to swallow and swallow. 

Lara has never cum from just being fucked, has always needed to be licked or fingered to completion. But Kurt has a technique she has never before encountered. It is in the way he angles his thrusts, how he calibrates his rhythm, sets his pace. How insistently his lower abdomen performs, the wiry rasp of his pubes sanding her mons. But it is not his incessantly regular thrusting alone that sequentially leads her to stand on the precipice of bliss. It is more because she is an island at the centre of the confluence of two rivers, the merging torrents of their desire. It is this knowing how deeply they lust for her that takes her to completion. His cock is unappeasable. And Jenny's tongue has gone rogue, licks her face and neck in a gluttonous relishing, before returning to her lips. It is understanding of how much the desire her that brings Lara to such a thunderous completion.

And then Jenny has left her, and Kurt is withdrawing his cock. He has not cum, has other plans for the finale. Lara lies motionless, sideways across the bed. She hears Jenny asking Kurt to help with her fastenings. When he has sorted Jenny and her contraption, he returns to Lara and stands by her head and slips his cock between her lips. He does not allow her control, shapes her lips with one hand as he lifts her head with the other and uses her mouth as he would her cunt. The fingers that shape her lips tense and slacken to give him pleasure as his cock slowly and sensually comes and goes between her lips.

The first Lara knows of Jenny's return is when the woman's hands are pressing each side of her hips and taking her buttocks in hand, manoeuvring them so that they are at the bed's edge. When she has Lara just how she wants her, buttocks partly overhanging the edge of the bed, she guides the bulbous mock-gland of her strap-on to the reddened gash of Lara's cunt. 

Jenny has brought lube but now sees Lara is sodden down there, and so casts it aside. She massages Lara's gash with her strap-on, up and down like a buttering knife, generously smearing Lara's secretions this way and that, from mons to arse crack.

Even during these exquisite preparations, Lara does not break off from sucking Kurt's cock. From the corner of her eyes, she watches how Jenny uses her jutting dildo like an artist's brush. Such wild, exuberant strokes. 

Without relinquishing Kurt's cocks, Lara reaches out and takes Jenny's dildo in her palm, draws it swiftly to the maw of her pussy, positioning it just so. And then Jenny pushes, and the heft of her thrust carries it ploughing into the acquiescing emollience of Lara's cum-mired pussy. 

Even though Lara's mouth is still full to bursting with Kurt's cock, she groans aloud when the stupefying reality of the dildo's dimensions begins tunnelling deep inside her. She turns her head, is compelled to look up at Jenny by this rude intrusion. And as she does so, Kurt's cock slips from between her lips. 

Lara reaches up with both arms to Jenny's head and parts the cascading fiery torrents that curtain her features. Now she urges with compelling eyes for Jenny to acknowledge her as a person. She encloses the woman's freckled cheeks in both palms, begs for love with bright and giddy eyes. 

Jenny has both her palms under Lara's buttocks, gently lifting her and drawing her further on to an axel that skewers her. Never once does Lara averting her gaze. And then it begins, the almost masculine thrusts that are so incongruous with the soft feminine aura of beauty that Jenny radiates. The urgency of her thrusts takes Lara's breath away. Her body and mind are rendered obsolete by the powerhouse of urgency that drives the dildo back and forth. 

Lara uses words and caressing hands, pleading to be fucked harder. With legs drawn back, thighs as scissors to hold Jenny, fast, heels as spurs in the small of her back, she encourages Jenny to send the contraption deeper,

"Do you want more?" Jenny demands to know. 

Lara's answer is to buck her hips, timing her thrust to mesh with Jenny's

"Harder! Deeper!" Lara demands.

"This hard?" Jenny asks, propelling the dildo forward with all the energy she can muster, driving it back and forth, a little deeper each time, until her mons rasps against Lara's tangled bush and cushioned pubic bone beneath.

Lara sees that Jenny needs to concentrate, but she does not know the dildo is a recent acquisition, that this is its first outing, that she is learning to wield its unfamiliar bulk. Little by little, her movements become more assured, her thrusts skilled. Now Lara is receiving what her body craves: a savage but measured fucking. Jenny fucks Lara with machine like ease, gives the girl her unflagging attention. She looks down on Lara, eyes intently focused on her lover's face, studying the flickering nuance her lovemaking elicits. She is learning what pleases Lara, discovering her filthy insatiability.

And when her lunges intensify, and Lara grimaces from the enormity of what comes and goes, Jenny smiles and says, "Is it too large for you, Lara? Tell me if I'm hurting you."

And it did hurt. And then Lara, thinking her words might elicit consideration, calls out, "Oh-oh, it does hurt, please . . ." 

But Lara's whimpers only increase the intensity of Jenny's exertions. She quickens her pace, her thrusts becoming body slams against Lara's mons and abdomen. Her dildo is oh-so deep now, hunting dragons in terra incognita. Jenny rides a wave of perversity from using Lara in this way, and the girl's cries feed her ferocity, her eyes radiant from the giddy joy of subjugating another female.  And as Lara surrenders to Jenny, she gazes up into her eyes and sees such feral savagery, thinks her more beautiful than anything she has ever known.

Kurt lies down beside Lara, reaches down to finger her clit as Jenny continues to lunge and withdraws. Two fingers, strumming now to enhance her pleasure as Jenny increases her pace, his knuckles crushed when abdomens collide. 

Lara, crying out: "Oh-god, oh-god, oh-god." And then her limbs thrashing, her torso twisting and sent askew by wave after wave of the thunderous orgasm that lifts her mind and ruins her rationality. At the ecstatic apex of Lara's orgasms, there comes one final lunge from Jenny that wedges the invading dildo deep inside her pussy, the foundation of a monolith set in her very core. 

Jenny collapses, her body a burden she can no longer support. In her exhaustion, she lies stretched out over Lara. Deadweight. Only her mouth, lips and tongue, retain a vestige of passion, and they quickly find Lara's lips and begin kissing her with greed and urgency, as if a new source of vitality lies within them.

Kurt turns Lara's head to face him, robbing Jenny of her pleasure, appropriating her lips and selfishly kissing her himself. Jenny whispering in Lara's ear as Kurt's rogue tongue slips its leash.

 "Kurt has such an eye for girls, Lara. Beautiful girls. Compliant girls. I didn't believe him when he said would find us someone as lovely as you — as willing as you. I sense a void in you, Lara. Kurt and I could fill that void. We could show you the girl you really are, your deepest self.

Jenny's words inflame Lara, stoke her need to a pitch of fevered insatiability. But she will never be able to explain, even to herself, why being spoken of in such a way is so erotically exhilarating. She understands perfectly well she is nothing more than their plaything, valued only as an object, a source of pleasure. All the same, she wonders what other delights they might they have to show her? How deep does their sexual depravity go? Has she experienced only the surface of this couple's animal licentiousness?

But this is a knowledge that purges her of conceit, sweeps her mind clean of the sense of being the person named Lara; wife, mother, employee, daughter, friend. She becomes a no-person, free at last of her pathetic history, the burden of all she imagines she is.

Deep inside her, a new Lara is fashioned by the intensity of their lust. 

She asks, "Do you have ropes?"