Date: Sun, 9 Sep 2012 04:41:26 +0200
From: Amy Redek <adultreading@gmail.com>
Subject: The Horseshoe. Part Four

      This story is for persons of eighteen years or over.  All comments,
good or bad, are welcome and all will be answered.

Part Four.

   It was a highlight for the Horseshoe the following week when a cavalcade
of cars pulled up at the gate. The driver of the first car got out and
spoke a few words to Karl who then opened the gates to let them in. Two
black limousines followed by a white stretch limo, and then two other black
ones. They drove up and stopped with the white one directly at the path for
number four.

   People from the first car were out and opening the rear door of the
white limo as soon as it halted. The other cars had halted, but the people
erupting from them held back until from the white limo, a leg appeared, and
then the rest of the body emerged, helped by an arm of one of the people
from the first car.

   Marianne Dyer, film star, Oscar nominee, the adored icon of many a male,
arrived at her home, number four, the Horseshoe. There were at least twenty
people milling about as she went up the short drive to the front
door. Flash bulbs kept popping as her press agent kept pushing the
photographers to take as many photos as they could. Half of this number
entered the house, and the rest outside got back into the cars and departed
leaving just one car that parked itself on the drive.

    `God! This must be the arse end of the world!' Marianne declared as she
swept into the lounge.

   `You wanted solitude,' declared Henry Torque, her manager.

   `That I could get in Tibet! The only difference is it's warmer here!'
she stormed. `I know I said I wanted a peaceful quiet place, but
this...this is. What's the word?'

   `Rustic?' Cathy Styles, her maid offered tentatively.

   `Fucking rusty I would say,' Marianne shot back.

   `Pastoral! Peace and quiet as you requested,' Henry interjected.

   `Yes darling,' spoke Philippe Lamont, her current boyfriend, struggling
to hold to her corgi `Barney', who he eventually released to run around the
room, sniffing every chair and table leg before cocking his own.

   `Look! Even Barney has objections. He's started pissing all over the
place.'

   `He likes it! He's marking this place as his own already,' Henry
exclaimed.

   `Much as I like him, he's not to piss in here!' she shouted. `Get him
outside. At once.'

   Wilma, who was her script reader, managed to get hold of Barney and
shuffled him out through the back.

      Two men from the last car were piling up all the luggage in the
hallway and as silently as they came, departed.

   `Cathy!' Marianne screamed, `get our bags up to our rooms and prepare my
bath. Ever since we've landed I feel as though I've been covered with all
the shit that this atmosphere holds.'

   Cathy rolled her eyes at Henry as she went over to the baggage, and
taking the hint, went to help her.

   `You too, you idle lump of shit.' This being directed at Philippe,
lolling in an oversized armchair.

   `Pierre, you overblown queen. You too! See that all is ready to do my
hair when I've finished my bath!'

   They all took this abuse in their stride. It was her normal attitude
towards them all, and what they were being paid, was sufficient enough for
them to tolerate her behaviour.

   With everyone scurrying around taking the bags upstairs, Marianne Dyer
strode round the ground floor rooms followed by Henry, her manager.

   `This is exactly what you wanted, Marianne,' he said. `Seclusion and
privacy while you were in England for your latest film, and we're not that
far from the studios either.'

   `Hrmmph,' Marianne growled, but she was secretly pleased as it was
exactly what she wanted, but it was better not to let the vultures that
lived off her know that. `I probably would have got more privacy living in
the middle of Las Vegas.' She carried out her inspection of the property,
finishing up in the master bedroom, which was hers.

   `Your bath is ready,' Cathy announced when she entered the room.

   `About bloody time,' Marianne said, as she started to strip off on her
way to the bathroom, `and fix me a drink will you,' she called over her
shoulder.

                                                         *

   `She drives me up the goddamn wall,' Henry raged as he paced about the
lounge, his drink spilling as he gesticulated about him, `after all the
time I spent finding this place!'

   `Calm down,' Wilma said from the depth of a deep arm chair, `you'll only
burst a blood vessel, or have a heart attack.'

   `A heart attack is the least of my problems, I...'

   `Enough, Henry,' Pierre interrupted, `we've heard it all before. You
come and go as you please, but us poor minions have to suffer this all day
and every day. The trials and tribulations I have to suffer to create her
perfect hair styles...'

   `Oh for Christ's sake, shut up you poor misbegotten faggot.'

   `Well...'

   `Yes! Find one and drop in it!' Henry shouted back.

   `Oh drop it you two,' said Wilma wearily, `It's the same old record we
get where ever we go. But Pierre is right! You don't get it every day.'

   `Ah, you two should get married! You're fit for each other.'

   Wilma started to rise from her seat, but Pierre put a restraining hand
on her shoulder, pouting, `Ignore him darling, he's just jealous that we
can both get any man we want, while he can't even get it off with that
bloody corgi!'

   `You fucking sodomite,' Henry raged, making a move across the
room. Wilma threw her drink in Henry's face.

   `Now you shut up and listen for once.' Henry had stopped and mopped his
face with his handkerchief.

   `You take a percentage of what she earns. We get paid from what you shit
stealing fucker leaves. If that's not good enough for you, we'll start on
her to change her manager, and don't think that just because she shouts at
us, she doesn't listen.' Wilma's face was bright with the fury that she was
trying hard to contain.

   `There!' said Pierre, standing protectively behind Wilma as he stuck out
his tongue.

   `Ah, you two make me sick,' was all he could reply before finishing off
his drink and leaving the room.

   `Thank you for standing up to him,' Wilma said sarcastically.

   `I was right behind you all the way,' Pierre replied.

   `Yes you do like it from behind.'

   `That was uncalled for,' Pierre said petulantly.

   `But true,' Wilma sighed, subsiding back into the chair. Pierre shook
his head and mincing from the room threw back,

   `While I'm doing the hair of the princess, why don't you go to the
kitchen and see what you can cremate? Sorry, create.'

                                                         *

   `Oh dear,' Adrian said, as he drove the car into the Horseshoe, `there
are lights on in number four. That means that the queen of the silver
screen has taken up residence.'

   `Well as long as she keeps it quiet, what's the problem?' Peter Black,
our Liberal M.P. asked.

   `Where film stars are, there's never quietness.'

   `Well let's hope that you are wrong this time,' Peter said as Adrian
operated the remote control for the garage and drove the car inside. With
the door closing itself, Peter left the car and went into the house via the
internal door.

   He had mixed up two cocktails by the time Adrian entered the lounge.

   `Here,' Peter said, offering a glass to Adrian, `I think we deserve
this.'

   `You say that every night we come home,' Adrian replied taking the
proffered glass and taking a slow sip.

   `Well it's true! We work hard at the office and it's nice to be
home. Away from the riff-raff that we have to associate with every day.'

   `They are your colleagues in the house,' Adrian expostulated.

   `Working class upstarts is more like it,' Peter retorted as he moved
round from the bar and took Adrian's hand.

   `What shall we have for dinner tonight,' he asked.

   `How about me on toast,' he replied, giving Peter a kiss on the lips.

   `Toast crumbs in bed I can do without. Let's just make it you! But,
we'll make do with a lasagne and salad and one of our special bottles of
wine before hand?'

   `You got it, using the American vernacular. Go have your shower while I
prepare it, and you can serve it up while I have mine. Then we can make an
early night of it in bed.'

   `As you say Adrian my sweet,' as he gave him a kiss before going
upstairs for his shower.

   They didn't bother with the washing up after their dinner, but took up a
fresh bottle of wine and two glasses to the bedroom that they shared. With
the glasses filled, they toasted each other and placing them on their
respective side tables, turned, and embraced each other.

   Their mouths melded together as they kissed. Not passionately, but with
a languorous feeling of mutual love. They had been lovers for some years
now, so there was no rush in their love making.

   It was Peter's turn to be the `wife' this night. Adrian kissed him on
the mouth to start, before slowly moving down his chest to his
stomach. Kissing his way down to the erection that brushed his
cheek. Holding it up with one hand, he took it into his mouth and gently
chewed on it while he sucked at the same time. With deft fingers, he was
able to hold back Peter's ejaculation for quite some time as he played with
the erect penis. He eventually gave way and let Peter spend his load into
Adrian's mouth, sucking and swallowing the come as it pumped into his
throat.

   Then with a pillow being placed beneath Peter's backside, he placed
himself between his legs and helped lift them up to his shoulders. With a
small dab of cream on the end of his erection, he guided it towards his
goal. With practised ease, his cock slid inside until his thighs were tight
up against Peter. Then Peter's legs slid down around Adrian's waist as he
commenced to fuck his `wife'. Both loved this part, whether giving or
receiving.

   The sliding in and out of the hard flesh in the tight orifice was
erotically exciting, that even when Adrian reached his peak and came, Peter
came again, his seed spilling out over his belly as Adrian came inside of
him.

   When Adrian was the `wife', he mostly preferred the other position. That
being on his knees with Peter coming in from behind. It was a deeper
penetration, he said, and could feel more.

   When they had finished, they showered together, gently soaping each
other and then the drying, which was just as erotic as the former. Back in
bed, they would kiss and cuddle and spend quite some time fondling each
other, and if both got erections, one would turn round and they would suck
and nibble, kiss and lick till one would say he was coming and hold back so
that they both would come at the same time. Gently massaging their balls
and swallowing each spurt until the sacs were empty. Then sucking and
licking till they were both clean again.

                                                         *

   Stephen Mattock was on the phone to the editor of his sleaziest
magazine.

   `It looks like there's to be some kind of party going down tonight at
that footballer's pad here. I saw four other members of the team arrive
just now. Send one of the young bints to crash it. Get photos, inside dirt,
you know what I mean.' He listened for a moment, `No, not her. The other
one. I can't remember her name. Yes,' he interrupted, `Jordan. Give her a
couple of bottles of wine and tell her to say at the gate that she's
visiting me. Yes, they live at number eight. No, mine's number five. Okay?
Good!' and he replaced the receiver. You never know, he mused, it might
just make some good copy.

   It was about eight o'clock when the intercom buzzed.

   `Yes?' he asked curtly.

   `This is Carlos at the gate sir. We have a young lady here asking for
you. Name of Louise Jordan.'

   `Yes,' Stephen interrupted, `she's a member of my staff. Let her in
please.'

   `You can go up Miss Jordan, Mr. Mattock is expecting you.'

   `Thank you,' Louise said, entering the Horseshoe. She was nineteen years
of age, mousy blond hair, about five foot four and weighed around a hundred
pounds. Her eyes were light blue and possessed a winning smile that showed
a good set of small white regular teeth. She wore a white blouse and a
black flared skirt and wore a thin neck bandanna. In her handbag, she had a
small cigarette lighter that was also a miniature camera, and a bag
containing two bottles of wine.

   She walked up the road, excited to be sent out on her very first
assignment. Having disposed of the bag, she rang the bell and waited on the
doorstop with the two bottles on display in her hands. Mike Stevens himself
opened the door.

   `Hi!' Louise smiled brightly, her words already rehearsed, `I hope I'm
not the first to arrive? Oh!' she evinced surprise. `I'm sorry. I think
I've come to the wrong house. I thought...' She gave a wry smile, even
managing to blush a little. `I'm sorry to stare, but aren't you Mike
Stevens? The footballer?' she stammered.

   `Yes I am,' he laughed, `and you are...?'

   `Er...Louise Jordan. I...I must apologise for disturbing you. I was
going to a party.' She waved the two bottles at him.

   `Go no further Miss Jordan,' taking her arm and pulling her inside,
`we're having one here too!'

   `But...but...'

   `No buts,' he said, guiding her further down the hall, `you're just what
is needed to liven things up here. Look what I found!' he announced,
flinging open the lounge door. Music was playing and two people were
dancing and the other five drinking, all turned to look.

   `Whey hey!' cried one of the men jumping up.

   `Wow! Where do you find them Mike? Any more?' said another.

   `Oh my God!' Louise said, `Is the whole team here?

   `No way! These thugs are enough,' Mike answered. `Now, are you going to
go, or stay at our party?'

   `Stay, stay,' was the chorus from the boys. Louise laughed and gave a
shrug of her shoulders and held out the two bottles.

   `I might just as well,' she gave out a laugh.

   She was soon sitting down with a drink in her hand and introduced all
round. Then came the dancing, more drinks, snacks were laid out for them to
help themselves if they felt hungry. Taking photos with the small lighter
camera wasn't as easy as she thought. Not really being a smoker, it was
rather difficult. Then to try to get the pictures she wanted. Nobody would
stay still long enough for her to get a snap.

   Then came the problem. She excused herself and went to the toilet,
leaving her bag down by the side of the chair. The record being played was
a real swinging song, and Silvia, being swung round, accidentally kicked
the bag into the middle of the floor, spilling out the contents. One of the
boy's went down and started to scoop it all up, stuffing it back inside
when he noticed her press card.

   `She's the press!' he whispered to the others. Another one picked up the
lighter, and turned it round carefully in his hand.

`And this is not what it seems to be. I've seen one of these before.'

   The four boys went into a huddle and had a fierce whispered argument
that only lasted a few minutes and came to some sort of agreement

   All appeared the same when Louise returned to the room, the two girls
were being danced about, the boys drinking and laughing. Her drink had been
kicked over and one of the boy's said he get her a refill. Not just putting
the drink in her glass, he also added two tablets he had taken from his
pocket. He swirled the glass round till they had dissolved before passing
her the glass.

   The evening carried on, and all the boys were waiting for Silvia and
Celia to give up and go to bed. The bonus was that both Mike and George
also gave up and went upstairs with the two girls. By this time Louise was
really on a high. She didn't know what she was doing, but laughing with the
boys and making a fool of herself.

   Then because the boys started to do a striptease to the music, she did
too. Soon all were naked dancing about the room, all the boys watching her
heavy tits bouncing about. Each having a grope and feel as she was swung
from one to the other. One of them fell down, pulling her down on top of
him, kissing her. The others went down around her, all of them with
erections.

   She didn't really notice the difference when the lips left hers and the
tip of a cock was put there. With it nuzzling her teeth, she opened her
mouth and it was pushed inside. She sucked on it and didn't notice the
flashes of the Polaroid camera.

   Each in turn had two pictures taken of her avidly sucking on their
cocks, but only with her face clearly seen. Then she was lifted to her
knees and they took it turn to fuck her while she sucked off
another. Again, pictures were taken.

   The final pictures were of her lying on her back with her legs wide
open, the wetness of semen glistening around the open lips of her sex. Two
boys were jerking off above her face, and when the flash went off, it
caught the semen splashing over her face and breasts.

   When she had been fucked twice more, they lifted her up, and half
dragging her, took her outside and threw her onto the lawn. Her clothes
were thrown out after her, handbag as well. Though this was minus the
cigarette lighter, but with a set of the pictures instead.

   Louise was now into a crying jag, and not having any idea where she was
or what she was doing, proceeded to crawl across the lawn.

   It was with luck, though whose, it is hard to tell, that Vanessa had got
up for a drink of water and went and stood by her bedroom window while
sipping it. She saw this white thing splayed out on her lawn, and mused as
to what it could be, until it started to move. Then she realised that it
was a person.

   She quickly donned a dressing gown and went down and outside. It wasn't
easy to pick her up and support her indoors and up the stairs to a spare
bedroom. She dropped her on the bed and turned on the light.

   `God what a mess you're in dear girl,' Vanessa said slowly. Louise was
covered in dirt and grass clippings. Her knees were grazed and bloody, as
were her elbows and hands. Vanessa went downstairs and brought up a bowl,
which she filled with warm water from the bathroom, adding a liberal dose
of antiseptic. Then armed with this bowl and a flannel, went and started to
clean up the girl.

   She washed off the dirt and grass, picking bits of grit out of her
knees. Then pulled her legs open, having seen the semen on her thighs,
gently washed her sex and wiped her dry. Then tenderly washed her breasts,
liking the heaviness of them, and wishing that she could do more with them,
but had enough morals not to molest her while she was unconscious.

   When finished, she rolled her over and pulled the covers back to slide
her in between the sheets. With being moved about, Louise started to heave
and Vanessa was just in time with the bowl to catch the contents as they
were thrown up. When the retching stopped, Vanessa gently wiped her mouth
and made sure she was lying on her side before leaving her.

   She wasn't quite sure why she went back outside, but she went round the
lawns and found her clothes outside of number eight.

   `You bastards,' she said fiercely as she gathered them up, handbag as
well, and took them back to her house. She took them into the kitchen where
she made herself a cup of coffee before sitting down and looking into the
handbag. Her press card showed who she was, but it was the photos that made
her gasp.

   `You dirty filthy bastards,' she swore, looking at each photo in
turn. `Rotten swine.' She put them back in the bag and finishing her
coffee, went back up to bed, cursing all men.

   Vanessa was up early next morning, and looked in at Louise, who was
still asleep, but seemed to be all right now. Vanessa laid out a dressing
gown and turned on the bathroom light so that when she did awake, she could
see where everything was.

   It was late afternoon when there was a timid knock at the kitchen door,
and Louise entered. Vanessa turned and saw the dishevelled bewildered girl
standing there.

   `Come and sit down,' Vanessa said gently, pulling her to the
chair. `Here's a cup of coffee and some aspirins.'

   `Thank you,' Louise whispered. `Where am I?' Vanessa told her and asked,
`What do you remember about last night?'

   Sipping her coffee and swallowing the aspirins, said, `I don't
know. I...I was at a party. Yes a party, but...but I don't remember much of
it.'

   `Where was the party?'

   `I don't know. It ...was...'

   `Football mean anything to you?'

   `No. Yes...yes it was at the footballer's house. But why am I here? I
don't remember coming...or leaving.'

   `Your name is Louise Jordan and you're a reporter right?'

   `Yes, and, that's it! I was crashing the party for a story.'

   `What happened there?'

   `I...I...don't know. I can't remember.'

   `Well it won't be a story you'll be wanting to be put about.'

   `Why's that!'

   For an answer, Vanessa took the photos out of Louise's bag and passed
them over to her. Louise took them and started to look at them. Her face
went white, and tears started to fall down her face. Her head went down
onto her arms and she sobbed and sobbed. Vanessa was beside her, her arm
round her shoulder as she cried.

   When the sobs and crying subsided, Louise took the proffered box of
tissues and wiped her eyes.

   `I'm sorry,' she whispered, `I'm sitting here crying in your
kitchen. I've slept in your bed and you obviously helped me last night and
I've not said thank you. I don't even know your name. I'm sorry.'

   `No need. You were in distress last night. It was the least I could
do. My name is Vanessa Brice, and I live at number three, The Horseshoe,
where you are now.' She reached out and put her hand over that of
Louise. `How are you feeling now?'

   `Disgusted with myself after seeing these,' waving the photos in her
hand.

   `Let me put them away.' Vanessa said, taking them from her and putting
them in the dresser drawer behind her. `Why don't you go back upstairs and
have a shower. Then I can put some embrocation on your knees. I have your
clothes here too.'

   She helped Louise up and followed her up to the bedroom, and laid her
clothes out on the bed.

   `Go and have that shower now. If you need any help, just call out and
I'll come back up.'

   `What was I like...I mean last night?'

   `Well...naked for one thing, but don't worry. There wasn't anybody about
at that time. Very dirty and blood on your knees and elbows.'

   `You cleaned me up?'

   `Yes.'

   Louise gave her a kiss on the cheek, `Thank you very much,' she said in
a whisper, and went into the bathroom. Vanessa put her fingers to her cheek
where she had been kissed, and then went downstairs.

   Louise was back down in the kitchen half an hour later. Vanessa made her
sit down and again made some coffee for them both.

   `What are you going to do now? Vanessa asked.

   `I don't know. This was my first assignment and I've made a right hash
of it.'

   `What paper do you write for?' was the next question. Louise named the
magazine and this drew a hiss from Vanessa.

   `I know,' Louise said, wearily, `it's not a very good magazine, but I
had to start somewhere.'

   `It's not that. Do you know who owns that rag?' Louise shook her
head. `It's owned by Stephen Mattock.'

   `Now I remember!' exclaimed Louise, `that was the name I was told to ask
for at the gate, but to then go to house number eight! Wait a minute, I've
been set up!'

   `It's possible. But if so, why?'

   `To print those pictures of me!'

   `They couldn't. They're classed as pornographic.'

   `Not if they air brushed out, or covered their whatsits with little
stars. It would still show my face and the positions I was in.'

   `Yeeees,' Vanessa dragged the word out, `but why? You're not famous are
you?'

   `No. But they are.'

   `You can't see their faces.'

   `Oh. You're right. Then why?'

   `Maybe they found out you were a reporter.'

   `Wait! I've got some pictures of them.' She rummaged around in her
handbag, but then emptied it out onto the table. `I had a small
camera. It's here somewhere. It's inside a lighter!' There wasn't a lot in
the bag, but no lighter. `It's not here,' she wailed, `they must have found
it. I think you were right. They found me out somehow.'

   `When you get back to the office, you can say you lost it,' Vanessa
offered.

   `I can't! I couldn't! They'd know! They would all know and laugh at me,'
The tears starting to flow again. Vanessa comforted her by putting her arms
round her and stroking her back.

   `You have to go back. You want to be a reporter? Then you have to go
back.'

   `I can't. I can't. I'd be waiting all the time for one of the other
hacks to suddenly drop copies on my desk and laugh. I can't. I'll have to
find some other work to do,' and the sobbing started again.

   Vanessa held her tight, stroking her back, thinking of what she had just
said. When the sobbing stopped, Vanessa gave her some tissues and sat down
next to Louise and held her hand.

   `Now listen to me carefully Louise. Are you paying attention?'

   `Yes. Yes. I am.' putting the tissue down.

   `Can you take shorthand?' A nod from Louise. `Can you type?' Another
nod. `How fast?'

   `I was third fastest in my class. Maybe a bit slower now, but it would
soon pick up.' Louise answered.

   Vanessa paused, thinking it over. Would it work or not, she was
thinking. Would she accept the offer?

   `Louise. Would you like to work for me? Here. In my home. Let me
finish. I can pay you the same as what you were getting from the magazine
and then a bonus on publication. Now what do you think.'

   `I...I...can't. I live in London.'

   `I meant move in here. There's plenty of room, so we could still both
have our own privacy.'

   `You mean, live in and work, taking shorthand and typing? Is that all?'

   `Yes.'

   `But...but what is it that you do?'

   `I'm a writer. I write books, and it does take me so much time in long
hand and then typing it up later. This way I could do more and we would
then both make money.'

   `Have you had anything published, because I don't remember seeing your
name anywhere.'

   `Oh, of course. Vanessa Brice is my real name. I write under the
pseudonym of Berry Nice.'

   `Oh. I do know you. I've read some of your books.'

   `Did you buy them?'

   `No. I took them out from the library. Oh, I'm sorry.'

   `Don't worry about it,' Vanessa grinned, `I only get a penny per book
from the library readers, but it's still money.'

   `Do you really mean it? I mean really really mean it?'

   `Yes.'

   `When do want me to start?'

   `Do you have a car?'

   `No. But I've got a driving licence, but I haven't been able to save
anything to get one yet.'

   `Well let's call a cab and go and buy a car. Then we can go and get your
things, okay?'

   `Yes ma-am!' Louise beamed.

                                                         *