Chelsea Rising Ch. 03

Chelsea's voice was soft in the quiet of the room, husky with her desire. "Jesus, Bec....that's lovely.... exquisite." She pressed her torso down a fraction, wriggling against the lapping mouth. "Ah, yes, just there honey. Don't stop....ah, just there."

Bec's pussy was just below her face, sheathed in little blue panties. Chelsea could see her excitement - a translucent patch of wetness against the pale material and the dark shadow of her labia pressing against it. She leaned forward a little and hooked the panties aside, her fingers sliding lightly over her wet flesh. Chelsea could see her exposed vagina, the lips curled back like petals of a flower and a bead of opaque fluid gathered at the opening like the cream in a fresh eclair. The fine, silky hair around her labia was damp with desire, and the fragrance of the girl's excitement enveloped her as she dipped her head towards the juncture of her thighs.

Chelsea had often wondered what Ben had found so appealing about eating pussy, and now she understood. The vaginal lips were soft against her mouth and the girl's juices thick on her tongue, tasting of salt and musk....but it was so much more than that. She was poised at the very centre of another woman, at the core of her vulnerability and her strength, the point at which all life began. She knew how the girl who writhed underneath her was feeling, just as the tongue in her own pussy was reaching into her own soul. She could feel her orgasm building, the long climb upwards from the darkness, and she lapped faster - scooping out the cream with long flat strokes of her tongue, her lips and cheeks and face shining with her discharge as her senses finally coalesced into a single, united force, flinging her upwards towards the light.

Chelsea's orgasm burst in her brain like a super nova and she writhed in ecstasy, her mouth still on Bec's pussy. She could feel her cunt pulsing, expelling soft breaths of air and dribbles of moisture over the wriggling girl beneath her. It was enough to trigger Becs climax and she heard the girl shriek suddenly and felt her thighs clamp tightly on her head. They rode the waves of their lust, clinging together with their faces thrust against each others genitals, their mouths filled with their hot, splattering juices and their ears filled with shrill cries of passion.

*****

They lay together in bed, the covers pushed back and the cool air drying their skin. Chelsea's arm was around Bec, her hand resting lightly against the younger woman's shoulder, and she moved the tips of her fingers idly back and forth, lightly brushing against her skin.

"It's funny how things happen in ways that you could never envisage." She spoke quietly.

"Yes."

"Would you have picked that, Bec? You and I doing what we just did?"

"Not in a million years." She laughed. "I thought only lesbians did stuff like that."

"Or lonely people." Chelsea reached over and brushed the comma of dark hair back from Bec's eyes. "So how do you feel now?"

Bec raised her head to look at her. "How do you mean?"

"We need to talk about what just happened, Bec. What do you think?"

"I think I've gone to heaven."

Chelsea smiled. "No, really."

Bec pushed herself up on one elbow, her eyes steady as she looked at her friend. "I think that we both needed that, Chelsea....and I think that we have a lot in common, and we are good for each other." She smiled suddenly and touched her lovers lips with the tip of one finger. "Look at you, all serious and worried when you don't need to be. You're lying there thinking you don't want to hurt me and maybe it's better to cut loose now rather than later."

Chelsea regarded her, surprised by her perspicacity. "Sort of - well, the first bit anyway."

Bec smiled. "The hurting bit or the extracting bit?"

"The hurting bit." She paused, thinking carefully about what she was going to say. "I loved what we have just done, Bec, I really did. My toes are still curled up." She lifted her leg and scrunched up her toes in a parody of her orgasm. "See? ...and I'm comfortable with it as well, which is surprising, really, as neither of us has trodden that path before." She lowered her leg and stared up at the other girl. "But I'm not sure that it would satisfy me for the rest of my life, you know? I just don't want to get down the track and then find you were counting on something a bit more enduring."

"You won't."

"Are you so sure? It wasn't just sex, though, was it? There was a lot of feeling and tenderness there - well, for me at least."

Bec lay back down, her head on Chelsea's shoulder. "Me too. But I know the time will come when one of us will walk away, and that's fine."

They lay together in silence listening to the rain, content with the arrangement they had. And after a while, they made love again.

*****

"Where were you last night, Ben? I was worried about you!" It was after nine on the Saturday morning and she was still in her nightie, clearly not concerned enough to come looking for him earlier.

Ben looked up at her from the table, his eyes cold. "I was working late and I slept in the spare room. Sit down, Sophie."

She made a moue of displeasure. "Not now, Hon, I have to get ready."

"Sit down!"

She frowned at his tone but slid into the chair opposite him. "Will this take long?"

"Not much time at all." He regarded her. "Who is Ramal Hussein?"

She stared at him. "I don't know him."

"That's curious, Sophie, as he knows you - very well, in fact."

She shrugged. "What are you getting at, Ben?"

"How about John Sylvester and Samuel Robards?"

"These are businessmen....I borrowed money from them for my mother."

"That would be Maria Sassounion who died five years ago." He watched her face.

Her face was pale. "I'm still paying off the loan....it was for her hospital bills."

Ben's voice was quiet. "Don't lie to me, Donatella. I know it all - the names, the clients, the visits, the money. I know how many times you fucked them and what you got paid, and what you have in each of your bank accounts." His voice was bitter. "The only thing I don't know is why you bothered with me."

She sat quietly for a few moments, her head bowed so that the curtain of golden hair hid her face, and then she raised her head and looked at him. The little girl expression was gone, replaced by one of open malevolence. She stared at him, her eyes like ice chips.

"Because I needed a dull cunt to give me somewhere to work from."

He shrugged. "Do you think your words can hurt me now? It's over. Pack your things and get out."

"What about our baby?"

"Who knows whose baby it is, Sophie? Fuck off and have it somewhere else."

She laughed, a harsh barking noise without humour. "Do you think you can do that to me? The baby is yours. You have a responsibility -"

"Really? Tell that to the Family Court as we discuss your line of business -"

She leaned forward, her voice shrill. "Don't threaten me, you little prick! We will go to it together, and you can tell the Judge how you fucked your sister for two years." She saw her words strike home and she laughed. "Do you think you are the only one to do their homework? You and she were living together, rutting like rabid dogs in your secret little hideaway. How do you think the Judge will like that?"

He stared at her, mesmerized by the change. The little girl voice and baby talk was gone, replaced by a poisonous eloquence completely outside of his understanding of her. At last he found his voice. "You can't prove that."

Sophie bared her teeth, as if she would tear out his throat. "Do you think I am stupid!? I have copies of the emails you exchanged from America." She laughed again, low pitched and dripping with venom. "They make interesting reading, Ben - you really should have deleted them from the computer. You two were right into each other, weren't you, and when you couldn't fuck you liked to write about it!" She leaned back and moistened her lips, her voice changing again, almost conversational. "Can you imagine the shame, Ben, when you wake up and see it all in the newspapers?"

"Your name would be there too. The Taxation Office would be interested in your undeclared earnings, and the Police, too. Solicitation is an offence -"

"Who is soliciting, Ben? I just entertain some gentlemen in their homes." She shook her head. "The tax man would be pissed off, but I'd only get a fine. You have far more to lose than me. Think of the disgrace, Ben, the court hearings, the goal time. You'd lose your job and so would your sister." She smiled at him. "Chelsea, isn't it? Such a pretty name, too! And a teacher? How the tabloids would love that! A respected member of our society - responsible for the moral standards of our children....and all the time fucking her brother." She laughed again. "Incest is such a dirty word, especially for pillars of society like teachers. How do you think people would judge her?"

Ben was silent, staring at her. He realised he had completely misjudged this woman, and his initiative was gone.

She waited a moment, then smiled at him with cold eyes. "Nothing to say, Ben?" She stood up and smoothed down her dress and looked down on him, her voice pitiless. "I'm going shopping now but I'll keep on living here, thank you. Perhaps you should move....yes, I think that would be best. I won't have to play with your tiny little dick any more." She turned away, but then stopped and looked back. "Of course you'll pay the costs, won't you?" She regarded him a moment longer, and her voice strengthened. "Do we understand each other, Ben?"

He nodded, unable to speak, and she continued. "You were wrong about the baby too, Ben - it's yours. A little bastard to be sure, but he's your little bastard. I guess you'll be paying for years." She laughed. "Who knows, if it's a girl I might train her to follow in my footsteps...we all need security in our old age."

She turned and walked from the room. Ben heard the door click and he closed his eyes to try and shut out the nightmare.

*****

Detective Howard leaned over the table, the empty coffee cups between them. His voice was low, mindful of the other customers in the café.

"Do you know where she keeps this material?"

Ben shook his head. "No. She might not even have it...it could be a bluff."

The Detective shook his head. "I doubt it - not if it was on your computer....she must have looked at it to say what she said." He regarded Ben with frank eyes. "Is it that sensitive?"

"Absolutely. I simply can't risk it being leaked to anyone."

"Have you removed it from your computer now?"

"Yes."

"And you want me to - ah - borrow the hard copies back from Sophie?"

Ben was in no mood for the subtlety of his words. "I want you to take them from her."

The Detective shook his head again. "I don't think that is practicable." He leaned forward a little further. "Look - she's aware that this material is the only hold she has over you...she's unlikely to leave it lying around. It could be in a bank vault, a safety deposit box, with a friend or just stashed somewhere." He regarded Ben. "I could try, but it would be very expensive and with little chance of success."

"So there's nothing to be done."

"I didn't say that." He thought for a moment. "How far are you prepared to go to get it back?"

"Short of murder - as far as it takes."

The Detective smiled. "I don't think that will be necessary." He hitched his chair forward, so their heads were almost touching. "There is one way," he said quietly, "but it carries some risk."

"What is it?"

Ben listened carefully as the Detective spoke.

*****

Later that night Ben Rogers sat in his office. The drapes were drawn back, revealing a stunning panorama that included the distinctive arch of the Harbour Bridge, but his eyes were unseeing as he thought of what he was about to do. He had phoned Sophie earlier that day, pleading with her to resolve the situation, but she had laughed at him.

"A little nervous, are we, Ben? Well, you should be. I had another read of your letters today - my, my, what a naughty boy you were!" Her voice hardened. "And you thought you could judge my morality, you supercilious little prick! Well, don't ever forget who's calling the tune here!"

"Don't do this Sophie - each of us can walk away -"

She laughed again, a bitter angry sound in his ear. "And move me out of this nice apartment, Ben? I don't think so! Not until your daughter is old enough to earn her own living." She giggled. "You might want to do some business with her then, seeing as how you like to keep your dick in the family, so to speak."

"Sophie -"

"No! Listen to me, you whining fuck! I stay here, and you pay the rent - and whatever else I need. And if I hear any more from you I might just put the squeeze on Chelsea too."

He'd capitulated then, placing the handset in the receiver slowly, his heart heavy. He knew that she would never stop - that the demands would go on and on, and that it would be a constant shadow in his life.

He reached forward and picked up the phone and dialed a number, hearing the click of the router and then the soft burr of the ringing tone. It was answered on the third ring.

"Hello?"

"Mr Hussein - Mr Ramal Hussein?"

The voice was soft in his ear. "Who is this?"

"A friend."

"I don't know you."

"No sir, you don't, but I'm a friend anyway. I have a little information for you."

"In exchange for what?"

"Nothing. I want nothing from you."

There was a pause. Ben could imagine Hussein's conflict - the desire for information and his fear of a scam. "What is it?"

"You are acquainted with Sophia Delaney, I believe. Sometimes she calls herself Sophie McGraw, or perhaps Donatella Sassounioun -"

"Go on."

"She keeps a diary in which you feature in detail - both your private and business lives."

"She knows nothing of either."

"She knows a great deal about you and her other clients. She writes about each of you when you meet her - what you do together, what you say. She keeps a score -"

Hussein's voice cut him off. "Where is this diary?"

"She keeps it close."

"Have you read it?"

"Enough to know that you would not wish to have it revealed. It would be very damaging to you."

"If you have seen it then you are also a threat, if it is as you say."

Ben shook his head. "No sir, I am not. I have neither the desire nor the means to harm you."

"What is it you want me to do?"

"I believe that she will use this information one day - perhaps soon, perhaps in a few years." Ben paused. "But what action you take is your decision alone."

There was a long silence, and then Hussein spoke, his voice a sibilant whisper. "Very well - but if you think to harm me -"

Ben cut in. "I will not. You will not hear from me again."

The line went dead and Ben gently replaced the phone on its handset. He thought about what the Detective had said at their last meeting, leaning close to him, his voice quiet. 'They always keep a Diary, Ben, and it is always dynamite. Use the people that she has betrayed you with. Turn them onto her, and let them do the work.'

*****

Chelsea Rogers sat quietly in the west wing of the Church and watched the guests being ushered to their seats. She had arrived early so she could sit away from the main body of the church, so she could watch the ceremony and then slip away before the Reception. The Transept was narrow and poorly lit, its entrance partly obstructed by the massive pipes of the organ to one side of the Nave, and she felt sure that no one would see her there.

It was a beautiful Spring day, and the sun streamed through the high stained glass windows of the church, casting a dappled spectrum of light over the congregation. She could see the sunbeams cutting through the dust motes in the air, giving an ethereal feel to the scene; and she could hear the low hubbub of conversation above the solemn notes of an aria played by the ancient organist.

The stream of people entering the church gradually thinned and the murmur of voices died away. There was a hush over the congregation, and then the organist struck up the wedding march, the great pipes of the organ thundering in majesty and the music filling the whole church in a statement of celebration and joy. She could see her father near the altar in a new suit, his head turned to look at his bride approaching, and Chelsea watched as she walked towards him, slim and elegant, her face radiant with happiness.

A single figure slipped along the side of the church and stood at the corner of the Transept, six or seven rows in front of where she sat. He was obviously late and did not want to disturb the other guests, Chelsea thought - and then with a shock she recognised him, and her heart twisted in pain. It was Ben, and some quirk of fate had put them together in the same part of the church, although he was not aware of her yet.

For a while she regarded him. He was still slim, his body lean and hard beneath his clothes. He looked prosperous, too - the cut of his jacket was expensive, and gold links gleamed in the crisp white cuffs of his shirt. His hair was still thick, the chestnut colour unmarked with grey, but he looked older than when she had last seen him. She thought that his face was thinner and carrying lines of worry that had not been there before - but the brightness of his gaze was undiminished as he stared towards the altar, and a small smile of pride for his father lay upon his lips.

The wedding march ended with a flare of sound, the echoes reverberating around the church, and a hush settled over the crowd. Chelsea heard the Ministers voice welcoming the congregation, his words as timeless as the ceremony they had come to witness. We are here today to encourage, celebrate and support the covenant that James and Melanie now make, and to share in their joy as they pledge their love and commitment to each other...

The words resonated as she watched her brother. Their love and commitment to each another. She remembered their love, the sheer joy of being together, wrenched apart by doubt and uncertainty...but was it dead? She could see Ben smiling as he watched the union, his lips full and soft as she remembered them, laughter lines crinkling his eyes. She could hear the Minister's words, his voice solemn as addressed the congregation, the words ringing in her head like a bell '...He will look to you for comfort, for support, for love, for understanding, for encouragement, and for protection. You must never take him for granted, and always stand by him for good or ill'.

And in that moment Ben turned and looked at her, as if he had known she would be there all along. It was a look filled with regret for what had he had lost, and of love and longing and hope for forgiveness. She could sense the aura of sadness he wore like an invisible cloak, and the tension of his body in the set of his mouth and the grip of his hands. She observed the marvelous blue of his eyes as they looked into hers, his gaze steady. The sounds and colours of their surroundings leached away to nothing and the congregation faded so that there was only the two of them, their eyes locked together. For a long moment they stared at each other and he smiled slightly, a tentative invitation for forgiveness, and she found herself smiling back. And then the moment was past, and as the end of a solar eclipse brings back the light of day, so the colours and bustle of the day returned and he turned away to watch the ceremony.

They found a quiet corner at the reception and sat together, pushing aside the debris on the table to give some room. Chelsea regarded him for a moment.

"You look well, Ben."

He shrugged slightly. "I can't complain."