London Calling

[Author's Note: This story brings together characters from two separate storylines: the Helen and B stories and the TLC stories.]

*

"Robbie?" Ellie snuggled up close. Her skin, slick with perspiration, slid easily over his. The room was redolent with the musk of their lovemaking. Robbie's breathing was still laboured but that only made the impromptu pillow of his chest rise and fall under Ellie's cheek with the gentle, peace-inducing rhythm of a rocking cradle. Ellie could hear his heart beating and fancied it was keeping time with her own, pounding in her ears.

"Hmm?" Robbie was still too exhausted to speak. He'd literally given her everything he had. He could feel his thigh muscles still trembling with the exertion of fucking Ellie and the draining force of the orgasm he'd just enjoyed.

"If you ever do that to me again... I think I'll die." Ellie had lost count of her own orgasms but she knew that Robbie had come twice, not even slowing down after the first one, nor softening inside her. He'd been... possessed was the word that sprung to mind. Ellie had blacked out, she knew, and still Robbie had not stopped. He'd carried on fucking her, rousing her and arousing her to another and another climax, like waves on a beach. He'd only stopped after his second orgasm, collapsing on the bed, rolling onto his back with Ellie in his arms and still impaled on his twitching cock.

Ellie had just clung to him until his softening cock slipped out of her, and then she'd slid sideways to where she now lay.

"Ok." Robbie barely whispered.

"I... Love you." Ellie said the words she'd been avoiding all day.

"I love you too." Robbie showed no surprise at all at her confession.

"That's alright then." Ellie smiled to herself. It had been an amazing day, a long day...

Noticing that Robbie had drifted off to sleep, Ellie rolled away from him to reach over to the lamp and turn it off, then she snuggled close again and closed her own eyes. It had been a very long day.

* * * * *

"Well that explains a lot." B's smiling. Her hand's between her thighs.

"I still can't believe you hid my spy camera in his bedroom!" Helen just watched the video too.

"He turned me down. I had to know why." B isn't sore at Robbie for rejecting her advances. But she is curious about her protégé. "And it's not like you respect anyone's privacy."

"True." Helen has to concede the point.

"And that was spectacular." B found Robbie's performance seriously arousing, and Ellie really is beautiful. B wonders if she'll ever get up close and personal with her.

"It was." Helen moves closer to B, turning her girlfriend's face with fingertip pressure to kiss her. B's mouth opens against hers.

"Where's Eric?" B breaks the kiss, nuzzling Helen's cheek.

"With Mom." Helen doesn't like to interrupt Eric when he's sleeping with her mother. As Parry's in Costa Rica, inspecting Eric's corporate holdings there, Eric has been the sole stud in a household of four women since getting back from London. He probably needs a quiet night and sleeping with Meg was as quiet as it gets around here.

"And Kelsey's visiting her aunt... So it'll be just like old times." B's fingers have already found their way into Helen's pussy and her mouth quickly finds Helen's.

They're both very moist. Watching the candid camera footage of Robbie and Ellie has definitely been stimulating. For B, it's a result of her fond memories of Robbie's talented fingers too. Helen had, to her regret, never got a chance to find out what all the fuss was about, but having seen him in action, she's willing to stipulate that she missed out on a rare treat.

B is moving down Helen's body now, focusing on her girlfriend's firm, small breasts: Sucking one nipple while teasing the other with the tip of her finger. Helen moans as her erect nipples send such sweet sensations through her. B's other hand is still three fingers deep in Helen's pussy: That helps. That helps a lot! She eases her legs wider, one ankle high in the air, the other as far off to left field as she can stretch. That spread, three fingers doesn't feel anything like enough anymore.

B guesses that too. Three become four, with her thumb tucked across her palm for good measure.

Helen gasps as the widest part of B's hand presses into her. As always, it gets more comfortable as her vulva cinches around B's wrist. Helen loves being fisted. She can take Parry's hand but it isn't comfortable. B's hands are so small that it feels easy and, because it's easy, they play this way a lot.

Helen just lies on the sofa, moaning with lust and pleasure as B's teeth nip her nipples and B's hand twists and turns inside her. She can't move much to contribute to her own pleasure, but she can and does reach her clitoris. She rubs it gently, squeezing it between two fingers until it's almost, but not quite, painful. That usually makes her come. This time is no different.

"Oh... Oh yes... Your hand feels so good in my... cunt... Oh... I'm... coming... Fuck!... That's ... so... Ooooh!" Helen gives up trying to speak. She trembles like an epileptic as she comes, impaled on B's forearm.

"Was that good?" B asks, redundantly. She's made no move to remove her hand, content to keep it inside her girlfriend while she comes down from those orgasmic heights.

"You have to ask?" Helen pants. They've been lovers long enough to never need to ask such questions.

"And if I do this?" B flexs her fingers inside Helen, pressing up against the back of her pubic bone and the nerve centres there.

"Ow!" Helen convulses as if tasered by B's fingers. It isn't painful as such, just so sensitive so soon after an orgasm. B gives no quarter, massaging that region and watching Helen writhe and try to curl into a foetal ball. "Oh... Fuck..." She moans and presses her hands to her crotch protectively. But there is no mercy, no respite until she starts to climax again, wailing and soaking B's hand, her wrist and the cushion under her. Only then does B ease out her hand, pausing to admire her handiwork as Helen's gaping pussy slowly contracts and closes.

"Mmm." B's slick fingers find their way straight to her mouth.

"Bitch." Helen croaks, curling up in a wet patch of her own making and cradling her tender crotch with both hands.

"Yep." B smiles at her and is rewarded with an equally open and affectionate smile. "That's why you love me."

"I love you for lots of reasons." Helen reaches out a hand to her friend, drawing her closer for a kiss. There is such tenderness in the touch of their lips that nobody would question that they're in love.

"Lots?" B knows them all but she likes to hear them occasionally, just to be extra sure.

"Lots. Because you're pretty, witty, flirty and dirty."

"Is that all?"

"No. You have the sweetest little cunt in Christendom." Helen has a fondness for coarse words that B is well used to.

"Sweeter than Sabine's?" They'd both enjoyed their newfound bed buddy in London.

"It's close..." Helen makes a show of considering the issue. "Sit on my face and I'll tell you afterwards."

"Wouldn't that count as bribery?" B moves to straddle Helen's face nonetheless.

"So?" It's Helen's last word on the subject. Her mouth finds gainful employment dealing with the pussy being pressed against it. There really is no contest anyway. B's pussy is second to none in Helen's book, and has been since they first hooked up in college. Just because they both fuck almost anyone else doesn't stop them from being very much a couple. Ok, Helen loves her parents too -- in a sexual way, that is -- but if she ever had to choose between Daddy's cock and B's cunt... well, Daddy would understand.

Not that B would ever ask Helen to give up Parry, or Meg, or Eric. The only jealousy B has ever exhibited is because Parry isn't her father too. She calls him Daddy whenever he's in bed with her, because it's fun to pretend to be father and daughter, but she's envious of Helen for actually having that sweetly incestuous relationship with both her parents.

B moves against Helen's face, until she feels Helen's tongue probing her ass hole. Rocking forward, she presses her clit hard against the bridge of Helen's nose, almost smothering Helen but enjoying the pressure against her sensitive nub while her anus pulses at the tickling caress. God! She loves having her ass toyed with. She closes her eyes and recalls London, last week. Sabine had been so good with her tongue. Daniel had been fun too, but Sabine was just filthy... in a good way. B lets her memory wander in Sabine's direction as Helen licks her...

* * * * *

London, one week earlier...

"Sabine?" Daniel is drinking coffee and perusing pictures of his wife on his new laptop.

"Yah?" Sabine, sitting across the table from him, puts down the Sunday Times and leans forward, craning her neck to see which picture he's stopped clicking on. It's one of his black and white studies of her, naked. It isn't even one of her more explicit ones.

"You know you said you were giving up modelling?"

"Yah. But not for you. I think I will still like to be photographed by my husband." Sabine had been an occasional fashion model since before they met but, at 25, she's bored of it and looking for a change.

"It's just... You might want to reconsider." Daniel has that naughty boy grin on his face.

"So. I will reconsider. Why?"

"You'll see." Daniel answers cryptically then dismisses the subject and returns to browsing his homemade 'art' collection.

"I still will not pose for Chris." Sabine is referring to their running joke about Daniel's best friend, best man and photographer who's been threatening to sue Daniel for a year because -- he says -- he only agreed to photograph their wedding if he could photograph the wedding night too.

"Not Chris." Daniel doesn't even glance across at her. The mouse clicks and his pupils dilate.

Sabine leans over again to see why. Oh, those pictures! They were taken in New York, during their honeymoon. She recalls the day and smiles to herself.

"New York was good. Yah?" Sabine is adept at managing Daniel. She changes the subject in the sure and certain knowledge he will crack soon and tell her everything she wants to know, without word games.

"New York was good." Daniel agrees. His eyes leave the screen, meet hers across the table and smoulder with remembered passion. He reaches out, without taking his gaze off his lovely wife, and closes the screen on his laptop. "It's too early."

"Yah. We should go back to bed." This is an old gambit.

They stand in unison. Sabine glances at the front of Daniel's pyjamas, pleased to see he's already magnificently erect. She moves around the table, loosening the sash of her robe. By the time she reaches Daniel's arms, the robe is open to reveal her disdain for clothes.

Daniel gathers her into his arms, kissing her briefly but passionately before picking her up and carrying her back to bed. What else are Sunday mornings for?

It may not be the best way to measure the success of a relationship, but Daniel's lust for Sabine is greater after four years together than it was when they first hooked up. He loves her too -- more each day -- but his desire for her body, it's graceful curves, supple firmness and many other delights, is firmly rooted in lust. And it's a lust that only finds relief when he's firmly rooted in Sabine: Like now.

"Yah... Oh, Yah!... Mein Gott!... Das ist gut... das ist seir gut!... Yah... Fich meine fotze, Leibling... Fich... Oh, Mein Gott!... Yahhhh!" Sabine has to think about speaking English and Daniel's cock had this strange ability to make thinking not the thing to do. As a result, she generally comes in German, which Daniel understands well enough after all this time. She could come in Swahili and he wouldn't mind, just so long as she comes.

He fucks her right through her first orgasm, pushing hard into her smooth shaved pussy in long, measured, forceful strokes that he knows will have her screaming and clawing at his back long before he's ready to climax. He waits until Sabine relaxes under him, her pussy still pulsing occasionally around his cock, then he speeds up, making her moan as her sensitive flesh yields to him.

Daniel ignores her moans, knowing that Sabine will take anything he can give her and that, no matter how bruised, how tenderised, her pussy feels afterwards, she will only be grateful.

"Oh...Yah..." Sabine clings to his shoulders, her legs right up, either side of his ribs, trembling with fatigue as she lets herself be ravished by him. She knows, in the mood he's in, he'll leave her unable to walk comfortably for hours. That's fine. In fact, it's what she wants. She never loves her husband more than when she can barely close her legs because he's been so forceful.

"Your turn." Daniel mutters through clenched teeth, rolling them both over until he's on his back.

Sabine pushes herself upright, lifting her hips off his and slamming them down again; gasping each time she impales herself on Daniel's cock. Her second climax is never far behind the first one and they both know it. She reaches for her clitoris, leaning back, one hand on her crotch and one behind her on Daniel's thigh for balance. She is as ungentle with her clit as she is with her fotze, strumming it hard with her fingers, making herself wail. Daniel is close to coming now and she wants them to come together. She can read all the telltale signs in his body language and is desperately tormenting her clit to catch up with him. When she sees him close his eyes, she braces herself just in time to avoid being bucked right off him as his hips lift and his hot, hard cock hoses her cervix with semen. It's the final straw for her.

"Oh.. . Yah!... Abspritzen in meine fotze... " Her pussy contracts around his twitching, squirting cock as she starts to climax, her fingers a blur over her clit as the spasms in her abdomen milk Daniel dry and wring out her glands, soaking their conjoined crotches.

With a final wail of primordial ecstasy, Sabine collapses forward onto Daniel's chest again, her hand still presses protectively over her crotch. She doesn't pass out this time but, Gott in Himmel, that was good.

Daniel eases her across his chest until her face is over his and he can kiss her. His cock still twitches inside her as his tongue dances with hers.

"I love you." He says, quietly. It doesn't have to be loud. Sabine will always hear those words, no matter how softly he speaks them.

"Ich Leibe dich." She whispers back, biting his earlobe gently.

They lie together breathing heavily, kissing gently and saying nothing while Daniel's cock softens and finally slips out of Sabine.

* * * * *

"So. You still will not say why I must be a model again?" Sabine usually gets her own way after sex. Right now, she's using Daniel's chest as a pillow and idly toying with his slowly recovering cock.

"If you showed any interest in my work, you wouldn't need to ask. Anyway..." He raises his voice because Sabine's off the bed and out of the room in a display of energy he couldn't emulate right now if his life depended on it. He waits as few seconds for her return. "Anyway, I never said you must, only that you might want to consider it." He finally finishes making his point while Sabine pulls the paper apart looking for his column.

"Aha!" Sabine finds the page she's looking for and reads through Daniel's column in silence.

* * * * *

Forget the Turner Prize. The London arts scene is battening down the hatches and bracing itself for a much bigger storm of controversy. No, Damien Hirst hasn't pickled one of Her Majesty's corgis. This time, the artist at the centre of the storm isn't indigenous but colonial. New York based photographer, pornographer and playboy; Eric Kruppa is coming to town to open a new gallery.

For those of you who've managed to remain oblivious to Mr Kruppa's reputation across the pond, let me just say that his greatest achievement to date is his success in keeping his work out of the public eye. I know that sounds odd, if not exactly controversial, but it is true nonetheless. Google Eric Kruppa and you'll get thousands of hits but very few examples of his work. Trawl the public galleries of the world and you will find no mention of him at all. Yet his photographs all have five figure price tags and are already starting to change hands at auction for much more than their original prices.

It's not Mr Kruppa's commercial success that has the London scene buzzing though, so much as the nature of his work. Last year, I visited his gallery in New York so I can say from personal experience that Eric Kruppa's camera produces the most graphically pornographic but also stunningly beautiful images.

And therein lies the contradiction. They are beautiful and they seem to empower his subjects, who are the loudest voices raised in his defence, but there is no getting away from the fact that this is porn as well as art.

It remains to be seen if Mr Kruppa's plans for a gallery will amount to anything, but this much is certain: There won't be a critic or art aficionado in this town who remains on the fence.

Also this week, Westminster City Council has graciously granted a licence for...

* * * * *

"Herr Kruppa is really coming to London?" Sabine's eyes sparkle. She recalls practically dragging Daniel to the Greenwich Village gallery on their honeymoon. She'd had an even harder time trying to drag him back out. It had been the start of a whole new phase in Daniel's interest in photography.

"On Tuesday. We got a press release last Thursday." Daniel peruses Sabine's naked body and wonders if it's worth getting out of bed to fetch his camera.

"And you did not tell me!" Sabine pounces on her husband, raining quick, sharp slaps on his thighs, his flanks and his chest until he catches her wrists and pulls her up the bed so they're face to face.

"It was meant to be a surprise." He explains his secrecy calmly. "You used to like surprises."

"Yah. I like surprises." Sabine relents, relaxing in his grip, settling herself on top of Daniel, trapping his now recovered erection between their bellies. "Und you think I will want to model for Herr Kruppa?"

"I thought you might want to consider it... And I'd be supportive of your decision."

"You would not mind? If I modelled for another man the way I model for you?"

"Leibchen. When have I ever minded anything you do?"

"This is true."

"So? Would you like to practice a little? Just to make sure you still remember how to model?"

"Yah. Where is your camera?" Sabine is on her feet again.

"On my desk." Daniel watches her skip out of the bedroom then leans over to get the bottle of lube from the bedside cabinet. She really does have the prettiest bottom in Christendom. He can feel some sodomy coming on.

* * * * *

"Good morning Mr Herrick. Coffee? Tea?" Eric stands, offering Daniel his hand.

"Thank you for agreeing to see me, Mr Kruppa. Coffee would be nice." Daniel shakes Eric's hand firmly. He's surprised he's got this interview.

"Please. Call me Eric." Eric flops back into the corner of a sofa, waving at a chair opposite.

"Thanks." Daniel sits, taking out his Pearlcorder. "Do you mind if I record our interview. My shorthand's never been that good."

"Not at all, Daniel. How do you take it?" Eric pours two cups of coffee and pushes one across the glass tabletop to within Daniel's reach.

"Black and sweet." Daniel puts the recorder down on the table and stretches to help himself to a couple of sugar lumps from the silver bowl.

"I read your column. Do you really think my work is porn?" Eric adds cream and sugar to his own cup, concentrating on stirring it instead of making eye contact with his guest.

"Yes." Daniel has done his research and feels sure he has the measure of Eric Kruppa. "And so do you. You prefer being infamous to being famous."