It was the middle of the night, not long after Dianne's momentous introduction to Brian's friend, the famous musician Boris Petrowski. Her house was dark and silent, and the doorbell rang when she was already asleep in bed. Warm and slightly dazed, she opened the door to Brian, surprised by the nocturnal visit. She wore a robe, loosely tied at the waist, but it did not take Brian long to sweep it off her. She was nude, wearing only the long chain and black pearl pendant he had given her. Naked and shivering, she stood in her own hallway, so he picked her up bodily and sailed her up the stairs and straight onto her bed, where the covers were folded back in one corner and the box from Boris still lay at the foot, untouched.

‘From Boris? Open it,' he said. ‘Aren't you curious?'

Dianne unwrapped the gift. Puzzled and amused, she held up a dark green jade statue of a man with a large round head. It was about a foot long, and beautifully carved. The man's limbs were crafted to appear muscular and strong. His spine was slightly curved so he bowed forward in a shallow arc. Both his hands held his erect penis, which ended in a small bulbous knob, fist over fist. She laughed. ‘It's a bit of a sexual gift … what could Boris possibly mean by it?'

‘He means you to use it, I'm sure.'

‘I could not possibly display it downstairs.'

Brian took the phallic object in hand. ‘It's not just a statue, Dianne – it's a phallus. You …'

Dianne raised a hand to her mouth. She saw it now: it was an ornate dildo, carved to fit inside her, the grasped penis intended to fit neatly against her clitoris for added stimulation. ‘My goodness,' she said.

Naked, sleepy and beautiful in the lamplight, she looked at the statue and then at Brian. ‘Why would Boris send such a thing?'

‘It's for us to use together, and for you to use alone.' He took it from her and put it aside on the bed. Then he freed himself of his clothes and covered her body with his.

Dianne sighed. She wanted him, she wanted him to rouse her and take her to heights she fantasised about when he was not there. She wanted him inside her, not a statue – or phallus, or whatever it was.

Brian was playing with the pendant, touching it to her nipples and neck. He sat her up against the headboard and drew her knees up against her chin. With the pearl pendant in his fingers, he traced a trail with it down her thighs, probing it between her buttocks, opening her vulva until it fitted, neatly, between the fold in there. It warmed quickly, so he traced around it with his fingers, bringing Dianne to arousal with a few simple strokes. Her breasts were hidden, squashed against her thighs, her head rested on her knees and she sighed.

Grasping his penis, she started to moved her hand slowly up and down, lazily bringing him to the same lustful level she was in. ‘Come in me,' she bade throatily.

So he pushed inside her, placing a leg of hers on each of his shoulders and entering almost abruptly, roughly, forcing the breath out of her in a rush.

‘Oh!' she sighed, ‘Oh.' It was magical, urgent, surprising, and she loved it. Wanting him to pound and thrust into her, she urged him on, moving beneath him. She was soon as wet and slippery as was necessary to make his onslaught easy, pleasurable and good for them both. But he held back, and retreated, making her plead for the return of his solid cock. She whined, begging, and sensed him coming back beside her without having to look.

But what she felt was not his hot penis. A very cold object pushed into her, sliding fully inside her in one thrust. It was the jade ornament, of course, which Brian wielded gracefully but forcefully. Its coldness was such a shock Dianne was speechless.

Then she groaned. ‘It's so cold.' But it roused her immeasurably, and she moved against it, the rounded head hitting her cervix inside and the sculptured knob of tiny hands grasping jade penis pressing and sliding against her own tiny warm knob at the top of her vulva. She had never felt anything like it.

‘Genuine jade is very cold to the touch,' Brian whispered close to her ear. He persisted, pressuring her most sensitive parts expertly, then taking one of her large nipples fully into his widely open hot mouth and sucking her softly. The contrasting sensations drove Dianne into a frenzy. Wantonly, she spread herself wide, sliding down to a fully prone position on her bed. She allowed Brian free rein to do exactly as he pleased with her: no matter how, no matter where. Her whimpers and sighs filled the room, just as he filled her mouth and her vagina in turn, using hot penis and cold statue until she was dizzy with pleasure.

His mouth was filled often with one of her engorged teats, a taste and texture he was fast becoming addicted to. He licked and sucked her interminably, until she came from the mere touch of the tip of his tongue to the tip of a bulbous nipple. When she was replete, fainting with exhaustion from coming so hard and so often, he allowed himself the ultimate pleasure of exploding inside her.

‘My god,' he said, under his breath. But he was not surprised at her ardour. What surprised him was her capacity for sustained lovemaking, for hours on end. Sunlight was starting to filter into the room.

‘We haven't slept a wink,' she said, exhausted, rolling over and pulling a tangle of counterpane and pillow into the semblance of a nest.

‘Boris would be proud of us,' he said. He curled up behind her and cupped a sore breast in each hand. ‘You accommodated his gift so welcomingly.'

She turned her head for his kiss. ‘You aren't going to tell him about this, are you?'

‘If I do, he will want every detail. I will not be able to describe it fully – we'll have to show him.'

Dianne laughed, thinking he was joking. ‘Sure… we'll do exactly what we have done for the last two hours with him sitting in that chair! Or how about in the lobby of the Meridien Hotel?' She sleepily laughed into the pillow, and was soon fast asleep. Brian watched her for a few minutes, then drew the curtains tight and fell into a deep slumber by her side.

The jade statue became one of Dianne's favourite belongings. It was never far from her side. During the day it stood on her bedside table, and during the night it serviced her, bringing her to heights she learnt how to reach with Brian, who hinted to her in various ways that he had shown her gratitude and thanks for the gift to Boris.

‘He would like us to visit him,' Brian said one night.

Dianne turned onto her stomach and looked at her lover. She frowned, wondering whether a visit to the musician's house would be a stressful event for her. She did not feel comfortable enough in the older man's presence yet. ‘When?' she asked cautiously.

‘He is expecting us Saturday afternoon.' With that, Brian caressed her thighs, opening them wide and stroking her crotch so lightly and slowly it was as if he feathered her skin with something other than his hands. He held her open, blowing softly on her inner folds to announce the presence of his mouth there, and then introduced his tongue, which moved hotly and wetly to arouse her again. Her cloaked clitoris emerged, blue and engorged, and a sigh escaped her lips.

‘Oh,' she cried, ‘yes! Yes …'

‘We shall go then,' asked Brian, with a smile. His words were muffled between the folds of Dianne's vulva, deliciously vibrating against her most tender parts.

‘Yes,' she hissed.

The house where Boris Petrowski lived was hidden among trees in the Koval Valley. It was more like a castle than a house, and Dianne was impressed by its medieval aspect and its privacy. It was huge, with many windows and a front door that opened immediately they approached up the gravel drive.

‘Welcome,' said Boris simply. He looked appreciatively at Brian for bringing to his home a woman as beautiful and sexual as Dianne.

‘Thank you,' the guests said as one.

Dianne wore a white mini dress with red straps, whose straight sheath accentuated the length of her legs. High-heeled red Italian sandals added to her height. Under the white fabric of her dress, a red lacy bra and matching g-string were sometimes visible, sometimes not, depending on the angle of the light.

‘You look breathtaking,' said Boris. He turned to Brian. ‘Every time I see her, she looks more attractive. And I know what it is.' He whispered the last words in his friend's ear. ‘She looks replete, satisfied, like a well-fed cat.'

‘Satisfied she certainly is,' smiled Brian. ‘And your gift helps to keep her that way.'

‘You must both rest after your drive. Please send Dianne down to Astra.'

Brian took her by the arm and led her down some wide steps. ‘Astra is Boris's masseuse. She will give you a rub before your shower, then we will join Boris for dinner at eight.'

Dianne found herself in an empty room where masses of folded and rolled towels on shelves lined the walls. In the centre, a huge massage table waited. She slipped out of her clothes and into a robe, and turned when the door opened to Astra, a muscular woman with her hair in a bun and severe spectacles. Her hands were like hams, but her smile was sweet. ‘Please take off the robe. Lie face down – thank you.'

It was a bit awkward, but Dianne managed to get onto the table, naked and feeling vulnerable.

The masseuse wasted no time. Pouring a pool of hot oil into the small of Dianne's back, she started by smoothing a fine layer of it over every square inch available of the woman's body. Her hands were hot, and she was certainly expert in kneading and smoothing muscles, tendons and flesh. Dianne found it hard to control her groans of pleasure. Astra's hands worked on her buttocks and the backs of her thighs, her calves and toes, the soles of her feet. Then she worked upward and tackled her back, sliding smoothly and soothingly down her flanks. Her neck and shoulders were unknotted, her arms beginning to tingle.

‘My god,' Dianne breathed. ‘This is wonderful.'

‘Please turn over,' said Astra tersely.

Dianne did not give a thought to baring her front. She lay on her back, allowing the woman to pass her hands again and again over her breasts, pummelling and kneading. She was soon lost in a reverie of extreme pleasure akin to sex. ‘Oh my goodness,' she breathed again.

Astra's hands did not relent. She massaged Dianne's nipples separately and together, oiling them slickly and pulling on them until they stood proud on her chest, pyramidal, erect and globular. They tingled and gathered heat, until Dianne was breathing hard, panting, wanting more.

The masseuse continued, her hands moving faster, stretching the skin on Dianne's chest and adding oil, pulling at the erect nipples until small whines emerged from the woman's mouth. Then, with a hand still on her breasts, she started on her lower stomach, edging downward until Dianne's legs opened involuntarily and her sex was laid bare. ‘Oh,' she was panting. ‘Oooh.' It was almost impossible to keep still. Her hips worked, grinding of their own accord. She tilted her pelvis upward to receive Astra's hand.

It was unbelievable. Never had Dianne received a massage of that sexual nature. Astra's hand plunged and she felt a finger and thumb on each of her labia, rolling and rubbing. Hot oil poured onto her inner lips and she gasped. Then Astra's fingers and thumbs went to work on her entire vulva, bringing it to such a state of excitation Dianne exploded. The sounds of her orgasm filled the massage room. Her hips moved rhythmically, and the sensations reached a feverish pitch. She came four more times, and then fell in a faint, exhausted.

The masseuse brought hot moist towels, covered the sated body with them and retired discreetly.

Dianne recovered slowly, thinking she had had enough sensation to last her weeks. But she looked in a long mirror at her flushed skin, her nakedness, and knew she was almost insatiable. She wanted more, and would seek it. That night, meaning to wear the slick black satin evening dress over nothing, she showered slowly, emerging from the guest bathroom to find a jewellery box on the end of her bed. Inside, she was not surprised to find a cascade of chains and gems. They were attached in a flowing cluster to a spring-like pin, which confounded her at first. Holding it up against her body, she wondered which part of her it was designed to adorn. It was not an earring, neither a hairclip. Then she understood. The spring was designed to fit closely around her inner lips, hug her clitoris, allowing the gems and crystals on chains to descend tantalisingly and swing at her thighs. She tried it on, finding it fitted perfectly, but aroused her immeasurably, tightening around her clitoris and unhooding it, placing her in a state of constant arousal. Brian must have had it specially made.

She left it on, examining its effect in the cheval mirror. The jewels moved when she moved, brushing her thighs, exciting her. It was a lovely show, which when seen, allowed no doubt about where the chains descended from. It would be a pity to hide it under a long skirt. She was going to be naked under her dress anyway: she felt so sexual it would be a crime to allow any underwear to spoil her look. She looked for a briefer outfit, and found nothing to suit. The mirror repeated her searching figure, naked, the gems tinkling around her groin, announcing the presence of her sex.

Brian found her in that state, and marvelled at the sight. ‘You look absolutely fabulous, and need no clothes!' he exclaimed.

But Dianne could not possibly come down to dinner with Boris naked.

‘Look,' said Brian. ‘Take your black slinky dress and cut it across at the right length.'

She giggled. ‘That will show off your gift, all right.'

‘Oh – the cascade is from Boris, not me!'

‘What!' She looked down at the suggestive show of gems and placed a hand to her mouth.

Brian laughed. ‘We watched your ecstasy this afternoon in the massage room. He knew he had bought you the right thing.'

Dianne blushed deeply. She had no idea the men were watching as Astra the masseuse brought her to a series of climaxes in the massage room. ‘Where were you?'

‘The mirror you admired yourself in was a two-way glass,' said Brian matter-of-factly. ‘You looked splendid and quite overcome.'

Dianne pulled on the long black dress. It looked as if she had coated her skin in some tarry substance. It hugged her tightly, showing off her form, but it was far too long, in Brian's opinion. Taking a pair of sharp scissors, he made a small mental calculation and started to snip finely around Dianne's thighs. The fabric fell away.

‘It's too short now!' she exclaimed. The skirt stretched across her upper thighs, just covering her crotch and barely coming down to the crease where her legs gave way to her curvy buttocks. The fall of jewels tinkled suggestively, shown off to perfection. ‘Wow,' she said under her breath. Excitement and arousal had her by the throat. She loved the effect. Still wielding the scissors, Brian told her to keep still. He snipped a narrow vertical slit at her bosom, which widened because the bodice was so tight. Dianne's cleavage as thus also revealed, from her neck to just below her breasts. The thin fabric left nothing to the imagination. She was sexier than nude, more exposed than if she wore nothing. She pulled her long hair into a pile on the top of her head and painted her lips a wet cerise red.

Boris stared at her when they came down the stairs. There were stares also from the staff, but they looked away discreetly. The tinkling of gems at her thighs was audible, announcing the fact they cascaded straight from where they were attached by a hugging spring to her erect nub and inner labia. She felt the beginning of a hot wetness as she sat down to dinner, her nominal skirt riding up, rolling up her thighs. The chair was cold on her half clothed buttocks. She sat very close to Brian, who once more fed her morsels from her plate: it was something that apparently roused Boris, who watched attentively as his fingers brushed against her painted lips, delivering tiny crumbs of biscuit and caviar. Her tongue shot out to receive them.

‘Are you enjoying your stay?' the musician asked hospitably.

Dianne nodded. ‘Thank you.'

‘After dinner, we shall play some Paganini.'

Dianne raised an eyebrow. She was too sexually aroused to concentrate on anything. She would have to change into something more appropriate. Saying so to Brian, she slipped out after they had eaten and once more stood in front of her wardrobe.

But her lover was soon by her side. ‘Did you bring the black pearl?' he asked.

‘Yes, of course,' she said automatically. Then she blushed. ‘Oh, my god – you can't be serious.'

Brian was already helping her out of her dress. He caressed her thighs, pushing them open to reveal the way the cascade of chains and crystals was attached to her body. He slid it off, at the same time soothing her inflamed parts with his fingers. ‘I am totally serious. Boris has expressed a wish to see the pendant on you. And you know what you promised when I gave it to you.'

‘Yes – that I would always wear it naked.' Her hoarse whisper filled the room. She did not know what to do or where to look.

Brian slipped the pedant chain over her head, loosened her hair and pulled her to her feet. ‘You are beautiful, alluring and utterly sexual,' he said. ‘You will love being nude with me, accompanying Boris on the piano while he plays the violin.'

‘I can't play naked.'

Brian nodded, as if to say that was exactly what she was about to do. ‘You have worked it out by now, Dianne. Boris is wealthy – a powerful man who is also a well-known voyeur. He will not want to touch you, but he wants to see you wearing the pendant. He has seen you helpless and orgasmic. He wants to see you play the piano.'

‘And then…?'

‘And then he will watch me make love to you.'

She swallowed, sexual tension making her pale but hot. Desire to comply was so strong it took her by surprise. Almost swooning with the pleasure of it, she allowed Brian to lead her downstairs. The pendant swung against her belly, and her hair shimmered as it swirled around her shoulders. There were no servants to be seen, but Boris stood at the bottom of the stairs, watching them descend towards him.

‘You look absolutely ravishing,' he growled. His silver hair and beard glimmered in the hall light. He took her hand from Brian's and led her to a white grand piano in the middle of a massive ballroom. Dianne hesitated, sat, and looked at the sheet music in front of her. Without waiting, she launched into a romanza, surprised her fingers would obey her mind. The room was overpoweringly warm, and she felt dizzy.

The older man took up his violin and played rapturously, filling the large room with the strains of his chosen music. Brian watched, looking mainly at Dianne as her breasts trembled with the movements of her arms and hands as they travelled up and down the keyboard. Forgetting she was nude and vulnerable, she got into the spirit automatically and played her heart out. When the echo of the last note abated, she stood up.

Brian and Boris both applauded. They looked frankly at her, her luminous skin golden in the lamplight. The pendant swung and twirled. It bumped against the flesh between her navel and her pubis, showing Brian the way.

Approaching her, he took her in his arms and started his overture, kissing her deeply and caressing her skin, her whole body, making sure all the time that his friend could see his exact movements. Taking her bodily to a wide divan, he lay her back and made her watch while he divested himself of his dinner suit. She looked at his body without curiosity, but delighting in the way he took his penis in his fist and commenced pleasuring himself while his eyes feasted on her. Opening her legs, she displayed the place where his erection would eventually finish, but for the moment simply reached out her hand to touch him. This was the moment: watched from a distance by the older man, she realised she would always want this. Being watched naked, or being enjoyed in her nakedness by Brian, was a feeling she decided to relish, and it titillated her. Her hair fell over the divan like a stream of tar and she reached out both hands for his cock. He allowed her to take it, and he watched as she pleasured it, pulling back the foreskin and looking intently at the swollen head before she took it wholly into her mouth.

Brian groaned as she started to suck – slowly at first and then deeply – pulling back occasionally so that he could feel the air on his glans before she plunged once more. One fist was curled around the rigid shaft, the other tenderly held his balls in a scrotum so smooth and tight she knew he was ready to enter her, but she kept on. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a small discreet movement. Boris, the famous musician, was sitting in a fine Louis XVI chair, his eyes hooded. But she knew he was alert and attentive, and she watched out of the corner of her eye as he started to fondle himself.

Their lovemaking gathered momentum, and soon Brian was astride her, introducing the tip of his penis to her moist entry. In one smooth long gliding movement he was home, jammed up hard inside her.

‘Oh!' she exclaimed.

He rammed at her repeatedly, jarring her whole body as he pummelled, his thrusts so energetic and demanding she had to exclaim. Then he slowed, and his hands reached for her breasts. Rather than grasp each globe, he stroked lightly, tentatively, brushing the palms of his hands so lightly across her nipples she screamed. It was excruciatingly sexual: she bucked and pleaded. Brian simply teased her more.

‘Please,' she begged. ‘Please touch me.'

But his fingers just brushed her nipples lightly, retreated, then came back for another light touch that melted her completely.

Dianne tossed her head, and looked sideways. Her eyes met those of Boris, still seated in his antique chair. Both his hands were at his crotch. His penis protruded from his formal trousers, towering hugely, vertical, the head rounded and glossy. Somehow, it seemed familiar. Yes! It reminded her of the phallus he had sent as a gift, the dark green jade statue. It had obviously been modelled on the shape of his member. Dianne looked and gasped as he played familiarly with his cock, roughly pounding it as he watched her being taken by his friend. Their eyes sustained contact for an interminable interval, during which she had to blink with pleasure several times, and groan out her uncontrollable ecstasy.

When she came, it was loud and long, and Brian had to steady himself or he would be dismounted. She bucked and reared, grinding her hips that twitched of their own accord. She held him inside her, her hands grasping his sides. It took a long time for her to be spent. She was sure afterwards that both the men had counted her throes, marvelling at her capacity for repeated orgasms that peaked and faded slowly. He came off her and stood back, a lover surprised even now by such a sustained performance. Looking at her exhausted body, he felt Boris's eyes on his back, so he stood aside to allow him a good view of the woman.

‘Good heavens, man,' said the musician. ‘That was a rare sight.'

Brian was silent. He took the black pendant from Dianne's body and covered her with a chenille throw. The men would leave her there to recover, after which she would sidle upstairs to the privacy of her room, where she would restore some semblance of elegance to her body. Then she would crumple into her bed and sleep long and deeply.

But the whole while, Dianne knew she would think of what happened, and acknowledge there were facts she had to come to terms with. Could she address them tonight? Were they facts she could deal with? A shimmer – a glimmer – of lustful victory made her smile. There was no need at all for anxiety. She may seem soft and willing, but she was in control, and her appetite for sexual encounters was increasing. She loved physical contact, and now she knew she loved being watched. Proud of her body and what it could raise her towards, she smiled again.

Brian voiced her thoughts in the morning. He entered with a tray and placed it at the foot of her bed. ‘You were wonderful last night,' he murmured.

Dianne sat up and rubbed her eyes like a sleepy child.

He reached to her bosom and bared her breasts, sweeping away the straps and lace that composed her nightdress as if they were nothing but cobwebs. ‘There – that's better.' He caught a nipple between finger and thumb and held it. ‘See this? It's captive,' he laughed. ‘And you love it. You loved it last night – being watched does something to you, doesn't it?'

Dianne nodded. She moved so that the pressure on her nipple would relent, but it did not.

‘Would you like another session with Astra before we leave?'

Her ravaged body could not possibly take another touch. It protested. She groaned. Brian took it to be assent, and he reached for the bell. ‘She will take you to the massage room.'

‘But Brian…'

‘It's all right – Boris is asleep. No one will watch this morning. She will soothe you, not rouse you, I promise. And I promise it will always be like this.'

‘Like this? What do you mean, always?'

Brian looked at her. ‘Pleasure, Dianne. Pleasure and luxury. Ecstasy and sex. Nakedness and expensive jewels. How could anyone refuse?'

It was not a question. She sensed his demands in the words he left unsaid. But she would comply. Her body demanded it of her. Already, her flesh rose as she thought of Astra's hands travel the length and breadth of her.

Brian held a robe open as she rose from the bed. But Dianne ignored the offer of cover. Instead, she tiptoed to the dressing table. Shedding the nightdress once and for all, she reached for the long long gold chain that held the black pearl pendant. Slipping it over her head and fastening her hair into a loose chignon, she stood still for a moment.

Then she turned for the door. ‘I'm ready,' she said, and let herself out into the hallway of Boris's house. ‘I'm ready for anything and everything.' The pendant twirled.