He’d make her say, “No”.
“Hang your coat up and take your clothes off.”
She didn’t say, “No.”
“Kneel in front of me.”
She didn’t say “No”.
Stuart mauled and kneaded her breasts. She stared at his belt buckle, expressionless. He pinched the rubbery tips of her nipples. He took them between his fingers and his thumbs and shook her breasts. She didn’t complain. She didn’t react. He tugged, pulling her breasts into obscene shapes. Her expression didn’t change. His thumbnails dug in. She took a sharp breath.
“Did that hurt?” he asked.
“Some.”
“Do you want me to stop?”
“Only if you want to.”
“Do you like it when I hurt your nipples?”
“Should I?”
Christ she was frustrating! “Open my fly.”
She pulled his zipper down and dropped her hand back to her side.
“Take it out! Take my cock out and suck it!”
Cool fingers groped inside his pants, found him and tugged him out. She held him delicately with a thumb and two fingers, like an aficionado with a fine cigar. Her mouth formed an “O”. She leaned closer and took the head of his cock between her lips. Her cheeks hollowed.
“Deeper!”
Her lips slithered down his stem. Stuart felt the head of his cock glide across the flat of her tongue to nudge at the back of her throat.
“You like it, don’t you?” he demanded.
She nodded.
“You’re a horny slut! A whore!”
She nodded again.
“I’m going to fuck your face! What do you think of that?”
She withdrew, slowly, smearing his stem with brilliant red lipstick. “If that’s what you want, Stuart.”
It was lust and it was anger, so mixed together that he didn’t know where one ended and the other began. He locked his fingers in her riotous hair and thrust deep into her waiting mouth. He’d take his pleasure of her mouth. He’d choke her with his cock. He’d make her gag. He’d…
She took his pounding, her tongue pushing up under his cock to press it hard against the roof of her mouth. She’d done it before, often. She was nothing but a…
He came.
She showed initiative for the first time, sucking hard and long, drawing his come out through the eye of his cock like an infinite length of knotted silk. She sucked and gulped and gulped and sucked until his guilty pleasure became a shameful ache.
“Enough!”
She gave one last hard draw before releasing him.
Stuart didn’t tuck himself in. Leaving his cock dangling from his fly would show her how little he thought of her. He dropped a fifty at her knees and told her, “There’s cab fare. I have to get a nap now. I work late hours.”
She dressed and left without a word.
When the phone on his desk rang at six-forty he knew who it was.
“Do you want to see me for breakfast?”
Did he? Of course he didn’t. This whole thing was sick, kinky. The sooner it was over the better.
Did he? Of course he did. Being married didn’t equal “all fantasies fulfilled”. His Janice was a reasonably sexy woman. They made love twice a week, most weeks, which wasn’t bad after twelve years of marriage. He respected his wife, and that was the problem. She was worthy of his respect, which meant there were things she wouldn’t do, and that he wouldn’t dare suggest she did. You don’t risk a marriage for the sake of a few extra thrills, do you?
That meant that there were sex acts he’d never tried, and had half resigned himself he never would. Now – now the opportunity had leapt into his lap, as it were. How could a man turn his back on that? Anyway, the chances were that those things weren’t that great, once you’d tried them. Get them out of his system, that was it. He was far enough from home that what he did wouldn’t be real, anyway. Work out those dark desires and then he’d be much more content with what he had at home. In a way, he’d be doing Janice a favour, not that she’d ever know, of course.
A voice cleared its throat on the line. She – Virginia – was waiting patiently for his answer.
“No – I won’t meet you in the lobby. Come straight up to my suite. I’ll order room service.”
“Nine-thirty?”
“Yes.”
“What should I wear?”
Damn the woman! How was he supposed to know what was in her closet? Still…
“Hose and heels again.”
“Yes Stuart.”
“Do you have a button-through dress?”
“Yes Stuart.”
Yes, yes, yes! Didn’t she know any other word? He’d push. There had to be some point that she’d say, “No”.
“No underwear.”
“Very well, Stuart.”
“Do you have some lubricant? Baby oil or something?”
“Yes Stuart.”
Hell! She didn’t even ask what for. Perhaps she knew. Perhaps that’s what she wanted.
“And some rope? Cord? Soft cord?”
“How long, Stuart?”
“Six feet should do.”
“Yes Stuart.”
He hung up before his perversity made him tell her to bring a whip or something. If he had, would she have? He wouldn’t know, would he, unless…
Stuart touched his screen-saver off and concentrated on nice safe numbers.
Her dress was a faded blue floral print, mid-thigh long and straining across the swaying masses of her breasts. She might have had it since she’d been a teen and less developed. It reminded him that once she’d been young and innocent, so he had her take it off before they sat down to eat.
It was very different, eating alone with her, him in robe and pyjama pants, her in just heels, hose, bangles and earrings, which is more naked than total nudity. He could look at her breasts all he liked, with no pretence. They had a very slight sag. He was glad of that tiny imperfection. It made her more vulnerable.
They were freckled as well. Did that mean she was a true redhead? It was strange, he’d used her mouth – used it in a way that he’d never have dreamed of using Janice’s, but he still hadn’t seen her pubes, not really. She’d turned away as she’d laid her dress aside and then she’d slipped into her chair at the table. He’d been watching the sway of her breasts, so he’d missed even a glimpse at her mound, her mons veneris. Still, he would see it. He could see it right then, if he wished. All he’d have to do was tell her to stand, come closer, and let him inspect her. He’d be able to look close, and long, in broad daylight.
He’d never done that to Janice. He’d seen her sex, of course, as she dressed or undressed, or in the dim light from the bedside lamp, but he’d never actually inspected her, like meat.
That’s what Virginia was – meat. Pliant, pliable, warm human meat, to be prepared to his own recipe and consumed quickly or at leisure, whatever his mood might dictate.
“Play with your nipples,” he said, just as calmly as “more coffee please”.
She laid her knife and fork aside. “How would you like me to do it?”
“To please yourself. Show me how you’d do it if you were alone.”
“Yes Stuart.” She cupped her breasts on her palms and wobbled them, staring down at her own jiggling flesh as if he wasn’t there. Well, that’s what he’d told her to do, wasn’t it? Her fingers squeezed and kneaded, milking herself in towards her nipples. She leaned backwards, tilting her face towards the ceiling. The stroking became more urgent, coaxing blood into those dark staring centres. They engorged, grew larger and harder. Her hands smoothed higher. Fingers made rings about each puffy halo and compressed, pouting them. She released her right breast and strummed the fingers of her right hand across the tip of her left nipple. Was her mouth slackening with desire? It was hard to tell, with her head tipped so far back.
Her fingertips caressed up the sides of her nipple, soft as petals, stroking from base to tip and base to tip, again and again. Her nipple responded, and there was a pulse under her pale skin. Her nipples weren’t pointed cones, like Janice’s, but rigid flat-topped turrets, almost the same circumference from base to tip.