story

this is not a new piece of writing, I just believe it belongs with this collection


She had deliberately avoided speaking to him. All their arrangements had been made by email. She had a description of him but no picture. She had avoided trying to visualise him. She wanted that anticipation, that fear, that knowledge that whatever he looked like,he would fuck her. Like russian roulette. He might turn out to be too old, too grey and too withered for her to actually desire him. He might be fat or have a beard. He might smell (although her remedy for that was to suggest a joint shower before they had sex). He might cum too quickly or he might not be able to get an erection at all. However it turned out she would be satisfied. She knew she wouldn’t cum from his penetration, that was not the point at all. Her satisfaction came later, when he had left and she reflected on her action and ached from his attention but knew she would never see him again.

Anyone who knew her as a friend or a work colleague would have been astonished that she allowed a stranger into her home in that way, but she had her own way of providing herself with security. For a start, he didn’t know that it was her home. She’d told him she was house-sitting for friends and that she would be alone for tonight only. And, she had set herself a supper date with a girlfriend for a couple of hours after their appointment. But, it was important for her to keep some element of risk there.

She sat in her living room at the piano looking out of the window at the grey street. She could see clearly into the flats opposite, microcosms of other world. She wondered how the occupants lived and what went on behind their closed doors. She also wondered if they noticed the strangers at her door. She was vaguely excited at the idea that they might think she was a prostitute. She imagined knowing glances in her direction when she walked down the street. She fantasised about them sitting curled up together on the sofa trying to work out what she did. At times she would deliberately dress up and walk out in a too tight dress, high heels and sunglasses. At other times she’d leave the blinds open and the lights on and dance in her stripper outfit.

She constantly questioned herself. Was there something wrong with her? Much to the disappointment of her mother, she’d never married, there were no children and no husband to cook and clean for. And although she was curious to find a rationale for her own behaviour she wasn’t in the least bit perturbed by it or by her lack of conventionality. This suited her, excited her, motivated her and made her feel desired.

There was about an hour to kill before he was due to arrive. She’d removed all traces of her personal affairs…no papers or letters left lying around. The study door was closed. The bedroom she intended using was pristine. Clean sheets and a fresh bedcover, no clothes left unfolded on chairs, nothing personal at all other than a picture of her own mother as a small girl. She’d removed the picture of herself from the mantelpiece in the living room and put out a bottle of wine and two glasses. She flustered a bit around the place wiping away any traces of dust, anything that might make the flat feel lived in. She liked the idea that he would see it as a hotel room, a borrowed space, anonymous and impersonal. She didn’t want comments about her taste in bed linen or her choice of furniture. To all intents and purposes she wanted to stay a stranger to him…a hole to fuck, a moment in time of physical connection that would pass and be unrepeated.

She tried to read, but her mind was wandering. She went to the bathroom, washed herself again…scrubbed her cunt and then oiled it with a lubricant so that however he chose to take her she would be ready. In fact she was moist with anticipation and the lubricant was cosmetic. But, it was reassuring all the same and it meant that the actual act would be quick.

She looked again at her outfit. She was dressed as he had requested. It was an easy request to fulfil. He wanted her cunt smooth and bare, He’d asked for her to dress in a short skirt so that if she bent over he could see her lips. He wanted a slightly sheer blouse, tight fitting so that her nipples showed through but no bra. He wanted her to wear hold-ups and heels…to make up so that she looked like a tart. He wanted her jewellery to be cheap and tawdry and her hairstyle to be ever-so-slightly overdone. His perfect woman was, in fact, a tart.

She started to wonder a bit about him and then deliberately and pointedly moved her mind elsewhere and started to write the shopping list for tomorrow’s dinner party. She knew from experience that if she allowed herself to visualise or picture him the reality would disappoint. Whether he was in principle better or worse than she had imagined the dynamic would be lost.

And so she waited patiently, aroused and needy.

At precisely three minutes past the appointed time the doorbell rang and she went to greet her guest. Her head was lowered as she opened the door so that her line of sight was directed to his waist. He was wearing a conventional suit. City pinstripe. There was a faint smell of quality cologne. She could see his excitement…he was anticipatory. She held the door open for him and waited until he had walked through. The rule, her rule was that he wouldn’t speak until after he had undressed her and taken what he wanted. And so they sat in silence on her sofa, side by side drinking a glass of wine. Her body trembled and ached for his touch but she had written to him that she would not touch him until he touched her, that he could do as he pleased but it was to be silent and his instruction was to be physical rather than verbal.

As she sipped her wine she could feel his eyes on her breasts. Her nipples taught and erect beneath the fine silk chiffon of her blouse. He lent over and put his hand inside her blouse, cupped her breast and pinched hard on the nipple so that tears came to her eyes. He stood up and bent over her so that his face was close to her cleavage. He put his hands on her waist and gently pulled her up so that she was standing a few inches from him. Then he stepped back and motioned to her to turn. She spun slowly round on the tips of her toes, the back of her legs tensed from the heels she was wearing. She could feel his eyes checking her arse, running up and down her legs. She looked him in the eye and started to walk towards the door. He followed her. Up the stairs, her heels tapping, tapping on the wood, his silence following her arse

Upstairs he pushed her onto the bed and with both hands pulled her skirt up and opened her legs. He smiled. He could see her moistness. He picked up the toy she had left for him by the side of the bed and turned it on. He pushed her back on the bed so her legs were bent up and her cunt exposed and he pushed the toy hard onto her clit. She wanted to moan as he moved the toy into her and pressed it hard against her g-spot. She closed her eyes and as she did heard the sound of him undressing. She didn’t want to see his cock. She didn’t want to know who or what was taking her. Just to feel the comfort of a stranger.

And then she felt him. His hands holding her arms down, the weight of his chest on her still clothed breasts and his cock pushing into her hard. He stopped. Pulled out. He grabbed her, pulled her blouse over her head and turned her over so she was crouched on the bed with her head down. And then she felt him again, pushing into her, taking her.

For her, it was uneventful. He took her. He came gasping and moaning…and then lay back on the bed with her and put his arm around her and thanked her.

He washed, he dressed and he left.

She stripped and put on her silk dressing gown. Removed the sordid remnants of his play and opened the bedroom window. She walked downstairs and started the bath running, lacing it with coconut and almond bath foam. She ran the water hot, so hot that she knew it would scald when she got in.

While she was running the bath, she made tea. Sweet and smokey lapsang souchong. No milk. She made the tea in a small china pot and poured it into a porcelain mug. The clear brown liquid hit the back of her throat, the scent filled her nostrils. She walked back to the bathroom and disrobed. She put the tea on the side of the bath and stepped gingerly in to the foamy, steaming water. She lay back. The water covered her almost completely to the neck. Just her toes and nipples peeked through the foam. She looked down on her enrobed body and then relaxed back, closing her eyes. Various scents drifted through the room. She lay in silence, no music, no noise from outside. She relaxed.

She played gently with her nipples, tweaking them and splashing them with warm water. She massaged her breasts and covered them with foam. She washed her cunt. She pushed her head back under the water and covered her hair, then washed it with shampoo and rinsed it with the showerspray so that it lay flat and wet against her head. Then, she stood up and got out of the bath and wrapped herself up in the warm towels she’d left out on the rail.

She went into the back bedroom. This was her space. No one except her ever used this room, it was sacrosanct. She lit a candle and while the scent of lavender filled the room she dried her hair. Then, she sat naked on her bed and covered herself with body lotion. Starting with her toes and feet, spreading the cream over the coarse skin on her soles. Then running her hands up her ankles, massaging the little soft spot on the inside leg at the ankle bone. She rubbed lotion into her calves, feeling the muscles tense as she ran her hands up and down. Flat palmed, she cupped her knees and moisturised the skin there so that it was tender and soft. She stood up to coat her thighs and her buttocks, running her hands into her own arse and then feeling the small dimples on each buttock cheek. Then she sat again to coat her breasts and arms, playing with herself so that she was oiled all over and smooth. Finally, heady with the smell of the candle and the lotion, she lay back and started to play.

This was the contrast she ached for. The roughness of sex with a stranger spun a web around her head. She remembered his every move as she played with herself, teasing her clit, tweaking it, watching it engorge. She felt his cock in her cunt as she inserted a finger oh so gently and reached inside herself to find her soft g-spot. She rubbed gently, feeling herself moistening and trembling. And she came in waves, shuddering and sighing so that she had to curl up, her hand still cupping her cunt, her finger still inside her, feeling the contractions of her orgasm.

And then she slept.