The Mammoth Book of International Erotica

“Nine-thirty. Thank you Stuart.”

He stared at his screen, blind to the glowing numbers. He couldn’t go through with this. She obviously had a problem, a mental problem. It’d be wrong, evil, to take advantage of her. He just wouldn’t show.

And then she’d be there, with a cab waiting for fare, and her with a dollar eighty-five in small change. He had to show. Anyway – she was likely playing a game with him, right? She would be the one who didn’t show. She’d be home, with a manfriend, laughing at the poor sap who was going to get up early to meet some fantasy woman for breakfast. That was fine. He’d show, and it’d be worth the small humiliation of being stood up to have a clean conscience and it all over with.

But she did show, her coat flapping, tottering on five-inch heels, thighs almost skinny beneath a tiny skirt. He had to endure the embarrassment of eating breakfast in a public place with a woman who was wearing a transparent blouse with nothing beneath it. Stuart supposed it was his own fault. He hadn’t told her to wear a bra, had he?

She ordered what he ordered and he sat there staring at her breasts while trying to look as if he wasn’t. They were worth looking at, much too full and heavy for her slender frame and with dark brown nipples the size of demi-tasse coffee cups.

She owed him, didn’t she? Two cab fares and a breakfast he’d sweated through? He’d collect, say goodbye, and forget her. Perhaps he’d pay her off with a hundred and put her in her place. She might not be a prostitute but she was certainly a slut, of sorts. She was there to be used, so he’d use her, just the once.

Stuart signed their bill and said, “Follow me.”

She was two paces behind him, except in the elevator, all the way to his suite. “Humble” demands humiliation. That’s what he’d give her. For once in his life he was going to screw a woman with absolutely no concern for her pleasure, unless she balked, of course. A part of him wanted her to balk, to refuse, to say, “No!”

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.