Sisters in Sin. Primula Bond
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smiles from various guys, all trying to catch my eye over the narrow, tailored shoulders of their haughty dates. But I just sat up high on a bar stool so that the stalker could see me clearly above the potted palms if he came in.
And when he didn’t come in I realised how pathetic I was being. Of course he wasn’t coming in. He probably didn’t exist! But still I ascended the grand curving staircase instead of taking the lift, in case he came gliding in through the front door. Then I kicked shut the door and fell backwards across the big ornate bed, my dress up round my fanny, listening as the traffic, both human and watery, ebbed and flowed in the cold night outside my window.
I couldn’t get him out of my head. I imagined him opening the door without ceremony and without a word, walking soundlessly over to where I’m lying, leaning over me, still wearing that long dark coat, the hat still shadowing his face.
I sit up on my elbows and try to see what he looks like. Various faces flit across my imagination. My ex-boyfriend. My university tutor. Hazel’s Tony. The barman. But all I can see is white skin and a pointed chin, and a mouth set in a grim line. He reaches out a gloved hand and lifts my dress right up, over my waxed snatch, and of course he sees I’m not wearing any knickers. He holds the dress up for a long moment while his other hand moves deliberately and thoroughly over his crotch, rubbing it almost thoughtfully as he stares at my body. Then he lets the dress flutter down again high up over my stomach, leaving my pussy bare.
Now he leans over me and pushes my thighs open. His gloves are of some kind of expensive leather but still they snag slightly on my skin. One long finger strokes towards where the pussy lips swell on either side of the neat line of topiary, but stops short of touching them, which only makes them pulse all the more. He pushes my legs wider still, and still I can’t see his face, but I can see a seam of moisture between his lips and the serrated tips of his white teeth.
My face is on a level with his crotch, and through his open coat I see the bulge in his black trousers, the big outline of his cock, thick and hard and incongruous against the thin, mean body. I stretch my hand out tentatively towards it, wondering if he’ll slap it back, but he is almost like a statue now, holding my legs open, staring down at me, his eyes invisible, his cheeks and chin incredibly white and smooth, no sign of any bristles. I touch that hard outline, and all he does is tip his head very slightly back and swallow. So I start to unzip his trousers, no reaction, get my hand inside his flies, still as stone, I pause again to see if he’ll stop me, then as soon as I touch the smooth surface of his cock I’m horny as hell, never mind what he’s feeling.
At last there’s the faintest crackle in his throat, and that flicks the switch for me. I love a man at my mercy. I grip him harder, but suddenly he lifts his hands from my legs and grabs either side of my head, covering my ears so that all I can hear is the thump of my heart and the rush of my breath and the slight creak of his leather gloves.
He shoves my head into his groin. I expect to smell sweat and the salty hint of spunk but there is only the tang of strong soap. He grinds my face harder against him so that my nose squashes up against his thick curly hair and his jutting cock. As I pull slightly away his penis jumps at my face, banging against my nose. There is nothing but the soapy darkness, the rub of the thick fabric of his trousers and coat, and the almost rigid cock poking me. The stalker’s hands are really tight over my head, smothering my face inside his trousers so I can hardly breathe. I open my mouth to get air, and my tongue slicks across the tip of his cock. It swells bigger and harder in response, and yes now there’s a droplet of moisture there on the tip as I take a tentative lick, smearing it across my chin as his cock slips away from me. I lick again, think of it as my lollipop. It jumps again, he pulls back but only for a second, he jerks urgently at my mouth, losing control, aiming it like a weapon. So his knob slips stickily into my mouth.
My pussy twitches with the thrill, the menace and the sheer excitement of causing an erection in such a cold, stony figure. I can’t relish it properly because I’m sprawled awkwardly on my front now, towards the edge of the high bed. I can’t move because I’m holding on to the stalker’s coat and then his skinny hips to balance, so all I can do is rub myself against the duvet. He thrusts himself hard against me, almost breaking my teeth as he forces his cock further inside my mouth. I think I can hear a muttered curse, but it’s only a whisper. I follow the motion of his body with my mouth, trying hard not to bite him.
I grip the top of his legs and keep the rounded knob of his enormous cock firmly in my mouth. The whole shaft presses against my tongue, rubs against my teeth. I open my jaw wider. He’s huge now. I push the rigid length away from my throat with my tongue. Every move makes him stiffer. I start to suck and I can taste him, clean skin mixed with the sweet salt trickling through the slit. Funny how even an automaton like him won’t be able to control his own spunk. His hands grip harder on my head, but he is moving more now. I can hear a low moan as he thrusts his cock against the roof of my mouth, filling it. My tongue traces the veins on its surface. My mouth moves up and down and I nip the taut flesh. He pushes in hard, pushing it right down my throat, spreading his thighs a little wider and tipping his pelvis to get a better angle, and now there’s another faint scent which seems released from his clothes, a smoky musky aroma that seems to curl up through my nostrils right into my head. It’s pleasant, clean, sensual even, but I can’t place it.
I move to keep a grip on him and my pussy opens against the old-fashioned brocade of the bed cover and it scrapes the tender clit hiding inside and it’s my turn to flinch with pleasure and groan. But that seems to displease him. His hands imprison my cheeks and force my head to rock back and forth some more, my teeth and lips sliding right away from his long cock before he slams my face forwards again. His cock is deep down my throat, but I’m good at this. I’m known for it. And the reason I’m always up for it, enjoy it so much, feeling that shaft of excited male muscle in my mouth, gagging me to choking point, is that I can imagine it doing the same inside me. Soon it will be fucking me.
Somehow I know that’s not going to happen tonight. This man has come to me for his pleasure, not mine, so as I suck harder and faster and move my mouth up and down I move my body in time, rubbing my pussy up, down, on the brocade, rough embroidery scraping on my clit, making it burn, making my pussy twitch and clench furiously, furious I suppose with him, too, but as my stalker starts to buck against me, I feel the little rush of orgasm just on the edge of me, not really far enough inside, and as it blooms out of me I feel the thick gush of his spunk gathering in my mouth, spurting down my tongue, and I swallow it, determined to show him that he’s picked the right girl for a blow job, how the hell did he know, is it my luscious lips, always painted a dark red and fashioned exactly for sucking on something sweet? I swallow it all, the familiar slight reflux in my throat making me nip at him so that he jerks backwards but it’s still spurting out and he stays rammed inside my mouth, my face jammed between his hands, until he’s done.
I let the cock slide out of my mouth, and turn quickly on to my knees like a doggy, offering my backside up to him for another go, and panting eagerly as I smile back at him over my shoulder, running my tongue over my lips in invitation.
But he shakes his head, dipping the hat over his eyes, then pushes me roughly so that I fall forwards on to the bed. He sneers, but he hasn’t said a word. I haven’t noticed him zipping himself up, but he flicks his coat closed and as he swishes away from me again there’s that scent released into the air, catching in my throat. I can only describe it as spiritual. Candles. Incense. A church smell. Then he strides across the carpet and leaves through the still open door.
‘Say what?’ Far away in Long Acre, Hazel sighed.
‘What you said about the fantasy – oh, never mind.’ I could hear the other line ringing in the shop.
‘Whatever. You’ve been watching too many movies, Jen. Now get a grip, buy some Venetian glass at wholesale to keep us from going bust, and get your arse back here.’
I wasn’t ready to let her go, but before I could keep her talking, maybe share the details of that particular fantasy, the phone went dead.
And then I heard it. Above my head. A moan, elongated as if someone was in pain, a sigh, then another moan. Impossible to ignore. The sound was brazen as it insinuated itself out of yet