'Be My Doll' Review

It's not often I get to blow my trumpet (Ta-dah, ta-dah!) but thank you to Miranda Forbes of Xcite Books for bringing this review of 'Raising Spirits', which features my short story 'Be My Doll', to my attention.

And of course, I'm very chufted it was so well received.

vampiriquedezire.blogspot.com

I guess that means I have to keep writing, doesn't it?

You can purchase 'Raising Spirits' here:

www.erotica-romance-ebooks.com

Sandrine

'Last Night'

by Sandrine Lopez

The advert seemed innocuous enough... care assistant for a trip to a European clinic. After filling out application forms and the usual checks, I was set for an interview with the patient himself, Mr. Hall.

The doctors don't even have a name for his affliction, a nervous hypersensitivity that makes movement difficult with discomfort. It's now in a chronic stage, and increasing painkillers and analgesics only dull his senses so I'm told he comes off them for this first meeting.

What I didn't expect was a man no older than myself. The amount of care suggested someone almost incapable of looking after himself, so had imagined someone advanced in years. But illness is no respecter of age, striking indiscriminately.

He rises slowly from his chair, measured movements, trying not to look in pain. For whom each gesture chafes. Every breath cuts. But when our eyes meet it's as if we've known each other all our lives. New acquaintance, yet old friends. Or lovers missing their soulmate and reunited.

It's obvious the attraction is mutual but he doesn't want me in an awkward position, professionally or personally. I should not become attached. Can not.

His voice is controlled too, pauses when the pangs overwhelm, eyes closing for a moment before continuing. It's as painful for me to watch as it is for him in reality.

His explanation is brief, having learned to make every word count, a passion only pain can bring, constantly on adrenalin because he fights it always.

Then I see it reversed, the pain only passion has. When emotion takes you to the edge and further, when your soul learns to fly... or plunges into the abyss. I can tell he has experienced both.

He has some doubts, not about my experience, but time is short - the appointment is days away. I get the position. His secretary will brief me on the flight details and accommodation on the way out.

As I leave, he wears a bittersweet expression. A smile with a tear. He's glad it's me accompanying him... but somehow he's not.

I have an inkling of that too...


*

Mr Hall... "Please," he urges, "Call me Lester." ...needs drugs to endure the flight so for the most part he dozes. I watch over, unable to take my eyes off him, wondering if his dreams are filled with pain and anguish also.

The journey, thankfully, is problem free. At the hotel, we take dinner in our room. Though not wanting to exert him, I make conversation so we don't eat in silence. I know so little about him, wanting to know everything, anything.

"Will the treatment help?" I ask.

There's a long pause. "Yes, it'll help."

His vice is chess. A game not requiring much movement. My father taught me how to play and, as it makes him happy, distracts from the discomfort, I agree to a game.

He lets me be white, make the opening move.

White Pawn to E4.

"Do you have family?" I ask.

Black Pawn to E5.

"Parents died early. Left everything to me. Been in care all my life. One way or another."

White Queen to H5.

"I'm sorry, that's very sad."

Black Queen's Knight to C6.

He pauses. "They were spared my pain."

White Queen's Bishop to C4.

"No friends?"

Black King's Knight to F6.

"Don't get out much."

I see an opening.

White Queen checks Black King at F7.

Mate & Endgame.

The game is too short, too easy. I suspect he let me win just so he could see me smile.

*

I arrange a taxi to take us to the clinic the next morning, giving the address to the driver. It's a short, wordless, drive across the city.

I help Lester out and we climb the steps. A small plaque by the door gives a name which takes a few moments to register. It's been in the media, caused a furore over the world.

It's an assisted suicide clinic.

Lester has come here to die.

*

Lester doesn't let me in on the meeting. Apparently all the consultations have been done, and this is quite literally the final trip.

Why me? Why not his personal assistant, or nurse, or...

When it's time to go I'm burning with anxiety, anger, fear... assisting suicide is a criminal offence. But he explains someone 'unconnected' will be less liable. His staff will not go without but distanced from the act itself makes it look they do not directly benefit from his death. So does my new, unsuspecting position. He's thought it all through.

After we get back and I've made him comfortable he gives me an allowance to go shopping, enjoy the local scenery while there's time. There will be too much to do for the flight back, even though most of it is already arranged. The only specific item is to buy a nice dress. I'm hardly in a position to argue. But even less inclined for retail therapy.

I thought Lester may want to spend a bit more time together but he has some last calls to make.

"Shoo." Is the end of the matter, as far as he is concerned.

*

Tonight is Lester's last night on Earth. He's not sad, he's joyous. An eager anticipation that after so many years, he'll be free of pain. I have difficulty believing his choice but if I tell him not to do it, regardless of his own situation, then I'm just being selfish surely.

It's not my decision. Not my pain... at least not his pain. I have a different one.

Over dinner I'm the one who finds it agony to talk. Lester is, for him, more vocal. Still short, tense comments but more of them.

Professional detachment. I should be comforting and joining in his 'joie de vie', for want of a better term, not being a sulky bitch.

"Grant me three wishes." he says, out of the blue.

"What?"

"Indulge me." He closes his eyes as discomfort threatens again. These final hours he's going without painkillers. It's not to remind him why he's doing this but because he wants the closing acts of his time here to be lived, as felt, as fully as he can. Even if it kills him. It's not going to matter either way. To him, at least.

"Dance."

There's a disco in the hotel, and he leads me down to the floor. There's no further instruction except, "For me..."

Dance like I have never danced before, will ever again. Most there are couples, shaking it with each other. My partner sits and watches. In his eyes, the passion of pain, pain of passion...

Isolated in one corner, silhouetted by whirling coloured lights, I move slowly at first, finding a rhythm for him, imagining him dancing with me, bodies tantalisingly close but never touching because it would hurt. So my hands replace his, smoothing down my sides, discovering the sway of my hips. I make out even these shock, feelings of pleasure so intense they go through ecstasy and into something indescribable. Like the face of God...

...for no one may see me and...

A tear. Droplets of sadness on my cheek. My dance becomes one of extremes... a tragedy in twirling touches but joy for the end of suffering.

As the last slow, soulful track is played, for all too brief moments, Lester stands, moves slowly towards me and dances. It must be the most painful thing he can do. I'm reminded of The Little Mermaid, for whom every step is a walk on sharp swords but does it for love.

I'm not sure whose passion, pain, is greater.

The music stops. The dance is over.

I help Lester back in our room. He's wracked with agony but he laughs as only someone with nothing to lose can, "I enjoyed that."

*

"Make love."

Less a wish and more a suggestion. But not entirely for his benefit. He knows that if I touch him, kiss him, caress... hold... it will hurt. The more we embrace, the greater the pain.

I've enjoyed the dance, allowing intimacy without contact, a fantasy consummating our souls but not our bodies. I want more. I think he does... how can I go further without crossing that border, threshold, of agony.

I slowly peel my dress off, making it seem the shedding of clothes is a relief. Disrobing each layer, even the gossamer of my slip and stockings, brings blissful release from the featherlight pressure on my damp burning skin.

By the time I am naked, my pain has turned to pleasure, set free with only the still air, his gaze, on me.

I know men's looks, how they can burn right through you, eyes slamming callously into my body. But Lester's admiring consideration is soft, reflection of that knowledge and making sure it is tender and caring, as if a spring breeze.

"Make love."

He reiterates his wish, and I go through my dance again, this time on the cool soothing sheets of my bed. My hands become his again, adopting his mindset.

He continues his lonely vigil, as I tease my skin, each touch agony, every caress pain. The sensitivity of my nipples, swollen with arousal, are daggers through my chest... stroking my stomach a hammer blow... and when my fingers gently slide within, I'm clawed by angry, unleashed pussycats.

I'm more delicate than I've ever been but it pushes my limits. The torture is extreme... excruciating... exquisite.

I cannot bear any more, the relief of my hand's exit from between my thighs triggers release of another kind. Deprived of pain, a new bliss explodes outwards, all over...

In the moments it takes me to recover, tears blurring my sight, Lester has undressed. Instead of joining me, he lays naked on his own bed, beside mine.

The choice is mine. Given the white pieces, the opening move. I'd be betraying professional conduct if I do, and him if I don't.

His last night on this world.

Trembling, filled with trepidation, I slide from my bed and lie softly beside his body, naked together. He puts his arm round me and, still shaking with fear at the harm I may cause, I kiss him gently.

His other hand finds mine and draws it to his erection. Tenderly, I smooth it, knowing his gasps are a mix of severe sensations. With a single gesture, he indicates I should kneel up and take him between my thighs.

"Won't it hurt?" I ask.

"All the torments of hell." Love is endurance.

Tears roll down my face, splash on him like small bombs, as I let him plunge into my abyss. This position allows minimal contact, as I do all the moving. Gentle, delicate rises and falls over him, in time with our shallow, scared, breaths.

Perhaps it is his over sensitivity but he cums very quickly, almost economically. Like his words, he makes every small thrust count. Then, surprising me once again, with tremendous effort, a triumph of will over pained body, he rolls me over, lays on top of me. I want to wrap myself around him but this must be more touch then he can bear. The most I can do is caress his face as he slowly eases himself back and forth inside me.

I look lovingly into his eyes and if they are windows to the soul the view beyond is carved out of his landscape in anguish and torment. Breathtaking vistas, beautiful to behold but created by elemental forces over unimaginable time...

Time which is running out.

It takes longer, his second climax. His face is that of a marathon runner, pressing for the finish. Just one more step... one more push... So soft, so tender. Gentle grinds. So when he lets go his ejaculation is uncharacteristically physical, and for short moments I hold him close, arms on back, thighs round his hips, show what it means to me, as he gives me our unique, one-off, orgasm.

Then, spent in emotional and physical agony, he rolls off me and lies very still. Care-minded professional, I check his weak pulse, listen to his almost inaudible breaths. Even in the dim light I can tell he is too pale, on the very edge of life.

He turns his head to me, and smiles. Reaches up and strokes my hair.

"Live."

The last wish? Does he mean he wants to and... Or is it for me?

Then he holds my hand, closes his eyes...

Mate & Endgame.

...and is gone.

Live.

For what? Although I've only known him a few days, he has permeated every fibre of my being with his dignity and grace.

Some accuse people who commit suicide of cowardice but Lester was bravery itself. Just tired, worn down, eroded. I would answer back the accusers don't understand, that the law shirks responsibility by not protecting those faced with the hardest burden of decision. That politicians and the medical profession run and hide from this bigger question. Who is really afraid here... ?

I hadn't expected him to go like this. That having accepted fate, I thought we would at least wake in each other's arms, share a final breakfast, make that last heroic journey together.

I remember the song of our first, last, only dance.

Killing me softly...

Did he know this would be the way?

*

On returning, after a funeral attended only by myself and the few staff he had, there are the usual questions and tribunal. I answer them perfunctorily. It hardly matters. While Lester's solicitor sways the arguments in my favour but there may still be a charge. If so, I won't work in care again.

As I wait the long drawn outcome, I miss a period. A test confirms it... I'm pregnant. It can only be Lester's.

With this information, the solicitor has another surprise. Even though he could not have known if it would definitely happen, a last-moment codicil to Lester's will indicates any offspring has a fund. It's not wealth but as the mother of his child, we will be provided for comfortably. Like everything else, including his chess game, Lester needed to make sure of every possible move.

I do now have something to live for...

*end*




Victoria Blisse's Sunday Snog

- - - - - - - -

Sandrine's notes:

This was written as an attempt to express the sense of loss after a short but unbelievably intense relationship. The main crux was how to have an erotic sexual scene which was, in effect, the last thing someone ever does? To put it plainly, how can you fuck someone who is dying, who you will never see alive again? It was a difficult, and personally emotional, set of decisions... some, once again, drawn from real life.

'See No Evil, Speak No Evil...'

by Sandrine Lopez

-


What does darkness sound like?

You'd think it's silence... dead of night. Everyone asleep. Except it never is. There's always noise, no matter how distant. Trains fading in and out. Breathing up close. Sirens. Rustle of blankets. Footfalls.

Him.

I'm a creature of never-ending night. Of blacker-than-black darkness. And not just between setting sun and rising dawn.

He's back. I hear bags rustle before he enters the kitchen.

"Oooh," I sidle sensually along the wall towards him. "What you bought me?"

"It's a surprise." A bag rustles. "Turn around. Close your eyes."

Something touches my hair. Bands stretched over head until there's pressure around my eyes. I turn to him, open my eyes to blackness.

"Blindfold."

"What for?" I ask.

"Because your eyes always say, 'fuck me'. I want you to be innovative."

"Surely they don't?" I pause, then ask, "If my siren eyes are hidden, does that mean you don't want me any more?"

He takes my hand. I can tell by the number of steps and direction we're in the bedroom. Beside the bed, still unmade, where we fucked last night. The sheets must be strewn this way and that. Still heady with the lingering scent of us. Of sweat. His cum. Perfume of my wetness.

He's close behind. I can sense his warmth... no, heat... almost but not quite in contact.

Whisper in my ear. "Make me want you another way..."

I turn, know exactly where to feel. My waist level with his hips. Between them... my grip is accurate, intense. The stiffness of his cock through trousers and boxers. I relax, caress it. Let it burn in my palm even with insulating fabric.

"Better." he growls.

They say the way to a man's heart is via his stomach. I say it's lower. Fumbling with his garments until they fall away, and go down on him, quickly, greedily.

"Are your eyes saying 'fuck me' now?" I ask, before popping him in my mouth. Letting my tongue and lips have their wickedest of ways on hot, throbbing skin. Tasting his need to be penetrating me.

"Can't you tell?" he replies, before voice is lost to moans. Meaningless sounds of rapture. Of my tongue wrapping, lapping over his cock. Of lips pursed around the tip as I make him cum in gasping, shuddering spurts. Savour them on my taste buds before swallowing but not letting go. Milking him for a second, merciless blowjob, until his legs give and he collapses on the sheets with my mouth still surrounding him. Until he can't help but squirt almost painfully again.

Cum dribbling down my chin, I crawl up him. Share it in a sticky snog.

"Now tell me I only use my eyes... " I purr.

It takes minutes to get his breath back, so vigourous and sudden was his climax. Like a punch to his soul, while his jac was thrust hard and sweet in my throat.

"Too easy..." he murmurs. More rustling in his shopping bag of tricks. As I perch there wondering, another gadget is fixed around my jaw. Something not his dick in my mouth. A gag? I can't even ask...

"Try that again without your lips and tongue"

Bastard! I can't even call 'unfair'...

I'm on top, dressed. He still has his shirt on. I make to remove it. Then, as his arms are behind, bound within sleeves, I push him down so his wrists are pinned under his back.

The gag masks my dirty smile too...

I'm sitting on his dick, limp from two killer bjs but struggling under my twat to reblossom, harden for another round. My weight straps him to the mattress as I unbutton my blouse. Undo my skirt so I can pull it over my head until I'm just in my thong. I wish I could see his expression...

Leaning forward, I dunk my nipples to his mouth. He suckles them, making me sigh as his tongue caresses them to hard sensitivity, sparking through my body. Connecting hard with the lust in my belly.

Reaching back, I ease the thong to one side and settle back. I don't need to guide, as his rock rigid cock is bowed up ready. Sliding through me easily but with pressure enough to almost make me cum. By the time I sit up he's as deep in me as can be.

Gagged, I can't even ask if he surrenders, as my hips gyrate, spinning his cock pleasingly in my cunt. As my thighs tighten on his hips, keeping him in the vice of my lust.

Can't ask if, without eyes or mouth, my whole body screams 'fuck me'. Him trapped under me. Tweaking his nipples, running nails over trembling chest, dipping fingers in his mouth and letting him suck sensually on them, until my own rocking, swaying body has my fill of him.

Then it's my turn to collapse on him, satisfied.

Eventually I let him go, rolling off, letting his spent cock fall slippery from inside, more sweetly-scented wetness to sully our sheets. I hear him struggling to get up, unbind his arms. Shake the numbness from them.

Eventually, he ungags me to reveal a grin of enjoyment, but when the blindfold is removed, there is still darkness.

I've been blind for years. Never needed blindfolding but he needed to know if my unseeing eyes said more than 'fuck me'...

I guess they don't.



Fuck Me Friday: Smut for the Weekend by Aisling Weaver

'Clueless'

by Sandrine Lopez

-


"I suggest Reverend Green did it with Mrs White, using his lead pipe, in the ballroom!"

Miss Scarlet sighed, "That's not how you play it."

Professor Plum chuckled, "Are you absolutely sure about that?"

Mrs Peacock raised an eyebrow, "By lead pipe, you mean..."

"That he was as hard as one, yes!" Plum confirmed.

"I say," Colonel Mustard weighed the long rope in his hand, "This is a bit saucy. Tying up and whatnot."

Scarlett's eyes rolled ceiling-wards, "And that isn't what it's for either."

"Ooooh, I don't know..." Peacock purred, sidling up to the young blond soldier, caressing the cord with delightful anticipation. "Your room, or mine?"

"It could be a crime of passion..." Scarlett considered. "The candlestick suggests a romantic liaison."

"Well I say to hell with crime. Let's stick with passion." The tall dark professor fondled his moustache suggestively in her direction.

"Or perhaps they were into erotic hot wax foreplay..." Peacock spied the candles flickering in the darkened study, her eyes glazing at some fond memory. The heads of the others turned sharply towards her, raised eyebrows over wide stares. She became aware of the attention. "What? Oh, did I say that out loud?"

Plum chortled to Mustard, "That'll put some lead in your pipe, my boy!"

Scarlett cried, "And we still haven't found out where Reverend Green and Mrs White have got to. I suggest we search, together. Safety in numbers."

"You've obviously not menaged enough, honey." Peacock murmured. Scarlett went as red as her dress, before leading them out.

As they passed the dining room, a distant scream called out.

"Well, I'll be blowed!" Mustard exclaimed.

At his elbow, Peacock suppressed an appreciative smirk, "Later, honey."

Mustard pulled the pistol from his belt and dashed forward. "Some bounder is killing her."

Scarlett's pulse raced. Now this was more like it! Aroused by the dark thrill, she hoisted her evening dress up and tottered after him. Peacock stroked the rope she carried, and sashayed on high heels after Mustard, wondering when they would tie the knot. The Professor eyed the voluptuous firm behind, and strode after her, muttering, "Lead... yes, definitely lead."

The woman's cries got louder as the foursome neared the ballroom. There were exhaustive pants within, a man exerting himself. A woman's loud cries.

Mustard's finger was tight on the revolver trigger. "The scoundrel must be beating her!"

"That's one way of putting it." Peacock's comment was worldly-wise as she turned the handle. "Gee, am I the only one round here getting some?"

Framed by the door, they saw Reverend Green in flagrante delicto, trousers round his ankles, with Mrs White, long skirt hoisted up higher than her spread knees. And it wasn't Holy Communion he was giving, despite her repeated calls for God.

"Obviously not." Scarlett sneered.

Plum puffed his way from behind, his monocle dropping, "Top ho! I was right all along!"

With a sigh of despair, Peacock snatched Mustard's pistol, aimed between Plum's legs... and shot him in the ballroom.


- - - - - - - -


#wankwednesday #plum

Utensil

by Sandrine Lopez


It seemed to give him great pleasure when he described his cock as his 'utensil', which he had defined - from Wikipedia of all places - as 'a tool serving a set purpose'. And that set purpose, as far as he was concerned, was fucking me. Just that. No frills or foreplay. We'd just meet, have a few drinks and laughs to get in the mood, then he'd whisk me off somewhere non-too-exotic like a local B&B or, if we were daring enough, or more likely he just couldn't wait, a secluded dark alley or doorway.

This time I get a slightly better class of hotel. We actually have to sign in. I couldn't very well ask 'well, who am I to you?' in front of the woman behind the desk, could I. So I let him sign, trying to make out the letters in that quickie, spur-of-the-fuck signature, and hoped I'd got it vaguely right.

"So what was our name again?" I hissed quietly, as you led me up the first flight stairs to our room for the night. A whole night for once. "Ficklehubby?"

The tug of his hand almost dragged me as I tottered on my heels up the second flight. Fuck, he was really in need of getting in me tonight. I half expected him to stop on one landing, regardless of other people who may pass us. Visions of me stuttering, "Go-oo-ood ev-eve-ni-ning..." to stray couples not knowing where to look, as he hefted my thighs apart over the bannister and ram-raided my cunt without a care. At least I have some manners.

"Fuck buddy." He replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Of course. Silly me. Mr and Mrs Fuck Buddy. A contradiction in terms. The committed non-committals. Face palm. How could I assume otherwise?

He unlocks the door hurriedly, doesn't even bother to turn the light on before locking it again with a definite 'Do Not Fucking Disturb - Indiscriminate Shagging in Progress' slam. Before my eyes get accustomed to the darkness, I'm dragged across the room and thrown on the bed. How did he know where it was? Has he been here before? And if so, with whom?

I don't get to ponder anymore as the big strong hand that had twisted me onto the unseen sheets pins me down, while the other seeks me out. Tugging at my dress and his own clothes as one. Unzipped in blind haste. Panties tugged down. Hems lifted. My body violated. Quickly. Harshly. Intensely.

Excuse me, Mr Indiscriminate Shag? Mr Committed Fuck Buddy? Mr One-Trick-Wonder? Mind if I join in too? It's always breathtakingly fierce. Penetrating. Physical. Visceral. Gut-wrenching. Orgasms of experienced athleticism. Climaxes of exquisite fitness. But just body not soul. He doesn't like it when I suggest there's more to fucking than just a different position every now and then. I'd like to think I am more than a utensil. Have more than just one purpose beyond playing catch for his cum, now matter how it pleasurably scrapes every nerve, every fibre, with extremely blissful potency.

As I lie there, twitching with orgasmic shock, shuddering from his sexual spite, mind whirling with a thousand million responding nerves that finally merge into one fantastic feeling beginning between my thighs and disappearing through the infinity of sensation under my belly, I ask, "Am I capable of more?"

Of course I fucking am!

Come here, you gorgeous uncaring control freak. Come to mamma!

He's lying on his back, panting and gasping. Seemingly satisfied. He likes, loves, needs that urgency. Perhaps proving to himself he's a sex god, but the road to my hell is paved with his godless intensity.

I might not want commitment but shit, I want something more out of our fucking!

He usually needs a few minutes to recover and get hard again. I'm usually recovering as well. Letting the pain of his forceful fucking melt into something more pleasurable. It always does, otherwise I wouldn't come back for more.

Two can play at that game.

Still shaking but trying to direct that nerve-shattering, knee-trembling, giddy-go-dizzy post-orgasmic energy into a match for his wildness. I drag myself over him, straddle his thighs, caress his limp wet cock in my hands so it has no option but to stiffen and come to life.

His head rolls on the pillow towards me, "What are you doing?"

Like he doesn't know. I don't answer but use my tongue in more skillful ways than mere words, running it slowly up one side of his now hard dick. Tasting myself on him until it finds the lingering sweetness of his spunk still oozing from the tip.

There's a sharp hard tap from his hand on the side of my head, meant to dissuade me, stop me, but I don't. My lips press their attack. I draw breath, suck the residue of his cum from his cock. Under me I feel him twitch and jerk now. He may profess to not liking hand or blowjobs, says he doesn't like cumming in my mouth, but he'll reap the pleasure it gives, whether he likes it or not.

There's another more vicious slap through my hair. I grip the base of his cock and give it some meaningful jerks and rubs. Alternating between my mouth and palm. Suck, rub, lick, jerk. And repeat. And...

I sense his hand go to strike me again but my lack of experience is more than compensated by the fantasies of doing this to him. Doing it so well that his arm loses its motivation and his hand claws the sheets instead. His body writhes as I bring his cock to a pinnacle of throbbing stiffness and it spasms his cum onto my tongue. I keep sucking, lips tight over his hot twitching skin and veins. Keep massaging, my hands together over his cock in a prayer of passion. And as he is so spent, his body and cock going limp like a puppet whose strings have been cut, I lick his dick like a kitten lapping on his milk.

"Shiiiiiiiiiiiittt!!!" is all his dry, hoarse voice can gasp.

I'm not even going to bother asking if he liked that. He never asks if I like his harsh fucking, just assuming my return is compliment enough. I'll be back.

And despite his look of disdain after, I'm sure he will be too...


http://eroticnotebook.co.uk/erotic-writing/wank-wednesday/utensil-wank-wednesday/

'Squeaky Clean'

She was always the quiet one, the bashful one, the one no-one ever asked out because they thought she was no fun. Certainly not at work, let alone parties. Sat in a corner, typing away or filing. Or just sipping a lemonade. She didn't drink apparently.

Tina, or 'Teeny', or 'Squeaky Clean Teen' as she got nicknamed, was young at 19, slender and petite. Blondes might have more fun but she was the exception to the rule, it seemed. Her almost constantly lowered eyes were sky blue. Her pale skin was like porcelain. She looked as if she could break a thousand hearts, if she had the courage. But it was more butter wouldn't melt between her full pink lips, lacking even luke warmth distant from any heat or passion.

But Dave wanted to try. He liked a challenge, especially a beautiful one.

"Do you think she would?" he asked Amanda, perhaps the closest of her office workers.

"What, shag you?" she rolled her eyes.

"It was meant to be a joke. It's my way."

"She wouldn't even go out with you."

"Wanna bet?"

Amanda laughed at the easy money offer, and pulled a tenner from her purse. "You find anyone who ever has taken her out," She replied, waving the note under his nose, "And it's yours."

"Ah, Amanda, if only your heart were so easily won."

Amanda laughed again, knowing she would never be added to his string of conquests.

"If winning were as high just my heart, I'd consider. You aim so much lower." And with a teasing wiggle of her arse, she shimmied off down the corridor, knowing it would never, ever be his. No matter how hard he tried. And that was pretty hard. And obviously so.

Later that day, a large bunch of flowers was delivered to Tina's desk. Big, beautiful red blossoms, and an ornate note. Dave didn't do anything by halves. Tina cheeks blushed as rosy as them, as she timidly sought out the message, watched in anticipation by her office mates.

"Well?" Amanda asked when no enlightenment was offered, knowing without hesitation who they were from. And her eyes widen and rolled with the unspoken question - who?

Tina's eyes just flicked over the note before she slipped it in her handbag. A shrug. Then back to typing. Amanda gave a groan of despair as she and the other girls, one by one, returned to their work. It was a familiar pattern. Many had tried this opener. All had failed, it seemed.

It wasn't long before Dave followed the flowers, settling on her desk beside them. He waited a few moments before Tina looked up, almost, and shook her head. Behind her, Amanda made a show of pulling the tenner out of her purse, folding it neatly, and parking it out of sight in her cleavage, while sticking her tongue out. 'Loser' had never been expressed so eloquently.

Keeping Amanda's gaze firmly met. he leaned forward and whispered something in Tina's ear. Amanda couldn't see the expression as the girl stiffened slightly and shook her head ever so slightly but emphatically 'no' again. Dave waited a moment, then left, with Amanda's tongue waving him goodbye. She would collect later.

She passed him in the corridor at the end of the day but Dave wouldn't admit defeat.

"Rome wasn't built in a day." He reminded her.

"Dave, you do nothing but roam."

He laughed at the truth then suddenly went quiet as Tina appeared and slinked shyly past. Dave called after her but another short slight shake of her head was all he got.

"I win, and I claim my ten pounds, thank you." Amanda said.

"Bitch!"

"For the win. Pay up, loser."

"I didn't realise there was a time limit!"

Amanda considered, mulled it with her expression. "End of the week."

"Make it Monday. I'm at my best at the weekend."

A week. A month. A year. With 'Squeaky Cleen Teen', Amanda was certain the outcome would be no different.

"Done."

- - -

The flowers were still there when a large box of chocolates appeared on Wednesday, a very charming and no doubt costly vase for them materialised on Thursday, and a flat case containing a pearl necklace and matching earrings on Friday. Each time, the office girls eyes widened - with mental notes to jibe their boyfriends and husbands for similar - as Dave dutifully appeared to ask again. And each time, wordlessly, was a short shy shake of her blonde hair.

And every time Dave would lean down and whisper something in her ear. Another stiff shake.

Friday lunchtime, Amanda saw him in the corridor, gazing through the clear partition at Tina, and sidled up to him.

"I think I should have bet more." She said quietly with a smile.

"Because it was an easy bet?"

"No, because you're obviously loaded. I could handle a fool whose easily parted with his money."

"A shame you'll never find out then."

Tina, as ever, left on time at the end of the day. Dave peered round the office door to where Amanda was picking up her things. The flowers and everything else had gone from Tina's desk.

Without looking up, sensing Dave's presence, Amanda asked, "Did she actually thank you for any of those?"

"Did she take them home?"

"Yes."

"It'll come." Dave considered, "She'll probably want to thank me privately."

"Not that privately, you wish." She paused, then asked, "What was it you kept whispering to her?"

Dave's expression gave nothing away. "I said it doesn't have to be serious. I just wanted to fuck her."

Amanda laughed, "And you wonder why she kept turning you down?"

"Hey, I offered her variety. Changed what she might like each day. Different positions..." He folded his arms and leaned against the wall, "Don't you ever wonder what she gets up to at weekends?"

"I've given up asking." Amanda replied. And gave a short Teenyesque shrug and shake of her head. With a heft of her bag, she added, "See you on Monday. with my winnings."

Dave just gave a short Teenyesque shake of his head back.

Outside, Dave was slightly surprised to see a note under his car's windscreen wiper. Not daring to hope it was from Tina, he slipped it open surreptitiously and read. In small neat handwriting was a time, tomorrow evening, and a place - a small club outside town. One with a bad reputation. It didn't seem like Tina's local. He doubted she even clubbed. Afternoon cream cakes at a tea house would be pushing the envelope there, he thought. But he was intrigued. Perhaps another of the office girls was hitting on him. He pocketed the note and made the date his.

- - -

Dave heard the place before he found it. Loud pounding beats barely muffled by the walls, the flashing signs spelled out a message that you didn't abandon hope on entering but any semblance of dignity or conscience. The girls were skimpily clad or overdressed to the point where 'hooker' would be an understatement, and the guys hanging from them mean and threatening. Dave was no wimp - he worked out and was fit - but even he felt intimated by a place were the only rule was there were no rules. Anything went and, from the few couples and groups virtually fucking on the doorstep, it always did.

Trying hard not to be phased by any of it, Dave strode purposefully through the door. There was no doorman or bouncer but a thuggish freak grunted for a light. Dave flicked his lighter out of his pocket and went to light the thin joint-like stub but the freak just grasped Dave's wrist tight, making him release it into the dirty palm. Sneering, the freak lit his joint, pocketed the lighter and staggered off. In no mood for a confrontation, Dave let it go but wondered, from the others eyeballing him, whether that made him look a weak easy target.

A slender girl with long dark hair and darker, almost black, brown eyes sidled up to him as he approached what might have passed for a dance floor. A mass of closely packed bodies, writhing to the loud beats, if you could call it dancing. Long black butterfly wing lashes veiled her gaze, under vivid splashes of dark warm eyeshadow. Her skin was tanned and dirty looking, contrasting with the pearl necklace and earrings she had the audacity to wear but her expression alone forbade thugs to even look at her, if they dare. Strictly hands-off without permission.

Entranced, Dave's hand wandered to her shoulder, his fingers touching the necklace. The necklace, he was pretty damned sure, he gave to Tina. Her hand cracked up like a whip, gripping his wrist in a painful vice-like grip. She was strong beyond her slim appearance. Long black nails dug deep into his skin.

"Did I fuckin' say you could?" she hissed, not letting go.

If it were not for the twisted look and dark colouring, she could almost be Tina in size and quiet voice.

He had to ask the impossible assumption. "Tina?"

A short sharp nod.

Dave winced. Tina's nails were starting to draw blood. She weakened her clawing, still holding his forearm powerfully, only to let her tongue run up his wrist and lick the red drops lustily. Passionately. A passion that Dave found strangely intoxicating from this dark alter-ego of such an innocent.

"What happened to you?" Dave could barely speak.

Without answering, Tina led him by his numbing arm to the dancefloor, wrapped her slim body round his and began to writhe in a fit, limber way that didn't fail to make him hard within moments. At one point, barely days ago, it was all he could have wished for - to be entangled with her. Now this untamed, neo-feral version was arousing him so obviously, as he felt his dick press against her, yet terrifyingly wanton. Wasn't that what all men wanted out of woman, even if only in bed? Wasn't he getting that wish?

Tina curled an arm, snake-like, round the back of his neck, forcibly twisting his face down to hers. Her tongue penetrated his mouth and found its way round every tooth before fighting his own tongue into submission. Even then, she locked lips and punished his mouth for resisting. It was her way, or her way. End of.

Dave's cock was beginning to throb. He needed to fuck her, feeling the exhilaration of her wildness. His heart, he was sure, was pounding as loudly and fast as the music. Drumming through his ribs to her small, perfect breasts that were barely covered by the loose dark, almost see-through vest top. In his fantasies this week he imagined her porcelain skin was as fragile, that if he had succeeded in getting her to bed, he would have to be tender and careful. Now he knew he wouldn't have to hold back, assuming this was foreplay. That her body language wasn't a tease. That she was just toying with him for whispering sweet fuck offers in her ear... dangle the tantalising possibility in front of him then laugh him away. He had been there before.

Tina's hand ripped him from his thoughts, as it tore roughly down inside his trousers and slipped inside his boxers. That was no tease surely. A woman - he could no longer think of Tina as a slip of a girl, no matter how legal - wouldn't handle a cock like that unless she meant it. At least, that was his hope. Wasn't it?

Through the tangle of bodies, Dave was aware Tina's body was angling him to a wall, a dark corner. There were already others there but they neither saw nor cared, too wrapped up in their own sordid play. As Tina was petite, Dave almost always looked down on the top of her blonde hair. Now he was aware she had gone down further. He didn't need to look to feel his belt being undone, and his trousers dropped. Tina's small hand had remained grasping his cock all this time so she was adept at undressing men as he was women. Impressive.

As was her blowjob. The grip that had nearly dislocated his wrist was no weaker or more caring, if anything it was stronger and vicious. She jerked his shaft with callous energy, threatening to tear it from his groin as her palm twisted it in an extreme wank. The tongue and lips which had come close to suffocating him now fed greedily on his foreskin, swirling vigorously over the tip before starting to take him deep. Usually he would have to hold a woman's head, push her - if willing - to relax and let all of his cock thrust into her mouth, to the back of her throat. Tina needed no urging, as one petite hand still held his pubes in a vice, the other had sought his arse and pulled his hips towards her face. The alternating press of her tongue and lips along his cock was getting painful, culminating in the heady sting of urgent, needy climax. It was unusual for him to feel it forced on him, he working his way up plateaus of his own pleasure, as well as his partner's, until the timing was right for both. Tina hadn't cared for his orgasm, only it seemed, for her own need to taste his cum and feast on it. He was simply a provider, a source. A willing one, she must have thought, as it was one of his whisperings... "Would you like to suck my cock?" he had joked, only now he didn't quite see the funny side.

He had finished cumming, his knees going weak and trembling at the sudden force of it. Of her. He couldn't bear to look down as she finally relinquished his cock and pushed it roughly back in his boxers, spent and slippery with her saliva. Did his trousers and belt up without any neatness, his shirt hanging and zip undone. Swiftly, shaken, he tried to make himself look...

Abandon all dignity...

Fuck it, Dave thought. I'm not going to be phased, and left himself looking disheveled. Tina was now standing, a slight trickle of his spunk at the corner of her snarl of satisfaction. She had enjoyed it. He could see the glazing of her eyes, like a junkie getting a hit. Again, mixed feeling of elation at such unashamed sexual hunger, and... was it disgust at being used? Did her forwardness sicken him? Or was it the after climax? He was no longer sure.

He didn't have the luxury of recovering, as Tina led him by the wrist again along the wall, past more couples fucking, to a door. A key hanging between her breasts on a slender chain gave them access, and Dave tumbled through the door as she slam-locked it behind him. The air inside was dank yet hot. He recognised it from bedrooms frequented, the heady scent of enclosed sex, not yet - and not ever, going by the lack of windows - aired and dissipated. The room was barely lit. The double bed had sheets soiled with body fluids. Still giddy, Dave felt like tumbling onto them, no matter how dirty, and sleeping out the nightmare. Tina saved him the choice, getting a slim laddered, stockinged leg behind his and using a variation on a judo throw to toss him across the mattress, before slumping on it beside him.

With a jerk of her head into cupped palms, she shed the dark contact lens and placed them in a small case, to disappear in a belt pouch. Dave looked hard into the summer blue irises, hoping that this was a return to the quiet Tina he knew but her gaze was as cold as ice. Removing them was simply a measure to prevent losing them during more physical exertion. He began to suspect she had not even started.

He tried talking, wondering if he could disarm her with words and friendly chat. As he stuttered a few platitudes, her eyes rolled up in boredom, and kneeling up she began to undress him roughly.

"Wassa matter Dave?" Her voice was still a quiet hiss, "You asked if I wanna fuck, dincha?"

"And you said no?" He replied, mimicking her short shake of the head. She pulled his shirt open, leaned low and ran her hot small tongue hard and fast up his stomach to a nipple, where she bit him. Dave jerked and let out a small cry. She laughed, a short sing-song of a chuckle from a throat tainted by insanity.

"You can't tell between 'no' and 'not yet'?" Tina guided his hands to her breasts inside her vest top. Let him savour their warmth and shape. Her nipples were hard. It was too brief a perfect moment. Gripping his wrists again, she swung his arms wide, fast, popping open the few small buttons with savage intent. Then she brought his hands back over her breasts with a slapping clap that should have been painful. From her blissful expression Dave wondered if Tina had some very sadomasochistic leanings.

He was getting hard again. Did that fact excite him? No, with her hidden strength, it was a growing nightmare. Locked in here with her. Dave remembered the saying 'Be careful what you wish for', and his jokes had come back to bitch slap him. As long as he was hard, he could be used. Much as he still wanted to fuck Squeaky Clean Teen, he was unsure if he wanted this Tina.

Could he, should he, make the best of a bad situation and just get some fun out of it? Only one way to find out. He dug his fingers around her cupped breasts and flung her on her back. Tina's blue eyes widened with appreciation, a leer of grin spreading her mouth from cheek to cheek. Her small hands undid his belt again with astonishingly efficient speed. No move wasted. By comparison Dave was feeling like a fumbling inexperienced teen again. He tired to recapture that youthful intensity again, merge it with his experience, as he lifted her legs, feet over one shoulder, and slid her short skirt off. She had no panties on, and Dave could see the dirt lines of her face, arms and belly were make-up, hiding the pale bare skin. The hair on her mound was as blonde as the Tina he wanted. Regarding him with still cold blue eyes from the faux tan, a mix of naked angel and sexual demon, Tina watched as he struggled out of his trousers, letting his cock rise unbound. Her tiny slender fingers made it look long and thick as she caressed it, rubbed it, shaping it and letting it grow like a potter creating a vase on a wheel.

It was another calm before the storm. Dave was just about to angle himself between her spread thighs when Tina's long slender legs wrapped around his thighs and twisted him off balance to fall beside her. Dazed momentarily, he lay on his back, poising to fling himself back on her but she was quicker. With a squeal of triumph, Tina was straddling him in a flash, somehow pinning him down although he was much heavier, and should have been stronger. Another moment, and her hand was guiding his cock up into her cunt. It was hot, almost burning, and wet. And unbelievably tight around him. As her hips begun to gyrate with athletic agility, spinning her way down over him, he felt like Tina had that almost inhumanly intense hand grip on it again.

Dark nails clawed at his ribs and chest as she rocked and bounced on his dick. Tina's only intent seemed to be to get Dave to cum, quickly and strongly. Despite her wetness, the tightness of her cunt was almost painful. Was it hurting her as much as it was him? If he read right, that didn't matter. Well it did but in a way she wanted. And it didn't take long either, for which Dave was thankful. Tina's movements reached an intimidating feverish speed and pain, punishment and pleasure mingled again as he felt himself shoot his load inside her with exquisite agonising ecstasy. Her teeth gnawing at a lip, eyes rolling with equal rapture, Tina orgasmed around his throbbing cock, sending delightful extreme shivers through them both.

Struggling to catch his breath, Dave realised he had actually enjoyed that. Who at work would have thought he would have broken Squeaky Clean Tina in. A first. Suck on that, Amanda, he thought, and wished he had raised the bet. Wait until everyone hears about this!

Still straddling him, Tina had taken his wrists again, pinning his hands by his head. With a grin, he hoped she was going for an encore, and was met with her grinning too. Maybe things were going in the right direction after all. It was then he felt her enclose his wrists with something strong yet flexible. Tighten them so he couldn't get free. He looked quickly from side to side and saw leather straps. Tina arched backwards, and like a gymnast flipped herself off him in a crab movement before swinging her legs over, his cock plopping limply out of her, until her feet agilely met the floor without a sound. As quickly, before Dave could take in what was going on, his legs were spread and feet bound the same way. Tina's grin took on an unnerving insensitivity, like a child contemplating cruelty to a pet. Slinking to the door, she tapped it quickly three times. It was returned. A quick unlocking, and another freaky thug was there. It could have been the same one who took his lighter but Dave wasn't sure. They all looked the same.

Alarming scenarios began to race through Dave's mind. Violence, robbery, torture... all three, and more. He didn't expect the thug to strip off, naked and dirty as Tina, and lie beside him.

"Ooooh no... " Dave began but the thug had a tough hand on his cock, wanking it to hardness. Tina slipped a mobile from her discarded belt and started taking pics, switching to video as the thug finally jacked him off with the same cold efficiency as Tina had sucked him off. A few more pics, Dave horrified look at the cum on his stomach and chest, and the prize smile of his new bedmate. He hoped that was all they were going to do...

Tina gave the thug the nod, and he dressed quickly. Before leaving, he grabbed Dave's dick and made to kiss him on the cheek with a smile. Dave turned his face from him, until the thug yanked his dick hard, twisting it painfully.

"He said 'smile'!" Tina's voice hissed, " So smile!"

Dave did his best to look happy, as happy as one can when your cock is threatened with a none-too-clean ripping off. Tina clicked a few more photos, then let the thug out with an indecent, writhing smooch. The door locked once more.

Tina's voice was as cold as her gaze as she wiped Dave's cum from between her thighs and got dressed.

"Do we have an understanding, Dave?" She pronounced his name as something disgusting on the tongue, almost spitting it.

"Why?" Was all he could ask.

"Why what?" Tina spun on her stilettos, sat beside him, stroking his cock until it was hard once more. "Why date me? Why fuck me? You're far from first, Dave!" Her thumb caressed the tip of his cock pleasurably. In other circumstances it would have been horny for her to touch him there now it was just insult to injury. "Why didya sleep with a man?"

"I didn't!"

Tina waved the mobile tantalisingly in front of his face, letting a slideshow of the pictures scroll.

"Pics say othawise, Dave. Why? So all between us remains our secret." Tina explained quietly but emphatically. "No boastin', no braggin'. Not. A. Sing. Fuckin'. Word." Her fingers twirled the necklace. "I get to keep your gifts, and you stay the office Romeo. With ev'rything still workin'." She stroked his cock again, and it twitched and stiffened.

"Why the disguise?"

"Thanks for the remind." She murmured, pulling the contact case from her pouch and slipping them in. The ice gaze replaced once more with darkness. "This isn't 'disguise'. This is me. Work's the 'disguise'. Gal's gotta earn, y'know. Even jerks like you don't keep me rich."

"Blackmail?"

The short sharp shake again. "Secrecy's more presh. Social networking's a twin blade. Work is Tina. Play is... " And she mouthed a name he couldn't make out. "Besta both, doncha think?"

She stood and made for the door. "If you're behaving, boyfriend will let you go in a few." Dave's eyes widened at the revealed relationship. No hints at work. No photos. No calls. "More like fuck buddy, true. No love loss, 'thawise I mighta got fair jealous just now." Again the dark laugh. The door was quickly unlocked, and she was gone.

- - -

Amanda didn't need to seek Dave out on Monday. He came ambling into their office of his own accord, a smile on his face.

She looked between Tina, who got out her handbag, and Dave. An expression of the question that didn't need to be asked. Dave would only smile like that if he had... wouldn't he?

Over Amanda's shoulder, Dave could see Tina flicking through some pics on her mobile. She turned her head, all trace of her alter-ego gone. The hair rinsed pure blonde, the doll face devoid of the passion and lust he had seen, the skin cleansed porcelain once more. And the eyes summer blue.

Her thumb hovered over the send button on her mobile for a moment. Dave couldn't quite see the pic but he could guess.

Dave took out his wallet, and handed over a tenner to Amanda. Still smiling.

With a puzzled frown, Amanda took it. "You're a better loser than I gave you credit for."

Dave paused, "Some things are worth more than money."

His gaze met Tina's briefly, with a short sharp nod - a hint of acknowledged hellos to the unknowing - but Dave could see the inner darkness through the bright icy eyes. The animal straining to get out, leashed, caged in a beautiful and seemingly fragile body, only by a need to exist and survive in our world. To scrape a living, no matter how dull it seemed. He had thought Tina the reality but she was just a fantasy - a squeaky clean illusion for officialdom. The still waters of this office girl ran very deep and oh so dark.

And as he pondered what secrets the other girls may possess, even the amicable Amanda, his eyes fell on Tina once more. What were all their realities, and their fantasies?

Which was which?

Tina looked Dave in the eye once more, and recollections of Saturday night were briefly reflected in that bright blue gaze. Summer blue. Ice blue. As endless as sky, and colder than he wanted to know.

He waved Amanda goodbye but as he walked down the corridor, glad he had gotten out alive with all his parts still working, he repressed a shudder at the thought Tina's blue eyes were on his spine, like an assassin's gunsights.

And always would be.


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The Hitch

Coach rides can be so boring. Especially long overnighters between college and home. It's Friday night... no, I check my watch, it's very early Saturday morning now. Everyone else is probably asleep or out clubbing, except me and the other passengers. I can't even doze, with the unseen countryside, punctuated with the odd streetlight, whizzing past the window on one side. And him on the other.

He's pretty hot but I can't pluck up the courage to talk, shy mature student that I am. So I bury myself in my erotic novel & try not to think about him. Try not to think about it. Him and me. As I get deeper, more engrossed in the purple prose as the characters fuck without abandon after pages of foreplay, described in the filthiest, most arousing of terms, it's difficult not to paint them as myself and his embodiment of cuteness, only the thickness of our clothes away.

I've got a pleasant itch between my thighs, and glance at him sideways. His head has lolled back. slightly towards me, eyes closed. Hopefully he won't notice, as my irritation needs attention, and I slowly but deliberately hitch my denim skirt up, a bit at a time, on the side away from him. My fingers work silently to make the movements look casual, until they are able to... yes, just touch the fabric of my undies. Then another swift hitch of my skirt, and they find the leg band. Tug it delicately away from my damp skin. Up a bit more, in a little further, and my nails sink in warm sensitive wetness.

I give a small shudder, glance at him quickly again. Still breathing low and slow. I let my fingers swirl lazily, skinny dipping myself, teasing the tingles, and continue reading with my left hand propping the book in front of my eyes.

Jeeeeeeeez, that is good!

With deft skill learned from doing this too many times in private, a slender finger curls the page of the one-handed book over to more fictional fucking, as the other acts it out as best a few fingers can. Which is pretty fantastic for now. Before long I'm only browsing the pages casually, as I let my fingers work out my more lurid fantasies as only frustrations can.

I'm so deep in myself, my own imagination, I almost don't notice when my fingers are joined by a soulmate. A larger doppelganger. Like giant fleshy ants, my fingers tap the other to make sure it's real, and it taps back 'Oh yes. May I join you?'. Or something similar. I tap back 'Why not... ?'.

My eyes had closed in bliss and I'm now too scared to open them, as the big fingers scurry off quickly, for a quick hitch of my skirt on the other side, before it snuggles down beside mine again in its bed of slippery, soaked sensuality.

It can't be him, can it?

I decide not to open my eyes, not even turn my head, just let my hands, fingers, nails tap out what I'd like. Guide that oh so gorgeously big hand, long fingers and exquisitely strong nails search out my needs and satisfy them. Maybe not as sensitively as mine but fuck, who am I to complain? They're buff fit fingers, guessing they work out enough in their own wanky way, so as his palm cups the fluffiness of my mound, I feel like I'm watching... no, that's not quite right, feeling a pro at work. A bodybuilder flexing his abs and six-pack, all for me. And what delicious moves.

My hand leaves his, easing back in admiration as his fingers plunge in, like a swimmer diving into a pool, swirling through my depths. My hand flattens across my belly, sensing his motions under my surface as they curl up and around. And it isn't long before my horniness clarifies and sharpens into a short orgasm of pleasantly satisfying intensity, rippling and quivering over his fingers.

But he doesn't end there. Gentle soothing caresses stroke and calm my insides to sleep, and forgetting where I am, let alone who, my head lolls to one side and I join it.

There's a jolt and I awaken suddenly as the coach comes to a halt at my home station. It takes me a few seconds to recollect how and why I drifted off. Then a blushing realisation, glancing down then up. My skirt has been hitched back to my parted knees. He is getting his bag from the overhead store.

My face expresses a single question: did it happen between us? His only answer is a wink and a blown kiss. Then he is gone.

Damn!

But my body knows something did, in the way bodies only can. And when I'm alone and in need, I'll always remember his fingers hitching their own way inside...

It'll do, for now.


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