Peaches (Her Fragile Restraint Part ll)

Hydie searches for her phone as it rings amongst her brother's magazines, newspapers and rolling tobacco products. The device shrills on relentlessly before she finally manages to locate and answer it.

“Hi.” A throaty baritone on the other end of the line, unfamiliar. She hesitates.

“Hullo...?”

“It's Patrick.” His voice is rich and smooth, like the man.

It's been two days since their encounter in the dressing rooms.

“How are you?”

“...Can I come over?”

Hydie stares at the wall clock, it's 7.30pm. She notices the stains on the clock's plastic cover, the clutter and mess around her, frowns.

“I live with my brother.”

“Oh.”

“But. I could see you tomorrow?” She hears hope in her voice.

“Ok.”

“It's my day off.”

“I know. Yes. Alright.” The sound of his five o'clock shadow as it catches on the receiver. “Come to my house. We'll have a drink.” His tone lightens. “I expect we'll work something out. I'd like to see you again. Come at 2.”

“Sure.”

“Goodnight.”

A sharp tang of surprise on her tongue as she puts down the handset. She makes herself a cup of tea, reads the paper, choosing to go to bed early. She calls to her brother lounging in the TV room as she pads her way up the hall.

...

Patrick owns a condo in a leafy street. It's a long simple bus ride to his suburb, affording her enough time to brew anxiety beneath her smile. Hydie's hands shake as she rings the doorbell. He answers in a work shirt and grey pants, like last time. Her heart does a flip flop. His sleeves are unbuttoned, he's barefoot.

“Hi.”

“You look gorgeous.”

Hydie giggles. He leans against the door frame and pulls her to him, encircling her waist in it's pretty yellow sundress. A hot, reassuring kiss.

“Thank you.” Hydie breaks away, grinning, much more relaxed.

“Come in.” He swings the door wide and ushers her inside.

In the back room, down a cream hallway, a man stands by the window, tumbler of scotch in one hand, the other touching the flawless glass of an enormous window. Anthony turns as they enter.

“Hi.”

Hydie shoots Patrick a look of surprise, his expression remains neutral.

“I'm Andy.”

“I'm Hyacinth.”

“I know.”

“Would you like a drink?”

Patrick makes his way over to a wall cabinet, busying himself fetching drinks and ice.

“Sure.”

Soon they are seated on the big, beige leather lounge in an otherwise sparsely furnished sun-room, Patrick sits opposite in a matching, single-seater lounge chair and his friend sits to Hydie's left on the lounge. The sun blazes through the wide window, muted by tinted glass. Hydie takes her drink and sips. Ice-cubes make a glorious clinking sound, knocking courage into her ribcage, forcing her to swallow nervously, the only other noise in the room. Anthony clears his throat.

“Well, I ought to get back to work. Nice to see you.”

Her fragile restraint

In a world of her own, Hyacinth carefully dusts around the pretty things each girl has left at their backstage work-station. Some girls keep their gear in Tupperware, others have left it loose. Mascaras, nipple tassels, lube, eyeshadow and deodorant bottles are all piled up lifelessly. She cleans their makeup mirrors and afterwards, it's an extra effort to remove caked make-up stains from the long, black bench top.

The small, narrow room smells of face powder, latex and cheap perfume. Hyacinth is tired now, midway through her shift, having cleaned the performance area and it's low hanging mirror balls and glass-topped stages. (She uses special hypo-allergenic spray for the poles and chairs.) Normally her brother would be helping. Today he is despicable; hungover, lazy, absent. She sighs.

Looking about her, Hyacinth knows the warmly lit little dressing room is something other than a wonderland. Often it's a place of smoke and hot, tired girls no older than herself trying to gather their wits (or further scatter them). She imagines the bustle and noise but it's early morning, no one will be about for another few hours.

Hydie bends over to empty a small bin into a larger plastic sack at her side. It rustles in the quiet, airless room. She props the door open, finding a lavish feather boa, hanging on a hook by the door. It's a fine garment, much longer than any boa she has seen, red, rich, real and scratchy. Hydie wraps it around her neck and winds it around her arms, admiring herself playfully in the mirror. She looks a dream, it hides her skirt and slacks and clusters around her neck in a cloud of feathers.

Hydie takes it off. She looks about the room for other dress ups, eyeing a thin, silk tie with an elastic collar and matching emerald green heels.

Who would see?

A Moment's Weakness

I look up into sorrowful, chocolate-brown pools. My lover the stonemason, who's hands have carved a thousand tombstones and who looks as though he holds night time inside the silence of his eyes. His hands are scarred too, rough and lovely. They pass over my skin, annotating the geography of my body, my curves, crevices and fleshy mistakes. I writhe beneath him, feverish with lust.

His cock thrusts in me, rigid, turgid. Dilated pupils shine from within a hard, closed face. Even whilst he pushes blissfully into my softness in age-old intimacy, I cannot reach him. My complex lover empties his hot breath onto my neck, making me squirm. I am impaled on a length of sweetness, wanting him to burst open. I haven't a hope. He inhales, spreading a contrasting coolness onto my nape. His thudding, impressive rod continues deliciously stretching me. I am meringue, cracking delicately under the weight of his demanding pace. Despite his impossible proximity, my mysterious fuck puppet fails to yield.

“I want you.” I whisper, hoping to slide under his cool resolve.

A taste of Summer

 

The sky falling slowly in the late afternoon, in the distant a train bell sounds at a crossing warning pedestrians, closer to home a bird calls. It's nearly dusk. Day is almost ended. Rebecca can hear tell-tale, heavy footfalls coming up the path. He walks in an oil skin jacket. Today it is too hot, thought it sits across his broad shoulders as though it was born there; nailed to him. The leather is dark and worn. His blue faded shirt is tucked in at the waist, into jeans, too dark with dirt and a history of being favoured and worn.

Patrick opens the gate for the first time in a long time, savoring the sound as it swings and creaks, cast iron embellishment moving uneasily. It's nothing that a bit of WD 40 couldn't fix but nobody's done it and perhaps it sounds better that way. At the door, he takes off his droving hat, rakes a hard, calloused hand through his hair and his unruly hair disobeys. It clearly bears signs of being under a hat too long despite Pat's best intentions. It falls over his eyes. He doesn't notice.

Walking towards him along the lino, Rebecca can be heard coming towards him. As always, daylight on his side means she'll be able to see him long before he can see her. He grins onto the fly wire front door, blind, hoping she can make out his face. Rebecca watches, her heart twisting as a smile transforms his face. The door is a friend, her lover. It's all she can do not to run.

He scoops her up and the feel of his muscled shoulders under her palms is exquisite. Life is rockmelon, cinders and canvas. Rebecca's lips aren't overly full but her pretty smile lights up her face. It makes her green eyes twinkle and it makes Pat think of his time as a kid, fishing, looking into a sea of the same colour. He shifts his heavy arms and embraces her.

Though tall for a woman, Becky is eaten up by the size and the enthusiasm of her lover's embrace. He strokes big palms over the rough cotton of her shirt; likes the sound and so does it again. Becky can't breathe. It might be impossible to want to be any closer. She folds her arms around his neck and drinks in the smell of him.

Pat smells like blue skies, dirt and summer. Burying her nose in his neck she feels the old leather against her ear, the cotton of his shirt against her cheek, rom the corner of her eye she notes the coarse, fine hairs that struggle free from his top button. She smiles, kissing him lightly. Her face tickles neck.

“Bec?”

Pat sets her aside. The tiny woman looks up, flashing fire at him, an offended cat.

“I got you a present”

“I don't want that kind of present.”

Her face feels cool now, her hands light and lonely. She steps back into his embrace and he cups her bottom through the various materials of her skirts.

“When did you get so damn trendy?”

“It's a new dress, is all. Do you like it?”

“I dunno, let me take it off and get a better look at it.”

Finally, Pat's mouth descends on hers in a kiss. 

want to hear more of this story? let me know...

Bursting at the biblioteca

At the library, we're sitting so close together I can feel his breath on my neck. I stare at a page of letters, grouped and typed in small neat rows. Already whole paragraphs of Times New Roman have become gibberish. His hand slides further up my thigh. My pussy anticipates his touch, a dull ache begins on my insides as desire starts to form. 

Our row of desks are nine flights above street level, facing the window. At night the view of blackness from these floor-to-ceiling glass panels reflects seriously studying students back onto themselves. Right now though, the sun is shining, corrugated campus roofs littered with air conditioning units look like over sized suitcases of 1960's space junk. The bricked path yawns away below us. 

Beside me, Jack licks his lips without looking up. One hand holds a pencil but he's not working on his notes anymore than I am. His fingers continue to trace a path up the smooth flesh of my thigh, working their way unhurriedly towards my skirt's hemline. It's summer, my legs are bare and I kicked off my Havanas half an hour ago. I can feel my own hands beginning to shake. A warm palm presses down on my skin. I glance across at him and he's staring at me. Behind us, the shuffle of shoes indicates we are not alone. Someone is making their way in and out of the shelving, searching. I turn my head.

A dark skinned man stops close by, he wears wire rimmed glasses and an expression of concentration. He searches on a top shelf, retrieves a book, leaves. Jack curls his fingers in between my legs. I'm lush, waiting. He pushes a finger into my slit and languidly strokes all the way upward, missing the nub of my clit. I ache, unfulfilled. He pushes two fingers into my sopping folds, past my lips, into my vagina. Once again he curls his digits, only this time they are inside me, searching. It works, I jerk forward, impaled on his probing hand. He rubs and thrusts.

It's delicious.

Moving On...

Derwisch left in the morning, just as the sun came up. It was a peculiar farewell, soft and silent. If Rose has any doubts as to whether their relationship would continue, they end as the door clicks closed. She begins to cry big, salty crocodile tears for a dream that isn't a worth pursing. She cries because she supposes a man like Derwisch will have no trouble finding another woman, to replace her.

What follows is a day spent wandering aimlessly in an unfamiliar city. Eventually, Rose stops at a pub. She orders a gin and tonic and a bowl of cashews. Rose eats cashews delicately, one by one. She pulls Roman's white business card from her pink handbag. What would it mean to contact him? What could she tell him?

Sipping on her second gin, Rose is aware someone watches. There is a man in an old-fashioned booth by the window.  His mouth is strong and full. On the table, an iPhone lies forgotten, adjacent to his beer. A dark tan hides inked artwork that snakes around his bicep. Close-cropped, short dark hair frames his face.

The man smiles, an open, genuine action that splinters the severity of his otherwise handsome face. Rose finds herself returning the gesture. She shrinks from grinning too broadly and turns away to sip her drink. The barman raises an eyebrow. Rose concentrates on pressing and trapping salt crystals at the bottom of her plastic cashew bowl. She licks them from her digit one by one, savouring the contrast. She traces the ink on Roman's stiff business card. Perhaps if she called him it would pass the time?

The stranger from the window brushes her wrist with his fingertips. Rose jumps, her thoughts stolen away.

“Hi.”

Rose forgets about the business card. His brown eyes sweep her face. Rose swallows, aware her throat is suddenly dry.

“Hey, Yourself”

“Can I buy you a drink?”

“Sure.”

His accent is local. He's built like a tree house, all muscle and tanned flesh. Rose quivers.

“Gin and tonic please.”

He clips his vowels and swallows them with a comic-seductive, New Zealand twang.

“What's your name?”

A big upturned palm extends towards her.

“Levi.”

Rose slots his hand into hers briefly, takes a long sip of her slightly bitter beverage.

“That's kind of cool.”

“You're one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen in my life.”

Rose coughs.

“Thank you.” She manages, cheeks aflame.

Rose puts her drink down.

“You're not so bad yourself.” Seconds pass. She claims her fresh glass.

“Do you drink here regularly?”

“I have a studio around the corner. You're welcome to come and have a see?”

Hotness and tattoos

when real life gets in the way...

Brief photographic interlude, back soon x

Part Two: Rose's Makeshift Lover

Rose is relieved to be flying business class, leaning back in her seat with her eyes shut she hears the rustle of fellow travellers taking their seats around her. She tries to focus on the reason for her trip and the man she is to meet for the first time tomorrow. Derwisch is a dream, an idea concocted a few months ago, founded on conversations in cyberspace, first over the clamour of forum conversations and later by personal message.

Until recently he has been almost a complete mystery; then his offer. Based on Derwisch’s proposition, Rose assumes he is older than she, perhaps in his 50's. He wants a companion with whom he can travel, a privilege for which he is willing to pay.

It seems far too good to be true, he talks of Egypt, India, Canada and Mongolia, all the places she ever dreamt of as a child. They were offered now, by this man she barely knows, with strings of course. Rose intends to spend the next few days with Derwisch, testing the relationship's potential. If it all goes well, he has said he will arrange everything.

She curses herself quietly. Circumstances have transpired to make her unsure. Perhaps she will forget the sexy foreigner from the airport lounge. Luckily, she has no way of contacting him. Rose opens her eyes, perturbed. By her side, a woman arranges personal effects: a book, tissues, glasses and water. The cabin crew begins to close above-head lockers; in-flight TVs flicker and twitch. One hostess bends over Rose's chair, she smells of marigolds and fairy floss.

“I have been asked to give you this.”

It's a business card; she pats Rose's arm before she rises and moves off down the aisle. Rose glances at the crisp, white card.

Roman Aguilar

Business Intelligence Manager

Accenture AUS

M +61400 253 363

E. business.R.A.@accenture.com

Rose clasps and unclasps her hands in her lap to stem her elation. In-flight safety demonstrations commence. Derwisch, she tells herself. Rose sighs loudly. The woman at her side offers her a tissue. Rose shakes her head politely, remembering to breathe out slowly through her nose.

The flight lands in Auckland and Rose disembarks. She catches a cab to her hotel. Her room is tastefully appointed in muted blues and creams. It's also large. No beige, she thinks happily and kicks off her shoes. Rose runs a bath, wandering through the adjoining rooms. She steps out onto a balcony, amused to discover that Auckland isn't a pretty city.

A knock sounds at the door. She opens it hesitantly.

“It's ten past twelve.”

“It is Ma'am.” The teenage in hotel uniform bows his head, avoiding her eyes.

“A Graham Derwisch asks to see you?”

“Downstairs?”

“Yes Ma'am, he said he would wait. If it suits.”

“Oh.” Rose is flustered, tired.

“Tell him no. I want to stick to our arrangement.”

The teen looks quizzically at Rose.

“And why didn't you just place a call?”

“The gentleman asked me to come.”

Rose closes the door, she tries to re-establish her sense of calm. She wonders for the umpteenth time if it was a smart decision to come to Auckland. Finally, Rose sinks into her warm bath. She ducks her dark head under the water.

Half an hour later, feeling refreshed and relaxed, Rose orders a fruit and cheese platter and a bottle of crisp, white wine from room service. So much better she thinks, than the aeroplane or her empty flat across the sea.

A noise at the window catches her attention. A scrabbling, followed by a dull thud. Rose thinks to put on a sweater, hating the idea of being caught out in the dead of night, her pale breasts swinging freely beneath her cotton pajama top. 'I'm a prude' she thinks and then laughs, remembering sex and Roman at the airport, with relish.

“Shit” She whispers, alone.

The hair on the back of Rose's neck rises. Sounds of scuffle drift in from the balcony. Earlier, Rose set the door ajar, letting the fresh night air flow to her rooms. Right now it makes she feel foolish and shaky. Perhaps there is something to be said for locks and caution?

Rose takes a breath and turns on the terrace light. The decking illuminates and she can make out the cause of the noise. A man, his shirt torn and his shoes missing, gets up from where he has fallen. He limps and is missing a shoe. He holds up his hands in surrender.

“I'm Graham.” The man says softly, looking her in the eyes. “Graham Derwisch.”

Relief fuels Rose's reaction and she laughs, clasping her hand over her mouth to stifle her rude response. She hiccups. Her stranger rakes a practised hand over his chin and the start of a 5'o'clock shadow.

Rose's Delectable Diversion

Rose carries the unshakable conviction that her weekend is going to be a success. She skips Friday afternoon knock-off drinks with the office crowd in favour of starting her journey at 5pm. She heads out of the building, on a mission.

Everyone has moments of clarity: remembering for example, how trees are bigger than people (and make much more satisfying noises than people ever will); how clouds are always above us when it's light (it only pays to look up); that the best cure for malaise is a brisk walk, to clear the cobwebs.

This was not one of those moments.

This was a dried-biscuit-and-fireworks feeling in the pit of Rose's stomach. She flashes a grin at the doorman on her way out, surprising even Ralph with its wattage. He waves as she passes and goes back to his magazine. Sometimes it feels to Ralph like he lives and died by Rose's stunning smiles.

Rose catches a cab to the airport. She has an hour and a quarter before her flight. Briefly, she entertains the idea of a last minuting shopping spree to splurge on a sexy outfit. As quickly as she thinks of it, Rose dismisses the idea. It doesn't seem very smart to pretend to be someone she isn't. Rose purses her full lips and absently runs a hand through her hair. Her brown tresses fall past her shoulders, catching the sun through her fingers, turning her highlights to streaks of gold. Her eyes are hidden behind her sunglasses. The cab driver thinks Rose is staring with some fascination at the scenery, in actuality she's miles away, wondering what awaits her in Auckland.

Rose decided weeks ago that the first night was not the right time to meet up with him. After half a dozen hours in transit, late at night, she knows she will be feeling neither fresh, nor amazing. Rose wants their first meeting to be dazzling. A lover's first impression should never be dispassionate and she wants him to melt for her, this man she has only ever encountered by correspondence.

Rose sighs. As lasting impressions go, the first is always the most deadly. She has planned things so their meeting is tomorrow, at 3pm. It means she has the whole night ahead of her, one more long night to let her imagination run rampant. Behind her glasses, Rose closes her eyes.

At the airport Rose checks in and heads for the business lounge. She takes a salmon canapé and orders champagne. In the act of retrieving her novel from the depths of her pink handbag at her feet, Rose notices shoes parked on the carpet in front of her seat, shoes that connect to expensive trousers, encasing sturdy legs. She looks further up into azure blue eyes framed by dark brown hair. The overall effect is unsettling. She wonders if he has the slightest inkling as to how good- looking he is.

He grins, stepping back. Her stranger looks away, raking his hand through his hair in a time-honoured habit. No, thinks Rose, this man has no idea he is devastatingly handsome.

“Something I can help you with?”

“My English is not good.”

Rose bites back a sigh. His accent rolls and crests on the brittle English words. Italian? Spanish? His bedroom eyes explore her face. She can't resist the urge to thrust out her hand, by way of a greeting. Her new acquaintance takes it in his warm, much larger hand and persuades her to her feet. Once there, he towers over her, right before he leans down to kiss both of her cheeks, gently, by way of a greeting. Rose releases the sigh this time.

Happiness

In the abandoned building, amid the rubble, Abraham disrobes. His pale skin glows in the sun, his dark chest hairs protrude, accentuated by the shocking milkiness of his torso. He holds his hands high, grinning. Maggie unpacks their meagre picnic scrounged from a recent dumpster dive. She arranges the slices of stale fruit toast using a plastic bag as a plate. As Abraham proudly displays his junk she throws back her pretty head and laughs. The tinkling sound brightens the room.
 

“I stand before you as an unburdened man.”

“I can see that.”

“Now, I mean now I feel unburdened. You see...” He falters thoughtfully, admiring her. Her grin is at least ten years younger than she is. “What I wanted to do with my life is long passed. I have no wish to aim and not necessarily succeed. Doesn't the seething masses of mediocrity make this collective attempt on a daily basis?”

“I think it depends entirely on your perspective, you know. It's all about what you might have known. One man's hell could be another's measure of success. Like having a job, any job...”

“Philosophy be damned. I have resigned myself to the fact that I have all I need. I have you.”

“Oh thanks.”

“Perhaps I could have been more romantic?”
 

The expression on her face is a mixture of horror and amusement. Her grubby face is marked by years of barely scraping by. 

“Meaning?”

“Meaning I know we have nothing.”

Maggie pops a stale morsel into her mouth and softens it with her tongue. He goes on. 

“Less than nothing, Mon Amour. But I think we should marry, post haste and be done with this gritty world. I love you my dear, I'm not ashamed of it. We are both losers and yet we can make a go of it, don't you think?”

Maggie grins again, her teeth showing. Her eyes sparkle and she opens her mouth to speak. Her last remark, be it a happy response or a protest, remains unspoken. A shot rings out. It pierces the air. Abraham looked aghast as she crumples, slowly, wrongly and falls on an unfortunate angle, subjugated by gravity the way only a lifeless body can be. There is no cry of pain. Her pretty eyes dim and she fades, appallingly quickly. Her lips purse, as though holding back a thought. 
 

From the shadows a very beautiful woman in a black jacket and tight, black jeans steps forward. Her black hair falls past her shoulders. She lowers the pistol. 
 

“Abraham, Honey, you can't expect your past to stay silent. Not even you can suddenly chose to go straight.”

He is shaking.

“That girl.” He stammers. “She was a bloody good woman.”

“Oh I don't doubt it.”

“Better than you'll ever be!” He is distraught.

Anita mouths the phrase with him as he speaks. It infuriates him.

“We would have remained nameless! Flown under the radar! I wouldn't have spoken of you or the others to anyone. Couldn't you have let her go?”

“No of course not. Don't be silly, Abe. Your silence wouldn't have lasted forever, not if you loved her. Now help me drag her into the dumpster.”

“No. I hope you hang for this!”

“Keep your voice down. Besides, corporal punishment is no longer legal, Abraham. Now lift and drag her with me.”

“Shove it up your evil arse.”

“Well I would now, wouldn't I? But you won't let me play anymore.”

“Anita, you are an insufferable woman.”

“Abraham I have spent years perfecting the art.”

“My mistake, I thought you were hiding under a rock, attempting to grow feelings.”

“Your wit is about as exciting as your choice in new lovers. I know what they say, never get jealous when you see your ex with someone new, we were taught, after all, as children, to give our used toys to the less fortunate.”

“You must excuse me. I didn't realise that rock you were hiding under taught you only how to be more of an evil bitch.”

“Rocks aren't teachers. Life taught me.”

“Why did you kill her?”

“Your new toy?”

“Yeah. I think she's sweet, honest. You couldn't begin to understand.”

“Was, my dear.”

“Fuck You.”

Saturday Morning

I go out dancing and come home with mischief.

I’m not really thinking straight, my thighs pressed together in anticipation.

“I just want to feel your fingers inside me”

I barely know him. He doesn’t smile at me, he looks at my lips.

It’s very distracting. I want to pass my tongue over my mouth to check them. I don’t. I wait for him to say something. The motion of the train makes us sway a little. We pass through a tunnel and my pulse jumps. All too soon our carriage snakes back out into daylight. My companion glances at me thoughtfully, a knowing glint in his green eyes.

“You expected something back there?”

Again he employs his unsettling technique of watching my mouth. I'm unsure what he thinks. He was eager, as I was, when we left the bar, holding hands and pelting like lunatics towards the train.

“I was just hoping...?”

I smile with the full force of my ruby-red lips, gripped by uncertainty. The music is no longer with us and the collection of fellow travelers has thinned considerably.

No longer holding hands, there is empty air between us and it does little to assuage my nerves. Heat from the dance floor cools on my skin. I blush, succumbing to a feeling of failure. It’s a surprise when he leans over and squeezes my knee.

“I want to be brave with you.”

Honest, placatory and perfectly timed, his voice is salve to my nerves. A lazy charm offsets the shock of his rough, good looks and melt-you-in-a-moment green eyes.

“You were saying?"

“Oh I was, wasn’t I?" I hear my voice, a little too bright.

“Don’t think about it."

My good humour comes back in a cowardly rush.

“I have a plan."

His face is very close to mine. Unfamiliar smoldering green pools return my questioning look.

“Do you still want me to touch you? ...Here?"

He slides a warm hand along the length of my thigh. All of sudden we are back on an even keel.

“I want to wait.”

The words come out in a rush. It’s a lie. My skin tingles. He slides his fingers under my skirt. I’m so wet my lace knickers are molded to folds in my flesh.

“Mmm”

“Think you can?”

Mischief glows in his eyes. He stops pawing me. The train pulls into our station and cool morning air greets us. From the platform we begin to weave our way back to my flat.

Later, my visitor piles an assortment of toast-toppings onto the bedside table. In the bedroom, large windows look out over rooftops. Thin white curtains shield the view, white walls awash with relentless morning sun. My rumpled bed sheets are a perfect accent to an idyllic picture of high summer.

I flop down on the bed and stretch my arms. He kicks off his shoes and unbuckles his jeans, standing before me in boxers. My eyes linger over his torso's sinewy plains. I wriggle out of my halter-neck shirt and bra. I know he’s watching. My nipples rise to peaks. I wonder what he thinks as I shimmy my little, light skirt down past my ankles and he tugs it free. I’m left wearing only a scrap of light blue lace. He grins a lopsided, stubbly grin and the lust in his eyes warms us both.

He falls onto me in a rush, brushing his lips across mine, smelling my face, kissing my eyelashes, making me giggle before sinking his hand into my hair to brace me for a kiss, a tender, sensory onslaught not at all what I was expecting. I can’t seem to think any more, distracted by his tongue. As the messy meshing of tongues continues, my breast meets his palm. My breathing accelerates. He tastes of warm honey, All-Spice and Star Wars. I get lost in the mixture of his bruising kisses and our stolen, getting-to-know-you moments.

Sliding my hand inside his boxers, I wrap my palm around his unfamiliar, hard cock and pause to watch his face. Green eyes reveal a world of desire. I clasp him and begin my caress. His lids close. I press my body closer, push my breasts to his torso, my thighs against his. I lick his lip. It’s the start of another kiss and my mouth accepts his practiced tongue. I guide the material of his shorts down his legs in relief, flicking them to the floor.

He pushes me away and gets up. Through heavy lashes I watch as he takes a selection from our assembled treats. My white sheets won‘t stay white for much longer. I don't care. I pull him back down. My adventurous new lover scoops up peach pieces, spilling juice on us and coating his fingers. He drops slippery, orange-colour fragments onto my stomach and follows them with the heat of his tongue. He slurps. I raise his fingers to my mouth, sucking them. This elicits a throaty growl. It curls my toes.

“What’s your name?”

My voice is husky.

“Robert, Robbie.”

“Robbie, you’re a God.”

His tongue tickles as he cleans away fruit and juice from my skin.

“A mere mortal, My Lady.” He counters, grinning.

Moments later his lips meet the flesh of my stomach in a kiss.

“Suck my fingers again?”

“Tell me what else you like?”

“Mmm. Do that for me.”

I comply, keeping eye contact. I roll his index finger around in my mouth. I let the digit slide out of my rubbery lips and suck on it to bring it back. Robbie lifts himself up on his haunches, green eyes transfixed. He fumbles, picking up a can of whipping cream. Cold, frothy liquid squirts out. I laugh, only to swallow my giggles as he takes a budded nipple, together with cream, into his mouth. My hands reach into his hair, over his shoulders and down his toned body, groping. I'm searching for the warmth of his rigid cock.

Once I find it, he jerks. I like that and I grasp with a firm hand. He growls in the back of his throat. Our abandoned metal can of cream shocks me with it's coldness, pressed against my side. Robbie trails kisses down my stomach, towards my throbbing slit. I get goosebumps from the combination. He looks back at me, his hands resting either side of my hips.

“What’s my name?”

The tempting sight of his head between my thighs clouds my vision. I know what’s coming next. I’m beside myself with need for his touch, I imagine the heat of his tongue.

“Robbie.” It comes out in a rush of breath.

I try to steady myself, swimming in sensation. He blows cold air on my clit, I almost die. He chuckles and asks me again.

“What’s my name?”

He descends, lavishing his tongue along the breadth of my pussy, pausing to lap at the hard nub of my clit. It's an overload of attention, too much, too soon. I squeal.

“Robbie!” It’s unsteady but I manage to get the words out.

Robbie stops. He takes a moment, releasing fresh whipping cream onto my thigh. My insides do flip-flops at the touch of his tongue. His kisses slide along my skin deliciously, returning to my pussy with sugary cream on his lips and tongue.

“Oh.”

“You like that?”

"MmmM.”

He buries his nose in my softness and licks with wise, artful strokes. I've a belly is full of fireworks and fairy floss. Sparks of raw hunger storm my blood. I look down, his green eyes hold mine with a curious mixture of lust and bewilderment. God knows what he sees in my answer but his expression gentles. He closes his eyes, turning his attention to the task at hand.

I’m melting into the bed, warm hands on my arse the only thing holding me steady. I shudder under the exquisite, unrelenting pattern of heat on my slit. He worries my clit, coating it with saliva. For a moment he plunges his tongue where I most want his cock to follow.

“Ohhhh.”

Lazy with lust, I whimper. I try to encourage him to shift his hips and release me.

“Robbie..."

I pry at his hands. In a moment of self consciousness he wipes pussy-juice from his mouth onto my inner thigh. It makes me smile, He doesn't know me well. I like it dirty. Moments later chocolate sauce pours luxuriantly over my throat and it's possible I am wrong. Evidently my new lover likes it dirty, too.

He dives and snuffles deliciously, descending towards my collarbone, smearing sweet topping on more of my skin as he licks. It's tantalizing and very, very messy. He tucks me under his weight but I want to straddle him. I struggle, clambering up until I'm on top, coated in chocolate and feeling like a vampire's prize.

I choose honey. I smear it onto my hand first, asking him to lick it. His mouth on my palm sends arrows of hunger pangs to my cunt. I grind my hips onto his thickness and remove my hand to taste his lips. I point the squeeze-bottle at his cock. It makes a popping sound as the honey oozes free, coating his helmet. It’s a delight to add my saliva to the sticky, velvet meat. I take the top of his swollen head in my mouth. I lick around the shaft, feeling his fingers shaking on my shoulders. My lips glide up and down his pole. I take a few strokes and stop, unable to resist temptation a single moment longer.

My handprints mar the white, Egyptian cotton at either side of his toned body. I crawl the length of my new lover, eager for cock. His eyes hold me captive, an unreadable expression in those dark green depths. I know it must feel good as he plunges home, hot and tight. It's one hell of a pay off. I tip my hips forward, rocking on my toes for that extra few millimeters of depth.

“Ohhhh...”

I search his unfamiliar features, surprised by how vulnerable he looks. I roll my hips once more, running an appreciative hand over the stubble on his jaw and the short, dark hair on his cheeks. I’m flooded with sensation; from stormy appreciation in his eyes to the prickly feel of his short hair in my hands. He turns his head and sucks on my finger, mimicking me. I rise and take less of him, then sink down to take more. I'm impaled on the sexiest man I’ve ever fucked. He watches me with a strange intensity, it's searingly erotic and frightening. I close my eyes.

“I want you to watch me.”

His voice is hoarse.

I snap them open again. He tips us and I fall away underneath him. My hair tickles my face, splayed on the pillow. We kiss, a faint sweet taste still lingers. I open my legs to welcome his probing cock as it slips into my pussy, thinking he will take me with unforgiving, brutal thrusts. He hesitates. Robbie drops his head, kissing my throat. I'm encased in his arms, hearing nothing but his shallow, ragged breath in my ears.

Tenderness subsides and finally I get what I want. He strokes over and over, pushing his meat into me until I’m so wet I explode, meeting his mouth in a frantic kiss. My pussy clenches and unclenches on his cock. He stuffs digits into my mouth, I suck on them eagerly and in return he slides a wet thumb into the entrance of my arse. I squirm as a fresh onslaught of shuddering pleasure wracks my body. His cock swells. I clutch his tight arse and push him further into me. Warm seed marks his climax.

I wait a few moments and my body stops quaking. As we come back to earth, Robbie looks into my eyes, joining our lips in an exhausted kiss. He flops down beside me. The bright room dips and fades. I succumb to the desire to close my eyes. Soon, sweat will dry on my skin once more, but for now, I’m flushed and sated, pleased with my conquest.

“Damn” Robbie croaks, bunching the plump pillow and turning onto his side.

Sleepily I meet his gaze. I fight the urge to reach out and stroke sexy forearms with shaking fingers. Green eyes appraise me. I’m unsure what he sees.

“You’re beautiful.”

“Thank you” I grin, unabashed. “So are you.”

He wraps me in his arms and we sleep.

Hours later, Robbie and I share breakfast. In just his jeans, he fills my small kitchen with smoldering green glances and leashed sensuality. He finishes the last of his coffee and stands.

“I should go.”

I brace myself. It’s not like me to give a shit when a man leaves my bed. This feels different. I nod, unable to say anything. We don’t really know each other.

I watch him loping down the footpath, away from our magical morning. I hold onto the old wooden door for support, taking a long, last look at his low-slung jeans and that delectable arse.

He stops.

“What’s your name?”

“You should call me and find out.” My confidence blossoms. “Or just come round sometime.”

I kick the door closed.

Winning Isn't Everything

Jess's flesh tingled. The breeze caught the back of her knees as a reminder of how much bare flesh she was choosing to expose today. She flexed her warm toes in her suede boots, enjoying the feel of Kane's bold, hot cock inching it's way further towards the warmth between her legs. Around them, at the public event, people were watching the beautiful sailing boats competing on the water.

In the half an hour or so since the first spectators had arrived, a small crowd had now gathered. Jess and Kane had chosen a vantage point close to the sandstone ridge and protected from the water by railing. It was the cold, painted metal of the handrail that Jess gripped now. She tried not to wriggle, shuffle or cry out in anticipation. Jess feigned avid interest in the water sport, leaning forward as the wind picked up and the tension increased. It would be a few hours yet before it would be clear who the winner might be.

Behind her, Kane pushed into her. His cock head stretching her soft, wet walls until he was sliding home gently and deeply. Jess shuddered. He stopped, buried balls deep with his thickness inside her. Jess held her breath, deliciously, provocatively impaled. Their love play was apparently unnoticed.

Thankfully, Kane's grey greatcoat hid their activities and they were aided by Jess's choice of a tight, short skirt with her windbreaker. Her pussy was now reaping the benefits of a surge of morning creativity. In anticipation of her date, Jess had shaved and at the last minute, taken off her knickers. It was windy, though not blowing a gale and the sensation of nature on her intimate flesh made her frisky, flushed and keen for cock. After some coy rubbing and kissing, at the start of the day, Jess had whispered her request and it was the one he was carrying out now.

Kane was different to Jess's normal taste in fuck-puppets but so far, their new acquaintance was progressing. Certainly today, his smart, casual, upper-middle-class attire was serving them well. Kane moved between her legs, he held her hips firmly and rocked on his heels. The action was slight but it filled Jess's imagination with carnal longing. She wanted more. Kane lent in, kissing the back of her ear. She bit her lip.

“ Shall we go somewhere else?”

Impaled on his pleasure-pole, publicly, Jess was in a world of exquisite sensation. She struggled to respond.

“ I want you to fuck me.” Came her soft reply.

Kane's brown eyes lit with a responding carnal fire. He turned her towards him and slid his warm, spicy tongue into her mouth, licking the salt from her lips, left there by the wind. His cock twitched, still inside her but not buried as deeply as before. Jess ached for more length.

“ AhhhA” She said softly into his mouth.

Almost inaudibly, Kane growled. He let her go, making a show of buttoning his coat, adjusting his scarf and waiting for her.

They wove their way through the crowd of sailing enthusiasts and headed up the dunes toward the club house. Once they reached the building Kane pulled her to him. He ran his warm hands up the inside of her windbreaker, pawing at her plump breasts through her ti-shirt and her bra. Jess felt her nipples harden, both from the cold and from his brazen touch.

“ You're so hot.”

He planted a heated kiss on her neck. Jess slipped a cold hand inside his jacket, pleased to find his hard dick still protruding from his trousers.

“ I want this.”

She licked her lips. A dark lust shone in Kane's eyes and Jess reveled in the power she held over him. Her slender hand encompassed his cock. She began slowly to stroke him. After a moment, she withdrew and raised her palm to her mouth, coating it in saliva. She took hold of him once more and Kane closed his eyes.

“ Your Land rover?” Jess suggested shakily.

Kane's eyes snapped open.

“ God no.”

He kissed her mouth and moved her hand aside, replacing his cock with some difficulty within the confines of his pants. Kane tore them from their secluded alcove, her hand firmly tucked in his.

Just before a kiosk filled with yet more people, they came upon a door. Kane tried the handle, it opened and Kane tugged her into the building. They legged it up a flight of stairs like teenagers, locking the door behind them. Jess caught her breath. They found themselves in a large, carpeted room with sweeping views of the coastline.

Jess hoped the glass was tinted and she hesitated momentarily before striding to the middle of the room, beginning to undress. For a few moments Kane didn't notice her. He gaped, facing the sea, preoccupied with the view. When he turned back to the room's interior, Jess was nude, her clothes piled mischievously at her feet.

Kane's gaze swept over her exposed body. Her creamy skin glowed in the ambient light from the window. Her full figure so much like a sculptor's dream. Under his scrutiny, moisture pooled at the cleft of her thighs and her dark pink nipples budded. Jess steadied herself, calming her racing heart as she waited to see what her lover might do.

He took off his jacket.

Kane walked around her as though she were in an art exhibition, admiring her form and lazily sweeping his appreciative gaze from her ankles to the roots of her hair. Already flushed from her brief taste of cock, Jess pressed her breasts together. She licked two fingers and a thumb and stroked her own nipple. In the same action she pressed her thighs together, enjoying the swollen feel of her pussy, ripened with juice. She flicked her long, chestnut hair and dove two bold fingers into her snatch.

Kane took off his shirt, unbuttoning the practical cotton of his business shirt to reveal a muscular chest and a fine spray of dark chest hair. Jess motioned she wanted to close the distance between them but he shook his head.

“ Not yet.” He said softly. “I'm enjoying the show.”

Jess's practiced fingers drew her juices deliciously towards her clitoris, coating the sensitive nub. The clubroom faded as she stroked and brought herself closer to orgasm.

“Oh”

She opened her eyes, pleased to note how Kane's cock strained at the fabric of his trousers. She strode barefoot over to the nearby wall and braced one hand against it. The other, she used to continue stimulating her sensitive center. She cast a glance over her shoulder. Kane had taken his cock out, proud and rock hard. He painted a picture of the ultimate voyeur.

“ Rock out with your cock out.” She said softly, her eyes dancing. Their eyes locked and Kane's lips gave way to a wry grin.

“ Please, please fuck me.” Her tone was husky.

His grin faded, and a familiar fire flashed in his eyes. Kane strode towards her. Jess lifted her hips and leaned forward in a deliciously provocative offer. His gaze zeroed in on his prize. Jess reacted quickly. Before he could reach her, she stepped away from the wall, meeting him and pulling his willing face down to hers in a feverish kiss.

When she broke away they were breathing hard. Kane registered bewilderment and he ran a hand through this dark, already disheveled locks. Jess happily wrapped her hand around his cock and sank to her knees. She very gently licked him all over, taking so long she began to feel his shaking hands as they applied pressure to the back of her head, encouraging her to do more. She knew he wanted her to take more of him into her mouth and relieve the exquisite, escalating pressure.

Finally, Jess slid most of his warm shaft into her mouth. She slurped and released, bobbed once again and this time deep-throated him.

“ OH GOD!” Kane bit out and in another situation, Jess might have smiled in triumph.

Greedily, she licked his balls with the flat of her tongue and pressed his cock back into her hot mouth. Jess kept one hand on his shaft, the other on his buttocks, willing him to cry out again. His impressive toy was so hard Jess began to wonder just how much more teasing he could take. She stopped and stood up, kissing him on the lips, continuing to slide a cheeky hand up and down his taut, velvet flesh.

Kane eagerly turned his attentions to her ripe breasts, cupping them lovingly as he ran his tongue around the sensitive flesh. Jess shut her eyes, nearly losing her footing. Kane popped her nipple into his mouth. Her pussy responded by growing ever lusher, keening to be filled. Jess couldn't help herself. She slid her hand between her legs.

“ I love you're creamy skin.” He said, naked now, except for his socks.

“ Do you like my hips?”

“Yes.”

“And this?”

She sought his hand, forming it into a small spade with two fingers jutting forward. Jess placed his warm, bent hand on her peach, willing him to thrust his digits into her. She was all but delirious with need, her only thought to burst the growing, aching, unbearable pressure. His slid two fingers inside and she shifted her pelvis towards his touch.

“ Ohhhh..”

“You like that?”

He thrust in again. Jess couldn't speak.

“ How would you like me to fuck you?” His voice was low.

The woman before him was more ready than he had ever seen her. Her cheeks were flushed and her delectable lips were swollen. Lust cast a shadow in her eyes, allowing a glimpse of the aching need that coursed through her prone body. He kissed her soundly, stroking her inner softness as he positioned her at the wall. Kane removed his fingers and thrust his eager cock into her, bending one of her legs at the knee.

Amazed that a man's entry could feel so good, Jess said nothing. She panted. He clenched his buttocks, released and for a second time, stroked inside his lover.

“OooooOhhh” The world spun. Everything felt delicious, fat and full.

“Shhhh.” Kane bit out, very close to her ear.

He kissed her mouth forcefully, his hot tongue twining with hers as his cock thrust into her depths again and again. Jess held her mouth open, eager for caresses but unable to focus her thoughts properly. Daylight disappeared momentarily. All that remained was the sound of her own breathing, his panting gasps and the feeling of his wonderful cock, stretching her.

Their kisses grew messy and wet. The flesh of Kane's abdomen contacted her clitoris from time to time, eliciting fireworks. At last, Jess's pussy quivered and quaked as she came. Feeling her release, Kane slowed his pace. He eased himself from her and turned her. Jess's palms connected with the wall. Kane shifted, gradually feeding his large cock into her once more, this time stretching her anus and filling her arse with deliciously, dirty intent. Jess felt her sex tingle. Memories of their brief outdoor encounter fueled her response.

“ Oh. YES.” She hissed.

His massive slug began to slide in and out of her, gradually increasing in pace. Soon, Jess was pushing back as he drove forward. She licked her fingers and reached down to stroke her clit as he continued. Kane slapped her rump. She jumped, clenching from the pain, impaled on his cock. It was the final straw for Kane's tenuous control and he unloaded a generous dollop of spunk into her back passage, sending her once more over the edge.

Gradually euphoria subsided and Kane withdrew, turning his pliant lover so they faced one another. A light sheen of sweat covered them both. Jess collapsed against his solid frame; sweaty, sticky, spent.

“Oh, that was good.” She mumbled into his shoulder.

“You're so hot.”

Kane kissed the top of her head through her hair.

“We should get out of here.”

“I just need a minute.”

He let her go and Jess sank to the floor. Jess ran a hand through her hair, pulling her aching limbs into sitting position as Kane ferreted for his clothes. Leaning back on her hands, exhausted, Jess grinned. She looked delectable, her skin flushed from exertion and her pert breasts pointing skyward. Kane smiled too.

All in all, Jess considered it wasn't a bad day at the races.

“C'mon let's go and find out who's winning.”