Sex with a Sting: Six Erotic Fantasies with a Kink in the Tail (15 page)

Again and again he ploughed into her.
“She never let you fuck her like this, did she baby? She never opened her legs
for you like I do, did she?” He was smiling, laughing as he fucked her. “Jesus,
you are the best fuck I have ever had in my life!” she shouted as he lifted her
legs in the air, placing one on each of his shoulders. He drove himself so deep
it took her breath away. He dominated her until she could no longer talk, she
just felt her orgasm radiating from a tiny kernel in her stomach right out to
the tips of her fingers. Her ears rang. Her eyes felt like they could only see
very bright light. She threw her arms back, grabbed the edge of the desk and
valiantly thrust her body towards him and then, with no inhibitions, she
screamed to a loud, vigorous climax, just as she felt him shoot his hot cum
deep inside her.

“Oh. My. God,” she managed to utter
between deep breaths. He gently removed himself from her and climbed off the
end of the desk. “Amazing. Amazing. Amazing,” she repeated.

He didn’t reply. She could just hear him
breathing. And then she heard him chuckle. He sounded like he was a few steps
away. Why had he left her? She heard a girlish giggle too. What? She flicked
her eyes open. At first it was hard to focus. The light was harsh, and she
thought she was seeing double. Were there two people there? She propped herself
up on her elbows. Paolo had his arm round a girl – her PA, in fact. Lily.
They were both smiling. Lily was holding an iPhone.

“Okay, Lily, I think that’s enough,” said
Paolo. She lowered it and then instinctively took his hand.

“What the fuck is going on?” asked Zoe,
utterly bewildered.

“Not much Zoe. You know Lily of course.
Well. I think it’s time the pair of us became your brand new partners in the
firm, don’t you? We wouldn’t want your husband to see this tape, after all.”

She thought he
would change. She was warned, of course. All her friends warned her. He had a
reputation. He was a ladies’ man (a phrase that always seemed wrong to Liz
– surely ladies do not approve of the kind of thing ladies’ men get up
to, so how can they be ladies’ men?). He was unreliable. He had a roving eye.
If Liz had been dating Ethan in the 1920s he would have been labelled a cad, a
bounder and a scoundrel.

He was, in short,
a cheat.

A philanderer.

A pussy hound.
Yes, indeed. A pussy hound.

But, like many
women before her (many, many women), she thought she could change him. And, to
a certain extent, she succeeded.

Liz met Ethan at a
north London dinner party in 2007. Single at the time, she had attended alone.
Without a date! She didn’t care about things like that, plus, her friend,
Maxine, had insisted that there would be no chance of that gooseberry feeling
because there would be lots of lovely people to chat to.

When Liz arrived
she counted the seats at the table. Seven. Six of them claimed by three
couples.
Perfect
.

At the time, Liz
was 26. She was strong, independent, carefree and believed dinner parties
should be limited to people over 40 who no longer enjoy doing things that are
actually, you know,
fun
. But Maxine, who had always been like an older
sister to her, was very persuasive, so she had agreed, just this once, to join
one of her semi-regular soirees. “Darling, you’ll love it!” cooed Maxine.
“Honestly, Jack cooks something divine, we eat it all, we get drunk and we
flirt a lot. What’s not to like?”

“Look, it’s not
one of those…
car key parties
is it? You’re not growing
pampas grass
in your front garden, are you? Because, I’m not… I’m not
into
all that
shit,” replied Liz, smiling. She wasn’t completely joking. Maxine and Jack did
have something of a reputation amongst their friends. Their marriage, while not
exactly open, was certainly, well, ajar.

“Lizzie, we only
went to one of those things
once
.”

“Once?!”

“Okay, maybe
twice. Three times, max. Ha! Three Times Max! That was my nickname the first
time we went to one of those things.”

“Oh Christ,
Maxine!”

“Only joking
darling. That would have been far too crude. Look, I promise this is all
properly innocent. No orgies. Just food, laughing, candles, champers and witty
conversation. Absolutely no nudity. Although Jack and I will probably fuck on
the dining room table once you’ve all left. It’s sort of our tradition.”

Maxine was a vamp:
long, jet black hair, dark mauve eye shadow, full lips, black nail polish,
beautiful, almost luminescent white skin and a voluptuous figure always accentuated
by deliberately alluring clothing. She had a mischievous smile. Not the
mischievous smile you might find on a cheeky young scamp; the kind of
mischievous smile that could spark filthy thoughts in just about any man. Or
any woman, come to that. Even Liz had, very occasionally, after a couple too
many tequila shots, found herself peering wistfully into the inviting valley of
Max’s wondrous cleavage or gazing thoughtfully at her fishnet tights. Virtually
everything Max said seemed to have a hint of sex about it so, all in all, her
reassurances about a chaste evening were difficult to take at face value.

Still, Liz had
nothing else planned for that Saturday night. It would be good to meet one or
two new people. She had no qualms about going alone, but once she was there,
despite her best efforts, she had to admit she felt a little awkward. When
you’re the only singleton in a roomful of couples, at some point someone is
going to ask if you have another half (as if singles are not fully rounded
people in their own right). When you say no, the couples, who can never bear to
see singles be singles, will inevitably start trying to pair you up with their
single friends in an effort to ensure everyone else is as trapped and as
miserable as they are. It’s always the same.

Liz endured just
such a conversation that evening. It was made worse by the fact that she was,
by several years, the youngest at the table. Maxine and her husband Jack were
both 33. Olly, a teacher, was 35 and his wife, Carly, a lovely TV producer, was
32. And then there was Ethan, a tall, buff, loud, over-confident American who
had been working in London for a number of years as a personal trainer to the
wealthy and semi-famous. He was 34 and had brought along his latest casual
girlfriend, Ella, an interior designer who had also enjoyed a successful career
as a model. She was older than him, likely around 39 or 40, and absolutely
stunning. Without a partner, born in a different decade to the rest of the
table, Liz couldn’t help but feel a little uncomfortable. She was the baby of
the group, patronised for most of the evening about how she was ‘bound to find
someone soon’. Ella in particular talked down to her, perhaps intimidated by
her youth.

Maxine, though,
was the saving grace, and at about 10.30 she admonished her guests for their
obsession with poor Lizzie’s sex life, or lack thereof, and managed to steer
the conversation onto something else.

Booze helped of
course, as did the wonderful food. Jack was a gourmet and had even appeared in
the second series of TV’s dinner party cook-off show,
Come Dine With Me
,
which he won with something to spare thanks to his outrageously tasty pork
belly. The hosts did not stint, providing three bottles of carefully selected
wine for each of the four courses. By 11pm everyone was chattering all at once
and Liz finally relaxed and began to enjoy the evening.

It was probably
around this time that she first felt Ethan’s hand brush hers under the table.
She thought at first that it was a mistake, but then he did it again and soon
he linked his little finger with hers. When she didn’t move her hand, out of
shock but also because she had to admit she was a little flattered, he ran his
fingers across her hand and onto her thigh.

He wasn’t even
talking to her. They were sitting next to each other, but he was talking across
the table to Jack, while Liz conversed with Carly to her left. The fact that she
and Ethan weren’t talking or looking at each other excited Liz, even while she
felt distaste at his arrogance, at his assumption that she would allow him to
mess about like this, right in front of his girlfriend. The excitement overrode
the annoyance, though, and she didn’t put up a fight when his fingers moved to
her inner thigh. She thought about reaching across to touch him too, but
decided that wouldn’t be right. He was still sitting next to Ella, after all.
In her wine-addled mind she decided that if he wanted to touch her and she did
nothing, that was fine, but encouraging him by reciprocating was crossing the
line.

Her immediate
impression of Ethan had not been good. He was too loud, too sure of himself,
too aware, she believed, of how good-looking he was. She didn’t think much of
his taste in women either – his date presented a manner that suggested
she thought she was above this kind of gathering. Perhaps he was a bit of a
modeliser, because Liz couldn’t see much else in Ella that anyone would go for
other than her striking looks.

Yet as the evening
wore on she grew to like Ethan. Unsurprisingly for a New Yorker, he wasn’t shy
and loved to talk, but he was genuinely funny and a great raconteur. At one
stage he held the entire table spellbound (except for Ella, who disappeared to
the bathroom in the middle of the story – possibly, decided Liz, for a
bit of nose candy, because she came back looking considerably more awake than
when she left) with a story about how his female ‘math’ teacher had come on to
him when he was just 15. He claimed she wasn’t even his first conquest. “Hey,
it’s nothing I ever did, it all just came natural. I guess I just have that
kinda face.”

“What kind of
face?” asked Ella.

“I dunno, the kind
of face that women want between their legs! Gimme a break, will ya?” Even Ella
broke down laughing at that.

The truth was that
he seemed to be a warm person, clearly loved by Maxine and Jack. For years
people had been telling him he needed to get on the radio or get on TV with his
personality and ease in front of a crowd, but he always insisted he was happy
in his job, which, after all, provided generous pay and flexible hours. He
never lacked for enquiries from potential new clients because he had built up a
fine reputation as a trainer. Ethan led a pretty contented life.

Well, contented
apart from where women were concerned. In that area, he was never content and,
if he were to be believed, he had happily bounced from one woman to the next
for a couple of decades or more. Often the women were slightly older, but they
were always glamorous, usually wealthy and without exception extremely fashion
conscious. He didn’t care much for labels himself, but with his gloriously
toned body, smart mouth and sparkling eyes, he didn’t really need to be. Barely
a woman he trained didn’t fantasise about getting him into bed at some stage
– and he wasn’t above taking advantage of those feelings of attraction.

He was honest,
though. He always tried to let women know that he wasn’t to be tied down and
that he enjoyed his freedom. For the most part, that worked out pretty well
overall, although on a couple of occasions he had lost big clients after their
relationship went pleasantly south and then unpleasantly further south.

Of course, that
evening, Liz knew none of this. All she knew was that despite having a sexy,
ageless (perhaps with the aid of Botox, admittedly) woman on one the one hand,
he was interested in exploring the twenty-something enigma on the other. At
around midnight, his hand, under the tablecloth, risked moving an inch higher,
brushing very definitely against her crotch. She jumped a little, apologised
and then announced she was going to the bathroom.

That served as a
sort of signal for the rest of the table to begin clearing the remaining plates
and for the coffee to make an appearance. People briefly mentioned taxis,
mobile phones were checked and plans were made to call it a night soon.
Upstairs, Liz washed her hands, checked her make-up, saw with a frown that her
tongue had a blue tinge from too much red wine, tried to rinse it off with some
water and then left the bathroom. As she reached the stairs she heard footsteps
coming the other way. She hesitated. She had a superstition about passing
others on the stairs. Around the corner came Ethan. He smiled. She blushed. “I
hope I wasn’t too… forward, back there,” he said.

“Well, it was a
bit odd, you know, with, er, with Ella…” Ethan had reached the top of the
stairs and was now standing very, very close.

“You are
absolutely gorgeous,” he whispered.

“Thanks,” she
murmured. Suddenly he kissed her elegantly on the lips. Involuntarily, she
leaned forward, wanting more, but he withdrew and glanced back down the stairs.

“You best get
back,” he said. He took her hand for a moment and she felt something pointy.
She looked down. His card. On the back he had written: ‘Call soon.’ She wasn’t
sure whether she thought he was a slimy creep or incredibly sexy. Or an
incredibly sexy creep.

A couple of days
later, Liz had coffee in town with Maxine and told her everything that had
happened. That was when she first started to learn about Ethan and his
lifestyle. It turned out Maxine had never met Ella before. She had been
expecting an actress called Louise, but he had ditched her a couple of days
earlier and had brought Ella instead. He had texted Max afterwards to apologise
for her standoffish personality, but insisted that he ‘just needed to fuck her
once’. That was Ethan, she explained. Never with anyone longer than a month.