Stranger in the Wharf

by H. A. Nicola

  She decided to lighten the mood. The last thing she wanted to do was add to his stresses.

  “So, I have a magic wand.” She bolted upright and pointed an imaginary magical instrument in the air. “I can wave it, and you can become anything you want. What would it be?”

  “I don’t know; a movie star?” There was little hesitation, and Cayenne was impressed that he had been brave enough to share that with her, as she was sure it wasn’t something he would usually reveal. And why didn’t his choice of career surprise her?—judging by his theatrical performance in North Greenwich. The poised plié, the constant tossing of the hair, the hideously feminine popping of the hip, the counterfeit swagger and the Hollywood drawl—come to think of it, he was acting every day of his life.

  “But I’ve also always harboured a desire to enter the political arena.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. It’s always interested me.”

  Somehow, judging by the look in his eye, she wasn’t buying it. It was most likely something he had heard out of the mouth of someone that he held in high regard.

  “So would you consider it… I mean seriously?”

  “I’d love to.” He began to frown, and she could almost hear his inner demons stripping away at his confidence. “But then I think, you know I’ve got a good job, earning good money that affords me to do things like this.” He stroked her arm, tugging her towards him.

  As she melted into the nook of his torso, she felt a calmness that she had managed a slight glimpse of the real him.

  After much kissing and touching, she could finally begin to feel the stirrings of sexual desire returning. The warmth of expectation slowly thawing the core of her erogenous zone. He stood and slipped out of his robe and pulled off his boxer shorts, which she noted were fairly nondescript for a wealthy city accountant. They looked rather like the ones that she sourced as new cleaning cloths when her son’s boxer shorts were beginning to look worse for wear, and the current cleaning material was in short supply. Bland and shapeless, much like the owner.

  “I’m creaming my pants. This is so embarrassing.” His glasses were steaming up, so he took them off and placed them on the bedside table. He was clearly bemused by the intoxicating rush of her presence but confused by the juxtaposing effect on his libido.

  But even though there were parts of him that evoked acute nausea, she was sufficiently enticed by now to want a closer inspection of his cock. He was generously endowed, a fact he was immensely proud of which clearly fuelled his shameless strut around the room trying to sustain his firmness which was threatening to soften with delirium.

  He clambered over her again cursing himself as he tried to stem the leakage from his penis. “I can’t stop it… I don’t understand, this doesn’t usually happen.”

  She reassured him that it was okay and pulled his head down to the opening of her robe. The warmth of his tongue on her pussy made her arch her back with delight. She opened her legs wide to allow him further access. Her eyes were rolling back in her head as she relaxed into his rhythm. When he pulled away, she was sure it was to position himself to heighten her pleasure.

  “Oh God. I’m so sorry. I’ve come.”

  He reached for his robe and used it to soak up the flow of arousal that was pouring out from him.

  He was embarrassed and frustrated, but Cayenne could clearly see puzzlement in his expression as though he wasn’t accustomed to this level of sexual intensity. She found herself wondering if his response would be similar if he happened to encounter a properly prepared, seasoned and well-executed scallop, oozing with its unique natural flavours as opposed to customarily accepting wholly inadequate replicas. Whether an authentic platter of tapas would derail him. Whether his eyes would pop out of his head with wonder at the realisation that life had more to offer. There were other levels.

  He continued to compensate her with his tongue, taking her on a journey into the depths of her abdominals until she released her own juices as her body soared towards an orgasmic crescendo. There was barely a trace remaining after he had feasted at the mouth of her cunt.

  Afterwards, they lay in each other’s arms as she listened to him berating himself for his inability to delay his ejaculation, which only served to feed her sense of betrayal. Cheated of a fine-dining experience. Cheated of authentic haute cuisine tapas. Cheated of an executive suite. Cheated of penetration. Cheated of the ultimate orgasm.

  "You’re welcome to stay overnight. I can try and come back tomorrow and finish what I started.

  She paused considering that the children would be expecting her back that evening. He mistook her delay for discontent.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “I won’t stay over because the children will be expecting me, but I may come back tomorrow.”

  “I will make it up to you.”

  All throughout the journey home, whirling around her mind as she greeted the children, etching into her memory as she showered and changed into her own comfortable bathrobe, all throughout the meal the children had left for her; and whilst she set the apartment straight in preparation for the next hectic morning, she pondered exactly what she would say, and how to let him down gently without permeating his ego further. His ego which was both delicate and exalted all at once.

  "I honestly believe that you are a great guy…

  Very sweet and sincere, and I am impressed with your resilience when not many people can withstand the force of nature that is Cayenne Richards. You even laugh at my humour at your own expense. Believe me, that is rare. I’ll actually miss that a little and your daily emails. But I feel, at this early stage, it would be prudent to finish on a high (of sorts) while we still like each other. Whilst we can still sift good memories from the fray.

  How’s that for honesty? Farewell my friend."

  A good night’s sleep did nothing to pacify her sexual frustration.

  After the school run, she marched directly to the DLR Station and began her single-minded trek with a forthright demeanour that parted the crowds in her wake. Destination?… Mayfair.

  Chapter 18

  He had left his electronic door key behind when he left the hotel. It was still on the bedside table where he had placed it alongside some screwed up receipts and an unused packet of condoms. The discarded towels and soiled robes lay where they left them, and the bed remained a dishevelled vision of unfulfilled desire.

  As it was still early, and she hadn’t had breakfast, she decided to order some from room service hoping that the hotel kitchen fared better than the Spanish restaurant downstairs.

  Thirty minutes later, she opened the door and stepped aside as the waitress, dressed in a black full-length garment with a white apron tied around her waist with an embroidered white cap covering her hair, wheeled a large food trolley past her and proceeded to dismantle it to reveal a hidden table.

  Cayenne cast an approving eye over the delicacies before her. Slices of wholemeal toast stood upright alongside a small dish of an assortment of butter, honey, jams and marmalade.

  A small pot of hot chocolate awaited its creamy component. The waitress lifted the steel dome which was covering a large porcelain plate to reveal a generously portioned omelette, which only hinted at the creamy cheese and wilting spinach that lay within its fold. The aroma reached her nostrils and assured her stomach that a treat was in store. She wasn’t disappointed. The perfectly cooked protein melted in her mouth.

  She spent the rest of the morning watching an interview on the sports channel, where a former boxing champ was reliving his momentous career and reflecting on the challenges that he had overcome, but she deliberately avoided wasting time on mindless viewing. As she was flicking through the luxury magazines that were piled at the end of the desk, she began to feel peckish again.

  It didn’t take much deliberation for her to decide upon beef Carpaccio and Caesar salad, followed by an Angus beef steak with a side of creamy mash with chives and a large glass of Baron de ‘L’ Pouilly-Fume,
Ladoucette. Perhaps she could learn to appreciate white wine after all.

  She was feeling so fully recompensed for the previous night’s disappointment that by the time she heard a faint knock on the door, she had little need for any executive contribution.

  She kept him waiting long enough to require a second knock and sauntered at her leisure to let him in. His eyes lit up when he saw her, and she knew instantly that he had come fully prepared to reimburse any previous failure. She deliberately flexed her glutes as she strode back to the upright chair next to the desk and she could feel his goggling eyes from behind, checking out her tight black trousers and embroidered vest top. She sat down seductively, draping one leg over the arm of the chair, both for comfort and his torture. He complimented her on the maroon choker around her neck, and how it enhanced the burgundy stain of her lips, which he seemed unable to draw his gaze away from.

  She fixed her face firmly as he began to walk towards her, confirming to him non-verbally that matters were not about to proceed as expected, and that sanctions had been put in place in light of his doomed attempt towards her fulfilment.

  The look of shock remained on his face for the rest of his time there. The two-hour slot that he had managed to secure away from the office in order to rush into Central London from Canary Wharf, and attempt the seemingly unattainable task of satisfying her mounting need, was now rendered grossly insufficient.

  She remained resolute right up until he slipped reluctantly out of the door to return back to work. His eyes lingering in the hope that she would relent and allow him one last caress. One last kiss, a sympathy hug.

  Her parting gaze was as cold as her unspent libido. Facing the closed mahogany door for only a second, she considered how best to spend the final hour before she was due to vacate the room.

  Pulling back the heavy curtains, she put the kettle on to boil and helped herself to a cup of Mayfair coffee and a packet of shortbread from the minibar, savouring the buttery crumble as she watched the Mayfair citizens bustling through the streets below.

  The stranger would have been long gone by now, but yet still, her eyes were cast intently, just in case they happened upon a luckless soul, with downcast mien, floppy hair hanging hopelessly over a furrowed brow, disconsolate eyes hidden behind clouded glasses. Shoulders hunched in despair. The doormen must surely have blinked a double take from their sight as an inward bounding Man of Steel, full of vigour and heroic enthusiasm would have re-emerged from the rotating doors shortly thereafter, the tail of his Clark Kent frock coat wedged firmly between his legs.

  Chapter 19

  Several days passed without her checking her emails.

  "Okay. I’m not liking this deja vu sensation—the threat of that brutal cut off.

  I am your bitch, I am your white slut. Can you not see what you achieved the other day? I was on the brink of giving it all to you. The thinking was done, I was seduced and utterly corrupted.

  THE ONLY THING THAT STOPPED ME WAS THAT AFTER THREE HOURS OF PLAY… I COULDN’T HOLD.

  I am fucking annoyed I didn’t fuck you. Especially when I had you wide open in front of me…

  I don’t now need further torture!!

  I’m now sadly back to reality… no Mayfair pad to run to today!"

  “I know. Cast your mind back and enjoy the memory. Contrary to your opinion, I wasn’t cutting you off. Rather, I have managed to carve out a life that I don’t have a desperate need to escape from, and I was enjoying it.”

  “I’m still reeling from the harsh non-touch policy you inflicted on me.”

  “Was it harsh? Surely it’s a human reaction to protect oneself from further disappointment.”

  "Ha-ha, yes, I suppose it makes complete sense…

  Having you there… Available like that…aaaarrrrrggghhh!"

  “I know. My very essence will haunt you forevermore.”

  “Claridges next?”

  “I love a man who pulls out the big guns.”

  "So there is a way of tempting you back into bed…

  This addiction is not easy!!!"

  "Changing the subject, I’ve just got an email that I may have managed to secure some work for the Easter and summer holidays.

  Finding work in the limited school hours is difficult, so that’s good news.

  To answer your question… with a man of your stealth and resilience, I’d imagine it would be an absolute breeze."

  “Hey, well done—is it local?”

  “Yes. It’s to co-ordinate school holiday play/activities at St Peter’s Catholic School. Very convenient too.”

  “Good stuff—seriously well done.”

  “Aah, thank you.”

  Cayenne was touched by how pleased he seemed for her; she sensed genuine care.

  She had been sent a random email advertising the school holiday vacancy and had decided there would be no harm in trying, even though working with children was hardly a passion for her. The demands of her own children were more than enough to fulfil any such desire.

  Later that night, Cayenne took the initiative to message the stranger.

  Her body’s hunger prompting her to share her thoughts.

  "Just had a vision flash before my eyes.

  I’m sitting in a chair by the window in a hotel. I’m wearing a shirt tied in a knot at the waist with a wide florescent leather belt and ’50s-style skater skirt. My legs are bare except for a sheen of cocoa butter. I’m wearing black kitten heels which is most appropriate, as they perfectly compliment the throbbing pussy between my legs. I cross my thighs seductively as you approach looking crestfallen and riddled with anxiety.

  I press my thighs together, determined not to let your drooping shoulders soften my resolve; but the moment you drop to your knees, something takes over me. The next thing I know, my legs are akimbo over the arms of the chair, and I’m pressing down with my legs so as to elevate my derriere.

  My legs move up and down in a flapping motion causing my pussy to rise and fall in complete synergy with your tongue, which is showering my clit.

  The flared skater skirt is willowing around with the sensation of my quivering body. I can’t seem to lift my ass high enough to satisfy my desperation to bring myself closer to your mouth. I let out a deep groan as a warm pleasure engulfs me."

  To her disappointment, there was no response. Perhaps he was attempting to punish her.

  The following morning, her phone was still silent.

  It was two days later before she realised she had been holding her breath…

  “Hey! Been away for the weekend without good internet connection—just back. Will catch up first thing and try to restore lines of comms!!”

  A twinge of jealousy stabbed at her ego, and she could feel herself beginning to seethe. Her juvenile instinct reacted before she could engage her brain.

  "Don’t bother.

  I’ll be away with my new internet fuck… getting a good screwing FINALLY!"

  It was the following morning before he replied…

  “Okay, great news. Enjoy.”

  “The hunger for black pussy has clearly waned already.” She could have cursed herself for not having the strength to disengage.

  "Cheeky…

  I really do need to give it to you hard.

  You’ve turned me on as I walk in the office. Severe hardening in my pants. Excitement pulsing. Bad bad girl.

  So no, the need for your tight wet black pussy has not waned.

  Home alone?"

  “I’m in the Wharf with a wet pussy.”

  "Really? … no wonder I’m on heat … where are you?

  Let’s do tea at the Hilton."

  Cayenne arrived first and headed towards the bar at the rear where she ordered a pot of tea for two. She advised the bar staff that the gentleman arriving shortly would add the order to his bill as instructed.

  As she waited, she checked her appearance in the mirrored wall behind her and noticed an Arab-looking gentleman seated at the other end of the restaurant.
He was dining alone and was unashamedly staring in her direction.

  She was wearing her gym gear in preparation for the classes booked for later. She wondered how the stranger would react to seeing her in gym clothes. Doubtless he would appreciate how they clung to her curves.

  The stranger arrived moments later looking his usual flustered self. Shirt open with the top few buttons undone, and his signature office trousers. He kissed her cheeks and sat down opposite casting an approving eye over her attire. For someone who had just enjoyed a weekend away, he didn’t appear to be well-rested and tanned as she expected. When she told him as much, he simply replied…

  “No… it wasn’t like that.” There was a hint of something in his eyes. Was it sadness? She couldn’t yet tell.

  What was blatantly obvious was how happy he was to see her. He could scarcely hide his bashful smile and made several failed attempts to speak.

  “So how is my little weekend errant toy?”

  Chapter 20

  “How did I stop myself from crawling under the table… unzipping you and sugar-coating your hard cock?” They had now returned to their respective endeavours.

  “How did you know I was hard? Hard as a rock…”

  “Mmmm, I should have sat on your lap.”

  “I’m now back at my desk, purely innocent.”

  "Imagine I’m there. At your feet, pawing at you and playing with myself.

  Juicing while you take the occasional peek."

  "You bad dirty beast…

  Just imagining you wet, open and dripping—you need white cock."

  "Yes. This black succulent pussy needs desperate white cock. Rampant and plunging, legs are akimbo. Clit pulsating. Repeatedly.