The Red

by Tiffany Reisz

  three-piece suit.

  "Ahh…” he breathed. "My Olympia.”

  Mona didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing. Malcolm didn’t seem to mind her silence. He came to the bed and sat beside her. She sat propped up on her pillow and frozen on the sheets, shivering.

  "You look so lovely,” he said softly, his gaze grazing her naked body from face to feet and up again. "I’ll enjoy you tonight.”

  "I’m nervous,” she said.

  "Of course you are. I wouldn’t want or expect anything else.”

  "You want me to be nervous?”

  "Very much. It will make the triumph all the sweeter. I love the challenge of overcoming reluctance.” He bent and kissed her chest over her racing heart. Then he stood and walked to the end of the bed where he proceeded to undress. First the suit jacket came off, then the vest. He unfastened his buttons with agile fingers. He didn’t make a production of undressing, and yet she couldn’t take her eyes off him as he peeled out of his shirt to reveal strong sculpted biceps, a flat hard stomach, and a broad chest. The shoes were next and then the trousers. Her eyes widened at the first glimpse of his cock, already erect and glistening at the tip. She watched it as he walked back to her, taking in its impressive size and even more impressive girth. She would need to be very wet to enjoy that inside of her.

  "You’re pleased with me?” he asked and she sensed the question wasn’t a question at all. A statement of fact. He knew she was. He simply wanted her to admit it.

  "I am. Although…”

  "I’ll take care of everything,” he said. "I haven’t lost a woman to it yet.”

  She laughed and it helped ease her fears. He sat on the bed again at her side. He touched the side of her face, caressed her cheekbone, pushed her bangs to the side and kissed her forehead.

  "I’m so pleased you’ve agreed to this,” he said. "Very pleased. It’s been a long time.”

  "For me too.”

  "Then we’ll both enjoy this.”

  "Although it’s for you, isn’t it?” she asked.

  "What do you mean?”

  "I mean, you’re paying for me. You can do what you want. It doesn’t matter if I enjoy it or not.”

  "I do hope you’ll enjoy it,” he said. "But it’s not a requirement. In general, however, your pleasure gives me pleasure. Not everything I do will be physically pleasurable for you, however. For me, yes, but not for you. That was the nature of our agreement, yes?”

  "Yes,” she said, nodding.

  "There’s still time to change your mind. I don’t force women. It would be beneath even such a man as myself.”

  She shook her head. "I want to do it.”

  "Even if you don’t enjoy the sex—and you will—you’ll certainly enjoy the money.”

  "I plan to,” she said. Not the money itself, but the freedom money would buy her.

  He smiled his devil’s grin, but didn’t look as devilish as the first night. He was only a man after all. A handsome man, naked, and lovely to behold.

  "Good. Very good. Now spread your legs for me. Very wide.”

  She pulled her knees up, sliding her feet along the sheets and then letting her legs fall open. Malcolm looked at her without touching, merely examining the goods he’d bought.

  "You didn’t have to remove your hair,” he said. "Prostitutes shaved in the old days to remove lice. Luckily you don’t seem to have that problem.”

  "I thought perhaps she was so young she didn’t have pubic hair yet. Perhaps that was why the painting was so scandalous.”

  "The art world didn’t care about young women selling their bodies. They only cared if someone dared to break their rules of composition, of acceptable subject matter. You could show a naked woman hiding her face or lying supine and limp as a wet rag. God forbid he paint a girl who dared them to look her in the eyes.”

  "They were fools,” she said.

  "They were scared,” he countered. "A woman with power. A woman who owned her body and wasn’t afraid to sell it. That painting is art because it terrified its first viewers. Art should be dangerous, you know. It should say something to society that society doesn’t want to hear. Do you know what the opposite of art is? Propaganda. There’s too much of that in the world. Not enough art. And certainly not enough of this...”

  Malcolm dipped his head and pressed a kiss on her pubis over her clitoris. He exhaled warm air over her sensitive bare flesh and she shivered. He lifted his head but only to open her labia with his fingers. He wasn’t gentle when he touched her, but not rough either. Perfunctory. Businesslike.

  "Perfect,” he said when he had her spread out for him. "A work of art.” He dipped his head again and licked the hole he’d uncovered, even pushing his tongue against and into it. It wasn’t exactly pleasurable but she found no reason to object. It felt so odd to be used in this manner. No dinner first. No tender kisses. No foreplay other than a discussion of art history, which, for a woman like her, was arousing in its own way.

  His tongue sought and found her clitoris as he stretched out on the bed to give his full attention to arousing her. Her clitoris started to awaken as he lapped at it with long slow motions of his tongue. He circled it, sucked it lightly, and circled it again. The first quiet gasp of pleasure escaped Mona’s lips. Malcolm said nothing about it but she sensed it pleased him. He’d paused when she’d done it and then licked her again in the same way that had pulled the sigh from her lips. With his fingertips he spread her open again and licked her inner labia, her folds, and the entrance of her body again. She wanted to touch his hair or his shoulders but wasn’t sure if that was allowed. She gripped the sheets in her fingers instead.

  "Delicious,” Malcolm murmured and she felt the word as hot puffs of air against her clitoris. His tongue swirled around it again, making it swell, making it ache. She felt it throbbing against his lips. Then he touched it with his fingertips, putting pressure on it right where she needed it. His touch wasn’t rough, but insistent, and the throbbing grew harder. It throbbed like a pulse point, pumping blood through her hips.

  Again he turned his tongue on her, those long deep strokes right across and around the core of her pleasure. All sensation was concentrated in that tiny throbbing little organ. Every nerve was alive there, every muscle poised for release. She was so wet now—dripping—he could have put his cock into her with one brutal thrust and she could have and would have taken it all. He didn’t penetrate her then, although in the haze of her arousal she could have sworn she’d begged him to.

  She’d go mad if he didn’t let her come. She was already wild with the need for it, squirming under his mouth, pumping her hips, grasping at the sheets to give her leverage. She pushed against his mouth, needing more and more and more. The muscles inside of her clenched and released, clenched again tighter. Her vaginal walls were slick and ready. She was ready. She had never been more ready.

  When she could bear no more, and a scream rested on the tip of her tongue, Malcolm abruptly rose up and mounted her. With his hands on her hips, he impaled her with a deep hard stroke. She came with a cry, arching and writhing, as he thrust wildly into her. In the midst of her orgasm he came into her, ejaculating deep into her. She felt it pouring out of her even as his hips kept pumping, dragging her climax and his out as long as he could. It felt endless. The contractions were so sharp they almost hurt. She felt one muscle in particular, a tight little muscle near her cervix, fluttering wildly as Malcolm filled her with his thick semen.

  She was getting paid for this.

  Finally, it was over. Malcolm put his hands on either side of her body and dropped his head while her vagina gave its little final gasps. She lifted her head and looked between her legs, at the large organ splitting her open. She waited for him to pull out of her. He didn’t.

  Slowly he began to thrust again. She couldn’t quite believe it. She kept watching as he withdrew from her pussy and slid inside again. It seemed impossible she could take so much but she saw it with her own eyes—thick i
nch after thick inch disappearing inside her and reappearing slicked with her wetness and his. Surely he couldn’t mean to fuck her again so soon. She wasn’t ready, but that didn’t matter to him, did it? This was the arrangement.

  Mona looked up at his face while he fucked her. His eyes were closed and he seemed to be utterly lost in the pleasure of his thrusting. His lips were slightly parted and she wanted to touch them, but didn’t. He was using her, using her body, using her hole. She didn’t move with him, merely lay underneath and watched his thigh muscles flex and release with his thrusts. It didn’t hurt. She was dripping wet and her body offered no resistance at all. He’d tunneled into her, opened her up, and made himself at home inside her. It felt vaguely pornographic, lying there on the bed, watching him fuck her. It could have been any woman on his cock but it so happened to be her. The pumping of his hips was mesmerizing. How long could he go on? She looked forward to finding out. His breathing was heavy, not labored, but his entire body had gone tense again. He had the sheets in a death grip. The veins in his hands she found so attractive didn’t end at his wrists but snaked up his arms all the way to the biceps.

  "Who are you…” she breathed.

  Malcolm’s eyes fluttered open and he looked down at her.

  "You’ll find out,” he said.

  "When? Where?”

  "Eventually. In this bed. Any other questions?”

  "May I touch you?”

  "You may. Always, unless told otherwise.”

  She raised her hands to his shoulders. They were iron under her palms. Such a hard man—hard body, hard cock, hard to read, hard to believe he was real even as he pounded into her very convincing proof of his existence.

  "Open wider,” he said and she spread her legs even more for him. She’d never spread this wide before because no lover had ever told her to. Inside she felt her muscles shifting, moving, finding new ways to accommodate the large organ penetrating her. He reached between their joined bodies and wetted his fingertips with their fluids. He massaged the wetness into her clitoris and it swelled instantly at his touch. It would burst if he didn’t stop. She would burst. Her pussy split open wide, the thrumming and throbbing, it was all happening again. A low moan built in the back of her throat. Malcolm rammed her with quick, deep thrusts. She had to hold the headboard to steady herself. The orgasm hit her with blinding force. It was obliterating. Her shoulders rose off the bed while her sex spasmed all around the organ inside her, trying to grip it and hold it in place because at that moment her body wanted him in it more than it had ever wanted anything before in her life. She wanted it, needed it, and if he ever took it out of her she would wither up and die.

  Mona collapsed back onto the bed again, sweating and panting. Very slowly, very carefully, Malcolm eased out of her. She winced as he pulled out, tender as she was from his merciless thrusts. She’d never been fucked quite that hard. Then again, no man had ever paid for the privilege of fucking her quite that hard so she couldn’t blame him for wanting to get his money’s worth.

  Malcolm lay on his side next to her, propped up on his elbow.

  "See?” he said. "You make a marvelous whore.”

  "You say that like it’s a compliment.” She talked in a rasping whisper. He’d stolen her breath away.

  "It is. It most certainly is a compliment.”

  "You didn’t come again?”

  His erection pressed against her bare thigh, brutally hard still.

  "I wanted to linger in your cunt awhile. I found it quite welcoming.”

  "Make yourself at home,” she sighed.

  "I intend to.”

  She smiled wanly. She could fall asleep right now and not wake up for ten straight hours. That’s how much the sex had taken out of her. Her legs were still open wide because she hadn’t the energy to close them. Semen dripped out of her onto the sheets. It itched and tickled all at the same time. She felt debauched but not debased. She wasn’t sure what the difference was, but there was one, she knew it.

  "Lovely, lovely hole,” he said as he put his hand between her legs and stroked her wet inner lips before slipping two fingers inside of her. He poked and prodded around, seeking soft spots and tender spots, sensitive spots that exulted in being touched. "Quite tight. Very hot inside, very wet. Strong muscles. I thought you wouldn’t let me out of there for a moment.”

  "I didn’t want to. Right before I came I felt like I’d die if you ever took your cock out of me.”

  "You’re not the first girl who’s told me that. I know how to choose my women well.” He smiled. She was starting to like the smile very much. "I likely won’t allow you to climax unless I’m inside you. I prefer it that way.”

  Had he been a boyfriend she might have raised an objection. She loved coming from oral alone and often had. Malcolm had taken her to the very edge of orgasm with his tongue but then he’d penetrated her at the last moment.

  "If you prefer it that way…” Her voice trailed off.

  "Your pleasure is for my pleasure,” he reminded her. "When you come on my cock, I feel it. That’s all there is to it.”

  She smiled. "I won’t complain.”

  "No, I don’t think you will. You’re too good of a whore for that.”

  "You do like your whores, don’t you?” she asked.

  "I have trouble respecting a woman who gives away for free what she could sell for good money. Whores are the only women who know their own worth. I mean that.”

  "What about male prostitutes?”

  "Their clients are generally men as well. I don’t fault anyone who takes a man to the bank before going to bed with him. I wouldn’t let a strange man put his finger in my mouth and whores take far more into their bodies every single night. It’s skilled, brave work. Bless those lasses, they’ve saved my life and damned my soul. What more could I ask for?”

  "You’re a strange man.”

  "And you…you are a beautiful whore.” He bent his head and kissed her lips. He’d already fucked her twice—his semen was inside her, and his fingertip pressed gently against her cervix—and yet this was their very first kiss. It wasn’t a gentle kiss, not tender, but sensual and warm. He tasted like an old Irish whisky, which she liked, and he knew how to use his tongue, which she loved. He kissed her from her lips to her neck. She murmured a pleased sigh when he took her breast in his hand and squeezed it lightly, then slightly harder.

  "I was wondering when you were going to do that,” she said.

  "I haven’t fucked in quite a while. Getting in your cunt was my top priority. But these lovely nipples are a close second. Very close.”

  He slid on top of her, straddling her at the waist. He pressed her wrists into the bed on either side of her head and held her down. First he licked her right nipple, then licked it again. He licked it like he’d licked her clitoris, long slow passes of his tongue. Her nipple hardened and as soon as it did he sucked it into his mouth. Mona turned her head and watched him suckling at her breast. He was intent on the task, his eyes closed, as he drew the nipple and aureole all the way into his mouth. It wasn’t a comfortable sensation, this intense pulling. He sucked hard and for a long time. She had to remember he was doing this for himself. He’d paid for the privilege of doing what he wanted to her body. And something told her this was merely the tip of the iceberg.

  Despite the discomfort, she found herself growing aroused again. Perhaps there was a part of her that responded to being used by a man for his pleasure. She certainly couldn’t stop watching him sucking her nipple. He was latched on tight and he didn’t seem ready to stop any time soon. Blood rushed to her breast. Inside his hot mouth he swirled his tongue around the peak. Her nipple felt hard as a diamond to her. He let it go but only to pinch it between thumb and forefinger, pinch it and pull it and tug it. He released one of her wrists to slap her breast. He struck it with his open hand, not terribly hard, but hard enough to sting, then slapped again a little harder. Another slap followed by a squeeze, more tugging and pulling of her nipple,
a pinch, a pull, a tug, and another long, long suckling. She panted, moaned, her head swimming from the riot of sensation. Her breast felt swollen and heavy and so terribly tender.

  Without warning he turned his attention to her left breast. He slapped it too, grabbed it and groped it roughly. She cried out when he pinched the nipple painfully hard but right afterward, he put his mouth on it and the sudden shift in sensation had her crying out in pleasure. He sucked the nipple deep into his mouth, sucked and kept sucking until she groaned loudly in the back of her throat. He released it, sat up and back onto her hips and slapped both her breasts with his hands, slapped and grabbed them, slapped and massaged them. Quick pain followed quickly by slow pleasure. She didn’t know what to feel. She accustomed herself to one and then had to immediately get used to another. Was this what her previous lovers had wanted to do to her breasts? Handle them roughly, squeeze and slap them, suck and pull them? Were they all too polite, too well-trained? Is this the way men behaved behind the curtain of civility? Is this what all her lovers would have done had they bought her body with money instead of with charm and the empty promises of love someday, perhaps, maybe?

  She rather thought she preferred it on this side of the curtain.

  Her nipples were almost purple from how hard he’d suckled them. And her breasts were bright red and burning from the slaps of his hands. He held both breasts in his large hands, held them hard, hard enough to see all those veins she so enjoyed looking at. Pinned beneath him by his weight, she could barely move her hips, but she tried. She wanted him to feel her body begging for his cock.

  "Not yet, darling,” he said. "Not quite yet. I’m having far too much fun to stop now.”

  He rolled her breasts, molded them against his palms, lifted them and held them. There was nothing of the savage about him, but nothing of the gentleman either. He was simply a man behaving like a man.

  She liked this man.