Dirty Aristocrat

by Georgia Le Carre

  ‘Mmmm …’ I gave him a sultry look. I reached for the bottle opener that was hanging by a string next to the fridge and removed the top. It clattered on the stone.

  He said nothing, just stared at me.

  Then I knew what I wanted to do. I’d seen this in a Tarantino movie once. She had given the killer a lap dance. I would improvise and use my bottle instead.

  I arched my neck and dragged the bottle down to my chest. I pulled the neckline of my T-shirt and stroked the heated skin on my shoulder with the bottle. I let the cool glass travel slowly down to my cleavage.

  The dark lust in his eyes made my breath come in short gasps.

  I grasped the edge of my T-shirt, lifted it as I rubbed the bottle on my stomach. It was no longer ice-cold, but since I was not actually doing it to cool myself … Slowly gyrating my hips I threw my head back and poured the cold frothy liquid onto my chest.

  That did it. He began to peel the clothes off his spectacular body. He walked over to one of the low sofas and sat with his knees spread wide apart and his cock pointing up.

  ‘Come here,’ he said, his voice thick and full of wanting.

  I put the bottle on the table before walking up to him and, putting my bare foot between his legs, almost touch his balls.

  ‘Talk dirty to me,’ he invited, his eyes half-hooded.

  I had never talked dirty with anyone, but I didn’t want to spoil the mood. In the sexiest voice I could manage, I said, ‘Mmm … when you say talk dirty what do you actually mean?’

  Something flickered in his eyes as if he had expected a totally different reaction from me. ‘Do you like my cock? Tell me what you see. Talk about it. Describe it. Go a little over the top,’ he encouraged.

  ‘OK,’ I said slowly. Describe his cock. I decoded that as praise my cock. Mama used to say all men are in love with their own cocks. That should be easy enough. In fact, I could be great at going over the top.

  He fisted his beloved cock and waited expectantly.

  I took a deep breath. ‘Your cock,’ I said in a grandiose voice, ‘is an exquisite work of art. It is so beautiful and so distinctive it should be hung in the portrait gallery.’

  An odd expression crossed his face and was quickly gone. He was definitely … surprised, or probably even disappointed. Obviously, I needed to up the ante.

  ‘They should pen poems and songs about the fabulousness of your cock. Why, it should be considered one of the wonders of the world. They should name universities after it and … and … build, yes,’ I said warming to my theme, ‘they should build a monument to it.’ I raised my hand and flashed it in the air on top of my head. ‘Greystoke’s Amazing Cock.’

  He blinked.

  ‘People should come to pay homage to this cock that can stay titanium hard for hours. It’s like a Special Ops soldier: sleek, dangerous, and as strong as a charging bull. As a matter of fact, it is so lethal it should be given a medal. Or an award of excellence. Wars should be fought over it.’

  I looked at him. He did not look too happy. ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘Are you fucking taking the piss?’

  ‘No.’ I frowned. ‘You said to talk about your cock. Obviously you didn’t mean for me to say bad things.’

  He gave me a slow motion assed stare. ‘That’s not how you talk dirty to a man.’

  ‘No? All right, give me an example.’

  ‘Fill me up, daddy, fuck my tight cunt! Make me scream with that big dick of yours.’

  I grinned. ‘Where I come from you got your mouth washed out with soap for using words like that.’

  ‘What’s going to win, upbringing or me?’

  ‘Fuck me,’ I breathed almost inaudibly, watching the excitement on his face as he waited to hear me talk dirty. I let the words fall out of my mouth. ‘Fuck my cunt hard with that dirty big cock of yours.’

  ‘That’ll do,’ he said. Reaching forward, he grabbed me around my waist, then set me on my hands and knees on the big sofa. He yanked my shorts down, tore my little bikini bottoms from my body and flung them into the darkness.

  His hands were on my hips and, snarling like a wolf, he slammed his full length deep into me. I let out a sharp gasp and arched back and up. He grabbed my hair, forcing me to keep that impossibly twisted position as he pounded me mercilessly. With every thrust, my juices spurted around his cock and ran down my thighs. His grip hurt and his cock was too deep for comfort, but that didn’t matter, the only thing that mattered was the way my slick, hungry pussy welcomed his bull-like thrusts.

  ‘You’re mine,’ he snarled.

  ‘Yes,’ I gasped eagerly. I cannot explain what it felt like to be called his while being possessed and fucked in that primal way. It was indescribable. I was as God made me. I was his cunt.

  Underneath us the river rushed.

  CHAPTER 32

  Tawny Greystoke

  “It is the hardest thing in the world – to do what we want.

  And it takes the greatest kind of courage”

  – Ayn Rand

  One of the activities the Foundation undertook was to rebuild the reefs destroyed by illegal cyanide fishing, so there were three or four dives per day by the volunteers who were helping to rebuild them by transplanting prepared samples from the ocean nursery to the reef. There were unlimited snorkeling opportunities so we spent our entire morning snorkeling and viewing the new reefs. Some of the newly transferred coral was already the size of dinner plates.

  Later I took Ivan to watch the volunteers mix the concrete to produce the bases for the hard and soft coral plantings that would later be attached to the reefs. It was interesting, and I knew that Ivan was impressed with the conservation center’s efforts to return the reef to its natural glory.

  We shared a simple lunch of rice, chicken and vegetables with the volunteers. By the time we got back Rosli had already sorted out the generator so Ivan immediately opened his laptop and started work. I spent the afternoon on the beach. As I was about to go back for a shower, Rosli arrived on the beach with a durian. He had knocked it off a tree in the jungle.

  ‘Want to share?’ he asked, tapping the thorny fruit with his knife. He knew I couldn’t bear the smell and he took great pleasure in tormenting me with it.

  ‘Nooooo,’ I said, crinkling my nose and pulling a face.

  ‘Hello,’ Ivan called out from the steps.

  I grinned at Rosli. ‘You know what, open the fruit. Let Ivan smell it.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  Immediately Rosli squatted down and started hacking away at the fruit. Slipping his fingers into the cut at the top of the fruit. he pulled it apart until it separated into two pieces. Instantly the disgusting reek hit me. He picked up a golden bit of flesh and started eating it.

  When Ivan came to us he gave me a strange look. He then looked at Rosli.

  ‘Want some fruit, Ivan?’ I asked innocently.

  ‘Jesus, what the fuck is that smell? It smells like something’s crawled up in here and died.’

  I laughed. ‘It’s that fruit there.’

  ‘It’s a durian, isn’t it?’ he said, making a disgusted face.

  ‘You like fruit, don’t you? Try it,’ I urged with a cheeky grin.

  ‘No thanks.’

  ‘Chicken shit,’ I taunted.

  He crossed his arms. ‘Have you tried it?’

  ‘No she hasn’t,’ Rosli piped up. He was sucking the flesh off the fruit and grinning from ear to ear at the same time.

  I shot Rosli an ugly glance.

  ‘Right,’ Ivan said in a voice slower than a bread wagon with biscuit wheels.

  I squirmed uncomfortably.

  ‘I’ll have it if you have it too,’ he challenged with a devilish look.

  I took a deep breath. Oh shit. I pretended to be unconcerned. ‘Sure.’

  He bent down to pick up one of the fruit halves and held it up to me. Immediately, the pungent smell of something in the late stages of rotting mixed with
smelly socks filled my nostrils making me want to gag. I tried hard not to jerk back. ‘Well, we have to do it together,’ I said.

  ‘All right, but you have to swallow.’

  ‘Ha, ha,’ I said.

  He took one piece and I took another. I held my nose with the fingers of my left hand and prepared to put it into my mouth.

  ‘At the count of three,’ he said.

  ‘I’m ready.’

  Rosli was happily chewing and watching us curiously.

  ‘One, two, three …’

  I stuffed it into my mouth and my eyes bulged. It was like eating rotten mushroom. Slimy and disintegrating on my tongue. Horrible. Just horrible. Both of us looked at each and then both of us spat it out at the exact same time.

  Rosli was rolling on the sand with laughter as we raced to the water’s edge and rinsed out our mouths with saltwater.

  ‘Oh my God! That was vile,’ I cried as we both erupted into laughter. While he laughed I looked at him. The sun had already browned him. His eyes were full of warmth and he looked so relaxed and happy. If only he could always be like that.

  That evening we went to watch a nest of turtle eggs hatching. If at all possible I never missed one of those. I had seen twenty-five so far, and every single time I saw those tiny little turtles scramble out of their nest and start running out to sea, I felt as if I had received a blessing. The other volunteers had also turned up. It was the culmination of all their work, seeing those babies hatch, and watching their mad dash to the sea.

  Rosli gently caught a baby turtle and put it into Ivan’s cupped palms. I saw him look in wonder at the little thing squirming in his hands for all it was worth.

  I knew exactly how he felt. The first time I held one in my palm I almost cried because I knew it would probably not make it to adulthood, but I prayed it would anyway. That it would come back to Penyu Island and carry on the cycle of its evolution. I felt such a great love and sense of responsibility for it. Its little legs were hard and covered in sand and they thrashed on my palm. It kept craning its little neck towards the sea as if it could hear it or smell it.

  Ivan looked up at me, his face and eyes shining.

  ‘He’s gorgeous,’ isn’t he?’ I said.

  ‘Gorgeous,’ he repeated.

  Very gently, Ivan held his palm close to the sand and the little creature raced out.

  ‘Good luck little fellow,’ I called out watching them race towards the sea. To my surprise Ivan took my hand.

  ‘So you liked him,’ he said softly.

  ‘I’m more fond of him than I am of you,’ I replied.

  His eyes sparkled with laughter. ‘You’re in so much trouble,’ he warned.

  ‘You best know that we’re going to have matching caskets,’ I promised.

  He bent his head to my ear and whispered, ‘I’d love to put you into one of those pregnancy stirrups, your cunt open, wet and ready for me. I’d shove my tongue into you and lick you for hours.’

  ‘Trust you to think that pregnancy stirrups could be even remotely sexy.’

  ‘Even mud is sexy if you’re in the equation.’

  ‘I think I prefer Jell-O,’ I said.

  He laughed and his face softened. ‘I’m proud of you, Tawny Greystoke,’ he said suddenly and squeezed my hand.

  I was so surprised by his remark that I looked up at him, grinning stupidly. At that moment I was the happiest woman alive.

  It was beautiful on the beach. The moon was full, the air was filled with the soothing sound of the waves, the wind in the leaves, and the wet slapping of flesh against flesh as Ivan pumped into me. Oh and of course, my own moans and whimpers of pleasure. I drew my knees back as far as I could to open myself up more for him and then experimentally squeezed him tight. He began to move harder, faster, more urgently.

  My climax was beginning to build when his palm suddenly closed over my mouth.

  I froze.

  ‘Shhh …’ he warned, his eyes narrowed.

  I grasped his ribs, slippery with our intermingled sweat, and listened to whatever it was he was listening to. Still with his hand around my mouth, he turned his head very slowly. I didn’t dare move. He turned back to me, his eyes shining.

  ‘You won’t believe this,’ he whispered, ‘but a turtle has come ashore and is about four or five feet away from us.’ My eyes widened with shock. To the best of my knowledge turtles didn’t often come to this side of the island. Mostly they went to the other side, and even if they did come to this side it was always during the breeding months of May to September. I listened and I heard her: the heavy, rasping sounds of her dragging herself on the sand.

  To my surprise I suddenly felt loose sand being flung in our direction by her flippers. She was digging her nest chamber next to us! Slowly, Ivan removed his hand from my mouth.

  I opened my mouth. ‘Oh my God,’ I mouthed silently. It’s a Hawksbill.’

  As gently as possible, Ivan lifted himself out of me and lay next to me. Together, lying side by side, we watched her. Grunting, bellowing and hissing as she laid over one hundred eggs, two sometimes three at a time. We saw her shed the tears that had so moved Robert.

  She never acknowledged our presence. Perhaps we were just rocks or shadows to her. Rosli once told me that the locals believe that while laying her eggs a sea turtle goes into a trance from which she cannot be disturbed.

  When she had finished she used her rear flippers to cover her nest with sand. Gradually, she packed the sand down over her pit, then used her front flippers to disguise her nest from predators by throwing sand in all directions. Exhausted, she slowly made her way back to sea.

  Neither of us spoke. It was so special we couldn’t speak.

  I felt humbled and in awe of the amount of trust that the mother turtle had entrusted her children to nature. I wanted to be brave like her. I turned to Ivan. He was still staring at the spot where she had slipped into the sea.

  ‘I love you,’ I said.

  His entire body stilled.

  ‘I know you don’t love me back and I didn’t tell you to make you feel awkward. I’m sorry if I spoiled this moment for you, but I just wanted you to know. If I die tomorrow, I don’t want it to be a thing unsaid.’

  He sighed heavily, like a man burdened and tortured with inner demons. ‘We have to go back tomorrow,’ he said, his voice throbbing with some deep emotion.

  For a moment I felt a flash of anger. How dare he dictate when I went back? Let him go back if he wanted to. I would stay on. And then my fury deflated. What would be the point? I would be miserable here without him. I would have to return to England to face the reality of my pretend marriage.

  There was something wrong, very wrong with my marriage, and the sooner I got to the bottom of it the better.

  CHAPTER 33

  Tawny Greystoke

  “Love doesn’t just sit there like a stone, it has to be made, like bread.”

  - Ursula Le Guin, The Lathe of Heaven.

  I woke up because I heard a sound. I turned my head and saw that the pillow beside me was empty. Pushing hair out of my face I sat up and looked around. There was no light coming from under the en-suite bathroom door and the bedroom door was closed. How strange.

  I got out of bed, walked in my bare feet to the door, and opened it. I could see the light in Ivan’s study was on and I could hear his voice. It was quite loud. He must be on the phone with someone. I walked towards the sound.

  Something made me hold back in the corridor.

  ‘No, she doesn’t know and I want to keep it that way. For this plan to work she must be kept totally in the dark.’

  There was a silence, then he was speaking again.

  ‘Absolutely. More than a hundred million is at stake. You have to come up with a foolproof plan to eliminate her. A way that cannot be traced back to anybody. Especially not me.’

  Of their own volition my hands flew up and covered my gaping mouth as if to stop myself from screaming, but it was not me that was screamin
g it was my very soul. I just stood there in the dark frozen with shock and horror.

  There was another pause and then his voice came back, urgent and hopeful.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  Another long pause while the person on the other end probably explained something. Then came Ivan’s voice, ghoulishly excited.

  ‘Yes, yes, that might work. Run it by them and see if they are happy to go ahead with it. The sooner the better. I can’t stand this waiting anymore. I need to know it is done.’

  ‘Right. I got to go, but thanks for all your help.’

  Very quietly, I tip-toed back to the bedroom and got under the covers. I was trembling. I knew without a doubt that he was talking about me. Who was he talking to? He must be in cohorts with my stepchildren. There could be no other explanation. What was it he wanted me to be kept in the dark about? Was the foolproof plan to eliminate me? Was this my worst fear? Was Ivan plotting to kill me and share my money with my stepchildren?

  It seemed impossible. He didn’t need my money. He was a billionaire. It made less sense than a bull with tits, but no other explanation would fit.

  There was a sound in the corridor.

  I turned on my side, closed my eyes, made my breathing deep and slow and pretended to sleep.

  Ivan came in, got into bed, kissed my forehead and lay beside me. After a few seconds his hand came to rest lightly on my hip.

  ‘Mmm,’ I said sleepily and curled further into myself.

  His hand slipped away. For a long time he did not sleep. Finally, his breathing became deep and even. I turned over and watched him. He looked peaceful and prettier than a Tennessee Bluetick Coonhound. I felt confused and scared. I couldn’t understand what was happening. Nothing was as it seemed. Even now how I longed to reach out and stroke his thick, silky hair, but I did not. I simply watched him in wonder until dawn lit the sky.

  How did it come about that unnoticed I had slipped into my enemy’s bed.

  Very carefully, with my eyes fixed on Ivan’s sleeping face, I inched out of bed. Once out I stood looking down at him. I was still shell-shocked. It was incredible how completely he had fooled me.