Going Too Far

by Unknown

  I was confused. ‘But I thought one of the arguments against global capitalism is that they cut costs by employing slave labour in the third world; how can they do that when they throw money away like this?’

  Carlos shrugged. ‘Well, I expect your friends will tell you that’s a good example of what’s wrong with the way they work. But whatever they think, or do, nothing’s going to change.’

  It seemed to me that it was all a game. The multinationals played at setting up shop somewhere but then decided they’d go off and do it somewhere else. The activists played at trying to stop them but realised they didn’t have much hope of doing so. The companies flexed their muscles just to emphasise who had the power, like Carlos pointing an empty gun at Red and Robbie’s heads.

  It was time for my class.

  ‘Can I come with you? I know how to tango.’

  I shook my head but I knew he was coming anyway. I couldn’t stop him, any more than Red and Robbie could prevent the relentless takeover by the multinationals. Really, I thought, I just want to get my head back in the sand again as far as business and politics are concerned.

  Carlos was dynamite. I rarely dance with men; as I explained I usually find dancing banal, etc. In fact this was the first time I’d danced with a lover, especially one who’d dressed me in black leather and chains and given me such exquisite agonies of anticipation, fear and shame. Despite the events of the last few weeks I still found him as sexy as hell and he pressed me close and manoeuvred me as intimately on the dance floor as he did in bed. By the end of the first dance it wasn’t just the thirty degrees that were making me sweat, and it wasn’t just on my back that a slick of moisture had appeared.

  To my slight irritation Luis came and partnered me for the next dance to show me some finer points but I wasn’t concentrating, instead watching Carlos with another woman. She was obviously a local and they laughed and rattled on easily in Spanish. He would have had no trouble getting her to go back to his hotel afterwards and I felt a stab of jealousy combined with a wobble in my reserve not to do just that.

  We danced together for the rest of the class and left silently. My mind was whirling with possibilities. Should I escape from Carlos and scuttle off to the bar? Would Red and Robbie be interested in performing a replay of the scene at the campsite? Or would Carlos capture me and take me to his hotel for a final torrid night in chains, ignoring my protests? Would I, in fact, protest?

  He opened the car door for me like a chauffeur and got in with a smile. ‘Where to, madam?’

  That rather unsettled me. Did he expect me to ask him to take me with him, or did he assume that I wasn’t interested? Shrugging mentally I gave him the name and street of the bar I was meeting the boys in. He started the car and without further conversation drove back the way we came, almost driving past the bar but braking sharply just in front of it. Again he opened the car door for me and helped me out.

  ‘Shall I pick you up at the same time tomorrow?’

  ‘What for?’ I asked, bewildered.

  ‘For the class, of course. I enjoyed it, didn’t you? We dance well together, don’t you think? And of course a drink first. It’s your last night, after all. Please let me say goodbye.’

  Completely wrong-footed I nodded and he kissed my cheek briefly, got back in the car and drove off. As I turned towards the bar I saw Red and Robbie watching from the window.

  ‘Nice time?’ Red asked lightly. ‘Thought you were going to your tango class.’

  ‘I did. He turned up at the hotel before I left.’

  I described the events of the evening, apart from my own indecision as to who to spend the night with, or at least who I might have spent the night with if I’d had another offer. They seemed completely unfazed by Carlos’s reappearance, and were instead pleased that the Chiloe project might not get off the ground and delighted to get their boots back. Either they didn’t think I could be interested in Carlos again or they were playing it cool, as they exhibited no sign of jealousy or even curiosity as to whether he had tried it on. I felt a bit piqued all round; didn’t Carlos want me any more? Didn’t Red and Robbie care if he did or not? I guessed that they’d all started to detach themselves from me as I’d soon be gone, and felt depressed.

  For the second night running I drank too much and fell asleep as soon as I got into bed. Three hours later I woke dripping with sweat and with a raging thirst. Red was snoring next to me and Robbie was pressed against him. Pitying myself, I felt left out. I drank one litre of water and splashed another over my already damp body and crawled back into bed.

  The next evening followed the same pattern, up to a point. Carlos picked me up and we had a drink in the same bar and went to the class. I concentrated as hard as I could on the dance steps, wishing I had longer in the city to learn them. Then halfway through the class Carlos pulled me close to him and murmured, ‘Come back with me tonight. I can’t let you go without making love to you one more time.’

  ‘No,’ I whispered, executing the turn clumsily as his words unsettled me. ‘I can’t. The boys are expecting me.’

  ‘But you want to?’ His voice was low and commanding.

  ‘Yes. But I can’t trust you. Look what happened last time I let you tie me up.’

  Carlos laughed aloud, earning a glance of disapproval from Luis. We exchanged a guilty look at disrupting the mood of the class.

  ‘You can stay free,’ he persisted quietly. ‘I want to touch your body again.’

  ‘You’re touching quite a lot of it now,’ I pointed out as I wound my leg around his. ‘It’s not that I don’t want to have sex with you, Carlos. It’s just bad timing.’

  ‘More like Last Tango in Paris,’ he quipped. ‘Seriously, Bliss. I want you badly.’

  I nodded towards the girl he’d been dancing with the previous evening. ‘Ask her, I’m sure she fancies you.’

  ‘You’d be jealous.’

  Shit, of course I would. But after all we’d been through I wasn’t going to spend the last night without Red and Robbie.

  He pulled me back and leaned over me, his face almost on mine. ‘Let’s leave now. There’s a hotel next door. We’ll get a room for half an hour.’

  The sleaziness of the idea took my breath away. Almost numbly I nodded, and regardless of what Luis or anyone else thought we stopped mid-dance and left the ballroom.

  He handed over a few dollar bills to the desk clerk and we walked up the stairs; there was no lift. The paintwork was peeling and the stair carpet threadbare, though the dingy bulb cast little light on it. Room 212 was dark and musty and smelled of the last occupant’s cigarette smoke but I didn’t care, in fact the seedier the better. Carlos kicked the door to and turned round and grabbed me, kissing me with a dizzying intensity that took my breath away. His hands were on my breasts, pushing down inside the bra-style cups to lift them out and display them, his fingers playing with my nipples. Still with his mouth on mine he pushed me back against the wall and ran his hands up my legs, pulling my knickers down. I stepped out of them and he lifted my dress and surveyed me, his eyes sweeping from my cunt to my tits, with the cheap red imitation silk in between. Standing tall in my heels I revelled in his undisguised lust and took my dress from his hands so that he could undress while still looking at my swollen sex.

  The door creaked and swung half open. In his haste he hadn’t closed it properly. His hands were busy removing his trousers and he gave me a half smile and continued to undress without closing the door. Not wanting to lower my dress I too let the door hang ajar; if anyone should pass they would have seen me exhibiting myself like a wanton slut begging for attention, but in a place like this they would be hurrying to get into similar positions. I took a dark delight in the thought that it might add an edge to their excitement. Standing displaying myself like a whore in a cheap dress and shoes in a shabby hotel room rented by the hour gave me as much of a charge as being blindfolded and gagged.

  Carlos pressed his body into mine, crushing me against the wall
, and his hardness pressed desperately into me. His hands propelled me to the bed and I sank on to the grubby bedspread and opened my legs, not needing any stimulation and frankly not wanting it, just wanting to feel his cock push inside me and fuck me as hard as I knew he could.

  We only had half an hour but he didn’t rush it. It was the last time and I understood why he wanted to turn me over and thrust into me from behind, and then turn on to his back and let me fuck him. I finally lifted my dress off so that he could watch me play with my breasts as I rode his cock. The door was still half open and, though I had heard nobody pass, in my mind we were being quietly watched. As I mashed my clitoris hard against his bone I knew I was nearly there. He was too, and his hands moved to my clit to make sure we came together on this last time.

  There were five minutes left for a quick shower in the bathroom down the hall before our half hour was up. We got into the car and he drove me to the bar in silence but unlike the previous day there were no unspoken questions between us. The loose ends had been tied; our game was over.

  Like the night before he almost overshot the bar, screeching to a halt just in time. Again he came round and opened the door for me, and when I stepped out he bent formally to kiss my hand. I waited with a smile of affection and regret at our farewell on my face but instead of saying goodbye in the same vein he suddenly pulled me towards him and once again kissed my mouth with passion. Taken by surprise I responded almost automatically. His questing tongue forced my head back and his other hand pulled my arse towards him; my back arched as if we were still dancing a tango. He hadn’t showered and smelled of sweat and sex and me.

  Suddenly he stopped and straightened, hugged me briefly and got back in the car and drove away. Confused, I realised that people had stopped to watch us kiss; two of them were Red and Robbie, who were standing at the entrance to the bar.

  ‘G’day,’ said Robbie amiably. ‘Good class?’

  I nodded, suddenly feeling remorseful. ‘Yes thanks. Don’t suppose I’ll get the chance to dance the tango again.’

  ‘He gave you a good send-off,’ observed Red nonchalantly. ‘Shame he didn’t hang around, we could have had a last drink together. We were going to say if he wanted you before us tonight we wouldn’t have minded.’

  ‘Excuse me! I thought we’d agreed that your opinion doesn’t come into it.’

  ‘No, Bliss, you’ve got it wrong,’ said Robbie, his voice grating as he held my arm firmly and started walking down the street. Obviously we weren’t going to the bar. ‘You’re the one who doesn’t count any more, now you’ve proved just what a slut you are.’

  I held my breath. Was this for real, or was it the last final game?

  ‘We know what sort of dancing you’ve been doing for the last hour,’ said Red. ‘Did you do a special dance for him, or just open your legs?’

  My legs that had opened for him were now trembling slightly. ‘Both. We danced for a bit and then went to a hotel.’

  ‘Sounds sleazy,’ said Robbie. ‘But that suits you just fine. Anyway, in case you’re wondering what we think about it, we think you owe us. After the nice time we gave you the other night, we reckon it’s our turn, especially as you’ve just had yours with Carlos.’ His smile was almost sinister. ‘We won’t tie you up as long as you promise you’ll do everything we tell you.’

  ‘That’s OK.’ I hoped it would be.

  ‘Good, because you don’t really have much choice.’

  ‘Dinner first?’ I asked hopefully.

  Red grinned broadly. ‘We’ve had ours. If you’re very good we might go out later for a drink and you can get something to eat then, but don’t count on it.’

  ‘Fine.’

  My voice was a whisper and I walked through the humid streets of Buenos Aires with my two lovely boys on either side, knowing that my last night in South America was going to be no disappointment. I wondered if they had known that Carlos and I had fucked or whether they just guessed, but knew that they didn’t really care.

  Compared to Buenos Aires London was a freezing, dull, grey non-event. No vibrancy, no colour, no excitement. The people on the streets were uniformly drab; I could see how the tango started in the barrios of Buenos Aires, whereas all that the cockneys had come up with was the knees-up. The men I met socially seemed complete tossers compared to the sophistication of the Argentines. I couldn’t believe I’d willingly left Carlos and Red and Robbie for the asinine lads I met everywhere I went. It was as though I’d traded in David Ginola and a pair of Mel Gibsons for a gaggle of David Beckhams and Robbie Williamses.

  It was also clear that my career wasn’t as easy to change as I’d airily supposed before I left. Nobody was interested in my photographs, though I thought some were pretty impressive. I had to accept that someone with a degree in fine art who’d spent the last five years designing dress materials wasn’t likely to get any photographic work. I applied for a job in Nottingham, which would have had great prospects, but as bad as London was I knew I needed the big city. It seemed likely that I was going to have to go back to my old job, but I kept putting off the phone call to say I was back. Every day I wished I were still in South America.

  Kip was entranced by my adventures and inspired by my introduction to bondage, although of course he wanted some reward for being immobilised, i.e. pain. We played around once or twice but I didn’t enjoy the active role and being bound by a boringly image-conscious effete masochist just didn’t do the trick for me. His friend Stevenson offered to experiment with both of us but I didn’t fancy him, and anyway two men together would only make me miss Red and Robbie more.

  Their postcards were the only bright spot in my life. Rather than go back to Patagonia they had gone up to northern Argentina and crossed the border into Brazil. They said they wished I were still with them; their second card consisted of nothing but WE MISS BLISS written over and over again by each of them alternately, and it almost made me cry. There wasn’t much doubt that they’d be popular with sexy, brown-skinned, fabulous-bodied Brazilian women and I felt wistfully jealous.

  I thought obsessively about our last night together, how they had started by making me tell them exactly what had happened with Carlos. When I got to the bit about the open door Red had smiled and raised the blinds and turned on the main light, musing that maybe the tenants of apartments over the road might be interested. He made me stand by the balcony door as I had stood for Carlos and turn in slow circles so both they and anyone glancing out of the block opposite would see me posing like a prostitute in an Amsterdam brothel. After that they had me dance for them, shimmying like a lap dancer, dressed in nothing but my black holdups and cheap shoes, and I undressed them and gave Red a hand job with my red dress sliding over his cock. His come spurted all over it. I still haven’t washed it.

  When I remembered that long night I would feel a quickening of the pulse in my cunt and was unable to resist sliding to the floor and slipping off my knickers, touching myself as I relived how Robbie had told me it was time I did the talking, and how I had described to them my deepest and darkest fantasies, except of course for the one about them together. While I talked I did whatever they wanted, stroking Robbie’s still hard prick and pausing in my narrative while I sucked Red gently to get him hard again, then continuing while I obediently fingered myself and masturbated with everything they handed to me, from the famous torches to my hairbrush handle and even a pair of toothbrushes, rubbing my clit – carefully – with the bristles of one while rotating another inside me.

  Back in Stratford I pressed the flat of one hand over my mons while my finger stroked my clit and thought about the way they had lain on the bed with their legs interlaced, their pricks inches apart, while I sank on to first one and then the other of them with alternate strokes. As I slid down the length of Red’s massive shaft I felt Robbie’s just slightly smaller one press against my clit, and as I lifted myself and pushed down on to Robbie’s cock Red’s rubbed my buttocks. My thigh muscles started to scream at me but
I was more interested in my tense and ready sex muscles and kept going until Robbie came inside me. I stayed with his cock until his groans subsided and then went back to Red. He too was nearly there and while I rode him to his climax Robbie’s hand reached out and rubbed my engorged clit with my own wetness until I came too, my cunt muscles shouting and spasming loud enough to drown out the cry of my aching legs.

  Back home I came at the same time as I remembered our last almost-simultaneous orgasm, but it was a pale imitation of that tremendous explosion, and afterwards I wasn’t enveloped in the lovely, loving arms of Red and Robbie.

  After a few weeks I pulled myself together. Life was passing me by – I couldn’t sit in my flat having solitary sex for ever. I had to get out and meet people; it was time to get back to work. I phoned my old firm and agreed to start the following week. Then I had a call from Marcus Livingston.

  He was a friend of Red and Robbie, he said. He knew the part I played with them in Chile, and wanted to meet me. Any friend of theirs is a friend of mine, I said, and we made a date for the following night.

  The next day I had an e-mail from the guys, telling me I was going to be contacted by Marcus Livingston, who was a friend of theirs, etc. They went on to say that he had similar interests to theirs and thought I might be able to lend him a hand with a project he was involved in.

  I assumed the similar interests were political rather than sexual, but you never know. I dressed carefully for my meeting with Marcus in a Hackney pub: my short Liquorice Allsorts skirt and black top and, just because Red liked them so much, my black holdups. He turned out to be short and hirsute and his passion was for politics, so we talked globalism. Despite my on-the-job rôle he told me more than I already knew about the Chiloe deal; he was a leading member of what he called a mirror group to Red and Robbie’s. He offered me a job.