Forgotten Desires

by Tony Haynes

  Simon was very different as a paying customer than he’d been back when Mercedes was simply his doting mistress. He’d been so careful before. Now he took all sorts of chances. He didn’t seem to give a fuck about getting caught. Maybe that was a product of now being able to say, ‘What, this chick? I’m just paying her to suck my balls. Don’t feel threatened, wifey.’ Mercedes was sure the money made all the difference.

  In the four years of their “couplehood”, such as it was, Mercedes had never seen Simon’s house. Never. She’d never seen his wife or his grown children, live in person or via any other medium. They’d been names, nothing more. In fact, his entire family was off-limits to her, though the rule itself remained unspoken.

  That was then. Now, when Florence left town to visit her relatives for the weekend, Simon insisted Mercedes stay the night.

  ‘At your house?’ she asked.

  ‘At my house,’ he replied.

  ‘But …’ Mercedes couldn’t seem to locate the words required to express her trepidation. She wasn’t even sure what precisely she was worried about. ‘A whole night? That’s … a lot of hours. And we’ll be … sleeping … together?’

  Even over the phone, Simon sounded peeved. ‘The whole time we were together, you begged me to spend the night with you. Now you don’t want to?’ He let out a humph and then said, ‘I’ll pay you per hour of sleep, if that’s what you’re so worried about.’

  ‘No, no. I mean, yes, thank you, but …’ It finally clicked why she shouldn’t be spending nights with her ex. ‘Anwar! What am I supposed to tell Anwar?’

  ‘Are you suddenly living together?’ Simon asked in his rhetorical voice. ‘No? Then what difference does it make where you sleep?’

  Setting emotion aside, Mercedes looked at the situation from a business perspective: she could either spend Saturday night falling asleep in front of Anwar’s TV, or go to Simon’s house, get fucked, get paid, go to sleep, get paid, and probably get fucked and paid once again come morning.

  ‘OK,’ she said. ‘You’re right. I’ll make it work.’

  With a simple lie about a girls’ night, Mercy set off to visit Simon’s house for the first time. Her stomach tied itself in knots. She felt strange, knowing she’d be fucking some woman named Florence’s husband in said woman named Florence’s house. She felt sleazy about it. Florence. What an old lady name. Who was this woman named Florence? And why had Mercedes never wondered about her before now? Why did Simon cheat? Did this woman drive him to it? Was she horrible? Demeaning? Rubbish in bed? That must be it. Why else would Simon pay Mercedes for sex?

  When she arrived at his door, Mercy expected Simon to grab her by the arm and swoop her inside, whispering, ‘Did the neighbours see you?’ Well, that wasn’t how it went down. Simon opened the door, casting a dark shadow across the stoop. He looked her up and down. Even as a dog-walking couple sauntered along the sidewalk, Simon smiled and told her she looked good enough to eat.

  ‘I hope so,’ she mumbled as she crept inside.

  She thought she’d be curious about this house of Simon’s, but her present feeling was exactly the opposite of curiosity. Mercedes tried not to look anywhere or see anything. Her senses dulled as he guided her by the arm. She stared down at her stocking feet against dark hardwood floors. Where were her shoes? She must have taken them off without realising.

  There were pictures on the walls, but Mercedes wouldn’t allow herself to look at them, not even to distinguish whether they were paintings or photographs. Why had she come here? Business, pleasure, or pure masochism?

  Soon, they came to be in a bedroom on the second floor of the house. When had they ascended a staircase? Mercy’s mind was muddled with desire for absentia intermingled with desire for Simon. Despite her best efforts to find the man unattractive, she couldn’t help being drawn to a body that defied age. Simon was always hard before his pants hit the ground, and his erections were thick and firm. When he fucked her, she always left satisfied. Better than satisfied, in fact … swollen and wet, sore and gasping for breath.

  Now he seemed to be undressing her. No, scratch that. He seemed to have undressed her. Mercy’s clothing hung over the back of a chair by the wooden desk. He was undressed too, but his clothes were on the floor. As always, his erection shot out in front of him like it was dowsing for wetness. Yes, Mercy realised, she was dripping for him. Dripping.

  Simon’s hard cock swung from side to side as he strutted to the bedroom door and closed it. His body gleamed golden in the low light of two bedside lamps, which cast Mercy’s shadow up against the adjacent wall. The room was stark, she noticed. But she didn’t want to notice – anything – so she focused her attention on Simon. ‘How do you want me?’ she asked.

  He could do anything to her. They’d agreed on a flat rate for any activity, except for the hours of sleep, which would cost extra. He usually started with a blowjob and finished off fucking her pussy. On rare occasions he fucked her ass, but he knew that hurt her and she really didn’t like it all that much.

  ‘I want to eat you,’ he said. His forceful gaze burned like the glowing embers in the gas fireplace across from the bed. ‘I miss the taste of your cunt. I want you on my tongue.’

  That statement should have excited her, but Mercy was too entranced by the fireplace. It seemed brand new. Why would a couple with a lousy sex life get a gas fireplace installed in their bedroom? It wouldn’t be for heat. There were plenty of other ways to heat up a bedroom. God! Simon and his wife couldn’t possibly have a healthy sex life, could they? If they did, why did Simon have an affair with Mercedes? Why was he now paying her for the pleasure of eating her pussy? But what reason other than romance was there for a new fireplace in a bedroom?

  Simon lifted her off her feet and dropped her on the bed. She bounced. The quilt was too pretty to mess up with her juices, but it was too late now. As Simon crawled up from the base of the bed, snarling like a wild thing, Mercy felt her inner thighs drench with juice. She crept back from him and drowned in a multitude of pillows. There was nowhere left to go. Only a wooden headboard remained at her back. Simon smiled in a sneering sort of way. ‘Where are you going, Mercy? I thought you wanted me to eat you.’

  ‘I do,’ she said. Her heart fluttered as he grabbed her ankles and pulled her legs wide open.

  ‘Nice work if you can get it,’ he teased as he propelled his body between her legs like a trench soldier. ‘You just sit back and enjoy my tongue on your pussy, and then you go home with your bra stuffed with cash. Wish I could find a job like that.’

  His smugness would have pissed her off a few years ago. Now it turned her on. She couldn’t bring herself to play the possession. ‘It’s too late for you,’ she replied. ‘Gotta be young and beautiful for a sweet position like this.’

  ‘Sweet position?’ Simon chuckled as he dove between her thighs. He went right at it and obviously didn’t plan on letting up until she came hard enough to wake the neighbours. Back when they were a “couple”, he’d been so dainty about eating her. He’d give her clit a few licks, she’d pretend he was God’s gift, and then they’d move on to something else.

  This was something else altogether. Simon was like a different person now he was paying for sexual gratification. He tore into her like a beast. Holding her thighs wide apart, he pressed his face firm against her pussy so his lips met her clit and his nose planted in her trimmed bush. Mercy could feel the stubble on his chin against the base of her wet slit. His bristled cheeks scratched her outer lips like pleasant sadists as he took her clit in his hot mouth.

  Mercy’s whole body jumped. Simon sucked her clit like it was a tiny cock. This was something she’d never experienced before. Where had Simon picked up new material? Was it something his wife had taught him? No, couldn’t be. Mercy was convinced they had next to no sex life. She’d convinced herself.

  Sensation melted Mercy’s mind. She bucked against Simon’s face. Now she knew why guys got off on blowjobs. As Simon sucked her inner lips in wi
th her clit, she tossed her head back and grabbed his with both hands. She thrust her hips at his face until she felt the scratch of his whiskers against her slit. His nose was flush to her bush. Could he even breathe down there? Mercy didn’t give a fuck. She ran her pussy in tight circles against his muzzle. The prickle against her tender flesh generated an itch to fuck, and she hoped he’d get his cock inside her soon.

  She’d have to come first, of course, but that was no chore. The harder Simon sucked her clit, the harder it became to resist giving herself over to the looming wave of climax. She forced her clit into his mouth, nearly sitting upright as he splayed himself belly-down on the bed. With his head in her hands, she pushed his face against her pussy the way porn star men do to porn star women when they’re getting their blowjobs. She felt almost guilty to treat him this way, especially when he’d be paying her in the morning, but she was so close to coming she couldn’t stop now.

  Finally, the urge to move was subsumed by the urge to receive pleasure. Mercy held Simon’s face against her pussy and screamed as he sucked her like mad.

  When she finished screaming and could take no more pleasure or pain, Mercy closed up her legs and fell back into the cluster of pillows. Either her eyes were closed or she’d just gone blind. Her orgasm had so overtaken her she couldn’t figure out which was the case. She finally realised her eyes were indeed closed, and she decided to open them. When she did, she saw two things: Simon looming between her knees with his long cock looking like it wanted to get up inside her, and, on the mantle behind him, a wedding photo. She must only have spent a few seconds looking at it, but she recognised a youthful Simon as the groom. The woman in the white gown was obviously his bride.

  Mercy was shocked by this photo. Not because it was a wedding photo – she obviously knew Simon was married. This photo told her one thing she’d never known about the man: his wife was pug fugly. Worse than pug fugly! She had a face like a bulldog after a bar brawl. And in her wedding photo! A woman always looked her best on her wedding day. If Florence looked like that when she was married, imagine what she must look like now!

  ‘I want to fuck you,’ Simon growled. Slipping off the bed, he flipped her from her back to her front. ‘I want it doggie style.’

  ‘Yeah.’ She felt too distracted to sound sexy. And then her gaze fell to another photo. This one sat on the night table right beside Mercy’s face. It was definitely Florence – the face was an older, more wrinkled, even uglier version of the one on the mantle. She looked like a Halloween hag. Could this really be Simon’s wife? Christ, no wonder he was willing to pay Mercedes for sex!

  As Mercy lay staring at the figure in the photo, Simon climbed on the bed and splayed her legs as far apart as they would go. That action jolted her into the moment. Her pussy clenched in anticipation. She closed her eyes, but the image of Simon’s ugly wife seemed burnt into her retinas.

  When Simon grabbed her hips, Mercy raised her ass to him. He knew exactly what he wanted these days, and he lifted her up to the perfect height. After piling up pillows under her pelvis, he wasted no time going at her. He rammed her so hard it panged inside, but Mercy didn’t care. The pang of a gleaming purple cockhead against her insides hurt less than the sting of resentment in knowing what Simon had stayed with throughout their years together.

  He scratched her back with sharp little nails as he fucked her pussy. The pain felt wonderful. He smacked her ass cheeks until they turned red. That felt even better. But why had Simon stayed with such an ugly woman when he could have had Mercedes? As his cock raced in and out of her hot, wet pussy, Mercy realised how ridiculously narcissistic she was being. Maybe Florence was the nicest, sweetest, most internally beautiful person in the world! Maybe Simon had a thousand reasons to stay married to her.

  Grunting like a troll, Simon threw his sweating chest on top of Mercy’s back. The pillows piled underneath her pelvis held their butts aloft, but Simon grasped her wrists and held them down as he fucked her. She felt trapped in his body now, as her mind was trapped in a cycle of, “Why her and not me? Why choose ugly when he could have beautiful? What’s so great about Florence?”

  Even as Simon grabbed Mercy’s breasts and groaned, the pleasure of fucking couldn’t dispel the multitude of questions. Simon propelled his hips at Mercy’s ass and bit down hard on her shoulder. Mercy screeched. Pain soared through her body. Her blood sizzled in her veins. She was sweating all over this pretty marriage quilt, and her pussy juice now graced a stack of throw pillows. As her cunt clamped down on Simon’s orgasmic cock, a series of words tumbled out of her mouth unhindered, ‘My God, Simon, your wife is one pug ugly motherfucker!’

  The room went silent as Simon rolled off Mercy’s back. The bed bounced beneath them. Was there any utterance crueller than the one that had just passed her lips? She’d insulted Simon’s wife! This was the woman he’d been married to for how many years? And Mercy called her ugly. Why would she say that? Was she jealous? Even with her engagement to Anwar, was she still subconsciously coveting Simon? Was she still in love with him? Or was this wife of his simply unconscionably ugly?

  ‘God, I know she is,’ he finally said. ‘And she always was. It’s embarrassing, isn’t it?’

  With a growl, Simon pulled Mercedes down from her Princess-and-the-Pea stack of pillows. Tossing her on to her back, he rolled on top. His spent cock drooled forgotten spurts of come against her leg as he took her breast in his mouth and sucked. Everything he did to her was animalistic now. There was an intangible sort of brutality in his every move.

  After a moment of vicious nipple sucking, Mercedes asked, ‘Why did you marry her?’

  Simon pressed Mercedes’ breasts together. When he spoke, his voice resonated from somewhere inside her cleavage. ‘Back in the day, she used to be great in the sack.’ He laughed, and collapsed beside her on the bed. Grabbing a pillow for his head, he squeezed her in close to his body and closed his eyes. ‘Same reason I stick with you.’

  Mercy’s heart froze in her chest. When Simon pressed a cruel kiss against her temple, she tried to ease herself away, but he only wrapped her tighter in his arms. The implications were too many, and too jarring. Her mind raced. Sure, he was paying her to stay the night, but Mercedes didn’t sleep a wink.

  Pattie and Annette

  by Penelope Friday

  John leans back in his chair and takes a sip of his beer, looking at the beautiful brunette opposite him.

  ‘Love me, love my girlfriend. Simple as that.

  ‘See, my girlfriend and me, we’re close. She’s my Primary and always will be; she’s my girl, my love. We’ve been together – oh, a couple of years now? Something like that. Doesn’t stop me fancying anyone else – doesn’t stop me fucking anyone else. But say one word against my girl and you’re out of here. Not only am I not prepared to fuck around behind her back, I’m not having anything to do with anyone – anyone – she doesn’t like. OK?’

  He smiles at his companion and runs a hand through his hair in an almost embarrassed gesture.

  ‘OK. You’re still here. That’s a good start. Most people walk out before I’ve got halfway through the spiel. And yes, by the way, I’ve seen you looking. At her, I mean – not at me. I’m not exclusive, either. I’m not some tosser who thinks there’s one rule for me and another for my girl. If she fancies you, you can go ahead with my blessing. And hopefully with me looking on, though that’s not required either. Bloody damn hot, though, you and the chick going at it. Not sure I wouldn’t prefer watching that to having you myself. Two hot chicks together? Whoa, man. Sounds good to me. And I’m pretty sure it’d look even better.

  ‘What’s my name? I’m John. And my girlfriend’s Pattie. No, don’t go there with the euphemisms – both of us have heard ‘em all before. After a bit it just gets fucking annoying, you know? That’s her, over there – blonde, gorgeous, gorgeous breasts and a mouth just made for kissing. She’ll join us in a minute. But anyway, let’s talk about you. Annette, your name is? Sweet Annette
, a perfect name for a perfect lady. You’ve got beautiful ... eyes. No, really, I mean it. Dark brown, and looking like you can see right through me.

  ‘Looking like you like what you see.

  ‘Oh, babe. Look, I’ll be honest with you. I can’t believe that Pattie wants me, let alone that anyone else would. And that’s not meant to be derogatory to Pattie, just that we’ve been together so long that I’ve had to accept that in her eyes, I’m not unfanciable.’

  He smiles at the blonde, now sitting on his right at their table; gives her a bit of a wink, then blows her a kiss. Before he starts speaking again, he takes another gulp of his beer.

  ‘Pattie, see – she makes me feel like I’m not the most ugly guy in the world. I’m not someone who girls will look at and go, “you must be joking – no one in their right minds would want you”.

  Hell, I know I was coming on strong a minute ago, but that was because I reckoned you would walk away. After all, why would a girl like you go for a guy like me? I’m not fishing here, by the way. If you want to turn round and say, “I’d fuck Pattie, but not you in a million years”, that’s OK by me. Well, if it’s OK by Pattie, of course.’ He looks enquiringly at the blonde. ‘Yes? Yeah well, I’m not surprised you want her, Pattie. Who wouldn’t?’ He turns back to his other companion. ‘Because you, lady. You’re hot. I shouldn’t say it, but look around this whole city, and you could pull anyone you fucking pleased. And you’d fucking please them, I can tell you.’

  He leans forward towards her.

  ‘Oh God, I just died and went to heaven. Tell me you said it. Tell me you said you’d have me and Pattie in turns. I’m imagining stuff, right? It’s OK, that’s fine. I can cope with that if I have to. You can tell me you never said any such thing. That you wouldn’t let me see Pattie sucking your small, gorgeous breasts, biting down – just a little – on your nipples so you moaned in mingled pleasure and pain. That I couldn’t see you squirming beneath me as I fucked you to heaven and back.