Foreign Affairs

by Antonia Adams

  He inserted his index finger inside her and it was like a bar of heat warming her to the core, and she longed for his cock.

  ‘My turn,’ she whispered, manoeuvring him off her and onto the bed beside her. As she climbed on top of him, she gasped as the cold air hit her back, and then slid down to where his cock was straining inside his pyjama bottoms. She released it within the open fly and took it in her mouth, where once again she was amazed at how hot it was, like a beacon of heat, and as she licked and sucked him and took him as deep inside her mouth as she could, she felt like an ice sculpture coming to life, as if previously she had been just a form with neither emotional nor spiritual depth, but with his heat her brittle exterior was melting away, and she was becoming a complete and sensitive and emotional living being.

  He pulled her up and sat upright, and she straddled him, positioning herself on his cock, and then slid herself down on it, so that he filled her and her pussy became the centre of her warmth, a life-force in itself, and she rode him and they kissed, exchanging fluids and juices, warmth and tenderness, and he held her by her buttocks and she clung onto his back, and when one of his fingers slipped inside her butt she thought she was going to explode, and their kissing became more frantic and feverish, as if without it they would both die of cold, and he pushed her over so that she was on her back and he plunged deeper and deeper inside her, taking control, pummelling her as if without his cock her life would surely slip away, and she came in such an outburst it almost took her breath away, crying and screaming and holding him hard and pulling him inside her until it felt he might split her in two, and then he came, crying out in what seemed like anguish, his heat-force extinguishing, his power subsiding, and he slumped over her and their bodies lay as one, dripping in sweat, and they kissed each other gently, laughing at the strange urgency of their sex, and a need that was greater than them both.

  The next morning, nestled against his body under two thick duvets, Belinda wished she could stay that way for ever. Who needed central heating when there was a man like Alistair around? In the rising sun they made love again, more tenderly this time, and she enjoyed seeing his body in the new light, the firmness of his muscles and the smoothness of his skin. For an office-type he kept himself pretty trim, she noted, and although most of her previous lovers had boasted the thick-set physique of rugby players, she now appreciated his slender form.

  ‘Breakfast in the café and then shall we hit the slopes again?’ he suggested and, suddenly ravenous, she agreed.

  And while they ate, dipping their croissants into hot chocolate and laughing at the resultant mess, Belinda wondered about the overwhelming sense of love she suddenly felt for this man. He was, after all, everything a woman could ask for: he was steady and loyal, he had a love of the arts, he was kind, he made decent money, and he had a chalet in Austria – and she couldn’t understand what had held her back until now. Why hadn’t she seen what had been staring her in the face? Was she so shallow that great sex was all it took?

  And with that thought came a new question: was the sex great because she loved him, or did she now love him because the sex was great? Because Belinda knew with a sudden and fierce conviction that she really did love him. As if black had become white, and fire had turned into snow, everything he did and everything he said attracted her. He seemed to smile more, and his conversation had grown lighter and wittier, as if he was no longer trying to impress her with his intellect. His reserve had melted, revealing a quiet confidence that was so much more alluring than the braying beer-swillers she’d found such fun until now. Suddenly Alistair stood out from the crowds, as if there was a glow around him, and his features, which she’d deemed on the bland side before, had become handsome and dashing and sexy.

  In a revelation that shocked and excited her, Belinda knew with certainty, over that breakfast, that this was the man she must marry, and that this was the father of her children.

  And when it clouded over, chilling the temperature by several degrees, theirs was an easy decision. With two hours to kill before they had to leave for the airport, they climbed back into bed, and once again she was struck by the warmth of his tongue and of his touch, and she knew that with Alistair in her life, she’d never feel cold again.

  The Invitation by Maria Lloyd

  Thursday morning I noticed the gold bordered envelope in my pigeonhole and wetted my already dry lips. Tried to act casual as I collected my mail and took it back to my office.

  I work at a well known college, the security is high, yet this envelope had not come through the post – there was no stamp, no franking – and it had no markings from the college’s internal post. It was cream, rich and heavy, edged with gold. Only my initials marked upon it in dark blue ink by a thick-nibbed fountain pen.

  How does he do it? He likes to keep me on my toes. Maybe he had attended a meeting in the conference rooms, and had slipped this across. Maybe he had watched me as I arrived at work this morning, had passed me in the corridor while I turned to check my mobile for text messages. I always dress so prim for the office. My intellectual armour against any emotional entanglements and it seems to work. Always a linen blouse with a high collar, long pencil skirt, French flat shoes. And I always pin my hair up. I wear minimal makeup, lipstick a nice neutral shade. All so different to how I am with him …

  I placed the envelope squarely on my desk. Took a sip from my cup of coffee. I rifled through my handbag and reapplied some lipstick carefully using my handbag mirror. Then I opened the envelope.

  An air ticket to a Greek Island leaving late Friday night. Confirmed booking for a single room overnight stay at a hotel the same night. A car hire docket for the next day. And a leaflet for some botanical gardens, a tourist attraction inland on the island. Scrawled in ink on a thick white piece of card.

  Saturday 7 p.m. Wear your red dress.

  I felt weak at the knees and wet between the legs. My heart thudded at the very idea of another date with my secret lover and master.

  I could hardly concentrate all day. I negotiated Friday afternoon off, and the Monday, just in case. I finished work as soon as I could and hurried back to my flat to make arrangements. Find that red dress and all the other things I may need. Cancel my attendance at a dinner party, at a private view. Book a taxi to the airport.

  As always I had to rearrange my life at his whim but it was always such a delight, a pleasure to do. For the rewards were great.

  It meant we would have precious time alone together and who knew what that would mean?

  The flight was a red eye and I ended up getting to my hotel in the early hours. I was grateful for the short sleep, the hearty breakfast which included honey and Greek yoghurt, and the power shower to wake me up. I wore my red halter neck dress, my corset and stockings, my Louis Buton shoes just as he had specified. Applied my fifties style makeup, the livid red coco Chanel lipstick. Left my hair loose in frothy blond waves that reached down my back. I was ready to collect my hire car by mid morning and I decided to drive straight out, worry about provisions later. But by the time I had studied the map and negotiated the mad traffic rules, the dusty roads, and made a few wrong turnings even with my satnav, I ended up stopping for lunch, and much needed coffee. I reapplied my lipstick in the taverna toilets, aware of glances from the locals. I blushed behind my sunglasses as I took off again, some kind of scarlet woman travelling alone. But the sea breeze on the coast road cooled my cheeks and freed my inhibitions. No one knew me here; I had used the supplied alias all along. I sang along to Louis Armstrong favourites as the car snaked beside a sparkling Aegean sea.

  I enjoyed the searing light even through my sunglasses, the heat on my bare arms, and the sound of jazz on the CD player. All of this lifted my spirits after a damp and chilly British summer. So it did not matter so much that I did not arrive high in the mountains until late afternoon.

  The final road was full of hairpin bends, and I almost gave up. But I was determined to make it, despite the inches between t
armac and sheer drop into heavily forested valleys. I loved the smell of dust and vegetation. It felt wild and free.

  I saw the sign for the Botanical Gardens and it intrigued me. Visit the pleasure gardens bio project, declared the handwritten sign. An impressive array of flora and fauna open to the public for the first time, the sign announced. I wondered if this was a new and obscure project my lover was involved in. Well it looked the right place from the leaflet. Good enough for me.

  I reached the Gardens half an hour before closing time, and my car was the only one in the car park. There was a taverna, built with an all round balcony to enjoy the views, and a small ticket booth which was empty.

  ‘Hello?’ I called not very hopefully when I noticed someone at the far end sweeping the floor. He was tall and dark, dressed in striped T-shirt and jeans, a deep golden tan. He paused, put his broom against the wall, and strolled over. It was too hot to hurry after all. I could smell his fresh sweat, see it beading his brow. He looked at me a little in surprise but spoke politely in perfect English.

  ‘Hello. You wish to visit the pleasure gardens?’

  ‘The botanical bio project gardens yes. I hear they are very impressive.’

  ‘Yes, we grow many exotic things here in this microclimate. You are a student?’

  ‘Yes’ I lied and gestured to my handbag just about containing my A5 sketchbook, and my mobile which doubled as an excellent digicam.

  He smiled. ‘I am also here to study the flora and fauna for the summer. I am Max’

  ‘Hello Max. I am Juliana’

  ‘So you are here for inspiration?’

  ‘Yes. You could say that …’ I trailed off, unnerved as I noticed him watching my lips and the nape my neck with vampire-like intensity. My red dress and heels were still having an effect, something which always surprised me.

  Then his mobile rang and he answered swiftly. Sounded like he was talking to his boss in Greek. Then he hung up and turned back to me.

  ‘Good luck with that,’ he said ‘I am to let you in free. The path is over there,’ he gestured before he returned to sweeping the floor of the taverna.

  I took a dusty path that wound into what seemed like a jungle. I was relieved by the shade but overwhelmed with how profuse everything was. There were figs, lime and lemons, bougainvillea, and everything seemed bursting with fruit or bloom. Soon I was walking under a trellis, vines full of bunches of grapes suspended from its wooden slats. I reached up and picked some, as though I was in the Garden of Eden, and they tasted so bright and sweet - bursting with all the goodness of the hot sun.

  The more I spiralled up the path the more I spotted – bright multi coloured lizards sunning themselves, massive crickets in all shades of khaki rasping loudly as they flitted from stem to branch, and massive honey bees drinking nectar from large blooms. I imagined how delicious that honey would be with Greek yoghurt. No wonder this had been the cradle of Western civilisation. Anything seemed possible here in this kind and fertile land.

  I stopped to sit on a large flat rock to sketch the view of the valley. Up so high, it was so hot and still. I wanted to capture the late afternoon light on the greenery before the sun’s path behind mountains brought shadow to the valley.

  There was a faint breeze where I sat, perhaps from the silver glimmer of sea in the distance. I took out my mobile to snap the view and almost dropped it when it rang.

  It was him.

  ‘Hello, darling.’ At last his beautiful voice, so warm and yet commanding.

  ‘Hello,’ I said throatily, my mouth dry with nervous anticipation.

  ‘Turn around, lean back a little. I want to see you.’

  I turned around and obeyed. I could see lush vegetation above me, a nearby summit, but no sign of human life. Was he there, or was there simply a hidden webcam to watch me with? He always kept me guessing.

  ‘Pull up your skirts, darling.’

  ‘But someone might–’

  ‘Discover you? Unlikely this close to closing time but always a possibility. Never mind. Do it.’

  He loved to shock me out of my comfort zone. Trembling a little, I obeyed. Just as instructed, I wore stockings with my heels, but no panties. My shaven cunt was on full display, my arse bare to the warmth of the sun baked rock and the soft breeze.

  ‘Play with yourself,’ he said.

  He knew it was just exactly what I wanted to do. I let my fingers stray across the swollen lips of my sex and dip into my wetness, and I groaned in pleasure.

  ‘Very good. Now stop.’

  I whimpered a little in protest but I obeyed.

  ‘That’s good,’ he breathed, ‘now carry on up the path a little. There’s a sculpture, can you see it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Two tall twisting shapes of smooth wood which suggested the horns of a bull. I stroked their contours, appreciated the grain of the wood. I could see a lizard dart to one side, and butterflies visiting the lavender blooms along the path, its scent heavy in the air like incense. The whirr of crickets’ chorus rose and fell while bees droned by.

  ‘Lean against the sculpture, darling,’ he murmured thickly, ‘Lower your top. Let me admire the view.’

  I undid the halter neck to expose my naked breasts. I was in the shade of an olive tree and its branches dappled my pale skin. My nipples were erect in the breeze at the thought of him somewhere, watching me. Was he on his laptop in a hotel room on the other side of the world or here on this mountain top with me?

  ‘Beautiful’, he said, ‘That red really shows off the creaminess of your skin. You’re a work of art yourself. A Helmut Newton maybe.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I shifted a little, eager for his next move. ‘What else should I do?’

  He laughed, evidently pleased at my impatience.

  ‘Put on your blindfold then do nothing. Just wait.’

  I rested my handbag at the foot of the sculpture, took from my handbag the blindfold I had brought and carefully applied it. I could hear the crickets’ loud chorus rise and fall once more and strained to hear a twig snap, a footfall, in case anyone approached me now that I was this prone and vulnerable. Yet just waiting for him, like this, turned me on so much. I knew he was listening to my short shallow breathing over the mobile, enjoying the effect he had on me.

  Then I did hear a twig snap behind me, and I jumped as a soft feather stroked my neck, my breasts. I gasped at the sensation. Then a leather paddle was smoothed across my skin, with its silent threat of worse, and I arched my back against it, with a soft moan.

  My mobile blipped, making me jump.

  ‘Hello?’ I said anxiously, fearing we were disconnected. Then I checked my voicemail.

  ‘Turn around and bend over,’ he said.

  Trembling, I obeyed. I felt my skirt tucked higher to expose my arse. Now I was all but naked in the dappled shade, the warm golden air thick like honey around me. I felt soft leather and feather against my skin. It was delicious torture, to have each texture stroked randomly across my nipples, my sex, and my arse. Who was this? Was it my lover or a proxy? He had threatened to send someone else in the past, and although I only wanted him to do these delicious things to me he knew that I would obey him.

  When the leather paddle paused across my buttocks I tensed.

  ‘You can hang up now,’ my real solid lover whispered softly in my ear and I smiled with delight and relief. I could smell his woodsy cologne, his soft fresh sweat as he took the mobile phone from me.

  I waited, bent over, buttocks swaying slightly. Now that I knew he was the one here, how I longed to be punished.

  ‘Have you been very wicked since we last met?’ he whispered.

  ‘Yes,’ I said, feeling wet with longing.

  ‘What do you say?’

  ‘Please. Punish me.’

  I gave an involuntary cry at the first strike across my buttocks that jerked me forward, almost over the edge but he caught me, his strong forearm a barrier, and I trembled against him as the fire licked my buttocks.
He gently inserted a gag.

  ‘We don’t want to call too much attention to ourselves, darling,’ he murmured as he applied the paddle once more, swiftly across my buttocks, until my heart thumped and I moaned at the shock and pleasure. It made my cunt throb with longing, the way he punished me, and I leant against him as he stroked the stinging flesh with the smooth leather. The hurt, the humiliation, the danger of being discovered all turned me on like crazy and he knew it. His fingers explored my sex slowly, with satisfaction as I writhed against him in longing.

  ‘There,’ he whispered,’ that will make for a tender reminder of me for a day or two. Just a moment, I’ll take a picture of your predicament for my album.’ I heard him use my mobile’s camera. Then I moaned as I felt his cool tongue lap soothingly across my buttock’s stinging flesh.

  ‘Delicious.’

  He continued to lap at my skin, and my cunt, until I whimpered with the need to come. Then he withdrew his hands, his tongue so that I whimpered in disappointment

  ‘Give me your wrists, darling.’ I held out my wrists and he bound them together. The restraint of the smooth, wide tape made me shiver. He gently tugged me upright and pulled until my wrists were above my head, hitched me somehow to the sculpture so that I was almost suspended, on tiptoe with breasts jutting forward. He brought my ankles together and bound these too. I was helpless and I loved it, to be so completely offered for his enjoyment. I felt the breeze against my skin, against my erect nipples and sore buttocks. I longed to feel his touch again, but waited in silence for his next move.

  Then he began to tease me slowly all over. The nape of my neck, my breasts, my flat tummy, the base of my spine, my instep. With little nips and a teasing circling tongue, all caressed in turn and stroked to some kind of frenzy. Finally he stroked my cunt, and circled into me with that jutting teasing tongue which made me rock and moan. Bound, I could not separate my legs to let him have deeper access and I quivered with the sweet frustration of it. I rocked and moaned, seeking release.