Foreign Affairs

by Antonia Adams

  ‘My British Bollywood Blossom, are you ready to face the cameras?’ Kareem shouted through her changing room door.

  ‘No,’ she replied holding billows of material in her arms, ‘I can’t work out how to get this thing on.’

  ‘What thing?’ Kareem poked his head around the door. Aisha yelped and tried to cover herself with the billowing material dangling from her arms.

  ‘Oh, that thing. OK, I’ll send one of the wardrobe ladies over to help you.’

  ‘Thanks,’ she croaked, her voice hoarse with nerves.

  ‘I’d stay and help myself but I’m not sure I’d be very good at the task in hand.’

  Aisha nodded and cursed her heated cheeks. She was sure they’d be shining like stop lights. She’d never been nearly naked in front of a man before and as much as she dreamed about getting naked with Kareem her practical cotton undies were not what she planned to wear. Her curves needed a little more artful decoration she thought but now Kareem had seen her in all her worn out everyday undied glory.

  She was wrapped in her sari by a huffing wardrobe lady, who seemed to think it was unseemly for a Bollywood star to be unable to even dress herself. Aisha was getting used to being tutted at. Not everyone was as enamoured with her Bradford roots as Kareem seemed to be. She was an unwanted foreigner taking a job that some local beauty would do so much more justice. She wondered how they’d feel if they knew she kind of agreed with them.

  Things got no better on set. Her opposite number, the very famous but highly strung Akshay Mistry, did nothing to settle Aisha’s rattled nerves. He flounced off after ten minutes of her stopping and starting, cursing in Hindi about damn wooden amateurs.

  ‘Aisha, my dove, can I have a word?’ Kareem smiled, but Aisha could see the worry in the back of his eyes. He rested his hand on her upper arm as he led her to a quiet corner.

  ‘You’re not feeling it, are you?’

  ‘No, Kareem, I’m not. I told you I’m not an actor. I don’t think I can do this.’ Aisha’s voice was a little high pitched and warbly as she fought back tears.

  ‘Now, now, now, don’t panic.’ He stroked her arm. She assumed he was trying to calm her, but the action enflamed her passion and made her more on edge than ever.

  ‘I know you’re going to be brilliant at this; you just need to let go and use your imagination.’

  Aisha was using her imagination. Her fantasy revolved around them both naked: his hands holding her down as he ploughed his cock into her.

  ‘You don’t like Akshay much, do you?’

  ‘Well I don’t really know him, I’m sure he’s a very nice man really but he’s a bit, well he’s a bit …’

  ‘Gay,’ Kareem answered and Aisha’s jaw dropped to her chest.

  ‘Not that that’s a bad thing, not at all, he’s got a whole generation of young Indian men watching my films who were never interested before but he does not appeal to you, does he? You don’t – what’s the British word for it – fancy him, right?’

  ‘No,’ she replied with a shake of her head, her lip curled up with repulsion, ‘definitely not.’

  ‘Just think of someone you do fancy when you look at him, someone who makes your heart race, your lips smile and your nipples harden.’

  Aisha couldn’t articulate so she just raised her brows in response.

  ‘Just pretend he’s someone else; I know you can do it.’ Kareem grinned and pushed her back onto set.

  She found it uncomfortable at first, but once she got used to superimposing an imagined visage of Kareem over Akshay’s feminine features she found the lines she’d remembered by rote rolling off her tongue with ease and emotion. The joy of Bollywood was that longing was kept mainly to glances and long introspective songs sung about one’s love. There was not much touching and that suited her down to the ground. And Akshay seemed happier with the arrangement too.

  Kareem was as pleased as punch with her and she revelled in every word of his praise. She saved it up and remembered it each night as she writhed on her luxury bedsheets trying to satisfy the ache between her thighs. But no matter how much she masturbated the need just intensified with every orgasm.

  She danced and spun and sung and proclaimed her love each day on set but at night she tossed and turned with unrequited lust. The make-up ladies commented upon the black marks beneath her eyes, scolding her for too many late nights.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she apologised, ‘it is the heat. I am missing the cold of home.’

  Which was an out and out lie. Aisha was becoming an accomplished actor. She did not miss home at all. She didn’t miss the monotony of serving and waiting and cleaning at her Father’s beck and call. She didn’t miss the grey Bradford skies and the pervading dampness in the air. Everything in Mumbai was pretty much perfect. Except for the fact she was being driven crazy with lust. Something she’d not experienced before. Yes, she’d experienced the odd crush in her schooldays but the desire created by Kareem was something new.

  It was this passion, this overwhelming urge to fuck, that drove Aisha into Kareem’s office one evening. Most people had gone home. She’d taken her time unwrapping the folds of sari from her body. She enjoyed every caress of her fingers on heated skin. She imagined Kareem undressing her and a wicked little idea popped into her mind.

  She pulled on her jeans and smoothed down her simple red T-shirt. All was quiet and she thought it would be safe to sneak into the director’s office. She looked in through the little glass window, the room was empty and so she tried the knob. It turned. She looked furtively around, listened for movement then scurried into Kareem’s office and closed the door gently behind her.

  She was a good girl, she really was. Kareem just haunted her thoughts every moment of the day. His toffee coloured skin, the sparkle in his burnt sugar brown eyes, the promise of his ripe lips and his subtly muscled body. Her mind was just taken over by him; she wasn’t thinking straight, she was thinking sex, pure sex.

  She was content just to sit in his chair at first. Big, black, leather and well-worn around the edges it was an impressive seat for an impressive man. She sat and spun from side to side gently and contemplated her next move. She could sit here on his chair, surreptitiously slip her fingers down the front of her jeans and no one would know what she was doing. She justified her behaviour with the fact no one was around anyway and if anyone did come in she could stop wanking before they discovered her. She could say she was waiting for Kareem: people would believe that she was certain.

  She unbuttoned her jeans and pressed her fingers through the gap and down inside her knickers. His sweet, spicy scent surrounded her and mixed with the leather and printer ink smells of a well-used office. She wanted to close her eyes, immerse herself in a dream but she had to keep an eye on the door, she couldn’t afford to be caught.

  Her heart throbbed ten to the dozen and she licked her dry lips nervously. Aisha was absolutely sure that masturbating in her boss’s office was probably not the cleverest thing she’d ever decided to do but she could not deny the thrill of doing something so very, very naughty. As the pleasure built she couldn’t help but close her eyes. She imagined Kareem on his knees before her, his face buried between her thighs, his tongue lapping at her juices and caressing her clit, slowly coaxing her closer to climax.

  ‘And what do you think you’re doing?’

  Aisha’s eyes flew open and her jaw dropped in shock. Kareem stood on the other side of the desk, his hands on his hips.

  ‘Oh, Kareem, I was just waiting for you,’ she said as she remembered her well-rehearsed excuse but she forgot to pull her hand out of her trousers.

  ‘Oh, you were, were you? What exactly did you want me for as you’re sat in my chair with your hand in your cunt?’

  ‘I’ve not–’

  ‘Oh, Aisha, I’ve caught you red-handed, masturbating in my office, in my chair in fact. Please don’t give me excuses.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Kareem,’ she replied, looking down at the worn desk before her as s
he pulled her fingers from inside her jeans. ‘I just – oh, I don’t know. I’ll just go now, shall I?’

  ‘Stay there,’ he demanded, ‘and give me your hand.’

  Aisha looked up and into Kareem’s face. She held out her left hand, the clean and dry hand that did not smell of her juices.

  ‘No, the other one.’ Kareem was not giving anything away in his stony gaze. She didn’t know what he might do next but she lifted up her right hand as she lowered her left.

  He closed his eyes and inhaled.

  ‘Yes, naughty girl. I can smell your sweet juices all over your fingers. How rude to masturbate in my office–’

  ‘Yes, I’m sorry, Kareem, I should just go, go back to my room, go back to Bradford even.’ Aisha had never felt so horrified in all her life but yet she was still wet, her pussy lips still plump and throbbing with need.

  ‘No, you didn’t let me finish. I was about to say it was very rude of you to do it without me present to watch. Now let’s do this right, OK?’

  Aisha nodded tentatively. She felt a subtle change in the atmosphere; she was no longer petrified of what might come next.

  ‘Stand up, Janeman, that’s it. Now take off those jeans.’

  Aisha’s trousers were already unfastened so she just shimmied the material down her legs and kicked off her shoes so the denim could be completely removed from her body.

  ‘Wow, your legs do go on forever.’ Kareem brushed past her to sit in the seat she’d recently vacated. Her nipples stung from the brief contact. She wanted to beg him to hold her, ask him to kiss her, to fuck her but the words were stuck in the back of her throat. ‘Now turn around, yes, that’s it. Peel down those panties.’

  Aisha gasped. She could feel her face heating to boiling point as she nervously slipped the plain cotton knickers over the curve of her ample buttocks. She couldn’t believe what she was doing but she was gratified to hear his growled moan as the underwear pulled away from her sticky lips and fell down to her ankles.

  ‘Back to face me now, sweetheart. And sit up on my desk yes, yes, make sure you spread those thighs wide open.’

  ‘Kareem, I don’t think I can.’

  ‘Of course you can, you were just sat in my chair wanking, don’t try and tell me you’re shy.’

  ‘I’ve never done anything like this before, Kareem, I’m scared.’ Aisha felt the need to tell the truth to her fantasy lover. She didn’t want to disappoint.

  ‘Oh, my sweet, sweet girl, you have nothing to be afraid of. I have wanted you from the moment I saw you but I have waited. I did not want to pressure you, my delicate Jasmine blossom. If at any time you want to back out you can, but tell me, this excites you, doesn’t it?’

  She nodded.

  ‘So sit on the desk for me, show me the delights harboured between your creamy thighs.’

  His silken words made her smile.

  Aisha took a deep breath and pushed herself back onto the desk. The cool wood felt like sweet relief to her hot skin. She slipped back and sat demurely, her legs closed tightly together.

  ‘OK, well maybe we have to work up to those delights.’ Kareem stood and walked forward. When he pressed against her knees he kept up the pressure until she parted them around him. He pushed in until he was tight up against his desk and her wet cunt. The soft material of his loose fitting trousers tickled her thighs and the hardness hidden beneath them nudged at her pubis.

  ‘Let’s take off this top,’ he whispered and ran his fingers up under her T-shirt and pulled it up as his hands skimmed up her hips, her stomach and her chest. He pulled it clear off her body and threw it behind him. Kareem looked down on her. Aisha craned her neck back to meet his gaze. His hands cupped her shoulders and his face dipped forward until his jewel-red lips pressed up against her own.

  Kareem’s kiss was gentle at first. His mouth just rested calmly against her own until she began to move her lips in response. She felt lightheaded. She wanted to giggle in delight and moan with pleasure at the same time. She pulled him deeper with each breath, his lips hard and demanding, his tongue soft and curious. Aisha opened herself up to him and loved it. Her body felt as if it vibrated with the energy of their kiss, it was so much more than she had imagined it would be. The intensity scorched her soul, etched his name there as the first man who had ever made her feel really, truly alive.

  ‘Now will you do it for me, Janeman, will you show me what you were doing when I interrupted you?’ His words were jagged, breaths pulled in deeply. It gave away his arousal. He was as turned on as she was, she could feel it in his touch, in the graze of his gaze over her face.

  She nodded tentatively. She bit her lip and wiggled her hips. Her fingers dipped down to her cleavage and toyed with the pretty lace at the edge of her bra. Kareem stepped back and sat down. In a moment of brave inspiration she tugged on the material and pulled until her breasts rested on top of the cups, naked to his sight. Her nipples seemed such a shocking shade of ripe plum in contrast to her latte skin. She traced her fingertips around and over her excited nibs. The moan that fell from her lips was echoed by Kareem who leant back in the chair and watched expectantly as her hands pushed lower.

  She lewdly spread her thighs. It was as if her fears had fallen to the back of her mind and so much pleasure and lust was in front of it that it became only anticipation. She slid her fingers to her slit. She leant back on one hand and let the other explore her sticky lips. Her eyes closed, her breath caught in her throat as ecstasy seared a path through every cell of her body.

  Kareem moved forward, gently lifted her feet and rested them on his thighs. She looked down at him and inhaled sharply when she saw the dark, hard column of flesh sticking up from the centre of his trousers. His cock was glorious. It was so hard, so vital. It made her mouth water.

  She sought out her clit and flicked it purposefully. She had never been so turned on before, never so desperate to come, but she wanted more, so much more than the ministration of her own well known touch. She wanted Kareem.

  ‘Touch me,’ she gasped, ‘Kareem, please, I want you.’

  ‘Yes, Janeman,’ He whispered the term of endearment with such tenderness, she melted inside. ‘Anything for you.’

  He rolled forward quickly on the casters of the chair, his mouth descended on her pussy and his tongue slipped between her slick lips. She screamed out in shocked pleasure and threw back her head in delight. He pressed back her thighs with his strong hands and held her open so that his tongue had access to all of her. She didn’t want it to stop. She was lost in lust. She’d forgotten where they were, that someone could watch them. She didn’t care.

  ‘Fuck me,’ she exclaimed, shocked at her own audacity. She wanted it and she couldn’t hold it in any longer.

  ‘Yes, yes, I’ll fuck you.’ He pulled back from her cunt and smiled wickedly. He licked his lips and as she watched he pushed away the chair and stood. He positioned himself between her thighs and pushed his dick into her slowly and purposefully.

  ‘Kareem,’ she cried and he stilled inside her.

  ‘Are you OK, Aisha?’ he asked. ‘I only want to bring you pleasure.’

  ‘You are,’ she gasped back, ‘you are but it’s so new, I’ve never felt this. I can feel you inside me and it feels like … like I’ve never been complete before.’

  ‘Oh, it’s going to get so much better, love.’ He smiled and pushed deeper. She discovered that he was not merely boasting. As his rhythm built she felt as if her skin was on fire, as if her insides were molten, as if she were made of liquid passion.

  ‘Touch yourself again,’ he crooned, ‘Make yourself come. I want to feel your ecstasy as I fill you, my love.’

  She snaked her fingers between them. She was so very close and knew she would come soon. The desk vibrated and creaked as they rocked and shook with passion and just when Aisha thought she couldn’t take one moment more of the anticipation she came. Hard, fast and with an intensity that brought a strangled cry to her lips.

  He stif
fened between her thighs and as she was whipped up in a whirlpool of ecstasy he came, their orgasms mingled as freely as their juices.

  ‘Fuck,’ he panted, ‘I’ve wanted to do that since I met you in Bradford.’

  ‘I’ve wanted you to do it since then too,’ she admitted coyly. ‘Let’s keep doing it, shall we?’

  He laughed heartily. ‘Your wish is my command. I have to keep my leading lady happy.’

  Only In Vegas by Elizabeth Coldwell

  By night, Las Vegas lights up the sky with its shimmering neon signs, and the sidewalks ring to the clatter and hum of a million slot machines in constant motion. By day, it’s just another American city, stripped of its colour and vitality. Nothing worth enduring an eleven-hour flight for.

  At least, that was the impression Rosalie gained, climbing out of the cab bringing her and Paul from McCarran Airport to their hotel. When Paul first suggested this holiday as a way of celebrating their wedding anniversary, she’d thought it a brilliant idea. The Zephyr Hotel and Casino was to be the venue for Swingcon, the world’s biggest annual swinging convention. They’d talked about attending in the past, intrigued by the prospect of meeting so many people who shared the same attitude to sex and relationships as they did, but never quite had the courage to fill in the online booking forms. Now, married for ten years, in the lifestyle for five, the time somehow felt right to make the trip.

  ‘And while we’re there,’ Paul had said, as they discussed the idea in the soft golden glow that so often follows good sex, ‘we can renew our marriage vows in one of those chapels where the minister dresses up as Elvis. How does that sound?’

  ‘Tacky but perfect,’ Rosalie replied.