by Leigh Clark
His shaft is long and wide and pale. I cannot help thinking of the milk popsicles I ate as a child, because it gives the same impression of creamy coolness. I wonder if it will feel cold when it enters me, wherever and however it does.
But before I can find out, I must endure whatever Stanislav has in mind for me. His face is calm, maybe even stern, and he nods once or twice, as if confirming that he is happy with his work so far.
I cannot see the door. Stanislav stands between it and my view, and once I have looked at him I cannot look away. Such a body he has, from the Latin corpus, meaning body of a person. An animal, in that sense, has a carcass, not a corpus. Anyway, Stanislav’s flesh, so dense and white, like marble or snow, has frozen me with desire. On it, the scant lines of hair are faint as shadows.
Stanislav uses the palms of his hands on me, planing them over my flesh like a machine completing some ordered task. I try to be silent, listening for another knock at the door, but my body is lifting to his hands, back arching, thighs straining, and the effort makes me breathe strenuously, as though something tremendous has happened, although it hasn’t yet.
When I am smoothed to his mechanical satisfaction, he stands between my wide-spread legs again, puts one knee on the desk and prepares to mount me. In this moment of pause, we both hear the footsteps coming down the corridor. Heavy, measured steps—the next appointment, not content with the locked door, has fetched a security guard. Russians are such sticklers for the rules!
Stanislav smiles grimly and enters me, timing each thrust to the feet that are slowly, but inexorably, getting louder. Because I am so ready he slips in and out with frictionless ease. It seems to surprise him and he gives a faint hiss of shock or approval and when I look up, his face, hanging over me, is grinning. Perhaps he’s just happy to know how close he is to meeting my challenge.
I have sucked my lower lip into my mouth and am biting down as hard as I can to stop myself from crying out. The footsteps are outside now. They stop. Stanislav does not. I taste the hot metal of blood on my tongue as my body flows out around his. It is as if every part of me is opening and flowing. I come.
I hear the door handle rattle. Does this security guard have a master key? Did I leave my own key in the lock? What will he see if I didn’t and he bends and puts his eye to the keyhole?
And then something happens that has never happened before. Although I have already come, I come again, or perhaps I come for the first time ever, properly. It’s a feeling like other orgasms, but longer, deeper, stronger, slower.
My body lifts, leaving the desk and curving up into the air, carrying Stanislav with it. We are tethered only by the tape around my wrists and ankles, both of us arching like dolphins.
A tiny corner of my mind is focused on the footsteps, which are receding away from my office door—the heavy steps of the guard and the lighter ones of the Russian family. But most of me is concentrating on Stanislav—his broad chest covering mine like a great slab of white stone, his hips moving metronomically, his planed face still above mine but his ice-blue eyes now closed as he hisses once, twice, and I feel him come.
My body subsides, my spine reversing its ultimate arc to rest back on the wood beneath me. Stanislav looks down on me, then lifts one hand to my hair, gathering it up and pressing it to his lips. He rises and dresses before turning his attention to me—slicing through my bonds with my own antique paper knife. Then, before I understand what he is about to do, the blade flashes across my face, a sound like scissors through silk, and Stash, for now I feel I can call him that, holds up a lock of my red hair.
“Next week,” he says. “Same time. You will give me an English lesson.”
I nod, and he walks away, turning the key in the door to let himself out.
Even after he is gone, I stay for a moment, risking discovery, to savour my challenge. English, after all, is my forte, from fort, French, meaning the strongest point of a blade. But my Greek and Latin are strong too. I think of all the words I can share with Stash—fellatio, hand job, tribadism, fetish.
He will be fluent by the time I finish with him.
When Amy Shaved
Amy and I’ve been married nearly three years now. There’s one thing I really wanted her to do that she never would, which is shave her pussy. She had this whole weird feminist problem with it. Anyway, I’d sort of given up on the idea, I mentioned it a few times, got the whole “pillow down the middle of the bed, you’re a pervert, bet you wouldn’t do it for me” type response and more or less forgot about it. Then I realised she was planning a surprise for our second wedding anniversary. She was definitely up to something, so I pretended I was oblivious and went along with her suggestion that two years’ marriage meant nothing and instead of celebrating we might as well save the money and put it towards our holiday.
The thing is, it’s not like we don’t have a good sex life, because we do, but Amy likes things to be spontaneous; no planning in advance, no talking about it afterwards, and no toys and stuff. She’s just a natural girl, I suppose, but sometimes it would be great to do something really ‘out there’.
I knew as soon as I got home the night of our anniversary that it was going to be weird. To start with, she came out of the kitchen acting really cool, but I could tell she was dead excited.
“Hi, Shaun,” she said. “Go and put the TV on, dinner’s going to be a while.’
The curtains were closed and the light was off. I played along, sitting down and picking up the remote and straight off there was a post-it on the video button saying PLAY ME.
So I did.
It was a home-made video, set in our bedroom. Right away I got hard, because Amy’d never done anything like that before. The video camera must have been on a tripod because it was focused on the bed, perfectly still and the room was empty. Then Amy came into the picture, wearing her bathrobe. She seemed embarrassed and wouldn’t look into the camera and she was carrying a bowl and a towel. She spread the towel out over the end of the bed and sat down with the bowl in her hands like she was going to throw up and I thought, oh shit, this is going to be such crap, I’m going to hate it and she’s going to be totally insecure about it.
She put the bowl down, stood up and took off the bathrobe. She was only wearing a bra under it, a black bra. I could see her trimmed pubic hair, which is nearly as dark as mine, although she’s a blonde and I’ve got brown hair. She lay down on her side, with one arm supporting her head, and finally looked at the camera, which was when I realised she must have turned the viewing screen round and was making sure she could be seen properly. That gave me a jolt, the idea of her watching herself as she did whatever she was going to do.
By now I was rock hard, and when Amy sat next to me, I grabbed her shoulder and pulled her against me. Her hand went straight to my cock, through my trousers, and gave it a squeeze. Right through the rest of the show she rubbed me as if we were kids in the cinema again, groping each other.
On the video, she lifted her top leg and bent it, and then took a little pink razor out of the bowl, it was dripping soapy water, and began to shave. I have never been so fucking hard in my life, watching her on the one hand, doing that as though she was all alone, pulling her pussy lips from side to side, staring down at herself to make sure she got all the hair, and on the other hand, having her right beside me, pinching the head of my cock with her fingers and breathing in my ear.
At one point in the video she sat up and spread her legs wide, sliding her fingertips all round between her legs, as if feeling for stubble, but the camera was focused on her face and I could tell from the way she had her eyes half-closed that she was turned on. It was the way she looked when she was close to coming.
Then the real Amy took my hand, and slid it up under her skirt. Well I knew what to expect of course, but it was still such a shock, where I was used to those silky short hairs, to feel hot skin, a little b
it rubbery, and to feel that she was wet too. I was so turned on, I came almost the second I was inside her. To be fair though, the second time I held on a lot longer and she came really fast too. It was the best present I’ve ever had.
She hasn’t shaved since, but I live in hope.
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