The Cruelty of Morning

by Hilary Bonner

  He sighed. He had to tell her something because he knew she would not let him off the hook now, and he also knew, another born politician’s skill, how to appear to give way while actually giving next to nothing.

  ‘OK, you silly cow,’ he said affectionately. ‘I’m a Freemason, that’s all.’

  ‘You’re a what?’ Jennifer was stunned, she felt her head rock back on her shoulders.

  ‘I’m a Freemason,’ he repeated, with a small smile. ‘You’re supposed to keep things secret, that’s half the idea of it.’

  ‘Good God,’ she said.

  This made sense of so much, but it was still curious. From the little she knew of the Masons and the great deal she felt she knew of Marcus, he was the last man in the world she would have expected to join.

  ‘Why on earth didn’t you tell me before?’ she asked. ‘Surely you could have told me that?’

  ‘I thought you’d laugh,’ he said. Clever as ever, he decided to play it lightly now.

  ‘I don’t know about that,’ she said. ‘All I know about the Masons is that my father would never join them – because he believed they were a cartel who look after their own at the expense of anything and anybody else inside and outside the law.’

  She looked at him questioningly. He seemed more than a tiny bit sheepish. Well, he would be, wouldn’t he? Apart from anything else, Marcus liked to give the impression he had carved his life and career singlehandedly with help from no one. Only he would know the degree of assistance he had had from Masons in high places, and, heaven forbid – she thought back to that first job so readily offered her by Marcus’s newspaper – the help she had unknowingly received.

  Marcus was not rising to the bait. ‘We all need a bit of a helping hand now and again,’ he said casually. ‘All you are talking about is a group of hard-working men who will support each other through thick and thin. What’s wrong with that?’

  She didn’t understand enough about the Masons to know whether that was more or less the sum of it or not. She merely nodded and said: ‘You’ve been a member since Pelham, haven’t you?’

  He shrugged his agreement.

  ‘Fascinating,’ she said, the journalist in her taking over now. ‘How much help have they really given you, then?’

  For a moment Marcus frowned and looked as if he might be about to say something in anger. Instead he decided to stick to the light approach.

  ‘Oh, you’d never guess the half of it,’ he said. ‘I mean, I’m so useless at the job I wouldn’t have lasted five minutes as a hack, let alone anything else, without help, would I?’

  She raised her hands in defeat. Marcus was a quite brilliant journalist who had always been destined for the top, and that was one of his many attractions to her. So he was a Freemason. That didn’t really bother her much, although she would have preferred to have known all along. Mind you, she could see how he would be embarrassed by it. She asked some more questions. Some he would answer, some he wouldn’t.

  Yes, of course he went to regular lodge meetings, and that probably accounted for most of what she described as his mysterious disappearances. Yes, he had to admit that he had joined because he thought it would do his career good and he didn’t see the need to apologise for that. No, he could not and would not tell her how he came to join. Masons had to be invited, they couldn’t just apply; if he told her who had invited him he would be breaking his oath.

  Marcus made it all seem quite normal, and Jennifer had no reason to believe that, behind the ritual rigmarole, the Masons were anything other than just that.

  She was actually relieved and reassured by what she had learned. She thought it was all a bit silly and probably a bit reprehensible – jobs, perks and God knows what else for the boys – but she knew that one way and another the world was riddled with that kind of thing. The Masons had no monopoly on nepotism, and alongside all kinds of unpleasant explanations for the more mysterious aspects of Marcus’s behaviour which had flicked uninvited through her brain over the years, being a Mason seemed relatively innocent and straightforward. It was also quite amusing. She knew the Masons wore robes and used all kinds of regalia in their ceremonies, and there was a distinctly funny side to the thought of a man as stylish and sophisticated as Marcus indulging in such pursuits.

  When she realised she was going to get no more hard information from him, she found herself teasing him about all of that.

  ‘I’ve always wanted to know if Masons really roll their trouserlegs up,’ she said, stifling a giggle. ‘Go on, share with me the intimate secrets of your apron.’

  Marcus went along with it good-humouredly enough. ‘Mind your own business,’ he said, only pretending to be stern.

  He was actually relieved that Jennifer seemed so untroubled, and he thought he had handled things rather well. He hoped that would be the end of her niggling mistrust of him – and it seemed to be at the time. She could live happily enough with the knowledge that he was a Mason, and would, in fact, have no further wish to know anything much about it.

  She certainly did not intend to let it interfere with the good times. More than anything else, what she remembered from those heady early days in London was the sheer fun of it all, the stimulation, the excitement.

  Then came the day a few weeks after they had become engaged, when Marcus asked Jennifer to join him at his flat as soon as she could get away. He had an engagement present for her, a surprise. She duly turned up straight from the office. She was wearing a black Paul Costello suit with very high heels. She looked about ten feet tall. The effect was dramatic. Marcus opened a bottle of good champagne – his favourite Krug, the price of which still rather shocked her – and gave her a glass, finest Waterford crystal, naturally. He kissed her fleetingly on the lips, and his tongue lightly traced a line across her mouth. He too had just arrived from the office. He had taken off his jacket and tie and was wearing only the trousers of his suit. His handmade Jermyn Street shirt was open at the neck. He looked very attractive, and he looked dangerous, but then he frequently did. The fluffy blonde curls and the handsome, eternal boyishness were so deceptive. He reached out and touched her cheek, hardly a touch at all, and yet so suggestive.

  ‘Undress for me,’ he said huskily.

  ‘Is that my surprise?’ she asked, with a smile. ‘That’s no surprise.’

  ‘Later,’ he replied.

  His eyes were very bright. ‘Please. I want to look at you.’

  Why did she find him so irresistible? Why did she always do what he asked? She undressed in front of him as he had told her to. When she had stripped down to her bra and pants, she turned around with her back to him and gestured to him to undo the catch. He did so, barely touching her with his hands, but she could feel his hardness against her. She stepped forward, letting the bra fall away and her pants drop. Then she turned around and faced him. She was smiling at him, expectant now.

  He took her into the bedroom and sat her on the edge of the bed. He knelt before her, opened her legs, and began. She lay back on the covers, spreading her legs wider, loving it, as always. He worked on her until she was crying out for him to be inside her. He stood up and undressed before her, naked, strong, beautiful. He came forward as if he was going to enter her, and then he eased himself up her body until he was sitting astride her face. He was going to tease her tonight. She didn’t mind. It would be all the better finally. She started to suck him and she felt his hand stretched behind him playing with her. She was aching for it. His fingers were so clever. Then she became aware of something very strange.

  She realised two things at once. One was that Marcus was now holding both her wrists above her head with his hands, forcing her arms back on the pillows. And the other was that there was something at work again on the most intimate part of her. It was a tongue, a hungry seeking tongue. Somebody else was in the room with them, and that somebody was sucking her. She couldn’t see who it was. She didn’t even know if it was a man or a woman. She started to struggle. Marcus was thrustin
g deep into her mouth. Relentless. She could not speak. She looked up into his eyes and saw the wicked enjoyment there. Marcus was telling her that this was her surprise, this was her fantasy. Two men. So it was a man, she thought obscurely, thank God at least for that. Marcus was still talking. He wanted her to live it out, to explore every remotest part of her sexuality, every extreme. He wanted to watch her do it. He wanted her to have it all the ways she had ever dreamed of. She was still struggling. Two strong arms had pinned her legs down, forcing them apart. The tongue was busy, darting in and out of her. She felt herself begin to weaken. Whoever it was was good, very good, and she was so ready there. It felt so sweet and so exciting, she couldn’t struggle any more. God, what was happening to her? She didn’t want to do this but she couldn’t stop herself. Marcus had been clever.

  She was starting to move with it now. The other man sensed the change in her immediately. He let go of her legs and she wrapped them around his head. He began to use his hands on her as well. She was going wild for it now, and when she looked up at Marcus she saw the triumph in his eyes. The bastard. When the sucking abruptly stopped, she knew what was going to happen next. The strong hands held her legs apart again and the stranger entered her, very powerfully, straight in. She was open and ready, but she felt herself stretching. This guy was gigantic. Marcus was big, this guy was a freak. She was completely filled up. It hurt a little at first, but he was good, moving only slightly inside her, gently to begin with, gradually building up the strokes until it felt as if he was hammering her right down into the feathered depths of the bed. This was pure sex. She had not even seen his face. This was the sexiest thing that had ever happened to her. She was living out all her wildest fantasies. She was crazy with excitement. She was going to explode. She came like fury, a wild, angry, gut orgasm, and as she did so Marcus could contain himself no longer. He shot into her mouth and he told her to swallow it as he pumped himself dry. Meekly she did so.

  He rolled off her and for the first time she saw the man who was inside her. He was not letting up. The size of him was extraordinary, and his body was stunningly beautiful. He looked like a professional stud and undoubtedly was. He was probably shorter than Marcus but he was heavier, almost certainly a body builder. Every muscle was perfectly defined and his olive-brown skin was hairless and shiny, as if shaven and oiled. His hair was very black, and his eyes were black too. He was staggeringly handsome, almost too handsome, and he was definitely a pro. He had her bum right on the edge of the bed, his knees wedged against the side of the bed for extra purchase. Marcus, panting slightly, crouched on the bed watching.

  ‘You bastard, Marcus,’ she hissed. His grin was devilish.

  ‘Nooo,’ he coaxed.

  His voice was like molten silver, soft and liquid and burning.

  ‘This is your fantasy, my darling, and we are going to do it to you every way you ever wanted and we are not going to stop until you are begging for mercy and you are going to adore it…’

  She closed her eyes in anguish, because she knew it was true. She was going to love this. This reaIly was her fantasy. He knew how to excite her with words and she felt herself moving like hell with the stud again. He had lifted her bum right off the bed now and was pushing his fingers inside her there. She came again, even more violently than the first time. She thought her whole body was going to burst. Marcus was beside himself. He pulled the stud off her and played with her with his fingers, asking her what it felt like in there now. Then he got the stud to lie down and made her climb on top of him and ride him. At first she didn’t think she was going to be able to – he was so big. But she could, she could.

  While she was doing it, Marcus began to work on her bum, and when he was hard again he climbed astride her and entered her there. He did so with greater ease than ever before. Her every orifice was crying out for it. When he was fully inside her, she had her complete fantasy. Her eyes opened wide and she screamed and screamed as she came. Marcus was glad his flat was soundproofed. This was too much for the stud, professional that he was, he shot into her, but Marcus was not going to be finished for a long time. All night long they kept this up. The stud was an expert masseuse. Halfway through the night he produced scented oils and massaged her whole body until she was crying out for his sex again.

  Eventually she became vaguely aware that he had dressed and that Marcus was handing him money. Oh God, she thought. She felt disgusted. Then Marcus was in the bed with her again, holding her close, talking to her, asking her how she liked her surprise, asking her if there was anything she would not do, asking her if she would like three men the next time, or four. Had she ever done it with a woman? Would she do that for him? He’d hire a couple of studs as well, if she liked. Telling her how much he liked to see her do it, asking her if she would like to watch him. He was out of control, he was like a junkie for her, he was hard again. He could not lose his erection that night. She had almost passed out with exhaustion and the excess of sex, she was no longer able to respond or to protest. He rolled her over on her front, pushed three pillows underneath her, and went into her one last delicious time.

  It seemed like only five minutes later that she heard the familiar splashing sounds and the whistling in the bathroom. After a while out bounced Marcus. He looked fresh as a mountain stream, flashed a toothy grin, and came and sat on the bed next to her. He smelt of toothpaste and soap. Somebody important had recently told him aftershave wasn’t stylish, so he had stopped using it at once. He tousled her hair, bent over and kissed her lightly on the lips.

  ‘You are sensational,’ he said. ‘Fucking sensational…’

  She stopped him. ‘Marcus, I wish you hadn’t…’

  He grinned again.

  ‘That’s not what you said last night, my beauty.’

  She rubbed her eyes. She thought they were probably red and puffy. She was half awake, only half conscious, perhaps. Her whole body felt trampled on and used. She wasn’t going to be able to sit down comfortably for a week. God she felt tacky.

  ‘That makes it worse…’ she started to explain.

  ‘Don’t be daft, you’re the sexiest creature in the universe and it’s my mission to help you make the most of it,’ he chuckled.

  She desperately wanted to explain how she felt, but she couldn’t, not in the state she was in – and probably never to Marcus. His sexuality was even more frightening than her own, and he never seemed to have any qualms.

  ‘Marcus, I don’t ever want to do anything like that again,’ she managed to say.

  ‘What?’ he replied.

  His smile was super-confident. He wasn’t really listening to a word she said.

  He reached under the bedclothes, he was really motoring now.

  ‘You could take an army in there, you sexy bitch,’ he muttered.

  He pulled on his jacket and headed for the door, looking back suddenly over his shoulder.

  ‘Listen, don’t go to work today. I’ll come back at lunchtime,’ he said.

  Jennifer groaned.

  ‘OK, OK, I know you’re a worn-out woman. No sex. Just champagne and smoked salmon, a cuddle, and a few reminiscences. All right?’

  It was like talking to the wall. He really lived in a world of his own when it came to sex. He thought she was in the same world as him, and half the time she was – but not quite. For her there were limits. This morning she knew that for certain, and she was quite overcome with self-disgust. She got out of bed, staggered into the bathroom, stood under the shower, turned on the taps full-force and remained there for several minutes. Then she went back into the bedroom, dressed, and gathered together all the various items of clothing she had ever left in Marcus’s apartment. Having packed everything that belonged to her in a couple of carrier bags, she took off her engagement ring and left it on the dining-room table.

  Then she left.

  She took a taxi to her flat and when she was inside dialled Marcus’s number and left a message on his answerphone.

  ‘You we
nt too far,’ she said. ‘This is the end because I am afraid of what might happen next. I will try to keep out of your way. I never want to see you again. Fantasies are just that, fantasies. I am disgusted with both of us. How could I marry a man who would do what you did last night?’

  She hadn’t meant to say so much. The message was supposed to be brief and dignified. Oh God, she was aching all over inside and out. Her lips were swollen and her breasts so tender she couldn’t bear to put her bra on. Between them they had nearly chewed her nipples off – and at the time she had been encouraging them and begging for more. Oh God, Oh God.

  She could not face work, she felt terrible. Physically and mentally she was a wreck. From when she was a girl she had sometimes been in awe of her own sexuality. She hated Marcus for taking her to breaking point, and she hated herself for responding the way she had. The reality of her fantasy had exceeded her imagining of it. She had reached heights and depths that she had never even dreamed of, but it all seemed so unsavoury now. In the cool light of day she was filled with self-loathing. She never wanted to let go like that again, and she really did not want to know about the man who could calmly arrange something like that, a man who was supposed to love her, a man who had asked her to marry him. She had fallen into the sweet trap at the height of her sexual excitement. He had planned it in advance, hired some stud, paid for another man to fuck her. She shivered. What would Marcus think of next? She knew that for her own sanity she dare not hang around to find out. Worn out and thoroughly depressed, she crawled thankfully into her own bed and fell instantly asleep.

  She was woken by the phone and glanced at her watch. One-thirty. She had slept for four hours. Marcus would be at his flat now and had obviously found both her message and his ring. She pulled the plug out of the phone on the bedside table. Her answering machine could do the work and she didn’t even want to hear the bloody thing ringing.

  CHAPTER TWELVE