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 tarmac 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.
Finally he removed my gag.
‘What do you say?’ he asked sternly.
‘Please. Please. Please …’
I felt my bonds slacken as he took me down, pushed me gently to my knees on the dusty path. Then I felt his prick nudge against my lips and I licked gratefully along its shaft, admiring how taut it was, gently encasing the swollen glans and circling with my tongue to softly suck.
He moaned. Clearly I was not the only one half mad with longing.
‘Stop,’ he ordered at length and I stopped with a little whimper. I had wanted to make him come but he had other plans.
He pulled me down to all fours, balanced precariously. I could hear him circling, admiring me from all angles.
‘Please, please, please,’ I whispered, beside myself with lust, a red haze of longing before my blindfolded eyes. I wanted him to take me any way he wanted.
Finally I felt him crouch behind me and release my ankles, splay my knees apart to expose my tender sex. When he entered smoothly, firmly, my whole body quivered with pleasure at being held and possessed by him again. With my wrists still bound I could not balance well and relied on him to cradle my waist, position me just so. Slowly, carefully he circled and thrust, and I shivered every time he pressed against my tortured buttocks, every time he nipped and suckled my neck or rolled and pinched my nipples. He was teasing me into a tempo of submission I could not control, until I begged to be fucked to oblivion, begged to come. He ignored my entreaties, taking me to another plateau of abandon then another, until we finally came together, bucking and writhing like one animal, our naked bodies glistening with sweat.
Eventually he released my wrists, took off my blindfold, and we kissed tenderly like the long separated lovers we were. I gazed upon him hungrily, his blond hair and smiling blue eyes, the honey tan, his long solid body wrapped around me so fluidly, those wonderful hands and lips that had taunted my body for so long.
He took a bottle of water from his knapsack and I drank thirstily, more parched than I had realised.
‘So you own this place? Is this your way of giving me a tour?’ I asked.
He smiled
‘I also own the villa a little way up the mountain. I th
ought it could be our home away from home. Will you stay a couple of nights to think it over? I have cheese and olives, yoghurt and honey, fresh figs, fine wines, a swimming pool and well … a few other things. And lots of time I want to spend with you.’
I smiled a slow, happy smile. ‘Thank you. That,’ I said, ‘would be a great pleasure.’
And it is.
The Oregon Trail
by Landon Dixon
He said he wanted me to find his daughter. He showed me a picture. He showed me a lot of pictures. And the family resemblance escaped me. He was short and squat and swarthy; she was tall and thin and slightly Asian-looking.
But his money made everything nice and familiar. Two thousand up-front, and five hundred a day on the trail. My bank account was at a low ebb, my scruples along with it.
He’d traced her from the east coast to the west – Portland, Oregon. My town. I assured him I could find her.
Her name was Amy Lin, twenty-five years of age. She had long, sleek black hair and hazel-coloured, slightly almond-shaped eyes, tan skin. She had a dancer’s body and an erotic dancer’s bustline. My client said she had money, liked a good time. She had disappeared on him and he needed to talk to her. I was the bloodhound.
I carefully folded his dough into my pocket and then took the light-rail from my office across the Willamette River into downtown. I hung around until dark, people-watching, then went on the prowl. It was a Friday summer night, and the nightclubs were doing a booming business. I did more club-hopping than I’d done in years.
And just when I thought I’d come away with little more than a headache from the music and a hangover from the liquor, there she was – at The Vibe, out on the strobe-flashed, writhing dance floor.
She was wearing a silky black dress and very little underwear, a wild expression, gyrating to the overpowering techno beat, flinging her arms and body around, dancing with everyone and no one. I fought my way through the mob and yelled, ‘Amy Lin! Your father’s looking for you!’
The Warmth of His Touch Page 2
