Her long, lithe arms came down and her long, lithe legs stopped prancing around. Her eyes narrowed and darkened, and she yelled back, ‘I don’t want to see him!’
I knew that already. So I hooked onto her elbow, nice and gentle and firm, started steering her off the dance floor, through the crowd. Her skin was tawny and smooth, warm to the touch.
She started screaming, as loud as she could, staring me in the eyes. Her shriek pierced the thundering air like a siren.
Bouncers barged onto the scene from all corners, and gallant gents stepped up into my face on behalf of a damsel in distress. Strong, rough hands grabbed onto my arms and held me tight. As Amy Lin melted away into the crowd.
Explanations failed me. So I head-butted the guys on either side, kicked the bouncer in front in the groin. My arms came free and I grabbed onto the bent-over bouncer and drove him forward like a tackling dummy, using his big body to clear a path through the sea of unfriendly humanity.
I burst through the aluminium doors of the joint just in time to spot a rental car roar out of the lot and bounce onto the street. I had a hunch who was driving.
I tailed her out onto Route 30, heading west. Not too close and not too far behind, just in range of the resourceful lady. If it hadn’t been nighttime, our trip would’ve been a scenic one, through the deep, green forest that crowded either side of the highway, along the mighty Columbia River. All the way out to the Pacific Ocean – the picturesque, historic town of Astoria.
Amy checked into a motel on the hilly, wooded outskirts of town, bedded down. I waited until daybreak, then slipped out of my car and into her room.
She had a spectacular view of the Columbia emptying into the ocean. The wide river gleamed bright blue down below, the forest all around emerald-green. Two long bridges crossed the river at different points, one high, one low. In the distance: the vast, placid, grey-blue waters of the Pacific Ocean.
The town had been founded by John Jacob Astor, 19th century fur baron. Lewis and Clark had camped in the area circa 1805; 85 straight days of cold winter rain.
But it was warm and sunny now, the air fresh and clean, pine and salt-scented. The scenery was a sight to behold, outdoors and in.
I left the curtains slightly open and pocketed my lock-picking tools, walked over to the bed and looked down at the long, luscious, caramel-coated and mound-titted body of Amy Lin stretched out asleep on the bed. Her little black party dress lay puddled on the carpet. I touched her bare shoulder.
Her eyes instantly fluttered open, narrowed, cat-like. She sighed and stretched her arms and legs, shuddered, kitten-like. She didn’t seem the least bit surprised to see me standing there, violating her privacy.
‘You’re a hard man to shake,’ she murmured, emphasising the soft rise and fall of her breasts.
‘I’m habit-forming, all right. Getting paid to be.’
She smiled, bathed her plush lips with a shiny pink tongue. ‘There are other ways to be paid.’
She reached out a long arm and latched slender fingers onto my belt buckle, pulled me closer. I could’ve slapped her hand away and reached for my cellphone, called the number where my client could be reached, was waiting impatiently to hear from me. But the sight of that stunning body, the scent of her sweet body spray in the air, the feel of Amy’s scarlet-tipped fingers drawing my fly down and my cock out, was too much for a man of dubious ethics to ever resist.
She laced her fingers around my shaft, her palm squeezing warm and wonderful. ‘Jesus!’ I exhaled, watching the silky woman swing her body around on the bed so that she was sitting up on the edge, the sensual swirl of her hand drawing me closer to her lush, parted lips.
She cradled my balls out of my pants with her other hand, gently cupping, fondling; caressing my cock out long and hard and throbbing right in front of her.
Now, I’m not a bad-looking guy – medium-height and build, blond hair and blue eyes, a cleft chin and youthful expression – but Amy was a lady normally out of my league. She was exotic and erotic. The things she did with her hands on my genitals made my head spin and my body burn.
And when she fully flowered her crimson lips and flowed them over my mushroomed hood, poured them down two-thirds of the length of my swollen shaft, staring up at me with her sparkling eyes, I just about blew my top then and there.
But, somehow, I held on, and off. I shot my fingers into her shimmering black curtain of hair and grabbed hold. Her head moved in my hands, her wet, hot mouth gliding back and forth on my cock, sucking me tight and tender with ease and expertise. I groaned, glaring down at her. Her lips smiled around my shaft, her beautiful head bobbing on and on.
‘Jesus! I can’t–’
I couldn’t even finish the sentence, complete the dirty thought. My balls boiled out of control in Amy’s grasping hand and my cock surged wildly in her sucking mouth. I clutched her hair and thrust out my hips, jerked, jolted by joy.
She sucked firmly and calmly and sensually, taking every white-hot, body-shaking blast I let loose. I emptied everything I had into the woman. Then almost swooned over the top of her.
She took me down onto the bed and in between her legs. ‘Your turn,’ she teased, looking over her humped tits at my reddened face. She licked her glossy lips, swallowing the last of my semen.
I had to give back, reciprocate best I could. She deserved that much. There’d always be time to call my client.
I gripped her taut, golden thighs and stared into the soft, darker folds of her pussy. She was shaved clean expect for a downy black tuft of fur at the top of her slit. Her pussy lips glistened with moisture, the scent and heat making my dizzy head spin all over again. I stuck out my tongue and licked her.
She bucked, grabbing onto my head. Her breasts thrust up huge between her arms, nipples jutting high and hard. I flattened my tongue and lapped at her pussy, stroking from deep down over her puffy lips all the way up to her swollen clit. She shivered with each drag of my licker, her lovely body sexually tensing.
I dug my tongue in, squirming the thick, wet, red appendage right into her pussy, writhing it around inside the woman’s satin pink tunnel. She vibrated on the end of my tongue, wrapping her thighs around my neck, her eyes wide and staring, nostrils flared.
I pulled my tongue out of her slit and popped her clit up with my fingers, slapped the hard little pink button around with my mouth-organ.
‘Oh, God! Yes!’ Amy cried.
She arched up off the bed. I just had time to seal my lips around her clit and suck on it, before she screamed and squirted hot juices against my chin. She bounced my head up and down, clawing at my scalp, drenching my face, her clit pulsating in my mouth to the frenzied beat of her orgasm.
Then she really choked me with her thighs, twisting my neck with a sharp snap.
When I came to, she was gone.
Cannon Beach is a gorgeous, mile-long expanse of sand dotted with treed outcroppings not far from shore, about thirty miles down the coast from Astoria. The town itself is slightly tacky, with a touristy, carnival feel. But the beach at low tide is something to behold – stretching out, shimmering, seemingly forever to the far-off, hazy blue horizon of the ocean.
I located Amy’s rental car in one of the parking lots just off the main drag, thanks to the tracking device I’d attached to her undercarriage before I’d busted into her motel room. I found Amy down on the beach faraway from the madding crowd of kids and their parents, sunning herself in a hot-orange bikini, stretched out on a tiger-striped beach towel. She was just as stunning in the bright light of day, buff and busty and gleaming bronze.
She lifted her designer sunglasses and looked up at me when I cast a shadow and called out her name.
‘I was his mistress. That’s why he wants me back. He’s the violently jealous type, brutally possessive.’ She gracefully lifted herself up on her elbows. Her breasts surged outward, straining the thin material of her bikini top, nipples just about poking right through. ‘I won’t go back to him. I can’t. I
…’
She left it hanging, like she had me.
‘I’m not going to force you, Amy. I’m just going to tell him where you are. That’s my job.’
She bit her lip and narrowed her eyes, gazing out at the sparkling water way off in the distance. ‘Maybe.’
She rose to her feet and took my hand.
I let her lead me out onto the beach. It was a long, hot walk to the water with the tide out, the sand getting wetter and stickier, the air steamier. The screams and shouts of the other beachgoers faded away. As we strolled hand-in-hand all the way out to where the ocean lapped shallow and gentle and warm at the sand.
The heat was intense, heavy, the air hazy and humid.
Amy turned and faced me. She unbuttoned my shirt and pushed it off my shoulders, unbuckled and unzipped my pants, pushed them and my shorts down. I stood there in a trance, dripping with sweat, burning inside and out, my cock swelling up and jutting out like before, like never before. The hot, salty air caressed my nude body with languid moisture, as I watched Amy slip the thin straps of her bikini top off her shoulders and let the overfull cups drop. As she unsashed her bikini bottom and let the thin strip of orange fall.
We stood naked on the damp sand at the ocean’s edge, glowing with heat, beating with passion. I grabbed the beautiful woman in my arms and flung her and I down onto the sand. She coiled her arms around me, and we kissed, frenched, our tongues exploding out of our mouths and entwining.
Amy dove her hands down my back and onto my buttocks. She clenched the flexing pair, as I pumped my hard cock into her soft belly. ‘Make love to me!’ she moaned, breaking away from my devouring mouth.
I clutched up her breasts and kneaded the hot, heaping mounds. Amy rolled her head side-to-side in the sand. As I sucked up one rigid, rubbery nipple and tugged on it, bobbed my head over and urgently sucked on her other nipple. Until she pulled my head back up and mashed her lush mouth against mine again, and we wound our tongues together in a frenzy.
I lifted up. Amy grabbed onto my cock, washed my hood back and forth through her pussy lips. She was breathing as hard as I was, her face and body dewed with perspiration. She bit into my tongue and sucked on it, slotting my cock into her cunt.
‘Yes!’ we groaned, both together.
Amy grabbed onto my ass again and sunk her claws in, urging me to fuck her, glaring into my eyes. I met her lust head-on, pumping my hips, my cock back and forth in her wet-velvet tunnel. We swirled our tongues together, she grasping my ass, me her tits. I pounded into her faster and faster. She sank into the sand, the water lapping against us.
Amy arched up and shuddered wickedly, her fingernails tearing at my buttocks. Hotter, stickier juices coated my plunging cock, and I cried out my own ecstasy, spraying searing come into the screaming woman.
We reluctantly pulled ourselves out of the sand and dressed, walked back up the beach.
Amy ran away from me as soon as I had my back turned to gather up her towel and bag.
It took ten minutes of dogged jogging up and down the wood-plank sidewalks of the small beach town before I finally caught up with her again. She was standing in front of a cotton candy concession, holding a young boy by the hand.
‘This is the real reason I have to get away from your client,’ she explained calmly, lifting the boy’s hand in hers. ‘This is Andrew, my son. His father recently died, and I have to look after him now.’
The kid stared up at me with his big brown eyes. He had short black hair and a cute round face and a plump little body. He looked unmistakably Asian. He smiled at me.
Amy pleaded with her eyes. And I nodded, watched them walk away. Then I phoned my client and told him the trail had gone cold.
‘Look, asshole!’ he bellowed. ‘I didn’t tell you before … but that bitch has $200,000 of my money. She stole it from me when she took off, and I want it, and her, back. So you fucking find her! I’ll give you 10% of the dough that’s recovered – as a finder’s fee.’
Just then I turned a corner, and spotted Amy handing over her “son” to a couple of Japanese tourists down the block. The man and woman were sitting in an open-air tent eating corndogs with a larger group of their countrymen. The kid ran over to them, cotton candy in one hand, Amy’s fifty-dollar bill in the other.
‘I’m on it,’ I growled into the phone.
Amy showed actual surprise when she found me leaning against the side of her rental car. She still looked luscious in the bikini, with the beach towel wrapped around her hips. But I wasn’t having any of that any more, when she wound her arms around my neck and kissed me wetly on the lips. The prospect of twenty grand changes a man’s priorities.
‘You stole some of his money. He wants it, and you, back. And I don’t care what he does when he gets you back.’
Her arms slid off my neck. ‘What about what he does to you, when he gets me back?’
‘Let’s go. It’s a hundred mile drive back to Portland.’
She pushed her sunglasses up into her lustrous hair and adjusted the straps of her bikini. Her breasts jostled deliciously, full rounded curves shining bronze in the hot sun.
‘I wasn’t lying about him being the violently jealous, possessive type – when it comes to money and women.’ Amy bit her lip and batted her long, black eyelashes. ‘If I told him you seduced me in my motel room, and on the beach – ate me out and fucked me – there’s no telling what he might do to you.’ She smiled, like she had it all planned out from the start.
I stared into her dark, duplicitous eyes; then shrugged. ‘We can have a pretty good time for a couple of weeks – on his money. While I stall him along.’
Her smile turned wet and warm. ‘You know, this is actually my first time in Oregon.’
I took her hand, grinning. ‘Well then, let me show you around.’
Escape
by Clarice Clique
It’s hot. Searing. Burning. Sticky. Heavy.
A raw heat that reaches into my body, boiling me, stripping me to the bone, leaving nothing but my essence exposed for all to see.
I am no longer the clothes I so avidly choose from fashion magazines, not my beloved Stella McCartney handbag or treasured Jimmy Choos. I am not carefully applied layers of natural looking make-up, nor the scent of some Hollywood star’s mass produced perfume.
I am long red tangled hair. I am dried out skin. I am broken unpainted nails.
I am Tits. I am Arse. I am Cunt.
Silver5 tells me that this is the Sahara at her gentlest after the rainfall. I see the air thick with mosquitoes, carelessly carrying malaria; death and disease a wing-beat away. I see nothing gentle.
Silver5 digs his rough hands into my arms and pulls me back into our tent.
I have to constantly remind myself that he’s not really Silver5, that I should call him his true name.
‘This is real life now,’ he growls in my ear, ‘get my name right.’
This hazy world of camels and sand dunes is real life.
So why does it feel like a dream?
Not as true as sitting in my dark, cool, basement room on the edge of London, typing one-handed messages to strangers; telling one I’m spreading my butt cheeks, and another I’m thrusting my favourite vibe into my pussy, all while I sip a mug of low calorie carrot soup and casually watch two men suck each other off in a porn video playing in the background.
I have to constantly remind myself that this heat is reality, the other thing is a life of the imagination; a virtual life.
But still in my mind the man who thrusts his hand down the front of my shorts is Silver5. Even as I cry out the right things, night after night, day after day.
‘Dave, oh, Dave.’
‘You’re so big, Dave, almost too big.’
‘Harder, Dave.’
‘Please. Dave. Please.’
‘I’m coming, Dave.’
‘Thank you, Dave.’
Dave was a disappointment when we first met.
No, not a disappointment,
that word is too harsh. He was just different from what I was expecting.
He said on his profile that he was forty-two. In person he could be ten or fifteen years more than that. Maybe it’s just all the time he spends outside; the sun and rain and wind marking him as one of their own. Even if his age is a lie, it’s not one that matters. I like, I yearn for and seek out, experienced men. His body is firm and hard, compact and strong. As soon as I saw him I knew he could fulfil all the fantasies we’d shared online.
As stupid as it sounds, it was his name that made a little piece of my heart sink. I fantasised about being fucked by an exotic world-renowned photographer, not a man called Dave, who despite his travels, carried with a definite pride the remnants of the London accent I heard every day in my normal life.
All the countries he’d been to, all the things he’d seen which the majority of people could only ever experience through his photographs, and he summarised it in the women he’s slept with: thirty nine different nationalities.
But these things excite me as well.
I like the stubborn roughness of his voice as he orders me onto my knees.
And when I watch his cock slide into me, I think of all the people who have preceded me: a petite geisha; a Hungarian shot putter; a dusky Brazilian prostitute; a French high society lady; and so many more from countries I couldn’t find on a map. I wrap my legs around Dave’s waist and all those women exist for me, I feel a part of them and through them somehow connected to the billions of people in this world. For beautiful eternal moment I’m more than just another lonely insignificant collection of atoms.
He rips through the loose cotton of my shirt and twists me onto my back. His hands grip my wrists, his weight pins me down and his teeth bite into the delicate flesh of my breasts. In the furnace of the tent, sweat drips down both our bodies. I am coated in his scent, he is coated in mine. Is this what it means, two becoming one?
He grinds into me and my skin bruises inside and out. All who have gone before, all his other women, all my other men, fade away. My mind is white light. There is no Dave, no Silver5. I have no thoughts, no fears, no past or future.
The Warmth of His Touch Page 3
