Stranger in the Wharf

by H. A. Nicola

  They laughed again. She noticed that their laughs seemed to mirror each other. They both tended to fall forwards with their mouths ajar, fully engaging in their humour.

  “There’s a memory that I cannot erase from my mind.” He covered his mouth with his hand, as though what he was about to reveal was classified information. “I remember you standing naked in the bathroom and me slapping your arse—you’re gorgeous, firm, round, tight arse.” He looked bashful and gleeful all at once, cherishing the nostalgia.

  “Was none of it enjoyable for you?” He was clearly having difficulty comprehending the juxtaposition.

  She dipped her head slightly and shrugged as if to concede. “Well… I suppose now that you mention it, there were moments.”

  He smiled appreciatively. She sensed that this meant something to him. That he really cared that he had managed to provide some enjoyment for her too.

  “Let me…,” he paused examining her body language closely, as though he daren’t set himself up for rejection again or risk offending her, pre-empting another lengthy cut off.

  She gave away no apprehension and looked up into his eyes. His gaze softened too, and his shoulders dropped as though released from incarcerating tension. There was a pleading in his eyes.

  “Can I…? I’d like to try again. It really doesn’t sit well with me that you were left with the impression that you have. Give me a chance to put that right.”

  As convincing as his argument was, Cayenne simply wasn’t sure. The whole thing had weirded her out, which is why she was able to ignore his emails for so long. The memory actually gave her chills. He seemed upset when he heard this but reasoned, she could have blocked the emails, and for whatever reason had chosen not to. Perhaps there was a margin, a very slight margin…

  “Look. If you don’t want to, I’ll understand. I’d be happy to have a glass of wine with you every once in a while. Just sitting opposite you makes me feel good. Perhaps I can treat you to a meal.”

  She blinked hard, wanting to say no, but she heard herself say, “I don’t want to go back to that hotel. I found it a little creepy for some reason.”

  “Why don’t you choose?”

  “I’m assuming the high-end terms of the agreement still stand?”

  More laughter.

  “Of course. Only the best for the Queen.”

  Chapter 13

  Cayenne and the stranger were now communicating regularly by email. She wasn’t quite sure why they hadn’t exchanged numbers. She recalled that she had been the one to stipulate that they enter into the agreement casually, and that there was really no need to give too many details about each other. He clearly relished this idea too.

  She suspected that he may have some complication in his life, but then he could suspect the same of her, and that most certainly wasn’t true. She decided not to jump to conclusions. He had confirmed that he was unmarried and had no children. She gauged that he must be around the same age as her. An age where most men would have at least attempted starting a family by now. She was beginning to get the impression that he was one of those men that always thought things through and procrastinated every one of life’s milestones. He had probably talked himself out of getting married and having children for years, telling himself that he was waiting for the right moment and assessing the pros and cons.

  Cayenne was enjoying the excitement he gave her. Whenever she received an email, she would beam even before she had read it; and for some inexplicable reason, she began to really explore her sexual imagination like never before. She was able to express herself completely, and this opened up areas that had thus far remained dormant.

  She had made her preferences for venues clear, having decided that Greenwich was too close to home. He had offered escapism, therefore, to select somewhere further afield would allow her to feel as though she was really escaping into another world. For convenience, it had to be Central London; furthermore, he had offered luxury, so surely no less than a four-star hotel would suffice.

  She had forwarded some suggestions, but in the end wanted him to decide and take charge in order to add to the thrill and sense of subterfuge.

  He had said to leave it with him, and that he would sort out the finer details. She would receive instructions as to the location and times and dates. In the meantime, they wasted no time in speculating as to what the proceedings might entail.

  “MMMM… I want you to open your legs and let me crawl over to you… and taste.”

  "I’m not particularly flexible, so when I open my legs, you may need to apply pressure …

  Pressure to my inner thighs… and I find that if you elevate my buttocks from beneath, this can aid flexibility."

  She soon became daring enough to post him pictures of her bare bottom or posing in backless tops exposing a panty-less tush.

  “Naughty girl. I think you need a spanking… you look utterly delicious. I need to taste it.”

  “I’ve decided that I have to be very particular about the tasting. I have to be very specific here.” She was recalling his unpleasant, juvenile licking technique.

  "I want a specific balance of sensitive, tentative, exploration and passionate hungry aggression. It is imperative that the taster is so engrossed in his chosen delicacy that he barely comes up for air…

  Any insecure looks seeking approval MUST be avoided. Single-minded focus towards climatic euphoria is essential."

  Later that night, the conversation continued.

  “Still awake to discuss? I wouldn’t stop … your pleasure is my only priority.”

  “Mmm, I was just lying here fantasising. I need to be satisfied.”

  "You do have such a gorgeous ass…

  I will definitely supply the combination you require. You know how hungry I am… how desperate… feed me… I’m thinking about you and hardening… I can’t wait to dress you in sexy lingerie, something that shows off that long, gorgeous black body."

  She closed her eyes and allowed her hands to follow the yearning between her legs.

  She required no saliva lubrication tonight. Her imagination had obliged plentifully until the bed beneath her was damp. He was delighted to hear this.

  “I wish I could see. I want you to feed me.”

  “I want marathon tongue teasing first… feeding must be earned.”

  “It is only right that you get what you want. Did you come hard?”

  "The climax was devilishly and deliciously intense. An absolutely necessary release.

  Of course, I must get what I want, or what would be the point. It seems I have been lured out of my solitude… now you must fulfil every tantalising promise for fear … into seclusion I return."

  "I am hungry for you and utterly desperate to please…

  I want my face straddled by your wet chocolate pussy. I want to smell and taste your juice."

  “I pictured you watching just now. Taken aback by the ferocity of my orgasm, you were gripping my body in a bid to connect.”

  “Wish I’d watched… like a voyeur … not allowed to touch as punishment.”

  “I will accept nothing less than desperate hunger, for only then will my pussy respond.”

  “You like the brutal power and control you have over me, my desperate need to win you back.”

  “I must enforce punishment… your sanction… you may only watch from afar as I indulge myself.”

  “I’m secretly quietly stroking with my left hand and writing to you with my right hand, whilst the rest of the house sleeps totally unaware of my desperate need for what you offer.”

  This was the first real indication of the possible complications that she suspected were lurking. What household was he referring to? If not a wife then a live-in partner perhaps. His description alluded to more than one person. So if they weren’t his children, were they hers? Or could he simply be referring to extended family?

  She decided not to ponder any further.

  “What wretched torture is now upon you?”

&nb
sp; “So bad, brutal punishment. I always try to catch your eyes, but your knowledge that I am so desperate and hungry only serves to heighten your own indulgence. So where can I indulge you further?”

  “Mayfair.”

  "I want to disappear into your warm mouth again.

  Sleep well, bad girl… I’ve been tortured enough tonight. Invite me ’round to discuss plans."

  Cayenne suddenly felt cold. Aha! Had he no real intention of taking her on the high-end voyage that he had described. Why was he inviting himself ’round to her home? The distasteful essence returned to her mouth.

  Her tone grew immediately hostile. “Would you invite ME ’round to discuss plans? I fear and suspect that alas this is simply yet another disappointing goose chase. Enjoyable though it was …into oblivion I once again scurry, never to be tempted out again by juvenile folly.”

  “No, no!!! Not at all. I’m getting ahead of myself in wanting a taste… Bad boy. Let me take my punishment. Let’s meet at Agent Provocateur and take it from there.”

  Cayenne had switched off her phone in annoyance. It was only the next morning that she was aware of his pleading.

  "Hey!!! I am SERIOUS about Mayfair.

  Are you there???

  Oh God, no. Not a brutal cut off again.

  Hey, when can we meet to discuss the shopping spree I promised?

  YOU ARE SIMPLY A NIGHTMARE—I will do whatever you need.

  DO NOT SCUTTLE AWAY.

  Do you not think you torture me enough? Don’t throw me away again because of one bad line.

  This is nightmarish for someone so fucking desperate to taste and please you and be your toy.

  HEY!"

  Chapter 14

  "AGENT P AND MAYFAIR HOTEL.

  Meet me at the Mayfair Hotel at 1:00 p.m.

  DO NOT TORTURE ME WITH NON-ATTENDANCE.

  AAAAAARGGGGGGGHHH!!!!

  I am in a void, deranged and tortured …

  You visited me in my dreams to enhance my insanity…

  You tied my hands and pleasured yourself incessantly in front of me, first with your fingers, then toys, then with another man’s cock…

  I am hungry and fucking desperate to please you.

  My mouth is arid and dry and can only be satiated with your juice; your wet, black pussy juice …

  I need my chance to please you, to entertain you as desired…

  The lingerie, the dinner, the champagne, the seduction…

  GIVE IT TO ME OR THE BARRAGE OF PERSEVERANCE WILL BE LIKE NOTHING YOU HAVE SEEN."

  “How could I resist such a masterful command?”

  “You made your point. I will deliver”

  “It was fortunate that I hadn’t put on my crotchless ensemble this morning. Your command may have caused an inconvenience.”

  “Did I soak your thong instead?”

  “Let’s just say, thank goodness I was close to home.”

  “Where will you be at one-ish. Can we meet?”

  “Clearly the anticipation is proving too much for you. Where would you like me to be at 1:00?”

  "Chiquito, North Greenwich. 12:15 to 12:30 would be helpful…

  Fine fare, fine wine, discreet bar, DO NOT WEAR PANTIES!"

  By the time Cayenne walked into the colourful Mexican restaurant, she wasn’t quite sure what was causing her upper thighs to moisten. Was it the moisturising cocoa butter oil that she had used after showering, or was it perspiration from the mad lunchtime rush, or was it something else?

  Kenneth or Jon looked casually handsome as he waited in the half-empty rustic bar downstairs. She needn’t have worn a garment as she decided to keep her overcoat fastened the entire time. A flush of self-consciousness no doubt. But that didn’t prevent the stranger from getting better acquainted with the fabric of her outfit, paying particular attention to what lay beneath.

  They followed the Portuguese waiter up a small flight of wooden stairs to a discreet dining area surrounded with dark, wood-panelled walls and a brown leather booth which curved angularly to form an intimate cocoon. Shortly afterwards, the waiter presented them with the menu, and they quickly decided on a shared starter of fully loaded nachos.

  She thoroughly enjoyed her spicy chicken with cranberry salsa, whilst her companion amorously sampled the caramel condiments now lining her skirt. At times she was chewing seductively in complete synchronicity with the stroking of her clit. They continued their coordinated dance—hers above sea level, his entirely beneath—until both were satisfied. Cayenne could scarcely recall a time when she had been fed simultaneously to being emptied. What a marvellous correlation it was too.

  Chapter 15

  The black lady behind the counter had a long, bright blonde Beyoncé-esque wig on and impeccable makeup. After eyeing up Cayenne from across the floor, she approached bearing a friendly smile.

  “Y’alright, luv? Lookin’ for any’in in particular?”

  She had a thick Liverpool accent which didn’t quite fit with her image.

  Cayenne loved imitating accents which had caused her to develop a particular skill for it. She had to bite her lip not to launch into her best Liverpudlian drawl.

  “Erm, yeah. Kind of. I’m going out to a fancy restaurant. I love your accent by the way.”

  “Oh, thanks. No guessing where I’m from, eh? Were you thinkin’ of sutten full-length or shorte’?”

  “Not full-length. Preferably something fitted, yet forgiving. And I’ve decided to go for black.”

  “Right. Let me show you this one we’ve got over ‘ere. You can feel the quality from how heavy it is. It is bodycon, buuuu’, it’s not ultra-tight, d’you know what I mean?”

  Cayenne observed the dress which at first didn’t appear particularly striking or impressive. Upon further inspection, she could see that it was simple but with a classical edge. It was ribbed, and the sleeves flared out slightly. It was short but not too short, and it had a v-neck which she wasn’t altogether sure would complement her small bosom.

  “Can I try it on?”

  “Of course you can, let me show you to the changing rooms.”

  Cayenne followed Scouse Beyoncé towards the back of the store, which was as glamorous as the shop floor with its dark brown walls and carpet and gold drapes and mirrors. Cayenne stepped into the dress without removing the gym gear that she was clad in. She was pleased to see that it accentuated her waist whilst leaving a little room to spare. The length was just right, and the v-neck more flattering than she had imagined. The unusual sleeves gave the outfit an extra elegant touch. Perfect and reasonably priced to boot, she decided. Sasha Fierce proceeded to gift wrap the dress, as though it was being prepared for royalty, carefully folding it with the security strap intact, to be removed by the new owner at their leisure, then placing the package delicately into a peach-coloured gift box which was then adorned with a strip of mint coloured ribbon. It looked so beautiful it would have made a perfect gift. And it was… Only to herself.

  A few days before the scheduled appointment with the stranger, the bubbles of excitement couldn’t be contained. She even made a quick trip to Stratford to her favourite hair shop to see if she could improve upon her current wig. Pity, she hadn’t asked Sasha where she’d purchased hers.

  She made sure to book some extra classes at the gym so that she would feel extra confident on the day.

  She was enjoying using weights and finding out how strong she was. She had managed to deadlift 115kg in the strongman class and found she was able to shoulder press more weight than most of the women there. The result was the sharp definition beginning to form in her arms and back. She loved going home and showing off her newly honed muscles to her children who considered her boasts amusingly distasteful.

  When the all-important email arrived to inform her of the details of their meeting, Cayenne felt like a child at Christmas. That was until she read it fully. The excitement soon turned to bafflement when she looked at the destination that he had booked.

  "Hilton Canary
Wharf.

  The suite is booked for the 9th.

  Just make sure you are available to indulge yourself."

  Her eyes narrowed with contempt. What had happened to Mayfair and Agent Provocateur, the Champagne and shopping spree? And hadn’t she stipulated that the venue was to be away from her immediate vicinity. Canary Wharf Hilton was but a stone throw from her home. That would hardly feel like escapism.

  She knew that he had written the message in a deliberately forthright manner, perhaps in the hope that she might be dissuaded from challenging it. He was either the type of personality that was used to being in control, making decisions and expecting people to fall in line, or he was hoping that she wasn’t. He was subtly exercising his perceived authority. She interpreted his dismissal of her request as failure to comprehend her value.

  "Dear Mr Disingenuous,

  You CANNOT unilaterally alter the terms of our verbal contract.

  Please refer to previous correspondence.

  Terms.

  Escapism from usual environment (hotel on the doorstep does not serve this purpose).

  Shopping, dinner, Champagne and seduction (provided your skills have improved somewhat). In that order.

  My pleasure and happiness MUST be paramount.

  Exciting new experiences as respite from the humdrum.

  It is clear to me that your sincerity with regard to these points is in question.

  I find your casual disregard for my plans, at such short notice, abhorrent. It is unfortunate that you did not place sufficient value upon our chance meeting as it first appeared.

  I have no doubt that you will experience absolutely no hardship in securing alternative chocolate fancies to enjoy at the Hilton. Indulge and good Luck! (They’ll need it.)"

  "Oh, Fuck!

  Completely ignore the Hilton plan… I thought it suited you!!! I’ve cancelled.

  I was simply trying to be masterful.

  Okay, points made. I will amend the itinerary with a more appropriate plan aligned to you and a venue of your choice.