The Gift

by Portia Da Costa

  Jay’s grin widened. ‘And how would you know this?’ Good question.

  She’d come here once with her ex, in the first fine flush of their relationship, when even he’d been a bit frisky. But he hadn’t liked it, and the moment an interested party had driven up behind them, presumably with the intention of watching, or inviting them to watch, he’d started the car and protested a television programme he’d forgotten about.

  Sandy could still remember her disappointment, both in him, and at being denied something she hadn’t even realised she wanted.

  ‘Oh, it’s common knowledge, and Kat and Greg come here all the time, even though they’ve got plenty of other places to get it on.’

  The way Jay’s fine dark brows rose told her he knew she wasn’t telling the whole story. He didn’t have to speak.

  ‘OK! Yes! I came here once, ages ago. But nothing ever happened. The guy I was with bottled out. Turned out he wasn’t as kinky as he thought he was. Or I wasn’t quite exciting enough.’

  ‘He sounds like a moron.’

  ‘He was my ex-husband.’

  ‘Uh-oh.’

  ‘Another aggravating and boring thing I don’t want to talk about.’ She tossed her head, her hair flying, shaking away her past. ‘So, are we staying here or driving on?’

  ‘Oh, let’s stay.’ It was tantamount to a purr. This was not a man to bottle out. She could barely imagine the things he might have done in his past. ‘I’ve never “dogged” as such, but I’ve watched and been watched in my time.’ He reached towards the ignition. ‘Shall I pull a bit further into the lane? Then maybe we could get out for a walk, stretch our legs, see what we encounter?’

  ‘OK.’

  Once out of the car, she looked around, scanning for other cars, or adventurous sex-fiends on foot. She was well known in Kissley, what with the café and her long red hair, and she wasn’t sure it was a good idea being seen in this notorious place, with a man. Conclusions would be drawn that might not be good for business.

  ‘Isn’t it a bit risky leaving a car like this in a lane?’ The Aston looked completely out of place, halfway into a hedgerow. As completely unexpected as encountering James Bond himself here.

  ‘It’ll be fine. The security system is second to none. Come along, I’m feeling curious.’

  He took her hand, leading her along the lane as if he might indeed start spouting poetry. Sandy was curious too, about when Jay might have been watched before.

  ‘So, when did it happen, this watching? Voyeurism, and – um – exhibitionism?’

  His expression was opaque, and tricky, despite his slight smile.

  ‘Oh, certain élite parties. Exclusive resorts. Country weekends. Gatherings of like-minded people. I’ve experimented.’

  ‘Yeah, you said so.’

  ‘And you also said you wanted to experiment too, so come along.’ His hand tightened around hers and he upped his pace a little.

  Sandy’s heart began to thud, and the fact that she was wearing no knickers suddenly seemed much more apparent. There was no wind to speak off beneath the glowering winter sky, but it felt as if a breeze was tickling her pussy.

  In the back of the Ford parked about a hundred yards from where they’d left the Aston, a couple were going at it. As they approached, Sandy couldn’t see much except the head, shoulders and upper back of a man, jerking, and female legs sticking up braced against the door jamb and the upholstery of one of the front seats. It wasn’t a pretty sight but, judging by the shouts and moans and the choice obscenities faintly audible from the interior of the car, the enthusiastic couple weren’t too concerned about the niceties of aesthetics.

  When Sandy and Jay were just feet away, the man glanced over his shoulder, as if he’d sensed them. And then immediately redoubled his efforts, thrusting harder. When he threw back his head and shouted, ‘Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!’ it was obvious he was coming.

  Even as the animated performance in the car shuddered to a halt, Sandy felt the tug of Jay’s hand and she followed him onwards down the lane by silent mutual consent. She didn’t particularly want to get involved, and if they kept moving it maintained at least some sort of pretence that they were simply a couple of friends out for a stroll. A flimsy one, but still.

  Around a little bend in the lane though, where an old step stile gave access to the adjoining field, they did stop. A thicket of tough-looking bushes and trees now hid them completely from the distant road. Still clasping her fingers in his, Jay turned to her, his eyes were alight with mischief and desire now.

  When Sandy glanced down at his crotch, his cock was bulging in his jeans.

  ‘Crikey, it doesn’t take much to get you going!’

  Jay laughed suddenly, a harsh noise, almost a bark. He shook his head. ‘No, it doesn’t, does it?’ He smiled, looking down at himself. Sandy could have sworn there was surprise and a sense of wonder in his face. It wasn’t the usual smug pride of a man in his own equipment, but more a genuine astonishment at his own condition.

  I wonder why he’s so surprised he’s got the horn? Is it because he’s not used to being with girls so ordinary?

  Sandy frowned, annoyed with herself for thinking that, yet, even so, with a Bond car he must be used to women of the Bond calibre too.

  But why be so negative? He was here, now, with her, not some polished It Girl. Seize the day, or whatever. She stared at his crotch.

  ‘What do you want to do about that?’ It was difficult not to just reach out and cup him. And the urge spiralled when he reached down to cradle himself, looking for all the world as if he still didn’t quite believe his own rampancy. The sight of him fondling himself made her breathless, her heart go light and pitter-pat. Her own sex stirred as if silently offering to receive him and she wished that he’d pull her hand towards him and press it against himself.

  ‘What do you suggest?’ He looked her straight in the eye, still holding himself, his thumb gliding over the stretched denim.

  ‘I, um, I could …’ Ridiculously, she couldn’t say it, even if she desperately wanted to do it.

  His eyes glittered, challenging her mettle as much as the promise of his cock did.

  ‘I could give you a blow job.’

  ‘What an incredibly sweet offer. How could I possibly resist?’

  ‘Don’t laugh at me!’ she cried, even though she was laughing herself. Dear God, didn’t the language of sex sometimes sound completely absurd?

  ‘I’m not laughing at you, we’re laughing together.’ His voice dropped low, roughened more than ever, and as if he’d read her secret thoughts he drew her hand to his erection and folded his own hand over it. ‘There’s a big difference.’

  Already the shape of him was familiar to her. Dear. Yearned for. She circled her palm over the hard knot of flesh, experiencing a surge of triumph when he let out a gasp and bumped his hips to meet her touch. He closed his eyes and she took a step, bringing the two of them close up against each other while her fingers flexed. She smelt his cologne, sharp and clear above the faint smell of tilled earth and winter foliage. What a strange tableau they must present. Two people standing in a lane, bodies aligned, holding and touching. As if he were imagining it too, or anticipating the next step, he breathed in deep.

  ‘Yes,’ he sighed, kissing her brow, rubbing his chin against her almost like a cat again. His beard felt strangely soft as it brushed against her skin. ‘Yes … yes … touch me.’

  She knew what he meant. Touch his skin, not just his jeans. Shaking her other hand free from his, she applied herself to her task, unbuckling his leather belt, then unzipping his jeans. With a tug on his underwear, pushing it down, she freed his cock into the December air.

  He grabbed her hand then, made her hold him straight away. She would have liked to slide her fingers under his T-shirt and caress his belly, his navel, explore him a little. But it seemed he didn’t want that. He wanted to be held.

  Unaffected by the chill, Jay’s cock filled her fist, overflowed it. She was a wom
an of average size, with slender hands, and her fingers could barely encircle him in their grip. He moaned as she tried to, and she found herself echoing the sound, entranced by the sweet feel of his flesh. He was hot, velvety, hard and clean, yet silky with fluid oozing from the tiny love-eye in his glans. Her mouth watered, wanting to taste him.

  Who are you?

  That question again, as he stepped back, leaning against the stile, and she followed him, sinking to her knees, still holding him.

  Stalks of rough grass poked her through her skirt, and she could hear something rustling in the undergrowth, but neither bothered her. There was just Jay, and his cock, in her universe, with no other being or thing to disturb her, not even the couple in the car round the corner, who might be compelled by curiosity to follow them any minute.

  ‘Unfasten your top,’ he commanded, just as she was about to lean forward, extend her tongue and taste him, ‘I want to see your breasts.’

  The rawness in his voice thrilled her, as did the idea of exposing herself to him in a place if not public, still with the possibility of discovery. Since she’d first set eyes on him she’d wanted to take risks with this man, even if at the beginning she’d not consciously realised it.

  ‘But it’s cold.’ Her protest was half-hearted. She didn’t feel cold. Her desire was like some kind of personal central heating, turned up far too high.

  ‘Just for a few moments … I’ll warm you up afterwards.’

  Not needing to be coaxed, but with fingers fumbling from excitement more than cold, she drew open her jacket, then tackled the tiny buttons down the front of her brushed cotton top. Congratulating herself on choosing it, she snapped open the front fastening on her bra. A flake or two of snow fell on her as she bared herself, but Jay’s eyes were burning hot; their intensity would have melted an entire snowdrift.

  As she knelt before him, uncovered as he was uncovered, he edged sideways, pulling her with him, and sat down on the high step.

  ‘Kiss me.’

  For a moment she was confused, wondering whether he wanted her to reach up and press her mouth to his, but then in her heart and in her gut she knew exactly what he meant. Leaning forward, she dropped a tiny kiss on the tip of his cock, with lips closed, just a greeting or a tribute. His hips jerked, pushing him against her face, his sticky glans sliding across her cheek, wetting it. She parted her lips, trying to lick him, but he continued to rub himself against her cheek, digging his hands into her thick hair and controlling the action.

  Circling and sliding, he massaged his cock all over her face, as if both exploring and anointing it. The salty smell of man was strong, yet still he seemed clean and good to her. Trying to participate, she pushed his jacket out of the way, and reached again for the hem of his T-shirt, wanting to touch and caress him, but he said, ‘No!’ very firmly, and repeated it. ‘No!’

  Her lips against his cock, she asked, ‘Why?

  Curling over her, almost doubled, he whispered, ‘My scars are ugly, Princess. Not good to look at. I don’t want to repulse you.’ Could he really think that? His body was fine and strong and his cock was fabulous. How could a bit of scar tissue really spoil all that good stuff?

  ‘Let me be the judge of that,’ she whispered and, when he tensed, she delicately licked the side of his cock where it lay against her face.

  Jay groaned, but whether it was from the pleasure of her tongue, or the prospect of her seeing his scars, she couldn’t tell. The taste of his hard silky flesh made her dizzy.

  She kissed him. She licked him. She played him. Not taking him into her mouth, but gently teasing and tantalising and, yes, distracting him. When he slumped back against the upper step of the stile, she plucked at the edge of his T-shirt and this time he didn’t stop her.

  The scars were bad. At least the ones on his belly and in the area of his groin were. Puckered and angry, they curled savagely over his abdomen, one plunging down, dangerously close to the juncture of his thigh and his crotch. A half an inch further and the twisted metal that had so damaged him might well have emasculated him too.

  Sandy tried to imagine the pain, and the fear of that particular injury, but it was difficult. It clearly affected him, but it didn’t affect her.

  She still thought his body was beautiful. The scars were savage but, to her, not repulsive. Dropping a kiss on his cock-tip, she then tracked her way down his length with more kisses, and progressed from there to his belly and the nearest of his scars.

  This she kissed and licked and nuzzled with all the fervour she’d applied to his erection. She ran her fingers lightly up and down it, then plunged in again, with another kiss. A dream, a memory from the past flitted through her mind, and she murmured, ‘Kiss it better …’ before pressing her lips to the scar once again.

  Jay’s body shook under her mouth, wracked by a long shiver, and his hands tightened in her hair. ‘Oh God,’ he gasped, still trembling, and for a moment Sandy thought he was about to come. Either that or push her away. When she glanced up, he was staring at the sky, his face a strange anguished mask, and his eyes over-bright. Not with lust, she realised, but what looked suspiciously like moisture.

  ‘Jay! Are you all right? I haven’t hurt you or anything?’ His expression worried her, even though just inches from her face his erect penis was unwavering, despite the cold. ‘What is it?’ she demanded when he didn’t answer.

  ‘Nothing.’ His husky voice sounded as if the word was wrenched from his very gut. ‘Nothing at all.’ He looked down again, his mouth working. Then he smiled, his gaze flicking from her face to his erection, and back again. ‘Aren’t you going to do anything about that?’

  ‘Do you want me to?’ She was still concerned. He was smiling, but he was still tense. Maybe it was just that he had the mad horn and needed to come? But she had a feeling it was something else entirely.

  ‘Need you ask?’ Jay shifted his hips, moving against her, manoeuvring his cock close to her lips.

  The proximity of his heat, his hardness, was irresistible. Sandy enveloped him, folding her lips around the crown of his penis and starting to lick and tease and suck all over again. His taste was fine and salty, raw but not rank, warm and healthy. More silky pre-come flooded onto her tongue and she went, ‘mm … mm …’, savouring it.

  His jeans fit snugly, and she couldn’t reach in to caress his balls, so she slid her hand beneath to cradle them lightly through the denim. Even though the cloth was sturdy, she could almost feel them tensing, crawling, rising, ready to shoot his semen as he came. He was right at the edge and she felt powerful, in control.

  Forming tight suction around the tip of his cock, she sucked hard, flicking beneath it with her tongue at the same time. With her free hand around his shaft, she lightly pumped.

  Jay cried out incoherently, his hips beginning to work in the age-old jackhammer action of frantic orgasm. He pounded her, his cock knocking the inside of her cheek as he lost all semblance of control, and she lost the ability to control him. His fingers contorting against her scalp, he shouted, ‘Princess! Oh – oh God!’ as he jerked and filled her mouth with hot sweet come.

  Shocked but thrilled, Sandy struggled to breathe, loving the taste of him, and greedily swallowing his essence. She’d never done this, not willingly, but now she wanted to. She wanted to absorb this little part of him into herself, and she would have swallowed more if there had been more of it to come.

  After a few moments he began to subside and she let him slip from between her lips, not wanting to hurt him if he was hypersensitive. She felt him release what had become a death grip on her head and, as she drew away, she dropped just the lightest feather of a kiss upon his softening penis, barely a breath, and then another one upon the livid scar. Taking a gasp of air, she laid her cheek against his thigh.

  The hands that had almost clawed her scalp now settled gently against it, curved in a gracious arc. She felt his thumbs lightly stroking as he seemed to come back into himself and return from that other place, the realm
of orgasm. It was soothing, almost soporific, and she rested more heavily against him, breathing in the blended scents of semen, expensive cologne and woods and snow and earth. High in the tree beside them, some unknown bird sang a winter song, pure and sweet.

  They sat like that for a while, not talking and, in Sandy’s case, barely thinking. The presence of Jay was calming, easy somehow, and even the icy air against her naked breasts didn’t feel cold or disquieting. His hands were still against her head now but, even so, she imagined she could sense the very whirls and whorls of his fingerprints where they rested against the mass of her hair.

  She felt so relaxed that the question she was afraid to ask seemed unimportant. Kneeling against him, slumped between stile and tree, for the moment it didn’t matter who he was.

  ‘Thank you.’ As he spoke, Jay leaned down and kissed the top of her head. His fingers slid under her chin, and lifted her face. ‘Thank you,’ he repeated, then kissed her brow exquisitely chastely.

  ‘Nothing to thank me for. I enjoyed it.’ Again, she acknowledged the truth of it. Giving oral sex had never been a favourite of hers, but with Jay it was different, like the divine duty of some sacred priestess. She laughed at the thought, and he looked perplexed for a moment, then laughed along with her.

  ‘I didn’t used to like giving blow jobs,’ she admitted, touching her fingertips to his cock, still exposed, and watching it twitch and thicken. ‘Selfish, I guess. Nothing in it for me. But you seem to taste nicer than most. Very yum, in fact.’ He seemed to stir more vigorously, as if from the praise as much as her touch.

  Jay drew in a deep breath. ‘It wasn’t so much the blow job as the other thing.’ He laid a hand over his abdomen, pressing the cotton of his T-shirt against the scar beneath. ‘Not being bothered by the scar there.’ His mouth tightened suddenly. ‘Although that’s by no means the full extent of the scarring. There’s a lot more.’ He looked away from her a moment, as if he were physically going away, rather than simply glancing into the middle distance.