Random Acts of Lust

by Primula Bond

  Jennifer kept her impaled on her finger because that was driving her wild, too, and then she took Hazel’s fingers and shoved them up inside her own convulsing pussy and then Hazel, still gasping from her own climax, fucked Jennifer with her long white fingers, pushing them up into her hot tight cunt. Tongues of ecstasy started lapping at her, shafting out of Hazel’s clever fingers, which pumped rapidly in and out while Jennifer’s wet pussy sucked at them with its spasms. Her fingers and thumb played Jennifer like a rasping violin and then juices dripped down her trembling legs and the climax came, hot and quick, and shook her until at last she came, gasping with surprise and shuddering with pleasure.

  Hazel laughed softly then fell down on top of Jennifer, breasts squashed against breasts and hearts banging together.

  ‘If only I’d known about you from the beginning.’ Jennifer murmured after a while, tangling her fingers in Hazel’s hair.

  ‘There’s plenty more where that came from.’ Hazel rolled off and wandered across the room, bare bottom gleaming in the candlelight. She leaned down to pick up a petticoat. ‘Unless you want to go looking for the glass-blower again?’

  ‘Yeah, how about that? We know where he lives. A threesome, maybe?’ Jennifer jumped off the bed and grabbed Hazel from behind, running her hands over her bottom again. Already her stomach was twisting with fresh excitement. ‘But it’s our last night. We’ve no more time.’

  Hazel wriggled against Jennifer.

  ‘Oh, haven’t you heard? Those floods in Piazza San Marco? The manager tells me the aqua alta is the highest it’s been for 20 years. Hotels are closed. Ferries cancelled.’ Hazel turned round slowly and pulled Jennifer towards her, sliding her fingers between her legs again, tickling her open. ‘Honey, we’re stranded.’

  Mademoiselle

  ‘CHRIST, SLUT REALLY IS a dirty word to you, isn’t it?’ Poppy marched into my pristine kitchen and started messing about with my corkscrew. ‘And not in a good way.’

  ‘The youngsters come with you this year?’ I glanced outside, armpits prickling with anxiety. My sisters’ cars were already parked up. They were marching up my little drive, laden with goodies. ‘All the neighbours are invited. Hilde from next door’s bringing over some German cookies.’

  ‘All got thumping hangovers, but yes, they’re here. Trust you to insist on this bloody tradition of lunch on New Year’s Day.’

  Trust me, indeed. The annual invasion. Something to be endured before I could go back into hibernation. I left the front door ajar and tried to ignore the red wine Poppy was about to spill all over my quartz-effect work surface. I gripped my knife. ‘Anyway, how can anything be dirty in a good way?’

  ‘Because sex goes with slut! But you can’t even say the word without spraying it with Pledge!’ There it was. Nearly half a glass of Merlot. All over my chrome hob. She glared at me through her long red fringe. Too much henna to enhance the natural auburn. She looked like a slightly ageing Red Setter. ‘And you’ve obviously forgotten what that means.’

  ‘What what means?’ I caught the red drips with a j-cloth. ‘Pledge?’

  ‘Slut!’ She was screaming it now. The hotter and redder she got, the colder I became. On the surface at least. My skin, my hair, my demeanour. Inside, my heart was juddering with fury. ‘This kitchen, this house, it’s so sterile it’s like a Swiss clinic or something! And you, Mary. Behind all this Stepford wife thing going on you’re still beautiful. In a Meryl Streep kind of way. Those cheekbones! But what’s happened to you? You barely even drink any more! You’re like the living dead –’

  ‘I just like everything tidy –’ I picked up my knife and went on peeling satsumas for the punch. Very sharp, that little knife. ‘I haven’t seen the youngsters for years. Just want everything to go well.’

  ‘You used to be slut of the century! The decadent auntie! Life and soul! Men positively spinning round the revolving door to get at you!’

  ‘Watch it, lady.’ I peeled the pitted skin away from the fruit. The citrus aroma made my nostrils prickle. ‘Anyone else I’d kill for insulting me like that.’

  ‘Whatever! Someone’s got to say it!’ She gulped noisily and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. ‘The simple problem is you’ve been on your own for too long. All dried up! You make Anne Robinson look like Pamela Anderson!’

  ‘In a good way!’ The gaggle of nephews and nieces and hangers-on crowded into the doorway, laden with nothing more than youth, beauty and packets of fags. ‘We’re liking Auntie Mary’s new dominatrix look!’

  ‘Behave, you lot!’ I tapped the wrist of the nearest one with a wooden spoon. ‘You may be a foot taller than me now, but you don’t scare me. Don’t forget I used to give you your bubble bath when you were babies!’

  They all snorted. ‘But isn’t this spooky,’ said my niece Chloe dreamily, twiddling long blonde hair round her finger. ‘I thought Mum and Mary were chalk and cheese, but if you take away the outfits –’

  ‘– and the hair dye!’ someone else piped up.

  ‘– you sisters are quite alike.’

  Poppy was close beside me. For every stone I’d lost, she’d put on two. She’d become all bohemian and eccentric – just like I used to be – all velvet and scarves and beads. Well, in a quiet moment I would get my own back and tell her to take a good look. For God’s sake. Being lectured by someone who looked like Beth Ditto’s mother.

  My style these days was all primly tailored silk and tweed. I wanted to look simple. I’d stopped all that preening you need around a man. Just liked the sharp, tight whisk of a zip closing me in.

  ‘I’m just saying, loosen up, Mary. You should never have stopped work. And a bit of heartbreak can’t turn you into a block of ice for ever. You could lick this floor, it’s so spotless,’ Poppy said, pouring herself another glass of smoky red wine and pushing past me. ‘Sad thing is, you wouldn’t see the fun in that!’

  A motorbike choked round the corner, and accelerated towards my end of the cul de sac. My party guests, swigging punch in the sitting room, reared their heads like wildebeest at the watering hole. The men herded out into the road to take a look.

  ‘It’s Charlie from next door! I recognise the Harley!’ someone yelled, letting cold air into the house. ‘Over here, mate!’

  ‘Fuck, what a sex dog! That really little Charlie? What happened to the buck teeth and nerdy glasses?’ Chloe was wriggling wildly on her stilettos as if she needed a pee, twisting her hair up into a fetching knot. ‘Ooh! Now he’s taking his helmet off –’

  Everyone spluttered. My stomach twisted in my own kind of secret laughter as I watched the newcomer raking oily, sun tanned fingers through matted dark hair as his mother Hilde kissed him and the men trooped back into the house. They all glanced at me as I brought the vol au vents through on a silver tray. ‘You wipe his bottom too, Auntie Mary?’

  ‘I wish!’ The laughter gasped out of me. ‘Gave him extra French lessons, actually!’

  ‘And Christ, wasn’t Mademoiselle Mary every schoolboy’s dream!’

  Charlie stamped into the hallway, brushing frost and pine needles onto my cream carpet. I stared at the dirty specks he was dropping on the floor, at his steel-capped boots, up the long legs encased in black dusty leather. Further up to the crotch, I couldn’t help it, leather trousers do that, don’t they? Lead the eyes. Up to where the leather was worn round the crotch as if tired from straining round some massive, permanently stiff cock. Heat rose through me. Those tanned fingers, unzipping the leather jacket, reaching into the adoring audience for a drink.

  ‘You don’t mind if he gatecrashes, do you love?’ Hilde bustled in with her plate of gingerbread. ‘He’s just turned up out of the blue! I thought he was visiting the German relatives somewhere in Arizona! Turns out he’s on his way to France –’

  ‘I’m amazed Hilde trusted you giving private lessons to that one. You were the local femme fatale!’ Poppy whispered, coming up behind me to untie my apron strings.

  ‘He was a shy skin
ny kid then, Poppy. Not some hunk straight out of Grease –’

  ‘Well, he’s hot now. A bit young. But I can tell you’re turned on.’ She breathed into my ear as she pulled the apron over my head. ‘Your eyelids are drooping like Marilyn Monroe’s. See? Still time for you to thaw out, Mare. You’re still human, after all. And once a hussy, always a hussy –’

  ‘For God’s sake, I was, still am, twenty years older than him! An old bag forcing la plume de ma tante past his Adam’s apple!’

  ‘Yes. But he’s just said you were his wet dream! And he’s still got a lot to learn. I bet he wouldn’t mind shoving his plume up your tante given half the chance!’ She nudged me in the ribs and this time I giggled with her. The others started to move back into the sitting room. Chloe had her fingers round Charlie’s wrist, dragging him with them. But he was staring at me, a slow smile creasing his mouth. Those blue eyes, sans glasses. White, straight teeth. Amazing, these orthodontists. Amazing, that mouth. Never noticed how full his bottom lip was. Was that the tip of his tongue flicking out? I couldn’t find the gawky teenager anywhere in that strong-jawed face.

  My knees felt weak. I knelt down on the carpet and started picking up flakes of drying mud from Charlie’s boots with my fingernails.

  And he sure as hell wouldn’t find his vibrant, crazy old French mistress anywhere in me, this uptight, cold-looking spinster –

  ‘Well, if I can’t sink my teeth into that particular morsel, I’ll make do with one of your sensational salmon blinis, sis.’ Poppy kicked me lightly on the bottom. ‘Take five. You looked stressed out. Stop scrubbing for five minutes and get yourself dressed!’

  * * *

  She was right, damn her. Even my party clothes, laid out on my bed, looked like surgical instruments. Pussy-bow blouse, tight pencil skirt. String of pearls. Scent. Stockings. Somehow, lying wrinkled and lifeless on my duvet, even they looked more industrial tool than seductive apparel.

  ‘Something’s burning, Mary! Think it’s the cheese straws!’

  Someone was screeching up the stairs.

  ‘Leave her be. She’s getting gorgeous.’

  Heels clattered on the white kitchen tiling. Voices laughed, doors slammed. Wine and food smells seeped through the air. Music started playing.

  I tugged off my shirt and slacks and stepped into the skirt, zipping it smartly as I stood in front of the long mirror by the window. Lit by the cold winter light I stared at the flat stomach I yearned for when I was younger. The slim thighs I’d only recently acquired. I turned sideways, breathed in, and was suddenly aware that my window looked straight on to Hilde’s house. But there was no one there, stupid. I smiled. They were all over here, having fun.

  God, the winter light was brutal. But it was forcing me to look. After losing all that weight my waist was tiny now but my breasts were still big. Well, they were huge before. Impossible to ignore. My pride and joy. My hippy, floaty dresses and jewelled tee shirts were always low cut, even at work. People glared, gaped, grinned, groped. My lovers would be in such a rush to see them, get their hands on the heavy, warm flesh, their eager lips and teeth nuzzling round my instantly hard nipples, that they would strip away my easily slipped off tops, leaving the rest of me often hidden, their greedy cocks fucking me under my clothes as an inevitable afterthought once feasting on my tits became too explosive.

  My pussy twitched at the distant memory. I tried a little girlish wriggle like the excited blonde niece. Oh yes, the feeling back then was always mutual. I only had to feel the flick of a tongue across one tight nipple to get my body singing. Sometimes the tongue was female. I wonder if anyone else has this obsession to feel a mouth inching nearer, licking, pulling the nipple in then biting and sucking till it hurts, to feel that shafting, aching pleasure shooting to my cunt, making it open and wet like a flower –

  A door downstairs opened to more laughter. My breasts looked so big, so white. So bloody lonely. Those prim blouses hid them these days under their buttons and pin tucks. Who knew? Who ever looked? I pushed them together to make soft warm mounds kissed by expensive mulberry lace.

  ‘We used to fantasise about seeing you naked.’

  I froze, hands still round my breasts. A low shaft of sunlight dazzled me, so that the figure behind me in the mirror was shadowy.

  ‘Bonjour, mademoiselle.’

  The worn leather trousers creaked as Charlie leaned in the doorway, holding two glasses of mulled wine.

  ‘They were wondering where you were.’

  ‘Oh, they’re all fine without me.’ I turned slightly, locking my knees together. I kept my eyes on the house next door. The empty window. I’d known Hilde all these years, and I still didn’t know which room that was. ‘Bonjour, Charlie.’

  ‘So this is your boudoir.’ He put the glasses on the dressing table. I could smell leather and sweat and alcohol. ‘We used to sneak into the spare bedroom, that window there. Mum never went in there. She never guessed. Freezing cold. We used to watch you dressing. And if we couldn’t see you, we imagined it. Even if you were just dusting or cleaning, we’d take our cocks out and wank ourselves stupid, watching you. We’d shoot all over the window pane, groaning, all star-shaped spatters of spunk on the glass. And you never knew.’

  He sat on the wide sill and crossed his ankles, taking a swig of wine. I backed towards the bed and snatched up the blouse to cover myself. ‘Dirty little tykes.’

  He smiled. ‘Hot-blooded boys, that’s all, miss. And then I was the lucky one. Persuaded Mum that all that German at home was no good, I needed extra help with French, and I had you all to myself on Thursday evenings when everyone else was watching Top of the Pops.’

  I laughed. I was hot all over now. Against the glare all I could see was the glitter of his eyes. ‘Oh, Charlie, you were sweet. Innocent. And so hard working –’

  ‘So hard, you mean. I was permanently erect, mademoiselle. Boys that age always are. Squirming in my chair next to you. Watching your lips move as you spoke French. Ever noticed how people from France people speak as if they’re savouring something really delicious? Germans speak as if they want to spit it all out. I used to wait for your tongue to slip across your mouth, collecting crumbs of Mum’s bloody gingerbread. I could see spasms rippling down your throat as you swallowed your tea. You used to twine that silky green scarf round your neck, but it was always unravelled by the end of the lesson.’

  I was shivering now. ‘That scarf there?’

  He reached over and plucked it from a pile folded neatly on a shelf. He twined it thoughtfully round his knuckles. ‘I fantasised about how it would feel to come down your throat, make you swallow my spunk. But what the other boys talked about was getting a peek at your tits.’

  ‘Sois sage, Charlie. Behave!’ I turned my back to him, tried to get my arms into the sleeves. ‘All very flattering, I suppose, but that’s all over now. Look at me. My sister says I’m all shrivelled, and dry, and old –’

  ‘She’s just jealous and fat. You’re still gorgeous.’ He looked down at the scarf. ‘Too thin, but – just the same once you get down to the skin. And only, what, forty-three?’

  ‘Now you’re really being cheeky.’ I flicked my hand at him. ‘Get out of my bedroom.’

  He stood up. Really towered over me. Blocked out the light so now I could see him clearly. The same scar on his chin. A smear of bike oil by his ear. I clutched at the blouse, but he just took it and tossed it onto the floor.

  ‘So then I’d go back to school and tell the other boys all about my private lesson. How we’d decline some verbs and then I’d rip open your dress –’

  ‘You lying little bastard!’ I gasped, trying to wriggle away, but he grasped my wrists and tied them together with the silk scarf. Goose bumps pricked all over me as my breasts pushed out into the cool air.

  ‘Not so little now, mademoiselle. I can do exactly as I please.’ He trailed his fingers over the tender skin of my breasts where they bulged over the bra. ‘We’d sit smoking on the football field an
d I’d tell them how you let me feel your tits, like this, over your bra. God, bras were the holy grail then!’

  His fingers hooked inside the bra, stroking down inside to find one nipple. It was impossible to ignore. Standing out, long and hard like a nut to show him my excitement even if I wanted to hide it. I moaned before I could stop myself. He circled that nipple, then hooked his thumb over the bra to push it right down.

  ‘Then I used to tell them I’d undone it, you know, unhooked it from behind your back like we were always practising, and got them out, and how big they were, how juicy.’ He bit his lip, making it wet, and undid my bra. My breasts bounced out heavily, thrusting into the dull afternoon light. ‘And God, they are, aren’t they? Big, and juicy.’

  ‘Everyone’ll be wondering where we are –’ I breathed, but he took my face in his big grown-up hands and kissed me. A hard, rough, wet kiss, lips scraping against mine, tongue swiping into my mouth as if to claim me.

  Downstairs they had found my Latin American salsa music.

  ‘Fuck it. I’m not letting this chance slip. You have no idea how horny I am after that long bike ride. After seeing you again. And I’ll be gone in the morning.’

  My legs started shaking and he pulled me down with him onto the bed, unzipping my skirt as he did so. Christ, how many women had he undressed since he was fifteen? The leather of his trousers snagged on my bare legs, tugging at the tiny hairs. The pain shocked me into life. With my hands tied I couldn’t even pretend to push him away but as I struggled against him I touched his flies instead and felt his waiting cock, hard and ready under the worn leather. My fingers stroked over its length.

  ‘Someone will come looking –’ I breathed, moving my mouth over his again, greedy for another kiss.

  ‘So let them look, mademoiselle. Let them see what I’ve finally got my hands on. I would have killed to get a look at you.’ He flipped me on top of him. I balanced my tied hands above his head and now my silky, wet knickers were scraping over that hidden, hard cock. ‘So teach me.’