by Viva Jones
Having waited for what she considered a polite amount of time, Anna pushed him off and went to the bathroom, where she washed all trace of him away.
Chapter Fourteen
Saturday night saw Tanya in a white mini dress with gold lame trim and matching sandals, her hair backcombed and her eye-liner exaggerated, while Dolores was wearing a black low-cut dress that showed off much of her cleavage with a full skirt split to the thigh. Both dresses had zipped pockets - for any extra cash they might earn, Dolores had informed her. They’d rehearsed their routine several times by now, and, with a couple of glasses of champagne inside her, Tanya was ready to party. Their audience was affluent, Russian and all-male - four of them, and she could sense their eyes boring into her. As the music started, she knocked back a third glass and started dancing, aware of how short her skirt was, and how it skimmed over her knickerless bottom, and as she writhed and danced she was aware of the men’s fixed stares, watching out for glimpses of pussy, as if they were bird-watchers, stalking a rare and much-prized specimen. She teased and stretched, wrapping her leg around a pole, the flimsy material draped across her breasts giving way every now and then, revealing a curve here, a glimpse of nipple there.
The men, thought Tanya, were entranced, as if they’d taken a drug or just found God or something, such was the power she wielded over them. There was one she quite fancied, with very short hair and a lean physique, and when he stood up to refresh his glass she realised how very tall he was, distinguished, a business man, she decided, or a politician. The other was stockier with less hair and a ruddy complexion, and she didn’t fancy him much. Across the room, Dolores was getting bolder, approaching her two, flashing her breasts and swaying her skirt around, giving them occasional glimpses of her pussy. When she turned around, stretched down to the ground and lifted her skirt right up, one of the men spilled his drink. Such was the power they had, Tanya realised. This was the weakness of men; if she could keep them entranced like this she could surely rule the world? They would hand over their wallets, their share portfolios, their everything, just for a glimpse of her freshly-waxed pussy.
Her tall man sat down again, and she approached him, raising one leg and placing it on his. He stared, not at her face, but at that place between her legs, as if that was all she was, her entire being reduced to a cunt. Tanya decided not to care, she jumped off and carried on dancing, gyrating, moving to the music and dreamily letting her hands slide over her body, and suddenly the man was up, dancing alongside her, his hands roaming across her waist, and she pushed him back - that had not been part of the agreement. But as she turned away she dropped her arms to the floor, giving him a look at her pussy from the back. The thought made her giggle, she was really quite tipsy now, and when she turned round he was transfixed, mesmerised, his eyes could barely leave her pussy. He called out something she didn’t understand to one of his compatriots, and on hearing the answer, got up and joined her again, only this time he popped some notes down inside her dress, where they felt itchy and out of place, and Tanya moved them to her zipped pocket, all the time studying his face, the measure of his desire. Tanya knew he wanted more, and she was prepared to give it. Suddenly his hand was under her skirt and his finger was up inside her - just like that! She took a deep breath as he plunged it inside and out, and knowing they were being watched made Tanya feel incredibly sexy, like a goddess, with a gift that was unique to her. With his other hand he reached inside her dress to cup her breast, and she loved the feel of his skin against her bud, his finger and thumb tweaking her. Feeling daring, she allowed her hand to brush against his trousers, feeling his hard-on through the designer fabric. The power she had! She rubbed him and he closed his eyes in appreciation.
Across the way Dolores was on her knees giving one of the men a blowjob, while the other stood behind her, stroking her bare buttocks. Tanya unzipped the man’s fly and released his throbbing cock, and she dropped to her knees to take him in her mouth, and the taste of precome made her feel all-powerful. Whether he had a wife or girlfriend or family meant nothing to her, she was the one he wanted, she was the one obsessing him in that moment. She licked and sucked, enjoying how he filled her, and played with his balls with one hand. He came sooner than she’d expected, filling her mouth with his cum, and once she’d swallowed, she took another slug of champagne. As he fell back, sated, in his chair, the second man got up and joined her, only he lay on the floor and signalled that he wanted her to step over him. She did so, letting him enjoy a full view of her pussy, and she bent her knees to get closer to him, revealing herself to him, and seeing the transfixed stare on his face she laughed to herself. Anything she wanted, she could have! This was really all it took.
More notes were thrust down her top and she tidied them away in her pocket, before dealing with this man’s cock. This time she knelt above him, so that he could continue to admire her cunt, and took him in her mouth. He gave her a few fevered licks but as she licked and sucked him, playing with his balls, so he shot his load into her mouth, and Tanya swallowed, again refreshing herself with more champagne.
Next Dolores was by her side and dancing with her, and when Dolores reached out and touched her breasts, Tanya followed suit, and soon they were kissing, tongues tangling, hands embracing each other’s breasts and beyond. One of the men had started clapping at this point, and Dolores dropped to the floor and suddenly her head was between Tanya’s thighs, and she was giving her big, extravagant licks of her tongue, show-licks, so that everyone could see what was happening. Tanya pretended to be aroused, throwing her head back and caressing her own breasts. As her dress fell to the floor and Tanya was entirely naked, it felt perfectly natural. She loved the attention. She was a supermodel, a queen, the very image of womanhood; she was admired and desired and she’d leave feeling very wealthy and yes, Tanya Hopkins was finally getting somewhere in life!
She helped Dolores get out of her dress before sinking to the floor to continue the show, dipping her tongue inside her friend’s pussy while the men all watched. Then Tanya’s man, the one she quite liked, got up, stripped now to his boxers, and pulled Tanya aside, turning her over and opening her legs wide. He pushed her roughly on the floor and raised her legs up onto each of his shoulders, and, having hastily pulled on a condom, plunged his cock inside her. Tanya gasped at the size of him, and at the speed of his act, but she loved how aroused he was, how focused he remained on her body, and she loved that she was exposed, and that her body was slim and fit, and that all eyes were on her.
Not all, perhaps, as one of Dolores’ men had now taken her from behind, and she was on all fours getting pumped from the back, and once that man had shed his load the second replaced him, taking her hard and thrusting inside her. Tanya watched, fascinated, and when her man had finished she had no trouble turning over onto all fours to allow the second, ruddy-faced man, his turn.
She didn’t climax herself, but that wasn’t really the point. For the first time in her life Tanya felt she understood the driving force behind the world itself. This was what men wanted. This was what made them who they were. And when she counted up her notes later on, as well as the overall amount Dolores had negotiated, Tanya realised she really could do anything she wanted. This way she could make more money than she’d ever dreamt possible. Driving home later, she imagined a wardrobe full of designer clothes, a life of luxury cars and private jets, and a ritzy apartment in Knightsbridge, somewhere near Harrods. She was a goddess and they’d come to worship, and like all the best goddesses, she deserved the greatest temple money could buy.
Chapter Fifteen
Douglas was trying to write another article on manifestation, but his concentration levels were low and he couldn’t stop thinking about the events of the other night. It hadn’t been clever getting found like that by Nathalie, and it certainly hadn’t been clever to alienate a pack of grubby Russian gangsters, either. He’d slept fitfully that night, then got up early and cycled
down to the harbour to retrieve his car. He’d been surprised to find it intact, expecting the tyres to be slashed, and was relieved to have driven it home without incident.
He leaned back against his chair and cracked his knuckles. Now Nathalie knew more about him than he’d have liked. He wasn’t ashamed of his sexual activities, he just hadn’t wanted to broadcast them, either. But now, he imagined, he should lay off visiting the seafront and all its delights for a while. Good grief, he thought, sipping his coffee, thick and dark and brewed the Greek way, by all accounts Ginnie was ready to oblige, if he got that desperate. Were his wires getting crossed somehow? When he’d summoned the powers of the Universe he hadn’t expected them to deliver her.
And then there was the problem of Ludmilla. Silly cow, she was a hooker, for God’s sake; what did she expect, his everlasting fidelity? So he’d discovered the glorious Svetlana - that was entirely within his rights, being the client. What was she doing getting emotionally involved like that? Yes, perhaps, in a moment of weakness, he might have muttered something about beginning to have feelings for her, or about wanting to keep her all to himself or some such, but he certainly hadn’t expected to be taken seriously.
What was the point in paying a hooker if she was only going to get all emotional on you? You might as well get it for free. Their cold-hearted lack of involvement was the whole point. Had she truly believed he was going to liberate her from life on the streets? Marry her, make her respectable, introduce her to his family? Douglas chuckled at the idea. Silly, stupid, girl.
But why had Nathalie had to witness everything, what kind of trick was the Universe playing on him there? Might have spoiled his chances somewhat. Vlad the pimp couldn’t have given the best of impressions. Douglas felt a wave of anger and indignation rising up. It was a free country, for God’s sake! He was a paying customer! He had the right to go with whomever he chose. What did they take him for, a charity for ageing whores?
God, women. Douglas shook his head in mild despair. Too bloody complex by half. When even the hookers started to fall in-love, you knew things were going badly wrong. They had to know their place. Why bother with a relationship, when you could simply choose a willing Russian on the sea front? Buy her a few drinks, hand over some cash and spell out precisely what you wanted.
Sexual manifestation, in a manner of speaking, he thought, returning to his work. Douglas enjoyed that control.
***
Had he known about the events going on just two doors away from him, Douglas would have been astonished at the power of the Universe. An ecstatic Anna had gone to Nathalie’s the minute she saw her returning from her morning swim.
‘I couldn’t wait for this damned weekend to be over,’ she whispered as they embraced and began unfastening buttons, clumsily mounting the stairs where their bodies fell in a tangle on Nathalie’s bed, kissing and nipping and laughing. This time Anna took control, peeling off her lover’s clothes like a restorer removing unwanted layers of paint to reveal the most exquisite piece of art underneath. She kissed and licked Nathalie’s breasts, relishing the texture of her nipples against her lips and teeth, and then kissed her chest and flat stomach, her kisses getting more fevered as she neared her prize. Forcing herself to go more slowly, she’d raised one of Nathalie’s legs, taking her time to kiss the length of her calf and thigh, all the time stealing glances at the place she most wanted to sink her tongue, her fingers, her whole being. If Anna could have crawled up inside Nathalie’s cunt, she would. She wanted to possess her, to inhabit her, to be her.
Finally, when Nathalie’s own breaths became more hurried, she allowed herself to sink into her cunt, raising her lover’s buttocks and opening her labia, taking time to lick and suck every bit of her, to memorise her shape, her texture, her taste and her smell. When Nathalie came on her face Anna felt all-powerful, as if she was capable of anything. Never had pleasing another person meant so much to her, more than her own orgasm, and certainly more than it ever had with Richard. She fell back, her lover’s juices still sweet on her lips, and concentrated on the blood which was pumping furiously around her own sex, throbbing and demanding and begging for attention.
Nathalie knew precisely how to quell her. She climbed on top, placing her wet pussy above Anna’s face so that she could still admire it as Nathalie licked her to orgasm. Was there a more beautiful sight? Anna felt she could stare at it forever, as if she could prize open her folds and find pearls and gold dust in there. As Nathalie increased the pressure on her clit, she lowered herself so that now just her anus was visible, and Anna gazed at that gently puckered skin, dabbing at it with her tongue, marvelling at her lover’s lack of inhibition. As Anna’s tongue probed Nathalie’s anus, so Nathalie’s tongue pressed harder at her clit, and Anna came in an explosive rush, a swell, a need, a desire so great it was as if a tsunami of pleasure had swept across her, taking with it everything she’d once considered important and leaving her new and bare and clean and ready to rebuild her life.
The lovers lay there, pussies at each other’s faces, and Anna felt she could die of happiness. Never had she anticipated feeling like this. Not once had she seriously thought she’d ever fall so heavily for another woman. It was as if nothing and no-one else mattered. Having felt numb and bitter and tired for four long years now, she felt alive and awake and alert and renewed. She imagined joining Nathalie for her morning swims, and making love in the waves, tasting the salt water in each other’s pussies, before emerging, Aphrodite-like, out of the foam.
‘Why don’t we go to the pool?’ Nathalie suggested, breaking the reverie. ‘A cool dip to cleanse ourselves?’
Anna agreed, although a part of her wanted to stay like that all afternoon, her skin covered in oils and smells and tastes, but minutes later they were swimming gentle lengths, two friends sharing some afternoon leisure, as if nothing was untoward. They climbed out and settled on two sun loungers, shaded by a generous umbrella.
Anna, feeling an overwhelming sense of well-being, dozed gently, the soft breeze on her skin. She loved knowing that her lover was by her side, and that her body had to be feeling the same sense of wellness. If they could spend the rest of the summer like this, making love, swimming and lying in the sun, then her life would seem perfect. She turned to admire Nathalie. How easy it was, being together. Had Nathalie been a man the neighbours would start getting suspicious, but as it was, no-one thought anything of it. They were two friends who enjoyed spending time together. Where was the harm? And somehow, it didn’t feel as if she was even being unfaithful.
Anna closed her eyes, allowing herself to drift off.
***
At number three, Ginnie peered out of her kitchen window to see Richard arriving home and greeting his wife and Nathalie by the pool. It was a scene that made her want to rush down and join them all, in the hope that someone would open a bottle of wine and then Barry would fire up a barbecue and a spontaneous party would erupt. Ginnie had loved those evenings, but reminded herself they were a thing of the past.
She’d finished or poured away every last bottle in the house now, as her dependence had begun to revolt her. Now, her gleaming new juicer stood on the kitchen surface, and all around her were bags of peaches, bananas, red fruits and melons. This was going to be her evening treat from now on, a freshly-squeezed smoothie. She checked the recipe again and added more orange juice, before whizzing the blend up. A couple of ice cubes in a beautiful glass, and she was ready to go. Ginnie took a sip. It was delicious, and she didn’t miss the kick of alcohol at all. She really didn’t. Sitting at her dining room table, she flipped through the copy of Grazia that she’d removed from the upstairs loo. There’d be no reading up there from now on, she’d decided, determined to fix Derek for once and for all. Ginnie took another sip.
She peered out of the window. Would Richard be joining Anna? She needed to pick his brain about corporate sponsorship, and she fancied a bit of comp
any at the same time. It would be good for her to be sociable and sober. She took another sip of her smoothie, before deciding to go upstairs and change.
***
Richard emerged wearing his swimming trunks and returned to the pool, where he found Anna and Nathalie just as he’d left them, snoozing idly in the late afternoon sun. He’d stopped off at a club that wanted financing on his way home, and had found the place depressing and oppressive - lowering himself into the cool water he realised how badly he needed to wash the stench of stale booze and tobacco away. Richard loathed night clubs. He’d only been to a few, but hated having to shout out above the music and couldn’t dance without looking like someone’s dad. At his age, he’d thought he’d seen the end of them, but then the boys had dragged him out to one on his stag night. Oh God, not that, please not that, he recoiled, trying to block out the memory.
That was where it had all started, at the FoxyChick on Damstraat, and life had never been the same again.
Richard shoved that thought to the back of his mind and concentrated on doing thirty lengths in the pool; penitence, good for both his body and mind. He had to turn his life around. How easy it would be just to arrive home, head straight to the fridge and pull open a can of beer as normal. Just thinking about it made Richard fill with longing. But that was the old Richard of yesterday; the new one had discipline and structure in his life. Only once he’d completed those lengths would he allow himself a beer. Thirty lengths this week, forty next, fifty the week after that.
He paced himself so as not to lose his breath. By the eighth length he was beginning to feel good about his new regime, by the fifteenth he was revelling in being half way, by the twenty-fifth he started relishing the idea that it was nearly over, and by the thirtieth he was positively exhausted. But he’d done it! He’d achieved something! He climbed out and began to towel-dry himself off.