I unloop one arm from around his neck and reach down to unbutton my jeans. I’m not wearing knickers, to avoid VPL, and already my nectar has soaked through the gusset. He moves his head away from mine, looks down at my drizzling cunt and lets out a little moan. With my foot I locate the crotch of his jeans; he’s as hard as bone. Reaching down between my legs, I slide my fingers between my lips, rub a little, then bring them to Dean’s mouth. He takes them inside, deeply, sucks at them as if he can’t get his fill of the honeyed liquid. Then, backing away a little more, as much as the restricted space in the rickshaw will allow, he slides my jeans down to my ankles and then off over my feet, lifts my thighs from behind so that my legs loop over his shoulders and back, and goes down on me, lapping at me like a cat at a bowl of cream, with the same sounds of satisfaction.
For a while he concentrates on my clit, working at it with his lips and tongue, one hand full of each of my buttocks. My own arms are outstretched, a hand on the rail on each side of the rickshaw. If anyone were to look in, they’d get a real eyeful, but luckily the motorised machine is speeding along now, and the driver too seems oblivious: the noisy engine must be drowning out the sounds of our lovemaking.
For that’s what it is – making love, creating love – with a slow measuredness, in spite of our surroundings, that’s quite unlike the hurried desperation that I experienced with Sue. With her it seemed to be all about coming, coming fast and hard, as if it was a race to the finishing line. Or that’s how I think of it now. It was all such a blur at the time, a chaos of girly limbs and soft, yielding parts.
I’m forcing images and thoughts of Sue out of my mind when Dean raises his head, as if summoned back to reality from a place far far away, and looks around him. His stubble glitters with pinpricks of my juice, like dew on blades of grass.
‘I think we’re nearly there,’ he says. ‘Shall I ask him to do another few blocks?’
I laugh, touched and flattered that he doesn’t want this to end. Of course, I don’t either, but I want him inside me, want Dean to be the first man to enter me and bring me to orgasm, and I don’t think the rickshaw is private or comfortable enough for that. And so, as I suggest, he has the driver pull up outside our hotel, hands him a pile of uncounted notes that probably bears little relation to the sum requested and, taking my hand, rushes us inside and up the stairs.
My room is the most obvious choice, but as we’re halfway along the corridor, a voice halts us in our tracks and I feel Dean whisk his hand away from mine before he turns to face it.
‘I was wondering where you two had got to,’ she’s saying as she stalks along the landing, eyes narrowed.
‘Oh, hi, Sue,’ says Dean. ‘Nadia had a headache so I thought I’d bring her back here. We didn’t want to interrupt you, spoil your fun.’
Sue smiles ambiguously. ‘Oh, you shouldn’t worry about me,’ she says, and I sense something icy to her voice all of a sudden.
‘No, but …’
She carries on to her room, unlocks the door. ‘I’ll find some aspirins for you, Nadia,’ she says as it swings open. ‘It’s probably all the travelling. The best thing for it is to go straight to bed and get a good night’s sleep. Actually, Dean, would you be an angel and have a look for them in my washbag while I give Nadia a hand? Thanks.’
I can’t see in what way I might need a hand, given that I’m only supposed to have a headache, but nor can I think of a polite way of protesting, so Sue and I go into my room while Dean goes into theirs in search of aspirin. I’m more than miffed, of course, that Sue showed up and put a spanner in the works, but that could have been pure chance, ill luck. Now, however, it seems she’s deliberately trying to come between us and I’m seething inside. What gives her the right? Sure, we fucked, her and I, and it was great, life changing even. It was my first time, after all. But we haven’t discussed whether it is to be an ongoing thing, and as such she has no claim on me. Even if she had, she repudiated that claim by what she did in the nightclub, when she showed me that she was free to do whatever she wanted. Why, in that case, am I not? And why is Dean not?
‘Come on,’ I hear her saying through the cauldron of my thoughts. ‘Let’s get you into something comfortable.’
Despite my anger, I give in to her, let her lift my arms and pull up my T-shirt, then reach round and unclasp my bra. As it falls away, she looks down at my breasts, smiles, tongue poised on her upper lip.
‘You have fucking gorgeous tits,’ she whispers, reaching for them.
I’m paralysed, and not only because I don’t want to make a fuss and alert Dean. The feel of her cool flesh on my nipples makes them harden and sets my brain on fire, in spite of myself. Her eyes are on mine, as if she’s searching my soul, and I have to close mine to escape her scrutiny. She knows I love this, that I’m hers if she wants to take me, in spite of Dean. The pleasure is too strong; I’m putty in her hands.
She’s undone the top button of my fly now and one finger is creeping over my mons, slipping through my wet lips and into my cunt. Head still back, I look anxiously towards the door, but even as I do so I understand that there’s no danger that Dean will show up with the aspirin. I don’t know how I know that he’ll keep away, but I do.
As the knowledge hits me, I fall back against the bed and Sue yanks down my jeans and brings her mouth to me, to the place where her brother had his not half an hour ago. I try to resist now, thinking of Dean, but the orgasm that I didn’t have time to reach with him surges up and, while Sue’s expert tongue flickers on my clit and three fingers push in and out of me, I arch my back and feel my whole body go rigid as I abandon myself to it. When I actually come I feel super-tense and warm and light inside, simultaneously.
Afterwards, as we lie in each other’s arms, I look into the dark and ask, ‘So what about the Indian girl?’
‘What about her?’ says Sue.
‘I … I don’t know. What was happening there?’
She laughs, but there’s a hollow, joyless ring to it. ‘Just a bit of sport,’ she says. ‘I see a beautiful girl, I wonder if she’s up for it. It’s like a challenge. But once I know that I can have her, most of the time I just lose interest.’
‘You lost interest? But she was amazing!’
‘There are lots of amazing girls. It doesn’t mean I have to fuck them.’
‘And will you lose interest in me?’
She sighs and for a few moments there’s silence. ‘Who can say what’s going to happen?’ she answers at last. ‘Nothing is ever certain. I make no promises.’
I frown, but she can’t see me. ‘I’m not asking for promises,’ I say. ‘It would just be nice to … to – oh, I don’t know … to get where you’re coming from.’
I feel her shoulders twitch as she shrugs. ‘Where I’m coming from,’ she muses. ‘Now there’s a question. The thing is Nadia, I’m twenty years old, not that much older than you, and I’m trying not to think too hard about anything. Maybe … I don’t know you well enough by now, but maybe you think too much, about the consequences of things and how they’re going to turn out. Me? For the moment, I guess I’m just in it for the ride.’
And with that, as if she doesn’t expect me to answer or actually wants to discourage me from continuing the conversation, she takes my hand and places it on her muff. ‘My turn now,’ she says, opening her legs, and as I slip my fingers between her sweet, moist labia, her cunt appears to me as black hole, devouring, treacherous, all-consuming. The kind of place from which you might not escape intact. The thought, as I push inside her, my mouth on her clit, both terrifies and excites me.
‘Next time,’ she’s saying, ‘we’ll use a dildo. I’ll fuck you to high heaven.’
She’s leaning over me in my bed, brushing my hair back from my forehead with one hand, twisting one of my nipples with the other. I can feel the sparse hair of her bush against my hip bone. I’m wondering what Dean will say when he wakes up, when he realises that I’ve spent the night with his sister. Will he feel hurt and
rejected? Will I get the chance to explain to him that I didn’t choose her over him, that it was coercion of sorts? Will he believe me, and even if he does, will he be appalled by my spinelessness, my lack of willpower? Surely I don’t stand a chance with him after this?
A knock on the door makes me gasp.
‘Quick,’ I say, sitting up and pushing her away from me. ‘Hide somewhere.’
But Sue ignores me, and even calls, ‘Come in,’ and of course in all the confusion of last night we forgot to lock the door and the handle is pressed down from outside and Dean walks right in. Sue doesn’t even bother to cover herself up, just sits there in all her glorious nudity smiling up at her brother. I lie beside her, under the sheet, feeling like I’m dying inside. There’s no doubting what we’ve been up to together, but as if she wants to make it super-clear, Sue now stands up, and in doing so accidentally on purpose takes half the sheet with her, so that I too am exposed to Dean, under circumstances so different to those I had imagined as we sped home in the rickshaw last night.
I can’t look him in the eye. I’m mortified. But he doesn’t react in any way that I expect, either by laughing – incredulously, bitterly or in genuine mirth – or by getting mad. He just bids us good morning and then starts talking about the train that we have booked tickets on later that day, taking us overnight to Kerala.
I want to scream, lash out, tell them that I can’t do this any more, that I’m too confused to go on with them. Why, after what we did together in the rickshaw, after his sister showed up and spoilt our fun, is Dean not mad at me, and at her too? He’s obviously not in love with me, but isn’t his male pride wounded, at the very least? Doesn’t his sister not only denying him his shag but stealing it from him merit at least a few harsh words on his part? He should be livid at both of us, but here he is calmly talking about train times.
He leaves, at last, and Sue looks at me. She places her hand on my belly, smiles kindly. ‘You’re not thinking of bottling out, are you?’ she says, and her eyes probe mine. When I don’t answer she says, ‘Please don’t, Nadia. It would be a big mistake. Especially now that things are about to get interesting.’
I sit up, stare at her. ‘What do you mean?’ I ask, but she’s already up and halfway out of the room before I’ve got the words out. Her only response is to half turn in the door and wink at me, one finger over her lips.
24
‘VAJRAYANA,’ CHRIS IS saying, ‘is partly based on Tantric techniques, as a way of achieving Buddhahood.’ He’s reclining on the chaise-longue, looking out into the courtyard. ‘You can only see the superficial aspects,’ he goes on musingly. ‘Even talking about them to the uninitiated is harmful.’
I roll over on his bed, exposing my naked breasts and pussy to him, hoping to tempt him back, though it’s only five minutes since I climaxed, and I thought I was sated for a while.
‘But I still don’t understand why, say, Jasmine can be your acolyte and I can’t,’ I say. ‘Is it that I’m too old?’
‘Don’t be silly. Age has nothing to do with it. Age is a state of mind.’
There it is, that dismissive tone again, the platitude … Last night I thought I’d achieved nirvana, fucking a blindfolded Chris on the chaise-longue, drawing out both our orgasms so that when they did finally arrive, it was with unbelievable intensity, both physical and mental, leaving us both shattered, like shipwrecks washed up onto a strange shore. This morning, although I’d slept over again, he flatly refused to go to the beach with me, insisting that I make it seem as if I was arriving at the meditation session from my room. He’s been unavailable all day, as usual, and I had to accost him at dinner again, virtually force an invitation to his room out of him when it didn’t seem one was to be forthcoming.
I love the sex, can’t live without it. I love how he’s made me see the value of holding off on one’s pleasure, how that can deepen it, make the whole thing more fulfilling. But I hate the secrecy aspect of things. Chris plain avoids many of my questions with either outright dismissal or obfuscation, and that makes me feel small. It devalues the sex, ultimately, however good it feels at the time. What’s the point of striving to achieve this rare intimacy only to tear it asunder again with an uncaring attitude, harsh words?
Perhaps I’m being too touchy. I guess I’m missing Nadia too, not least as someone to confide in. But what help would she be, having felt the way she did about Chris? She’d only tell me to leave him, and that’s not something I feel I can do. Charles – that was easy, once I’d realised I’d have to share him. With Chris it’s less straightforward.
There was another woman in his room this afternoon; I saw her arrive and sneaked to his room to listen again – only for a minute. This time I did care if he caught me snooping, because last night showed me how much I want to be with him. I just wanted to reassure myself that she was indeed another acolyte, like Jasmine, but I couldn’t hear enough or stay long enough to glean much information. Yet assuming that she was another acolyte, then I knew at least that Chris could be a guru to more than one person at a time, which meant that I could ask to become one of the initiates too, and enter fully into his world. Only then, I thought, would I feel secure in this relationship.
The sex, tonight, blew my mind. This time, rather than holding off from penetration or using a cock ring to delay his orgasm, Chris used a technique he called ajna chakra focus.
‘The ajna chakra,’ he told me, as we sat cross-legged, facing each other after harmonising our breathing, ‘is an energy point in the forehead, in-between the eyes. If you focus on this point, both physically and mentally, you can stave off orgasm.’
‘How do you focus on it, either physically or mentally?’
‘It’s not easy, but once you have it, you can do it again at will. Basically, after you’ve spent a few minutes meditating to clear your mind of all thoughts and rid your consciousness of external stimuli, you picture two paths leading from your eyes and meeting at a midpoint about five centimetres above your eyes and two centimetres into your skull. Then you try to pull your eyes inwards towards this point.’
‘Sounds painful.’
‘It’s not, but it is strange to start with.’
‘Then what?’
‘Well, now you’ve located the ajna chakra, or third eye. What you have to do at this point is meditate, and as you’re meditating focus on drawing up all the energy from every limb, muscle and organ in your body to this point you’ve found inside your head. The energy is then directed out through this tiny point.’
‘Where does it go?’
‘Nowhere. Or into the void. You have to imagine that outside the ajna chakra is a vast – an infinite – black space devoid of words, sounds, images or thoughts.’
‘And this stops you from coming?’
Chris smiled. ‘For a while, yes. I am only human, after all.’
I smiled too, but there was an acrid taste to it. Part of me just wished he’d get on with it, and I was also suspicious of his role as a guru. Talking about his ‘tutorial’ with Jasmine, he’d referred to himself as a deity. The assurance that first attracted me to him was starting to look a little like arrogance, or at least the conviction that he knew better than anyone else. But perhaps that was an attitude necessary to those who choose to make their living by instructing others.
He placed two fingers on my pussy lips but kept them still. ‘Clittage,’ he said. ‘Ever heard of it?’
I shook my head.
‘It’s where you take control, where you masturbate with your clitoris against my fingers or against my penis, dictating the speed and intensity. Want to try?’
I nodded.
‘Then kneel up.’
I obeyed and, while he supported me with one arm wrapped round my waist, frotted myself against the two fingers he held still against my lips. I was surprised by just how good it felt to be in charge of both speed and pressure. Then Chris arched back and away from me, and I found myself able to straddle him and continue the same technique
against his cock, as he’d suggested. This too gave us both an enormous amount of pleasure – a pleasure I knew derived as much from the effort involved in resisting the natural urge of his cock to enter me and for my pussy to be entered, as from anything else. Again, the smoothness of his cock and balls, where he had shaved or at least pruned, added to the intensity; there was little hair to soak up my juices, meaning he was as wet and slippery as me. Peeling back my lips and holding myself open heightened the sensation even more.
We kept this up for a long time. Despite the temptation to start fucking each other’s brains out, it was so amazing in itself that it was hard to stop. After a while, we turned over so that I was in the standard missionary position, but Chris didn’t enter me even then. We continued to rub ourselves against one another and we found that, strangely, the more slowly we did it the better it was. We kept gasping and looking into each other’s eyes with wonder, and then looking down at our bodies as they pressed together, gently but firmly, massively wet. I really thought then: this is it, I’ve found it, the place I want to spend the rest of my life. This was heaven, or nirvana as Chris would say.
He placed his cock inside me but held it still. The very fact that he could do that excited me so much that I brought my hand to my clitoris, began strumming at myself, my fingers sliding over myself, I was so sodden by now. I looked up at Chris in panic; there was no holding this off any longer, I was going to come. He just nodded, then a blankness stole over him and I knew he was looking inwards, locating the ajna chakra. It felt odd, eerie even, when my orgasm blasted through me a moment later, to be contracting and relaxing around his motionless cock, but it felt good too. It allowed me to concentrate purely on the sensations that threatened to rip me apart, rather than on what was happening to him.
As the pleasure subsided, like the aftershocks of an earthquake, I started to cry and, as I put my head back, I looked up at Chris in time to see him open his eyes, releasing the ajna focus. He came, then, like a train.
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