by KT Morrison
His heart jumped. He pictured Mitch standing outside his door, maybe two goons with him. Looking for his wife.
“How are you?” he asked. He looked down at Kate and she was smiling at him.
“Not great. It’s why I’m calling.”
“Oh?” he said. Kate’s hand went down his belly and over his manhood. He bristled, his breath caught in his throat. “Is something wrong?” He was testing the waters.
“Have you heard from Kate at all?”
“No,” he said. He had to keep his answers brief, devoid of information. He didn’t want to ruin this spell Kate was under. He didn’t want her to be brought back to reality. She had a husband who loved her. Who was looking for her. Mitch was distraught, Omar could hear it in his voice and could hear he was trying to hide it. “Why?”
“She’s just…she’s been missing. Not long. It’s…it’s just not like her.”
He looked down and saw her, the shape of her. Hunched between his legs, a soft cotton ghost under his duvet. She was moving under it, pleasuring him. She was kissing his cock and his balls while he talked to her worried husband.
“How long?”
“Just a day. Almost two days now.”
He pulled the cover away and watched her. Her small hand cradled his stiffening cock, held it up on his belly while she sucked on his balls. He watched her beautiful pouted lips go around one and then suck it into her mouth and gently pull on it. Her pretty face was such a contrast to his big ugly manhood. His long pubic hair scratched at her perfect skin.
“That’s not too long,” he said trying to be supportive but not give any thing away to Kate. She ran her tongue up his cock right to the tip and he tried not to gasp into her husband’s ear. “It’s probably okay,” Omar managed. He wasn’t even making sense.
“Yeah, it is. I just want to know where she is. Know she’s all right.”
Mitch’s wife had taken the end of his big rubbery cock in her mouth. She was sucking on him and he was getting hard. He watched her pull his foreskin gently with her teeth. Her eyes locked on his.
“I’ll let you know if…you know, if—”
Kate rolled his foreskin back with her fingers and sucked on his glans. He was more engorged now, the head of his cock plump. It yielded to her lips as she sucked on it. He could feel her tongue pushing into his urethra inside her mouth. She still held his gaze.
“Uh, Omar…if you see her or if you hear from her, please let me know. Let me know she’s okay…”
“Yes,” he said.
Kate had his full attention. Her mouth was stretched over the end of his hard cock. She stroked him with one hand and she was holding his balls in her other hand, squeezing them hard.
“And Omar—I don’t know…be careful with her.”
He whispered into the phone, “Careful?”
She was going to make him come. He was going to come in her mouth while he talked to her husband. He felt dizzy.
“Yeah, mate. I don’t know how to say it—watch your back with her, if you—”
“I will,” he said, and he had to close it off. He hung up and dropped his phone. He watched Kate milking him with her lips. Her small hand clutched around his fat organ. She was squeezing his balls too hard. She held his eyes. Her flawless face was lit up by the afternoon light coming through the window behind him. Her breaths were short and lusty, her enthusiasm was pulling him closer and closer. She made encouraging noises in her throat, yeahs, and uh-huhs. She wanted him to come in her mouth. She was so incredible.
He roared out as he erupted, and she stroked him furiously and drank his semen. She never took his eyes from his. He lost control. He was on the very edge of blacking out. He fell back on the bed and closed his eyes. There was no one like her.
Her hand loosened its tight grip on his testicles and she still held him in her mouth, still sucking him. He groaned and sat up. She let it fall from her mouth and slap on to his belly. She ran her hand along the underside of it. The way he was hunched the tip came up to his sternum. She smoothed it with her hand, her wedding rings glinting in the light. She was admiring his size. He loved how she loved his cock. Her hand nursed his big injured balls and then she smiled.
“Come here,” he said.
“I hope I didn’t interrupt your call,” she said.
He helped her up from between his legs until she lay on his chest, her head over his. He caressed her soft skin, felt her back and her rump and her thighs. He stared into her and she didn’t look away. What was it she wanted? Why was she here? He felt something huge for her. Looking into her eyes quickened his pulse.
“I’m taking you out,” he said.
“You are?”
“Lets have a shower, I want to take you out for dinner, we can get you some clean clothes.”
“That would be nice.” She put her head down on his chest. He played with her hair. This was the dirtiest he’d seen her. She was always so clean and manicured, she practically shone. Her hair was dull and greasy in his hand, he could smell her scalp. He preferred it. This was how she truly was. She was dirty. She was an animal. The greatest, dirtiest thrill he’d get from her was unwrapping her pretty covers. Taking off those expensive silks, her Chanel and Gucci, her soft leathers, and seeing what was underneath. She was clean and perfumed, gleaming, but when you looked in her panties she was a woman. She didn’t groom down there. She was a princess to everyone until you were ready to fuck her. Then you saw her animal parts. Her thatch of fur that smelled from her own dampness. Long dark hair that you had to part to find her dusky, furled lips. He hugged her tightly to him.
She’d left Mitch. She’d left her husband and come to him.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s not think about anything. We’ll go have some fun somewhere. Let’s get out of here. Don’t think about it, let’s just do it.”
7
Torero
Omar drove them inland from Frontignan in his BMW for almost an hour. The sun was going down and they stayed mostly in silence, Kate looking out the window at the pastoral landscape until the light had faded and all she could see was the flash of long grass at the shoulder of the dirt roads.
It was fully dark when they got to where they were going. The dirt road that had been virtually empty for the last half hour was suddenly slowed to a halt, jammed with traffic. She could see up ahead there was a man with a reflective vest on and he seemed to be directing the traffic.
“This it?” She asked him.
He told her this was it. It was a local festival he’d told her; a market, dancing, drinking, even a bullfight.The scruffy man in the vest shoved a baton off to his left when they got to him. Omar drove onto the shoulder and into a grassy field filled with banged up country looking vehicles. Muddy cars, little pick-ups with shoddy caps over the beds; and country folk were milling about, getting themselves together, already drinking.
He parked and they got out and he took her hand to walk her through the grass. He headed off on a different angle than the flow of people, and she asked him where he was taking her.
“Come and see,” he said.
They walked into the tree line, and through the bushes she could see something lit up on the other side. She had a hard time understanding what she was looking at. There was a tall iron fence in the bushes and on the other side she could see a stone sculpture. Something ancient looking.
“What is it?”
He crouched down to her level and pointed through to the other side, drawing with his finger what he was describing. “See it? That’s the face of a lion. This is a Roman city on the other side. That was a bathhouse and the water flowed from the lion’s mouth.”
She peered through, saw it take shape now her mind had a reference. She could see it. A low stone wall and the head of a lion. The low wall must have been the edge of the pool.
“How old is it?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Before Christ,” he said. She looked past the lion and could see the walls of an ancient place, columns beyond th
e walls, then a rocky cliff at the back.
“That is amazing,” she said.
He pulled her gently to him, held her against his side. She put an arm around his waist.
“Come on, let’s get to the party,” he said.
He walked her through the field and she could see in the distance where they were going. The music was loud even this far from the fair. She could see there was a ferris wheel, some other rusted ride that spun people in cups around and around in circles. There were hundreds of people down there. The place was lit up with tall poles and countless strings of bare incandescent bulbs. There was more but it was obscured by tall pine trees and hills and rocks.
Omar bought them tickets and a woman next to the chipped little hut where you paid grabbed her wrist and stamped her hand with the rough, red silhouette of a cartoon bull. It was lowered, ready to charge with a puff coming from its nostrils. Omar took her around her waist and they walked in together. She looked up at him as they passed through the crowds. He was so handsome, more so even amongst this crowd of seedy country people. She looked at the gentle light the way it lit up his face, his thick scruffy beard. The lights from the flashing merry-go-round danced in his beautiful, dark eyes. She couldn’t believe she was here with him. This was so wrong.
Every section of the fair that they passed had its own pounding soundtrack blaring from a deafening klaxon. One moment it was Celine Dion, then it was some American rock from the Fifties. The lights, the sound, the people—being with Omar—it was so overwhelming. She felt like she was outside her body, enjoying watching herself make the biggest mistake of her life.
Being here in the country made her anxious. These were rough people and they would walk cattle or goats right along the main paths and she would feel a panic wash over her. Flashes of poor teeth, black eyes, vacant and uncaring, laughter and foreign shouting. She pushed herself into Omar and he held her as they walked along corralled goats, past judges with clipboards trying to gauge the finest specimens. Her expensive shoes squished in manure and soft earth. She felt like she might pass out. She put a hand on Omar and he could see she wasn’t well. He walked her to the side and looked in her eyes. She looked away, feeling suddenly too raw to deal with herself, what she had done to end up here. They were off to the edge of an intersection, two pathways where competing flows of traffic met, and they tried to sort themselves out. They were off to the side though, out of the way and somehow quiet now they were out of the throng. Omar took her by her hips and lifted her up onto the rail of a fence that lined the path. She looked down at him and she managed a smile. He put his arms around her waist and she pulled his head into her. They were underneath an enormous oak tree, with low long branches that went over the paths. She looked up into it and breathed deeply, watched a lost red balloon with a long thin ribbon bob, trapped up in the canopy of the tree.
There was a commotion on the street, everyone’s attention had been captured, and some started a cheer. They were looking down the path that led behind her back. She turned to see what was the fuss. There was a truck inching along, squeezing between the people who could barely get out of the way. It was an ancient but well cared for pick up truck. Maybe a Citroen or something, it was painted a soft glossy yellow. Standing in the back was a man and next to him a very pretty young teenage girl holding an enormous bouquet of flowers. They were both waving to the crowd, the man very stoically, proudly, while the girl waved and shook her arm like a kid does with a big smile on her face.
“The matador?”
“Torero,” Omar said.
“Torero,” she repeated, liking the way it sounded as she watched the truck creep along past them, the two figures floating above the whistling and cheering crowd. The torero was dressed head to toe in a strawberry milkshake pink. He was beautiful. Tall and slim, olive skinned, with a pencil thin moustache. She felt like she was sitting here in a different time. His tights hugged him like skin, leaving nothing to the imagination, and he had a perfect rump, round and flexed under the hem of his short jacket with the rosy ruffles. He had one leg up, his foot on the shallow lip of the truck bed under the back window; he reminded her a bit of Napoleon. The little girl had a colourful gown on, in her free hand she was waving a tiny flag of Portugal.
They watched the truck pass, swallowed up by the crowd, until it disappeared down the other side under the tall trees.
“Come, let’s get a drink,” Omar said, and he helped her down off the fence.
They danced slowly, their bodies pressed very tightly together under an ancient Roman archway lit up beyond the trees. She was drunk on Muscat. They had danced for an hour, some fast, but now slow and it felt good to press herself into his strong, masculine body. She looked up and kissed him, bit at his lip. She held him tighter and put her ear against his chest.The dance area was just a grassy square roped off with long elaborate ribbons in two shades of blue. There were lots of couples out there with them but she felt quite alone with him. They’d had one and a half bottles of something the man they bought it from called Rivesaltes, trying to enthusiastically communicate with Kate how great the product was but he spoke no English. Omar said it was a grenache. It was spicy but very sweet and you could tell it was a very strong wine. She felt like she was floating through the grass with Omar. She didn’t ever want to go home.
His big hands felt warm and strong on her back and she started to get that urge pulling at her, she just felt so fine. She looked up into his eyes and he smiled at her. She kissed him again.
There was an announcement through the speaker. The emcee was a short heavy woman in a frilly gown and she was letting everyone know something. There was movement in the dance area, people getting themselves together. The people watching the dancers, sitting around the edges at picnic tables and drinking started to stand and talk.
“It’s time for the bull,” Omar said.
“It is,” Kate agreed, and she ran a hand from his waist over his rump and inside his thigh. She felt him bristle as she came up and squeezed him through his pant leg. Omar looked around but there weren’t any spectators now, too much commotion. He put his mouth over hers and kissed her deeply. She ran her hand over his bulge, felt it a bit firmer under her fingers.
He squeezed her arms and pulled his lips from her. He said, “Kate, I can’t hide it in these pants.”
She smiled at him and bit her lip feeling very devilish. She looked down and she could see it through the fabric. He was wearing a pair of snug khaki work pants and a tight black T-shirt. That tremendous thing he had between his legs was clearly pushing out the fabric, making itself known to everyone down one leg of his pants.
She left it, and closed her eyes and kissed him again. She could feel his slight hardness against her soft belly. She could kiss him for another hour.
“Let’s go watch the bull,” he said. She was going any where he was going so she put her hand in his back pocket and let him escort her out of the dance.
They followed the crowd and soon they got to a makeshift bull ring. There was collapsible stadium seating in a circle around some fence posts and boards arranged to keep the bull in. They were still stuck in the crowd, waiting for their chance to get into this pieced together little stadium. There was a tall cutout in wood of a bull, like her stamp, but it had to be fifteen feet tall. It was lit up by five flaming torches planted into the ground around its feet. It looked like the bouquet that the young girl had carried next to the torero was thrown there too. They walked around it and Omar took her hand and led her away from the entrance, off to the side and under the scaffolding that held up the stadium benches. They ducked under and made their way along until they had to crouch, then he squeezed through under a bench and he was in the stadium. Flashbacks of teenage groping, of skipping school with two boys, drinking pints of Newcastle under the steps to the football stadium and touching bare bodies and kissing. He turned and held his hand to her. She took it and he pulled her through to the other side. They were inside the seating now, feet
from the edge of the ring. The place was packed and lit up bright by tall poles with rows and rows of high powered white lighting. The place was smoky and hazy even though it was outside. Omar took her hand again and they made their way to stand right at the edge. They were at ground level, they would be eye to eye with the bulls and the toreros in the ring. Her heart raced. There was a torero out there now and he was bowing to the crowd. He wasn’t the shapely Portuguese one, the one everyone was here to see, but he was still striking. Dressed in the same tight garb, this one in the three colours of the French flag. He seemed popular with the locals. Omar squeezed Kate close to him and then got her right in front of him so she was face to face with the action. Someone released the bull and the French torero didn’t see it happen. He bowed and turned and did it again a little to his left, he couldn’t see the bull charging from behind. Kate yelled out, she couldn’t hear her own voice over the cheers of the others. She felt Omar’s hands tighten on her shoulders and she grimaced. But the torero spun at the last second, like he’d known all along. She couldn’t help but cheer for him.
They watched the man out there as he studied the bull, waving his cape for it and dancing around it. She couldn’t believe how thrilling it was. She was horrified to think how it was going to end but she was powerless to change this ancient cultural practice right now so she was going to succumb to it. Embrace the horror of it.
She folded her arm behind her while she watched, Omar was up against her back, his chin above the top of her head. She felt him with her hand. Ran it over his stomach and over his belt then between his legs. He moved his bulge into her hand now, wanting it to be touched this time. She squeezed it through the fabric, felt his wonderful size in her little grip.
The Frenchman continued to dance with the bull. The crowd roared with him and there were French flags everywhere, big ones and small ones that people fluttered in their drunken hands. The torero dodged another close one and the crowd went wild. Kate had never seen a bullfight before. Was this part of it? Was it supposed to be so close?