I arranged to meet Simone at the usual place. The park was quiet, autumn colours were ablaze in the low sun, a few dog walkers dotted the huge swathe of green lawn that rose up to the rose terraces. I walked around the sweep of steps up towards the orangery and the pagoda cafe enjoying the way the late morning sunshine warmed my face.
Simone sat at the far outside table against the wall. Wrapped in a huge white fur coat, she looked like a villain in a Bond movie. ‘So how was the party?’
‘All the better for your abscence darling’
‘Cheeky old queen!’
‘And less of the old please. You’re only bitter because you didn’t get an invite and besides you’d have hated it. The usual old hooray crowd and a hoard of new student intake for the old vampires to suck on. Anyways how come you weren’t invited?’ ‘Jealousy as usual I suppose. Emily’s been weird with me ever since the Midsummer thing.’
‘Moresome more like, I lost track. It’s hardly my fault if I end up as the main event is it?’
‘You know what she’s like, when it’s her show, it’s her show. Anyway this turned into something of an event for yours truly.
You remember that boy on the train that I told you about?’
‘Oh your latest obsession, the pre-rascal or whatever’
‘Pre-Raphaelite actually. Yes him, he was there’
‘He just appeared right there in front of me, next thing I know he’s mine’
‘Dammit Josh you get all the luck, including mine’
‘Bollocks! You make Elizabeth Bathory look chaste’
‘Hungarian countess, sixteenth century. Went through the neighbourhood peasant girls like a rapacious dragon. Bit of a sadist though, she killed them all when she’d done’
‘Bastard!’ Simone’s high pitched shriek of a laugh shattered the tranquility, the only other people at the tables, a couple in their seventies turned at us and stared. Unblinking, it was if we had disturbed two cows grazing in a field.
‘Details please. You know your kind of shit turns me on. Did you fuck?’
‘No. This one’s not the usual. He’s very different in fact and I want all of him. He likes to play games Simone and you know
I’m a fucker for a challenge. There’s something about him that I can’t pin down although obviously I had a good try’
‘Oooh Mr butch’
If I had been straight I would have totally fancied Simone. She was exceptional for a Sloany Londoner in that she was anything but superficial. OK she was posh, mega-posh, dressed the part, acted the part but she loved stories. Indulging her hungry imagination in whatever way she could find. We had met through Emily, not unusual as most people we knew did but had developed a fascination with one and others’ lives. For her part I was something very different to most of the men in her usual circles and for mine she brought me out of myself in some way. Almost like some sort of mystical character. A wicked queen from a fairytale.
For the benefit of her vicarious lusting I tripped through the tryst with Marcus in the study one more time.
Although this time I embroidered the story with an extra detail, just for her. At the point where Marcus started coming for the second time I said that I had poured the remains of the bottle of pink liqueur down over his cock and balls. I said that the burning sensation of the alcohol had caused him to cry out but made him come harder as I gripped his hard stem and worked it without mercy. Worked it until he was a twitching marionette in my fist, lost to the crashing surge of his own orgasmic thrill.
That seems to do the trick for her.
Later back at the house, after a deep bath and shrouded in my long robe I rewrote the scene a second time.
Drawing it out I moved through every detail. The feel of him in my hand, hard but still swelling against my grip. The rise of
his tightening balls into his groin. I listened to his pleading voice in my mind, ‘See what you’re doing to me.’ Those words, ‘what you’re doing to me’ were fire to my own stiffening dick. It forced it’s way upwards through the heavy folds of the robe and emerged like a spring shoot demanding light and warmth. I teased it, moving gently so that the underside of the glans lightly brushed the fabric, slowly fucking thin air. An image of his face, teasing, goading me as he spread himself out on that huge chesterfield sofa. Firelight flickering in his dark almost wholly black, obsidian eyes. That achingly proud cock, scimitar curved upwards and against his taut stomach. I imagined him here and now into this room watching me, a lurking feline presence in the armchair opposite. I played to him, offering my thick club of a cock for his appraisal, sliding my hand up, over and down it’s huge profile. His mouth fell open, tongue slowly moving out over his upper lip and eyes sinking half lidded his long low moan reverberated around the room. The waves rippled around the base of my cock and I was coming. Huge gulps of the hot stuff fountaining out and streaming over my hand. His mouth pressed down on mine, his fingers raked down my chest and sides,
‘Marcus…’, the name hung through the last ragged gasps of my climax.