Eighty Days Yellow Page 13

  Her body moved imperceptibly in response to his words. The most minuscule signs of arousal, but unmistakeable, he thought. She would ask him to fuck her.

  Of that he was almost certain. And he was in no rush.

  Dominik waited.

  ‘Touch me. Please.’

  At last.

  He stepped back, satisfied by the desperation, the need, in her voice.

  ‘First, you will play.’

  Summer’s body shook with thwarted desire. She straightened, slowly, knowing he was toying with her and helpless to defend herself.

  She moved back to the circle of light and finally turned to face him.

  ‘An improvisation on the themes of Mendelssohn’s Fingal’s Cave,’ she said, taking a delicate bow in his direction. Then Summer bent her knees and, with all the grace she could summon in such a state of undress, extended her hand to pick up the violin case she had settled on the ground. Still partly crouching, she opened it and took out the Bailly.

  She knew his gaze was fixed on her genitals, as if the voyeur inside him was hoping that as she crouched, her cunt lips might yawn open ever so slightly and betray her growing wetness. At the mere thought of this, her whole body temperature rose, banishing the returning cold of the crypt.

  The yellow-orange varnish of the vintage instrument almost shimmered under the concentrated ray of light in which Summer was bathed. She adjusted her grip on the bow, launched into the piece, her eyes closed.

  In her imagination, every time she played this particular music, it evoked waves breaking against a rocky shore of Scandinavian-fjord ruggedness, spume rising like mist in the air against a background of grey and windy skies. For Summer, every piece of music owned its own landscape and it was to these places she was often transported when she played, born on exotic winds on journeys of the mind. She knew the real-world Fingal’s Cave was associated with the Giant’s Causeway, but she had seen neither place in real life. Sometimes the imagination was reward enough.

  She felt her ragged breathing slow, her body relax. Time came to a halt.

  Beyond the hypnotic wall of the music and her self-chosen blindness – for which she required no blindfold – she could sense Dominik’s presence. The loudness of his silence, the muted distant sound of his breathing. She knew he was watching her, not only listening to every note she was bringing to life, but aware that his piercing eyes were travelling across the geometry of her body like an explorer investigates unmapped lands, pinning her to his imaginary map like a lepidopterist takes ownership of a butterfly, enjoying the vulnerability of her nudity, the gift of her body.

  Finally, with a superfluous wrist movement full of showmanship, Summer came to the conclusion of her improvisation. There was a further instant of sound, as the echo of the melody kept on bouncing between the stone walls, before the utter silence returned, a silence so deep that she briefly thought she was now on her own in the crypt. When she opened her eyes, however, she saw Dominik, rooted to the same spot where she had last seen him, immobile, with a faint smile of pleasure colouring his lips.

  His hands rose and he clapped slowly, with deliberation and appreciation.

  ‘Bravo,’ he said.

  Summer nodded, accepting his compliment as if she were on a stage.

  She leaned over to set the precious violin down on the stone floor, conscious of the fact her breasts would sway, come alive.

  She looked at Dominik again, awaiting further words, but he remained silent.

  Her lips were dry and she passed her tongue across them. She thought the heat radiating from her body must form some sort of halo around her, like an extra-terrestrial in a science-fiction movie or a nuclear scientist who’d just been irradiated by leaked radioactive waste following some atomic catastrophe.

  ‘Exquisite,’ Dominik finally remarked.

  ‘Me, or the music?’ Summer asked tartly.

  ‘Both.’

  ‘That’s kind of you,’ she said. ‘Can I dress now?’ she asked.

  His gaze was unwavering. ‘No.’

  With the grace and latent danger of a panther stalking its prey, Dominik moved towards her. Summer looked up, her eyes met his. Face to face she refused to cede her position, felt once more waves of excruciating heat pass through her at their closeness.

  Dominik gripped her shoulder, spun her on the spot and pushed her forward past him, so that she now faced the crypt wall. He set a hand down against the small of her back to accentuate the arch formed by her pelvis and her jutting arse.

  His touch sent a lightning bolt of pleasure rocketing through her body.

  She wanted to turn her head to look at him, but knew he would disapprove. Her eyes were fixed on the stone floor, a fuzzy upside-down vision of the delta of her open legs, and the protruding lips of her cunt in the periphery of her vision.

  She heard a shuffling movement, tried to interpret it and, before she knew what was happening, felt the heat of his cock against her opening, so close, almost touching, he must be no more than a hair’s breadth away.

  If Summer adjusted her position, just ever so slightly, pushed back a fraction, she would feel him inside her. But he had not yet asked her to.

  ‘Is this what you want?’ Dominik said. ‘Tell me.’

  ‘Yes,’ she whispered. She was uncertain of her ability to hold back a moan if she spoke any louder.

  ‘Yes, what?’

  Summer would not wait any longer. She pressed her body back against him, but she had barely moved, had scarcely felt his head pulse once at her entrance, when in one swift movement Dominik had his hand wrapped in her hair and was jerking her forward again, away from his shaft.

  ‘No,’ he said hoarsely. ‘I want you to ask me for it. Tell me what you want.’

  ‘Fuck me. Please fuck me. I want you to fuck me.’

  His hand gripped her hair and he pulled her back again, breaching her in one swift, rapid movement. The heavy lubrication she had been secreting made it all too easy for him to invest her to her full depth in an instant.

  She surrendered to the sensation, enjoying the way he filled her, wondering whether he was already fully extended or would grow larger and harder inside her as some men often did. At any rate, he felt quite wonderfully large already.

  He began to thrust.

  The fit was perfect, she reflected idly, abandoning herself to the sensations beginning to flood her whole body, while his hand on her waist maintained her exposed position.

  ‘Say it again,’ Dominik said, feeling the way she tightened round him in response to his instruction, spearing her again with one hard, almost brutal push, hitting her inner walls like a battering ram.

  ‘Oh,’ was the only word she could find in response.

  ‘We’re fucking,’ he said.

  ‘Yes,’ she sighed, ‘I know.’

  ‘And is this what you wanted?’

  She nodded her head in acquiescence, just as a further hard thrust almost propelled her forehead against the crypt’s stone wall.

  ‘Answer,’ he said.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Yes, what?’

  ‘Yes, it’s what I wanted.’

  ‘And what did you want?’

  Yes, he was growing inside her, stretching her, stuffing her. Forcing her inner walls into retreat.

  ‘I wanted you to fuck me.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I’m a slut.’

  ‘Good.’

  His intensive rhythm accelerated. There was nothing subtle about this, they both knew; it was animal lust at its most basic, but it was right for the moment.

  For their first time.

  The rush, the hunger that had stood between them these past few weeks was finally out in the open, expressing itself.

  He took hold of her hair again, aggressively pulling it back with one hand, riding her, mounting her as one would a horse. Summer gasped. Uncommon feelings were rushing across her mind, full of confusion and even a sense of panic. The encounter was scary but also we
lcome. In a flash, she realised he was not wearing a condom. She was being used raw, bareback. Even with Darren she always insisted on his cock being sheathed. But it was too late for that now, and she had known, had felt the bare skin of his cock waiting for her to respond. It could always be remedied later; there were pills for that, she knew.

  She felt Dominik’s breath grow halting, irregular.

  As he came like a torrent inside her, he also slammed his open left hand against her arse cheek with terrible strength. The violence of the sting was instant and painful, until the sensation quickly settled, although she knew that the mark of his fingers across her pale butt cheeks would linger for hours on end.

  He stayed inside her for an added minute or so and then withdrew. Summer felt as if she was now hollow, no longer invaded, filled to the brim. Incomplete even. She began to straighten herself, but the firm touch of his hand against the small of her back indicated that Dominik wanted her to remain in the same position, still wide open and on display.

  Summer wore an inner smile: Dominik was a man who came in silence. Summer made a clear distinction between the quiet men and the chatterboxes. She’d always preferred the former kind. In the throes of lust, there was a right time and a wrong time for words.

  At which point, Dominik said, ‘I can see my come dripping out of you, down the inside of your thighs, dotting your pubic hair, painting your skin shiny . . . It’s the most exhilarating of visions.’

  ‘Isn’t it obscene?’ Summer ventured.

  ‘On the contrary, it’s beautiful. I will never forget it. If I had a camera right now, I would photograph it.’

  ‘And blackmail me later? Bruises and all?’

  ‘Maybe the marks add to the effect,’ Dominik remarked.

  ‘Would you have . . . wanted me had I not displayed the bruises?’ Summer asked.

  ‘Absolutely,’ he indicated. ‘Get up now. Gather your stuff, and the violin. I’m taking you back to my house.’

  ‘What if I had other plans?’ Summer asked, scrambling for her dress.

  ‘You don’t,’ Dominik said, and out of the corner of her eye, Summer saw him tightening his black leather trouser belt. She’d been fucked but still hadn’t seen his cock.

  Dominik’s house smelled of books. Past the front door, following him down the initial corridor lined by shelves, all Summer could note were the parallel rows of books packed close together and the rainbow of colours from the spines facing outwards racing by in her wake. Passing a succession of open doors on both sides of the corridor, she noted that every other room was lined with bookshelves. Outside of bookshops, she had never seen so many books in one place in her whole life. She wondered if he had read them all.

  ‘No,’ he said.

  ‘No what?’

  ‘No, I haven’t read them all. That’s what you were thinking, wasn’t it?’

  Could he read her mind, or was that the first thought anyone had who entered this house?

  Before she could ponder this point any longer, she felt an arm under her legs, and another supporting her back, as Dominik lifted her into the air. He carried her down through the hall to his study, kicked the door open and went straight to his desk, setting her down in the middle of its large wooden surface, completely clear of clutter other than a pot filled with pens, a pile of papers in one corner, and a desk lamp, a conical light on a moveable stem.

  She sat facing him, nervously, the smells of the crypt and their rough fuck still lingering on her body under the crumpled fabric of her black dress.

  ‘Pull up your dress,’ he said, ‘and spread your legs apart.’

  Summer complied, now acutely aware of her bare arse on his desk, and her unwashed state, of the secretions that filled her, which he had not yet allowed her to wipe away.

  He grabbed hold of each of her thighs around her buttocks and pulled her towards him, so that her bum rested just on the edge of the desk. Then he turned to the low bed behind them, against the wall (A bed in the study, thought Summer, strange man), and took a pillow, lifted her head gently and placed it beneath her. He pulled the desk lamp over, switched it on and set it directly over her cunt.

  Summer drew a breath. She had never been so open, so on display. She was no prude, insisting on darkened rooms, lights switched firmly off, but this was another level of exhibitionism entirely.

  He pulled up his office chair, sat in it, stared at the wetness of her sex, still open, relaxed after his previous attentions.

  ‘Play with yourself,’ he said. ‘I want to watch.’

  Summer hesitated. This was infinitely more intense, more personal, than fucking. She barely knew this man, but it aroused her so much, at the same time, her legs so obscenely spread, a spotlight on her most intimate parts.

  Dominik leaned back, his eyes fixed on her, his expression a combination of concentration and interest, as her fingers expertly navigated the intimate geography of her inner and outer folds, the firm, quick circles of her clitoris, the movement of her hand as skilful and precisely orchestrated as it had been on her violin.

  He observed with interest as she responded to his comments and his instructions, requests for her to speed up or slow down, promises of what he was going to do to her. It was one of these promises that made her come in a rush, a soft moan escaping her lips and her body, shuddering. From his perfect vantage point, he could see the muscles of her vagina spasming, could tell she wasn’t faking it, not that he had thought that she would.

  He lifted her up again, into an embrace, wrapping her legs round his waist, her wet pussy hot against his still clothed body.

  ‘Kiss me,’ he said.

  His lips were soft, unusually so for a guy, she thought.

  While his tongue gently created a passage for itself past her lips, grazing the barrier of her teeth, until it reached her own tongue and she felt herself interlacing with his, Summer felt his hand tugging on the black dress’s zip and loosening its constraint. The kiss continued and now she could taste him, a jumbled cocktail of impressions with no dominant note, the lingering Tic Tac-mint wind on his breath, the masculine vigour of his closeness. There was no trace of perfume or aftershave to tickle her nose. Like entering a new territory, a strange country she had never explored before.

  ‘Arms up,’ he demanded,

  He pulled the dress up over her head, ruffling her tousled hair in the process, tilted her backwards so that she was forced to lower her legs to stand on the floor again as his hands began to travel across her now bare skin, caressing, testing, leaving no inch untouched across her back, her shoulders, her bruised arse.

  As he did this, his other hand held her chin in its loose grip, bringing her lips back into contact with his for a second kiss, but had the first kiss even stopped, been interrupted? She hadn’t noticed.

  He pushed her down on the bed.

  Summer flopped back, watching as he undressed. Shirt first, followed by his trousers, which he kicked away, and then his black boxer shorts. Summer caught a sight of his penis, thick, extended, veiny.

  He pulled her to the edge of the bed, where he kneeled down, parted her legs at an acute angle, and ran the tip of his finger slowly from the inside of her ankle up to her inner thigh and deliciously close to her cunt. Her body quivered in response to his touch. Dominik placed his lips on the smooth skin of her upper leg, teasing her with kisses placed everywhere but where she wanted them. Summer moaned in anticipation, arching towards him. He pulled back, made her wait an agonising moment before burying his face in her mound. She sighed with ill-disguised ecstasy, shuddering as his tongue began to navigate her lips.

  For a brief moment, she recoiled from his steady ardour. She was dirty, had just been fucked, had not yet had the opportunity to clean herself, but then remembered he was the one who had mounted her, and if he wasn’t bothered, then why should she be?

  The buzz his tongue was providing intensified until it was all she could concentrate on, all thoughts of the world, her situation, faded into oblivion, floa
ting, flying, out of control, hovering between night and day, life and death, the zone where nothing else but sensations mattered, where pleasure and pain merged in blissful forgetfulness.

  Finally, he emerged from the dark triangle of her cunt, rose above her on the bed and positioned his cock above her.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, and, still silent, Dominik entered her, and once again she was filled to the brim, the hardy girth of his cock stretching her cunt lips apart, bruising her walls wide with his steady assault.

  This continued for an eternity while his hands kept on roving shamelessly across every nook and cranny, public and daringly private, of her body, orchestrating the progression of their desire. His tongue darted one moment inside her ear, and the next moment in the hollow of her neck, teeth delicately nibbling a lobe, a finger tugging a loose hair, another hand gripping her buttocks, and then two (how many hands did he have?), holding her butt cheeks briefly apart. In and out of her Dominik travelled, and with every stroke it was just like another stair to an unknown but alluring destination conquered.

  There was no doubt in her mind that Dominik was skilful, a man who could take her rough or play with her slowly as he was doing now. How many other faces would he reveal?

  Finally, Dominik came. With a loud roar. Just a sound from a distant jungle, no particular words she could seize.

  Summer sighed as his movements inside her and outside her gradually slowed and he caught his breath again.

  So not Mr Silent any longer . . .

  7

  A Girl and a Maid

  It was early evening now, and the late seasonal sun cast a warm glow over Dominik’s face, bathing him in a light that didn’t suit him. Haloed unnaturally by the last pale rays drifting down from a steadily darkening sky, he gave the impression that he didn’t quite fit into the normal world, though by all accounts he seemed to operate perfectly well in it. Maybe it was just that his dark, earthy features aligned better with cooler weather. Dominik was attractive, no doubt about that, but he had looked better, I thought, in the pallor of the crypt.

  He was leaning casually against the doorway, his body casting a long shadow over the front porch, where I now stood, one step below him, preparing to make my departure. I had told him that I had to work that night, although I didn’t, circumnavigating any awkwardness that might arise if he invited me to stay over. Or didn’t invite me to stay over.