Secret Surrender Page 3

  ‘I am afraid I do not have the money to give you the generous tip you deserve,’ he said. His hand tightened around her. Alice was about to protest: he was beginning to hurt her and she could feel a throbbing in her hand where he was cutting off the blood supply. It mirrored the throbbing between her legs. ‘You see, I don’t have much money. And with the money I do have, I need to take you out to dinner tonight.’

  Alice felt she might faint with happiness and apprehension. Her voice let her down again and all she could do was nod.

  ‘I will come back here to pick you up at ten o’clock,’ he said. It was a command, not a question. Alice did a series of calculations. That just about gave her enough time to go home, change out of her work clothes, shower and slip on a simple summer dress. She nodded her consent.

  ‘What is your name?’

  This time Alice found her voice. ‘I’m Alice,’ she said.

  ‘We need to know each other, Alice.’ Again there was no room for argument. ‘My name’s Jacques.’ His grip on her tightened even harder. Alice felt the beginning of pins and needles in her fingers and the little pile of coins in her fist grew warm and damp with her sweat. Then he let her go, and pushed her away, leaving her with a somersaulting stomach, numb hand and a clit which seemed to beat between her legs like a tiny heart.

  Alice had rushed straight home from the café. She was dripping with sweat by the time she came through her studio door. She turned on the ceiling fan, which whirred and clanked and sent dust flying around the room, but the breeze it gave out was the only way she could bear to spend any length of time in her poky little studio. In the shower – this was in the days before Alice had become so fond of her long baths, but even if there had been a bath tub in that grotty little apartment, she would not have wanted to soak in it – Alice soaped every inch of her body, astonished at how her sensitive skin responded to her own touch. Her sudsy hand between her legs found a sensitive spot which made her cry out when she touched it. This new secret button was a revelation to her. She washed away all the juices that had dampened her panties over the last few hours, and was astonished to find that even as she towelled herself off she was producing more.

  The images of things that she wanted to do to Jacques and the things that she wanted him to do to her were constantly playing in her head. It was as though she were trapped in a pornographic cinema where the film was played on a loop and she was the star as well as the audience member. In these constantly moving, flickering images, Alice saw herself face down on a bed, biting the pillow as Jacques’ body, lean, sinewy and hard, moved on top of her. She saw her legs wrapped around his strong brown neck and his nose gently nuzzling her clit while his tongue fucked her pussy. When it came to sucking his dick, or having him penetrate her, the images became fuzzy and vague, as though pixelated by a censor. Alice had never been interested in the pornographic films and magazines that her schoolfriends had purloined from their boyfriends and brothers and watched in fits of screaming giggles. So she had no real idea what a hard-on looked like up close, and less idea what she would do with one. Would Jacques be able to tell that she had never had a lover before? If he guessed, would he care?

  Alice pulled a pair of tiny lacy panties over her hips. They were sodden within seconds. She wore no bra, and slipped a simple turquoise sundress over her head, enjoying the feeling of the silk against her nipples. The bodice was fitted at the waist and the skirt flared out at the knee. When she had first bought it, Alice had fancied herself as the prim fifties starlet. But tonight she wore it with a different attitude, and even this innocent dress looked wanton and daring.

  Alice turned off the ceiling fan and the light in her bedroom before making her way up the staircase that led to the front door. A shadeless light bulb swung on the ground-floor landing. Moths and mosquitoes danced a suicidal tango around its flickering glare. Alice took one last chance to catch her reflection in the age-spotted hallway mirror. Her fair hair was damply piled up on top of her head but already almost dry. She wore no make-up – she never did then – but her excitement had widened her pupils, giving her eyes a dark, dangerous glint, brought a blush to her cheeks and subtly swollen and darkened her lips.

  As she tucked a stray tendril of hair behind her ear, she heard heavy footfalls coming down the stairs above her head. Her upstairs neighbours remained a complete mystery to her and if they were anything like as unpleasant as her immediate neighbour she didn’t want to get to know them. As Alice fumbled with the bolt on the front door, the footsteps behind her came to a dead halt and there was a sharp intake of breath behind her. She froze. And then she heard her name spoken in a voice that was already as familiar to her as her own.

  ‘Alice.’ She turned around slowly, wondering how he had got into her building. Had he followed her? He asked her the same question. ‘How did you know I lived here? How did you get in?’ Then he saw her key, exactly the same as his, the same distinctive key fob and chunky bronze key which opened the master lock of the front door. They both realised at exactly the same time what had happened. Alice laughed with delight at the coincidence; Jacques did not crack a smile.

  ‘Fate,’ he said, nodding to himself. ‘I should have known.’ He descended the remaining few stairs. Alice noticed that while she had showered, he had not. The smell of his fresh sweat was sweeter to her than any cologne. Alice began to shiver uncontrollably and knew that they would never make it out to dinner.

  Jacques placed one broad, masculine hand on Alice’s right breast and cupped it. His hands dwarfed her small tits but even as he gently stroked the fabric of her dress, they began to come alive under his touch. Her nipples were so swollen now that they were almost as large as her breasts, bulging and puffy and pushing out the turquoise silk. With his thumb, he traced a circle around the swollen bud, watching Alice’s face as she closed her eyes. Sliding his hand underneath her dress and sighing as the shoulder strap fell down to expose her right breast, Jacques suddenly clamped the nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Alice felt weak and strong at the same time.

  ‘Come with me,’ he said, and with Alice’s nipple still gripped between his fingers, he turned around and walked up the stairs, leading her by the tender tip of her tit up three flights of stairs. He pulled the swollen nipple, stretching the tiny breast away from Alice’s body, and his hand on her naked flesh felt like fire or ice, she couldn’t tell which. The heat and wetness between her legs increased with every step up the rickety, dirty staircase. When he let go of her to let himself into his room, the pert flesh bounced back and he watched as her breast bobbed a couple of times like a buoy on the sea. Her rosy nipple had darkened to the colour of fuschia petals, and the swollen bud was marked with his fingerprints. Alice stood waiting, her whole body turned into a mass of hot liquid, unable to do anything until she felt his hands on her flesh again.

  Jacques’ room was high up enough to be able to escape the smells from the street and he had left the window wide open. A single sheer white curtain billowed in the evening breeze, but it was too dark to see anything else. The room smelt of his hair and skin and cigarettes. He took a lighter from his pocket and the single tiny flame soon gave life to a dozen candles, gently illuminating the darkness. Alice could make out a futon, carelessly draped with a petrol-blue chinoiserie bedspread. There were three mismatched chairs and a coffee table. Books. Piles and piles of paper. And lots of black wires and electronic equipment that meant nothing to Alice.

  ‘I write,’ said Jacques, as though those two words summed up everything that happened in this room and everything he was. And again, he turned to Alice with that intense stare that paralysed her with fear and desire.

  Alice’s nerves returned. She had planned on spending a couple of hours talking to Jacques and eating and drinking with him before finding herself in this situation. She was suddenly aware that she was desperately hungry and would have given anything for a glass of wine. She felt that she was about to lose control of her body. Jacques seemed to sense this.
He cupped her pale face in his hands. Alice felt her whole body turn to milk as he leaned in for their first kiss. His lips were soft and dry on hers, but his tongue was wet and probing, and he forced open her lips and deftly began to explore the cave of her mouth. Alice responded to his kisses with her own ravenous bites: as their mouths moved together in perfect understanding, she felt as though she were coming home. He talked as he kissed her, something Alice hadn’t known was possible.

  ‘It’s been seven hours since I first saw you,’ he said, her upper lip clenched between his teeth. ‘I wanted to do this then. I wanted to throw you on the floor and fuck you, I didn’t care who was watching, didn’t you feel it, I know you did, I could smell your cunt, our bodies are supposed to be together.’

  Alice had no words. She remained silent even as Jacques’ hands gripped her hips and gently gathered up the silken folds of her dress until it was bunched around her waist. Alice broke away from him for a second, raised her hands over her head and tore off her dress, tugging her hair and ripping out an earring, but she didn’t care. Jacques’ hands were like a lion’s paws as he clawed at her panties with fists and rolled them down her legs, stopping to press his face to the sodden cotton gusset and inhale deeply. When he came back up to kiss her, Alice could taste her own musk on his lips and nostrils. She was greedy for it and kissed him hard, lips, teeth and tongue clashing furiously. She wanted Jacques to be naked too, and tugged at his waistband. She was painfully aware that she was a virgin who had never had occasion to undo a man’s belt before, and her fingers shook. She fumbled, unable to undo the buckle but desperate to free the straining erection that was pressed against her stomach through Jacques’ jeans. But his hands took over and with lightning precision his belt was off and his trousers were around his ankles. Simultaneously Alice tore off his light linen shirt, a tiny plastic button flying across the room.

  Alice’s clit was ignited with desire as she took in the raw sexuality of his naked body. His tan only faded slightly around his arse and dick, and he had the kind of swimmer’s body that is muscular and strong without being bulky. Alice’s legs parted involuntarily and a shimmering slick of liquid ran down her inner thigh. Jacques traced it with his thumb, running the rough digit towards her pussy: his hand would be the first to touch her there.

  Her throbbing clit eagerly anticipated his touch but instead he stood up again and used the tip of his penis to gently nuzzle at the swollen bud. Then he was inside her within seconds, his dick filling her up, threatening to split her in two. She screamed as a second of intense pain and a tearing sensation was replaced by the most intense pleasure she had ever known: his pubic bone pounded against her clit, while his prick pumped into her pussy. From nowhere, a rush of heat and motion consumed her, and Alice yielded to the convulsions of her first orgasm. Alice could see why the poets and playwrights called orgasm a little death: she lost complete control over her entire body as she came, and let her limbs go limp as the contractions washed over her. After that, she could only lean in Jacques’ arms, helpless and floppy as a rag doll, supported only by his arms around her waist and the wall behind her. His climax was only seconds behind hers and his spunk shot into her, mingling with her own juices and a tiny trace of blood where he had claimed his virgin territory. Alice was beyond caring what Jacques thought, desperate only for her swollen cunt to recover so they could repeat the experience, but Jacques was deeply touched and wiped the tender flesh between Alice’s legs clean with his discarded white shirt.

  ‘I was your first,’ he said, as though it were what he had been expecting all along. ‘You’re lucky. It’s not always that beautiful. I told you, you were meant for me.’

  They drifted into sleep on top of the shiny satin bedspread, wrapped in each other’s arms. Alice woke at four in the morning to find that only two candles remained burning, but they cast enough light for her to see Jacques kneeling over her, a big hard-on outlined in silhouette.

  ‘Open your mouth,’ he said. She obeyed, and gratefully sucked his prick until she could taste his hot, salty spunk in her mouth. Instinct had taken over and she knew she needn’t have worried about not knowing what to do with a naked man. When her body and Jacques’ were together, a force greater than either of them took over and told her everything she needed to do. She lay on her back, licking the last of his spunk from her lips, sighed and parted her legs as he fell on all fours, teasing her clit to orgasm with a tongue that flickered over the swollen nub as quickly and lightly as a hummingbird’s wing.

  Alice remembered all this in vivid detail as she sat watching television with her husband in her sprawling Paris apartment. She recalled the nerves and the exhilaration of what had happened that night, how she had felt a kind of rebirth when their bodies came together, and echoes of that first flush of lust flooded her body now. But this time they were tainted with a very real fear. Because Jacques knew things about Alice that could destroy everything she had worked for. She was frightened, out of her depth, uncomfortable. And, she had to admit to herself, she was also wildly excited and felt more alive than she had done for years.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  FOR THE NEXT two weeks, Alice and Jacques were fused together. At night, she would dream that he was inside her, screwing her so hard she could barely stand it, and she would wake to find that it was true. They barely ate, surviving on each other, wine and cigarettes. They rarely spoke, for what was the point of words when their bodies spoke each other’s language so fluently? Attempts at conversations were made, but the sight of Jacques’ mouth forming words was too much for Alice to resist. She would always have to lean in to kiss him, and to kiss him was to fuck him. They were parted only for the six hours a day that Alice spent at work and sometimes those six hours were punctuated by visits from Jacques which got riskier and riskier: first they fucked on a fire escape, then Alice crouched beneath Jacques’ table and sucked his cock dry. She served customers across the counter with her legs spread and Jacques crouched between her knees, his fist firmly inside her pussy. Finally, during a brief moment when there were no customers but some might wander in at any moment, he bent her body over a table in a corner of the restaurant and fucked her from behind, squashing her tits against the surface of the table, forcing her to stand on her tiptoes to accommodate his thrusts and twisting his finger around in her arsehole as he penetrated her cunt so that she had to muffle her screams by biting down on her own forearm.

  We use the phrase ‘turned on’ to describe intense desire, and that was how Alice felt: as though Jacques had flicked a switch somewhere inside her and sent electric currents flowing through her body. She felt that she had spent her whole life unplugged, half-alive. Now that Jacques was in her life and she was aware of all the amazing things her body and mind could do, she felt constantly turned on. Everything made her horny. The slow, deep beats and overtly sexual lyrics of hip-hop music blaring from a passing car would have Alice caressing her own collar-bone and pressing her legs together to squeeze her clitoris. Furniture was no longer just something to sit on, but something to recline on, squirm against, enjoying the feel of wood, velvet or metal against her skin. Now that she had come to know one body so intimately, other men were a source of fascination and wild attraction to her. Eye contact with even unattractive men, or the smell of customers’ sweat or the rippling of a vein on a stranger’s forearm would be enough to make her wonder what his prick looked like, and how it would feel inside her.

  Even women turned her on. One day when Alice saw a voluptuous, coffee-skinned woman walking down the street in front of her with a tiny roll of fat visible between her tight T-shirt and her low-slung jeans, the sight of that squeezed-out flesh had been so compellingly erotic that she had slunk into an alleyway and masturbated furiously, making her two front fingers into a V-shape, placing a fingertip either side of her clit and rubbing hard, getting herself off in what seemed like the time it took to breathe in and breathe out. She had not even been able to wait for Jacques, who she knew would be lying on
his bed, dick hard, waiting for her. Alice had been turned on, and sex was everywhere.

  Gradually, they began to talk. Their bodies knew each other, but they were virtual strangers, and it was a strange process. She told him that she planned to be a great actress. He told her of film scripts he’d written, brilliant, daring stories which explored the limits of human experience and sexuality. They talked about books, plays and films, but talking would lead to touching, and touching to sex, and their conversations never lasted more than a couple of hours.

  Jacques loved the fact that he was responsible for Alice’s sexual awakening and she, in turn, was happy to be his plaything. The more dangerous his games became, the wilder and more alive she felt. She sat open-legged before a mirror while he used an old-fashioned cut-throat razor, bought specifically from an antique shop for the occasion, to shave her pussy bare, an experience she found so erotic that they were able to use her pussy juice instead of shaving cream to lubricate the blade’s smooth path. He ordered her to steal a bottle of extra-virgin olive oil from work, and gently used it to loosen up her arsehole before sliding his cock into her back passage, simultaneously inserting the neck of the bottle into Alice’s cunt, so that she felt that she would burst with pressure and pleasure. He taught her how to recline on the bed with her head hanging off and relax her gag reflex so that she could swallow the entire length of his dick, right up to his balls: he would fuck her face and massage her tits, holding up the nipples and then dropping them, watching her breasts jiggle while his length penetrated her throat, until she was as skilled as a circus sword-swallower. And always, after they had made each other come, he would say the same thing to her.