Taxi to Paris (3 page)

At first I wanted to contradict her furiously. Then I controlled myself. That wouldn't do either of us any good. I grabbed the blanket and pulled it over her naked body. Surprised, she rolled onto her side and propped her head up on her hand. "Thank you," she said. Her voice was neutral. She let her glance glide over me coolly. "It would really be better if you left now."

I sat carefully on the edge of the bed. "I don't think so." I really just contradicted her because everything had flown by me so quickly, and because I don't like to leave a theater without understanding the plot, but her reaction was violent.

Her eyes narrowed to slits. They glistened like pure ice. "I see," she said, drawn out. "You're not one to be satisfied with half a cookie when someone's promised you the whole thing." With a swift motion, she grabbed me and pulled me onto the wide bed. "You'll get the other half. I always keep my promises. And now, since I've let you out of paying, it's even free." She laughed scornfully. "You'll never get a hooker as classy as I am this cheaply again."

I granted her that. The desperation I felt in her made me helpless. I only hoped that she wouldn't hurt me too much: I'd never been very good at tolerating pain. And today, I'd already established that my ability to do so had not improved.

She detected my fear. "Ah, now you're afraid?" She emphasized her words with a dismissive hand gesture. "I told you I keep all my promises, didn't I?" I nodded, so to avoid making her angry again. It seemed doubtful to me that I could guarantee such a promise in her condition.

She grabbed my arm. I held back a cry of pain. That was going to leave a nice bruise. She pushed me backwards onto the bed and laid herself half across me. Ruthlessly, like at first, she penetrated my mouth with her tongue. But she only went as far as she'd promised, and she didn't hold my hands down. I lifted them slowly and ran them along her back. She moaned deep in her throat. Now I knew for sure that her reaction earlier had been genuine. I stroked her back some more, and she gasped even more heavily in my mouth. I noticed that she was definitely ready to lose control. But first, she abandoned my mouth. With a violent movement, she tore my legs apart. At least two more bruises!

She let herself fall between my legs and lifted them up. She kept pushing them even farther apart and higher up. It hurt, but it was bearable.

With the same severity that she'd shown in penetrating my mouth, she now entered between my legs. No foreplay, no preparation, not even a quick caress. Instead, the movements of her tongue were even heavier and more demanding. As she forced my legs even wider apart - my God, soon I'd have to scream in pain! - I clenched my teeth and waited for her to be satisfied with me. On its wild hunt, her tongue found the center of all sensation. I moaned aloud. Had it not been for the pain in my thighs, this might've felt rather nice. I sighed.

She'd taken a brief recess and rested up. Then she began again, carefully, circling my clit with her tongue. She flew back and forth across it like a butterfly. I jumped every time. Gradually, my sensations grew more intense. Surely she'd stop soon. All she wanted was her own satisfaction, which I was to bring to her. As I began to lift my pelvis against her and to moan, she stopped. Ah, that was it. I tried to hold back my excitement. Suddenly, I cried out. She penetrated me deeply with her tongue, like no woman had done before. This long tongue, which had caused me so many problems in my mouth, brought me here only pure, ecstatic pleasure. She pushed back and forth, and in between played briefly behind the entrance. She really knew every spot! I suddenly didn't care that my legs hurt, that with every thrust of my hips I felt red-hot needles all the way down to my tiptoes.

"Come," she murmured, barely audibly, between my thighs. She thrust the full length of her tongue into me once more. Then, she pulled it out and resumed her butterfly dance against the erect pearl. "Come," she whispered again, demanding. I exploded in long, raging waves. I heard myself screaming, but it was as if the cry would not stop while the waves came and went, came and went. I tried to count them, but there were too many. After an eternity, I collapsed and struggled, exhausted, for breath. I'd never be able to breathe normally again!  She came up and nipped at my breasts. I still hadn't caught my breath when she propped herself up next to my shoulders and pushed her legs between mine. After they'd been ripped apart like that, everything hurt. I groaned in pain before I could stop myself. Immediately, she lay quietly. I raised a hand and brushed the sweaty hair from her forehead. She gave me a strained smile.

"Go on," I said softly. "You're not hurting me."

"I'm not, really?" she asked, confused.

"No." I brushed the hair tenderly from her face once more. "You really aren't."

She began to move again, carefully. Then she began to speed up. After a short while, she was again gasping with excitement. I could feel all of her muscles straining. I felt a vibration between my legs. She came in quick thrusts, moaning. Her eyes were closed. I thrust my hand between her legs. When she noticed that, her eyes flew open. "I don't want to..."

"Yes, you do." With my other hand, I held her tightly against me. It didn't take much, in any case, to change her mind. She began to moan as soon as I touched her. I entered her carefully. "Yes." A primitive sound forced its way from her throat. She bucked against my hand as if she wanted to take the whole thing into her. She stiffened. A small cry left her lips. Completely exhausted, she let herself fall back onto the bed and rolled out from under me. Still breathing heavily, she lay next to me.

"That was ... not ... necessary," she managed raggedly. I propped myself up on my elbow and smiled at her. "Yes, it was. And actually, I believe you need some more yet."

She pressed her lips together and shook her head. It had been a long time since she'd been so free of resistance. I slid on top of her quickly. She protested weakly. She tried to hold her legs together, but she hadn't yet regained her strength. With both hands, I pushed them apart and laid myself between them.

She was as beautiful down there as she was as a whole. I said so loudly enough that she could hear me. "Get back up here right now!" she hissed in answer.

"Not a chance!" I laughed at her irritation. Slowly, I began to sweep a wide circle with my tongue. She sighed, and I noticed her thighs tightening. I twirled the circle smaller and tighter. She chased my tongue with her hips. "You're driving me crazy," she whispered, so softly that I could barely understand her. I continued. She dug her hands into my hair and held on. "I can't take any more ... please."  I didn't let her out of my mouth. "I can't stand it anymore! Please . . . let me..." Her voice was hoarse and demanding as it reached down to me. I took all of her into me and let her find her own rhythm. This time, she came with a long, steady scream and innumerable twitches. When her orgasm had ebbed, she lay as if dead. I slid on top of her and kissed her. She was covered in sweat.

When she could speak again, she smiled easily. "Whatever did you do?"

"I? Do? Not a thing." The innocence of a country girl was nothing compared to me.

She laughed, amused. "That's not at all what it felt like."

She groped at the nightstand and pulled a long, narrow cigarette from its long, narrow package. She lit it with a beautifully decorated silver lighter and took a deep drag. Cliché at its purest.

She looked at me. "Oh, pardon me, would you like one also?" Her hand wandered back to the nightstand.

"No, thank you," I pouted. "I hate to get lost in a cloud of smoke right afterwards."

"I usually don't either, right afterwards. But today ... it's your own fault. If you hadn't worn me out like that..." She reached one hand tenderly under one of my breasts, leaned over, and kissed it. "Mmm," she hummed appreciatively. "Sweet as champagne." She looked at me again, closely. "Like the rest of you," she said then. She leaned back onto her pillow and smoked.

So she had decided, at least for the moment, to like me - or perhaps just to tolerate me? I observed her from the side. She sat there, relaxed, an incredibly beautiful woman, holding her cigarette with an elegance I'd never imagined possible. The smoke circled up just as elegantly - as if it felt obligated by her manner to do so - toward the ceiling.

She ignored me. At least, she acted as if I weren't there. What did she expect from me now? Our business relationship was clearly over. I scolded myself silently. I didn't want to think about it, but I had to. What should I do in this situation? Should I just leave? But that was exactly what I didn't want to do. I wanted to stay with her, I wanted to get to know her. She had touched me deeply. Her vulnerability, which she tried to hide behind miles of protective walls. Her fear, and that she had chosen this in particular as a career...

I looked at her, searching. She crushed out her cigarette and looked over at me. When she noticed my expression, she twisted her mouth a bit.

"Don't bother holding back."

"From what?" I asked, somewhat irritated.

She pulled the blanket up over herself and covered her breasts. "You want to know how and why I got here, what I am, right?" In another situation, those cold, flashing eyes would've driven me right out of the room. As she'd inflected it, it was really an obscene question that I'd never dare ask. I kept silent.

She raised her eyebrows. If she did that one more time, I'd have to kiss her, even if I had to pay for it!

"Everybody wants to know that. I'm sure you're no exception." She looked out the window. "Almost every time I'm with a new client, she asks the same question."

I stiffened. I didn't actually want to be a "new client." And I didn't feel like one, either.

She looked at me indifferently. "You really don't want to know?" I shook my head. "Well, I don't suppose it makes any difference. I never answer the question."

I could tell that she wanted to be rid of me. She began to get restless. Any minute now, the fastest way to get me to leave would occur to her. And here it came already!

"So, did you get what you expected?" She looked at me very professionally. I almost expected her to add, "Will there be anything else, ma'am?"

I had to smile to myself. Instinctively - or perhaps completely rehearsed - she had chosen the topic which would, under normal circumstances, scare me off the fastest. But what were "normal circumstances" in a relationship with her? This whole evening and the entire night up to this point could not be compared with anything in my experience.

And this woman was not going to get rid of me so easily.

She became impatient. "Were you satisfied?" She gave me a scrutinizing look. "Or did I do something wrong?" My silence made her nervous. "I know it didn't all go like you had imagined it would." She made a remorseful face. She was good at it! I bet most women melted right down when she pulled this one. She grabbed an appointment calendar from the nightstand. "We can make an appointment that's convenient for you, and you can tell me what you didn't like." She unfastened the black leather band and flipped through the pages.

This was truly unbelievable - she was offering me an improvement!

"What are you afraid of?" I asked.

She froze. Her eyes told me, more clearly than her reaction or any words could, that I had hit a sore spot. She retreated back to her own mental terrain in order to steady herself.

"Should we not make an appointment, then?" she asked, leafing aimlessly through the calendar. She turned to face me once more. Her eyes had this I-have-no-idea-what-you-want look now. They reminded me of the big luxury cars with wiper/washers on the headlights. One moment dirtied - one wipe, and they were clear again.

Now she smiled knowingly. "If you have a reason to complain, that's bad publicity. And bad publicity is bad for business."

I was reminded of a conversation I'd had recently with a car salesman. He'd presented himself in much the same way. In that case, though, he'd wanted to sell me a car and not his body.

"You can call me." She pulled out a card.

"Oh, no!" I groaned. "Don't give me your business card now, too!"

She laughed, pleased. It seemed authentic. "I knew you'd hate that," she said. She took a pencil and wrote something on the card, then handed it to me. It was an elegant, white, handmade card, completely empty except for the large, curving letters in the middle. No name, no address, just the numbers. That was really the extreme in discretion.

I looked at her. Tiny laugh lines crinkled at the corners of her eyes. "Business cards are not typical in my line of work," she explained, even more amused. "Sorry to disappoint you."

There we sat, two naked women in one bed who had just slept together, as if we were sitting together having coffee at an upscale café.

"Would you like some more sugar?"

"Oh, no, I'd rather have another small orgasm. But not too strong; I'm having my hair done this afternoon." The scene occurred to me, surreal.

I had no more reason to stay, much as I didn't want to admit it. But I wanted to see her again. How could I do that? As her client? Never!  Did I have the slightest chance, then? I kept looking down at the card in my hand. Slowly, I was growing uncomfortable in this bed. And it could have been so comfortable. Fall asleep together, wake up together, a little cuddling, a little sex... I felt the tingling begin again.

She watched me. I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye. No, I decided, she'd never do that. And I needed to get out of here as quickly as possible.

She continued to scrutinize me. Before I could think of my next move, she said, "I'm going to take a shower now. Would you rather go first...?" Her polite, professional, obliging manner hid it badly: this was my final dismissal. I shook my head mutely, without looking at her. She rose. I watched her go. That graceful walk - I relished every one of her movements.

When she had shut the door behind her, I leapt out of the bed. I dressed quickly. At the door, I spun around one last time. I heard water running and looked back on the bed. I wasn't going to forget this night anytime soon.