The Blue Guide (7 page)

I was right: his hand moves to his fly, and I have to reach out and stop him from releasing himself.

‘Not yet,' I say. ‘Wait.' I turn over on the chair, so that I'm kneeling now, and he gets a whole new angle on my arse and cunt. I can feel myself drizzling down my inner thighs as I push my fingers inside me and fish for my core. I don't know who's moaning more
now, Paco or me. I put my head down, close my eyes. I imagine he's taking himself out now, but I'm too far gone to protest any more.

And then all of a sudden he's upon me, between my thighs, pulling my hands away and parting me with his cock, pushing into me. I haven't set eyes on his prick yet, but I can feel its superb girth as he arches in and out of me, punctuated by the bounce of his balls against my arse. Rightaway – with a little help from my own fingers on my clit – I'm soaring, gasping, carried away by an orgasm that seems to lift me up into the air.

Its contractions are still rippling deliciously through me when Paco pulls out with a yell and sprays my back with his come, then collapses onto me. We both slide from the chair and hold each other close on the floor.

I don't know how much time passes before Paco picks me up in his arms again and carries me through to the guestroom, where he pulls back the sheets on one of the beds and lays me down, wiping my back first with a tissue.

‘Do you need anything?' he smiles down at me. Part of me wants to pull him back down to me, tell him to fuck me again, so hard that I'm begging for mercy. But I'm aware that the moment is gone, that something exploded between us that shouldn't have, and that we each need to be alone now, to think about the implications and where we go from here.

Do I tell him, for instance, that I am going to have to stop working for him and Carlotta? That I can't be her escort after what's happened tonight? Or can we salvage something out of the situation – act, in essence, as if it never happened? I'm not sure, for my part, that's possible. We may not have fallen in love, but something extraordinary has taken place. Everything has changed.

I WAKE UP
not knowing where I am, and then I look around me and remember, and an ache starts up in my pussy and I have to have a long lazy wank. I'm not thinking about Paco, specifically, as I do it. A whole host of people run through my mind, from Eric, to whom I lost my virginity during a stay with my French penfriend, via Arvind, to whom I was briefly engaged at university, to Daniel – of course – and Paco himself. Life has not been uneventful for me, from an erotic point of view. I've never been one to deny my lusts, even when it's got me into trouble.

I'm still not sure who blabbed about me, but I can't imagine it was Daniel. God knows it hurts that he hasn't been in touch, but when we were together he was so gentlemanly towards me, so solicitous to my needs and desires, that I can't imagine he would gloat or gossip about what happened between us. Although I ought to face the fact that he may not be the man he seemed, or that I wanted him to be.

No, I'm more included to think it must have been Kip, boasting to mates back in Sydney about his little adventure on the London Eye. Somehow word got round, as it usually does, with the net result that I lost my Blue Badge.

Not that I'm too bothered: business is brisk, and I'm enjoying myself. Enjoying myself a little too much, some might say. Perhaps they're right: Daniel and Kip were all well and good – harmless flings, if only, in the
case of the former, I'd had the good sense to just enjoy it for what it was. But Paco has an adoring new wife to contend with, a wife who I am tasked with taking care of for the next two weeks, after being taken doggy-style by her husband right there in their bedroom. It's a complication I didn't expect, and certainly didn't need.

I get up and wander through into the lovely drawing room. The curtains are open and there's a wonderful view right onto the church opposite, which I happen to know is John Nash's All Souls. From where I stand I see mainly its pale-faced clock, but when I step up to the window I can look up at its famously slender spire, on which the architect was depicted impaled in one 1820s press cartoon. As a phallic image, it's woefully inadequate to convey the majesty of the member I felt deep inside me last night yet never even clapped eyes on. Knowing that I'm unlikely to get the chance again, I creep into Paco's room – the door is slightly ajar – and tiptoe up to his bed. The curtains are drawn around it; I tweak one corner and peep inside.

He is sleeping, but the reading light inside remains on, and he is spotlit in all his glory. His cock, indeed, is a thing of beauty, a smooth olive-brown baton coiled in a nest of frothy black hair. My hand reaches involuntarily towards it, but Paco stirs and I retract it as if electrocuted. I head for the bathroom to get my clothes.

I am washed and dressed and ready to leave when Paco saunters out of the bedroom with a cheery ‘Good morning!'

We smile at one another; one of those smiles behind which a thousand secrets lurk.

‘Sleep well?' he asks.

‘Very well,' I say. ‘That bed is dreamy.'

‘And there's nothing like a good fuck to send you off, is there?' he adds.

I look at him. I'm surprised he has brought the subject up, but then we are adults, and pretending that nothing happened would be a silly game. He is right to call a spade a spade, a fuck a fuck.

‘I enjoyed myself,' I say, feeling brave. ‘Though I must admit it did take me by surprise.'

‘Me too,' he admits, looking away from me, out of the window. Some new emotion flits across his features; I wonder if he's having misgivings. But if he is, he manages to brush them aside pretty rapidly, for the next minute he's saying, ‘How about I call down and order us a limo for the morning and you show me the sights in style?'

I agree without hesitation; this sounds like fun, and I haven't had much fun lately. And a few minutes later we're in the lift and on our way down to a waiting car.

We head down through Soho; I'm at a bit of a loss as to an itinerary, preoccupied by thoughts of what – if anything – is going to happen now. I was expecting to be headed home by this point, not in the back of a stretch limo with Paco and a mini-bar full of goodies.

Paco is looking out of the window, watching the procession of Soho streets.

‘I've heard such a lot about this place,' he says, ‘but never had chance to explore it.'

‘It's lost its bohemian edge,' I say, ‘now the media offices and designer hotels and expensive restaurants have moved in. There are still some classic haunts – like Ronnie Scott's jazz club – but they're gradually being ousted. Raymond's Revue Bar, for instance, which used to be the most famous strip club in London, has been replaced by a cult gay cabaret. It's great here if you're queer – you can come and cruise to your heart's content
on Old Compton Street. But there are more interesting places to discover in London.'

‘Like where?' We are spilling out of the southwestern edge of Soho now, into the bottom of Regent Street and the traffic hell of Piccadilly Circus. As we grind to a halt, I wave my hand up towards the statue to our right.

‘Eros,' I say, launching into tour guide mode. ‘One of London's most famous landmarks. Only the winged figure is not really the pagan god of love – it's an angel of Christian charity, built as a memorial to a philanthropist called Lord Shaftesbury in 1893.'

Paco nods politely, but I can tell he's not really up for the guidebook spiel.

‘Look, is there something particular you want to look at?' I say, suddenly not at all sure what the point of this little jaunt was.

Paco doesn't answer at once, instead reaching into the mini-bar and pulling out a bottle of champagne and a couple of crystal flutes. It's a little early, I think, but I'm not the kind of girl who sneers at a glass of bubbly any time of the day or night.

‘What you were just saying,' he replies at last. ‘About more interesting areas. Take me there.'

I reflect for a minute, then lean forward and tap on the glass partition separating us from the uniformed chauffeur. ‘The City, please,' I say when he draws it back. ‘St Mary Axe.' The driver nods, closes it again, and I sit back and enjoy my champagne.

We're parked at the bottom of a circular, glass-clad tower rising up through forty storeys to a gently pointed tip.

‘That is the biggest dick I have ever seen.' Paco is laughing, looking away from the Swiss RE Tower only to slip another strawberry into my mouth.

‘Then you won't be surprised to hear it's also nicknamed the “erotic gherkin”, and the “towering innuendo”. You'll notice,' I add mischievously, ‘that it's uncircumcised.'

Paco grins at me. ‘You're a mine of weird and wonderful information,' he says. ‘You're worth every penny.'

I look at him. ‘Then I'll still be working for you?' I say. The question's been simmering away in my mind ever since we left the hotel.

He nods, eyebrows raised a little. ‘Why not?' he says.

‘But what about Carlotta?'

‘What about her?'

‘I'm just – I don't know if I'm comfortable after what's happened between us. You said you want me to be her friend, but I've betrayed that friendship before it's even begun.'

Paco leans toward me, brushes a stray hair from my face, then plants an almost chaste little kiss on my nose.

‘I never imagined I would cheat on Carlotta,' he said. ‘She is a woman in a million, and I never want to risk losing her. But I know you are discreet, Alicia. I trust you.'

I nod. ‘I would never say –'

‘I know that,' he interrupts, placing a finger against my lips. ‘I can see that you are a sensitive woman, that you will have picked up on how vulnerable Carlotta really is. She is so young, Alicia. Don't forget that. She has seen a lot of life, but in many ways I think she is still one of life's innocents. What is happening between us is to do with you and me alone. It mustn't touch her.'

Even as he's talking, I'm telling myself I should get out of this now, that something important is at stake here. This is not going to be a casual fling, and at least
one person is going to get hurt. But his hands are on me now, his eyes are burning into mine, and I feel like I'm melting into the seat, I want him so much. And before I know it I'm hoisting my skirt up over my hips, pulling down my flimsy knickers and proffering him my pussy, glistening with the juices he has called forth in me.

He responds by unbuttoning my blouse, pushing my bra up and plunging his face into my breasts. He hasn't shaved yet today, and his stubble chafes at my skin. That turns me on even more. I reach down and fumble with his belt buckle, then slip down his trousers. I feel his cock leap out, find me with the efficiency of a heat-seeking missile. I'm crushed up against the door, the handle in the small of my back. The pain only adds to my excitement, as does the shadowy presence of the chauffeur in the front seat. He's eating a sandwich, gazing out of the window; even if he turned round he'd be unable to see us through the mirrored glass. But he must have some idea what's going on in the back here, and the thought that he knows drives me crazier still.

For a moment, before driving himself into me, Paco hesitates, back arched, eyes closed. I reach up my hand and run my fingers the length of his taut throat, around the angular sweep of his jawbone. I wonder, looking up at him, what he's thinking of now, what he's feeling, lost there in his private moment of elation. I'm almost certain it's not me; is it Carlotta, or would the thought of his wife only puncture the euphoria? Is he thinking of anything at all beyond the immediate sensation of his cock edging into me, parting me so slowly that I feel almost delirious with need and longing?

I become aware that my nails are digging into the flesh of his upper back; I slide my hands down his back and clutch the flesh of his buttocks, squeezing them
towards me in an effort to fill myself with him. His slow advance has been delicious, but I have to have him now, all of him, inside me. The feel of my manicured talons on his arse cheeks must excite him, for suddenly he's plunged into me, not thrusting but just pushing, pushing, to the point where I'm worried that the limo door might not be locked and that I might be forced out onto the pavement. I'm soaring like a bird now, being lifted higher and higher, already sensing the approach of one almighty orgasm, like the pre-shock of an earthquake.

I inch my bum backwards, over the leather seat; there's not much room to manoeuvre but it's just enough for me to set myself in motion, to start sliding myself up and down his pole, which is well lubricated by now. He's still trying to hold off, I can tell, but he hasn't got a hope in hell now; within moments we're working in synch. I ride him beautifully as he saws in and out of me, matching his movements, keeping my pussy walls tight around him.

As the first moans start escaping from his throat, I too start to wail, half afraid I'm going to go out of my mind with it all. I feel that I'm on a precipice, that there's an edge beyond which madness lies. But something inside me knows that this madness, should it be provoked, is the price to pay for this pleasure, this pleasure that comes liberally dosed with a kind of sublime pain.

He hits the spot, all of a sudden, and I'm thrashing in his arms almost as if I'm trying to fight him off, bright lights flashing behind my closed eyelids like fireworks. He comes too, pulling himself out of me while my orgasm is still rippling through me, whimpering something in Spanish. Then we lie in a crumpled
heap on the back seat, clothes strewn around us, the rich, salty smell of his semen around us.

After a minute he splashes me down with champagne, where he's come on my tits, and then leans forwards to lap it off.

‘Where next?' he smiles.

We drive around the City for a while, happy, for a time at least, to be aimless. We look at fragments of Roman walls, at old churches, at modern skyscrapers, sometimes accompanied by a little running commentary by me. Paco, for his part, talks a little of his native Madrid and tells me I should go there sometime. He also speaks lovingly of Chicago, where he lived for five years during his training.