The Mammoth Book of Short Erotic Novels (10 page)

He awakes again; there is a thin sliver of light peering through the heavy curtains. Early morning. This time Thalie is no longer sleeping, busy sucking on his cock with greedy appetite. Her
eyes stay closed, he sees, as she does this.

When he is fully erect, she squats above him, stretches her rump cheeks open and plants herself on his cock, once again taking him deep into her arse. When he finally comes, the feeling is so
strong, he thinks he is going to pass out.

“So, do I please you?” she asks, her first words since the previous evening.

“Yes, Thalie, you do,” he answers.

Q & A

“How did you first meet Anne-Louise?”

“She was my gymnastics professor.”

“How old were you?”

“Sixteen.”

“Tell me about it, her and you? How it happened?”

“I was born in a well-off, heavily Catholic family. We weren’t rich, but life was easy and I was spoilt as a child. I have a sister, but she is sixteen years older than me.
I’ve always believed she was very unhappy about my arrival at such a late stage.”

“Is she aware of what you have become?”

“Yes.”

“And she did nothing about it? You must hate her.”

“No, I don’t. I love her, feel very close to her.”

“She knows Anne-Louise?”

“Yes.”

“You met through her?”

“Not quite. I was a good pupil at school, but I excelled in sports. I particularly enjoyed gymnastics; I was told I had talent. For my sixteenth birthday, I asked for private lessons in
one of the city’s better clubs. My parents agreed to it, and I was signed in for lessons two evenings a week and following school on Wednesday afternoons. Anne-Louise was my professor. She
was already a friend of the family, and I remembered her often mocking me when I was younger, because of my lack of feminine opulence. ‘The Plank’ when I was thirteen, later ‘No
Bum’ when I reached fourteen. My body developed late.”

“She seduced you?”

“Not quite. She was very pleasant to me during the course of the early lessons. She recognized my innate talent and the suppleness of my body. Initially, I attended the lessons wearing
shorts and a T-shirt, but soon she asked me to wear a dancer’s leotard so that she might be able to supervise and see how all my muscles worked. She taught me a lot, often correcting my
stance or the use of the wrong muscles with a small wooden cane.”

“She beat you?”

“Lesson after lesson, her instructions became more and more difficult to follow and she would strike me harder. Surprisingly, I began to look forward to her striking me, even though it
was sometimes painful. To this day, I still hanker to submit to her; she was so beautiful. So tall and blonde. And her severity struck an unusually responsive chord inside me as I took instruction.
I think I had basically been submissive in spirit ever since my early childhood.”

“How come?”

“Even as a child, I recall never wishing to be a Princess when we played games with my sisters or friends. I preferred to imagine myself as a servant.”

“How did the relationship progress to you becoming, so to speak, her slave?”

“Soon, she began to realize, I think, that I was sometimes making deliberate mistakes and she began striking me for no reason at all, and noted that I did not object. One day, for the
first time, she struck me badly with her long, thin cane before our lesson even began. Told me it was to encourage me. She had guessed my masochist nature. That day, following the lesson, I
deliberately followed her into the shower and confessed how attractive I found her and that I was in love with her. She surprised me by replying that she had lusted after me ever since I had been
younger, and her earlier taunts had just been indications of her disguised desire for me. We kissed.”

“And?”

“She warned me of her dominant character and that, in any form of relationship, I would have to submit to her will. I readily agreed. She made love with me there and then under the
shower. It was heavenly. She knew every spot to touch, as if by magic.”

“Had you been with boys before?”

“Somehow, I had never been attracted to men much. I’d kissed one or two boys, even allowed one to fondle my breasts under my shirt, but I hadn’t ventured
further.”

“You were still only sixteen?”

“Yes. From the next day onward, I began following Anne-Louise’s instructions. I wanted only to please her. She said I should no longer wear jeans, dress like a tomboy. I must
always wear dresses or skirts, no pantyhose, only stockings. Every day after school, I would go to her house on the other side of town and wait for her to return from her lessons or the stadium
where she worked on a part-time basis. She would often leave instructions for me on small pieces of paper on the kitchen table. I had to follow these most precisely. One day, she left an apron for
me to wear, alongside the note. I was to become her servant.”

“What was the sex like?”

“In bed, she was brutal and authoritarian. She enjoyed ordering me around, loved to humiliate me, sometimes inflicted much pain. But I enjoyed it more than I had enjoyed anything in my
life before.”

“I don’t want to sound like a dime-store psychiatrist, but had you previously felt unloved, unwanted at home?”

“Not at all. It’s just the way I am. I don’t think anything will ever change my nature.”

“How did things develop, then, with Anne-Louise?”

“After three months of living like this, rushing to her place every day straight from school, all feverish, anxious for more of her harsh love and punishment, desperately trying to get
away from home over the week-ends to spend more time with her, I decided to leave school and put myself completely at Anne-Louise’s service.”

“What did your parents have to say about it?”

“There was nothing they could say. I was a lesbian and a masochist; they disinherited me. To this day, they only refer to me as ‘the young whore’.”

“So, you began living with Anne-Louise?”

“I was her maid during the day and her toy at night. She became even harder on me now, would not accept a word of disobedience, insisted on the highest standards only of housework,
cleaning and cooking. Whenever I failed, or forgot an instruction, the beating was most severe. The worse it became, the happier I was.”

“Tell me how?”

“For Valentine’s day, she bought a whip and a pair of handcuffs for me. The whip was to be used on me, of course. Thereafter, most days she handcuffed me before leaving for her
work. Thus constricted, she said I would have more time to think of her all day. Naturally, my work around the house suffered badly. Which gave her even more opportunities to use the whip on me.
But sex with her after every whipping was better than ever. I could wish for no other fate. Very soon, she began to use the whip on my body for no other reason than arousing me further sexually.
Now she no longer even needed a reason to beat me, mark me.”

“And you enjoyed this?”

“I was deliriously happy. This was what I was born to be. Later, she would take me to Brussels on special shopping trips to a store in a large Galerie that specialised in fetish and
S&M apparel. She bought increasingly sophisticated devices and clothing for me. She would make me wear elaborate black leather outfits that made me look like a whore at a sadomasochists’
convention. She had me play with toys in front of the assistants in the store as she exercised her power. Would have me gagged, plugged, displayed. Force me to wear underwear she had deliberately
dirtied before. Back at her home, I had to serve her completely, in every detail. It soon became my task to lick her clean after she had been to the toilet. She loved me and I loved her. I thought
this bliss would last forever.”

Mid-morning in the Manhattan hotel room. He calls out for bagels from Mom’s Bagels, two streets away. For him, a garlic bialy with Nova Scotia lox and cream cheese and a
plain bagel with cream cheese and jelly for her.

They devour the food in bed, close to each other. He feels comfortable with her, their bare bodies touch as they shift, neither draws back from the contact. He loves the fact that, like him, she
is a creature of silences, doesn’t find it necessary to make small talk and fill every precious moment of silence with needless words. A thin dollop of red jelly drops onto her left breast.
He bends over and licks her clean, his furtive tongue nibbling on her ring, stretching the tender skin beneath. A warm feeling suffuses his lower stomach. Blood is already coursing back towards his
tired cock.

Aware he is probably in no condition to perform again yet, he draws back and takes the kiss to her lips.

She smiles.

They have opened the curtains. Sunlight floods the room, the bed, their uncovered bodies.

He tells her about the last time he had stayed here. For two nights in a row, a couple in the room next door had practised particularly noisy sex, the sounds of which could just not be avoided
through the thin hotel wall, keeping him awake and arousing his own lust. The woman had proven especially vocal, every thrust inside her provoking further moans, gasps or profane vocabulary in her
lexicon of pleasure. The man, on the other hand, appeared to copulate in silence, leaving all aural accompaniment up to his partner: but must have had incredible staying power, as the sounds of
their frantic lovemaking reverberated through to his room for almost two hours. On and on the sounds of nearby sex continued and he had begun to wonder what this shrill, enthusiastic woman might
actually look like. The following night, the carnival occurred again in the adjoining room. On the third day, as he was leaving his room for his morning appointments, he finally caught a glimpse of
a woman closing the door to the next room. To his disappointment and amazement – by now, he had visions in his mind of Greek goddesses or hardcore stars of the pornographic screen – she
was a stocky, matronly Chinese woman with an old-fashioned fur coat draped across her shoulders, wearing sensible shoes and with a chignon in her hair. Anything but his dreams.

Thalie laughs at his story.

“Well, I don’t think we bothered the neighbours much,” she remarks. “We’re both wordless fornicators, I noticed.”

He smiles back at her, preferring not to tell her his other story of a hotel room fuck. In Paris, window opening onto a sea of Latin Quarter roofs. Where the sounds of the adjoining room had in
fact been more muted but still caught his attention. Aroused, he had taken a glass from the bathroom and stuck it against the separating wall, cupped his ear against it and listened to the couple
frolicking a few inches away and masturbated to the sound of their fucking.

Finally, they get up.

In the light of day, he finds her more beautiful than ever. And younger. Less than half his age.

“Who gets to use the bathroom first?” he asks her.

“You go,” she answers. “I feel wonderfully lazy this morning.”

He shaves. Christ, does he look tired! The new razor blade revives his skin. He washes the foam away and cleans his teeth. He tests the heat of the water bursting from out of the shower head,
finds the right balance of hot and cold and steps into the shower area. He is soaping his cock, washing away their combined juices, when he hears her knock on the bathroom door.

“Yes?”

“Can I come in?” she asks him.

“Of course,” he replies. There is no need for false modesty now.

She tiptoes in, walks across the damp tiles and sits herself on the toilet bowl. Facing him, legs wide apart and proceeds to pee as he stands under the pouring water just a few feet away. He
notices the eight rings hanging loosely from her labia as the thick stream of urine jets out of her and realises the safety pin and the padlock are no longer in place. His first glance at the
pinkness inside her cunt as her leaves separate, gape, to make way for the release of her warm stream.

She looks up towards him, with a wry smile on her lips.

His eyes interrogate her silently.

“You never asked,” she says, as the last drops of pee keep on dribbling out of her. “A real master always does: he orders.”

“I didn’t realize . . .” he mumbles.

“I was allowed to bring the padlock key with me,” she confirms.

“I see,” is all he can feebly say. Feeling as if he has failed the first test.

“Can I join you under the shower?” Thalie asks.

“Of course,” he says.

Her body shines under the pounding water. They embrace. Kiss. Separate. Their hair soaking wet now. United by the cleansing spurts of hot water. They soap each other with all the delicacy they
can each muster. Kiss again. They both step out of the shower. He turns to switch the water off and, when he turns again to face her, she delicately takes his cock in her wet fingers.

“There was still some soap,” she says.

She squeezes it. Hard.

He takes her hand away.

“Stay like that,” he says.

She remains immobile, water still dripping down the expanse of her body. He takes hold of a towel and dries her, enveloping her body in its softness. He glides his finger through her hair.

“Oh, Thalie,” he says.

“Yes” she asks.

“I want to make love to you properly now,” he answers.

He bends and picks her up in his arms. She is so light, he notices; and they make their way from steamy bathroom to the bed in the hotel room now blinded with light.

He pulls a curtain half-closed. There is still enough light for him to see all of her.

He installs her on the bed. She remains inert. Her opening gapes, as if alive, breathing like an invitation to pleasure. He delicately spread-eagles her limbs in a semblance of crucifixion
across the crumpled sheets and buries his face in her cunt. He opens her up at long last and spies the infinite shades of nacreous pearl of her inner walls. Parting her, rings to each side he
plunges his tongue inside her and a tremor flashes through her whole body. She still tastes of soap but her juices are soon abundantly flowing, pungent, aromatic, overflowing, bathing his chin as
he labours away now, playing with her engorged clit. He has reached his destination, her portals of paradise. The velvet pearl pulses strongly against the tip of his tongue. Thalie moans. Widens
the angle between her legs further in acceptance of his adoration. His face retreats. He looks up at her. Her face and the whole area leading to her breasts are flushed a deep hue of pink. Her eyes
are closed.