Sexy as Hell Box Set (46 page)

But would that smash Catherine’s illusion of me? She thought I was a gentleman,
sweet
, but she had no idea that there was a slice of sour inside me that longed to make her wince in pleasure-pain from the strike of my palm on her arse, the thrust of my cock up it too. She was also sweet—possibly a bit sickly—and I hated myself a tad for thinking that way about a woman I intended on spending quite a bit of time with. A woman I thought would be excellent wife material if only she’d liven up a bit in the sex department. There had to be a way to get her to open up—I chuckled at the pun—without scarring her for life and having her run a mile.

Perhaps going on the Tuscany trip sooner would be the answer. Alone with her, maybe I could convince her better. She wouldn’t have the excuse of anyone knowing what we were up to, secluded as we would be in our accommodation. I could teach her one hell of a lot in a week…Look how much Zara had taught me. Catherine would come back a completely different woman.

And I’d be a much happier, contented man.

I’d have to speak to her, see if she could wrangle some time off in her schedule so we could go as soon as possible.

My mind drifted back to Zara, as it often did. I went over her emails from yesterday, how I’d readily wanked into my handkerchief as she’d instructed, no questions, no balking. She had that way about her that made me do exactly as she’d asked, even if I didn’t want to do it. But I
had
wanted to wank,
had
wanted to imagine her with that dildo she’d mentioned sliding in and out of her wet hole, and fuck, that image had set me off down the road called Best Knuckle Shuffle Ever.

I shouldn’t have emailed her, shouldn’t have started us off again—and we
had
been started off again, regaining contact, me still being tied to her in some way. Already I wanted to fire another one off—an email and a splash of cum—and wondered whether she’d be working tonight in that bloody den of iniquity in Eden Street.

Having a new business…

I sat bolt upright. What? She had a new business? I hadn’t fully taken that in the first time I’d read it, too eager to scan her words in order to get an answer to my problems with Catherine.

Not to mention I have a new student.

I frowned. Thought I’d been her one and only student, that she didn’t usually teach anyone. That she wouldn’t be teaching anyone after me, either. Was that what her new business was? Offering private Domme services for a fee? Had she finally broken free of Eden Street and now worked out of her home?

A heavy knot tightened in my chest and I breathed deeply. My stomach muscles clenched, my pulse quickened, and I felt more than a little off-kilter. Disturbed by the way I’d reacted, I shot up and paced. That act usually calmed me as I worked through whatever was bothering me and I ended up finding a solution. Yet it failed to do so tonight. More to the point, Zara and her antics were no longer my problem, so there wasn’t a solution that needed finding.

Fuck.

She’d got to me again in her wily little way, slipping things into our email conversation that looked innocent but had been her opening to tell me snippets of what she was up to now. Had she intended for me to wonder? Had she wanted me to ask questions? If so, why the sodding hell did she
want
me to know those things when she didn’t want to be with me?

I paced faster, deciding she’d done it to either wind me up or to let me know she’d well and truly moved on and that it was okay for me to go forth with Catherine. Yes, that must have been it. Otherwise, why had she given me such solid advice on how to sauce up my sex life? Zara had been right, Catherine had lapped it up as I’d lapped her, yet the chilly
behavior afterwards hadn’t been something either I or Zara, I suspected, had anticipated.

I needed her advice again. Needed a woman to tell me what to do, because only a woman knew how another female thought.

I glanced at my watch. Past midnight. Yes, Zara would be up and about.

But what if I disturbed her with her new student? What if she was giving him—
he seems to mark ridiculously easy—
bruises? Who had she taken on, a masochist? That would be right up her alley. She could slap him at random and he wouldn’t mutter a word of complaint. Unlike me.

I stopped pacing, stood for a moment to really think about what I wanted to do. Should I email her? Would she think I was trying to cling on to what we’d had? She’d said we wouldn’t meet again, not in a million years, so writing to one another wouldn’t pose a serious problem, would it? She had her life, I had mine…

Sod it.

I sat on my sofa and pulled my laptop towards me on the coffee table, thinking I’d whack off—I chuckled again—a quick email to tell her about this evening. Just to ask her why Catherine had gone suddenly selfish on me. Yes, that would be all I’d need to contact her for. 

Hi, me again.

Did my last email arrive? You know, the one with me saying I missed hearing you come. Or did you think it was better not to answer? Actually, thinking about it, the latter was a good idea. We might have begun swimming in those murky waters again, and that wouldn’t be good for either of us.

So, I’m writing to let you know what happened earlier this evening—and I need your advice again. Sorry to bother you with this, but there aren’t that many women on the planet who will give me an honest answer, or, for that matter, even allow me to write such filthy things without thinking I was up to something. Like getting into your knickers. Which I’m not, by the way. Like you said in one of your emails, we won’t be meeting again, not in a million years, so the idea that I’m writing to restart something we should never have begun in the first place is ridiculous.

That said, I really do need your help. I took Catherine to see Les
Mis, and in the first act went down on her. She was—hmm, how do I put it—reluctant at first, but once I got going, so did she. Seems she likes a bit of cunnilingus, let me go the whole way, unlike some people I could mention. Anyway, that’s by the by. Gone. In the past. It’s the aftermath I need help understanding. She went cold on me. I’d planned for her to suck me off after the intermission, you know, give back what I’d given her, but she reckoned she was tired. I know men get sleepy after an orgasm, but do women? I don’t recall you ever being like that, and Helen, well, she’s another kettle of fish altogether so her reactions don’t count.

What did I do wrong? Was it the last blowjob fuck-up that put her off?

I pressed SEND and imagined her email arrival chime going off, interrupting her sucking her student’s cock while ramming a butt plug up his arse. Jesus, she’d been good at that. I supposed I’d been spoiled by having a woman who actually liked giving head, and being with one now who so clearly didn’t… Seemed Zara had ruined things for me instead of helping me broaden my horizons. I no longer saw things in tunnel vision. The whole world had been opened up to me, a vista of possibilities dancing in front of me, just out of my reach.

Bugger.

I got up, paced again for a bit between darting back to the coffee table to check whether my speaker was on. I mean, I could have just not heard the chime, lost in thought as I’d been. But the damn thing was on, volume right up there at its highest, yet I couldn’t stop myself from logging onto YouTube just to see if the speaker was actually working.

It was.

I paced some more. Poured myself a glass of wine to steady my nerves. And why was I nervous anyway? Because she hadn’t responded immediately as she had yesterday? She was either leaving me to dangle in that perverse way of hers, or she really was far too busy to entertain me, an irritating ex-student who hadn’t been able to just walk away after all. I drained my glass. Poured another. Took three sips, almost jumping out of my skin and sloshing wine all over myself at the sound of the tinny jangle coming from my laptop. I dumped the glass down on the table as I sat on the edge of my seat, opening the email she’d sent.

Why the hell were my hands shaking?

Hello, “Me Again”,

You caught me just as I was about to call it a night and go home. God, that was a busy one. So many customers to see to and keep happy. Still, you don’t want to hear about all that. You want an answer to your problem, don’t you. I imagine you’re all jittery and whatnot—watch that heart, Mr!—so I’ll cut to the chase and get on with it.

I’d like to say you didn’t do anything wrong, that it’s her reticence in returning the favour that
ballsed your evening up, but I can’t. Because you did do something wrong. You expected her to give back. Why should she? You offered her your tongue between her legs, she didn’t ask for it. You don’t give to receive, Victor, you give because you want to make her happy. It sounds like she was happy with your gift, and that should have made you happy. Obviously it didn’t. Sounds to me like you’ve become rather greedy of late.

And yes, although I don’t understand why she doesn’t like giving blowjobs—because, as you know, it’s one of my favourite things to do, and I bloody love it so much that if I think about it I can even feel the weight of a hard cock in my mouth—your last foray into such doings has probably put her off. Not all women like their heads clamped still, dearest. Not all women like hot, thick, delicious-tasting cum flowing down their throats. You need to remember that.

She hadn’t signed off in a way that meant our conversation was over, which made me think she might fancy a bit of a natter. I could certainly do with some conversation, albeit via words on a screen, and maybe, because she’d had a busy night, a bit of a wind down with me might be just what she needed too.

I read through her email again, accepting that yes, I’d fucked up. Guilt griped inside me. How must Catherine have felt with me seeming like a sex-mad beast, pushing, hinting constantly for her to do something she really hadn’t wanted to do? I hadn’t exhibited gentlemanly behaviour, and certainly hadn’t acted like someone who cared about her. All I’d cared about was me. I could kick myself for being such an arsehole, and it had taken my ex—well, she wasn’t
really
an ex—to point things out to me.

Did other people have such conversations with their previous lovers? I doubted very much they did, but Zara was one in a million, a woman able to separate her emotions from the equation and just see things as they were. Not in black and white, because she was a fan of discovering many colours in life, but she was practical in that she saw things at their base level and just accepted them.

Blunt, pragmatic, bugging Zara.

I missed her.

No, I didn’t.

And what had she said? A busy night with lots of customers. What, had she turned to prostitution? I couldn’t believe that, she wasn’t the type to take money for sex. She must have meant those at Eden Street, the voyeurs who stared at her through the thick windows of the showing rooms. Maybe she’d taken to doing two shows per night. And what the hell was it to do with me anyway?

I poised my fingers over the keys and began to type.

Well, I hadn’t expected to hear back from Victor so soon after our conversation yesterday. I’ll admit I’d secretly hoped my advice would have had Catherine scurrying away from him as fast as she could. It seemed it had had the adverse effect. Then again, he hadn’t pushed for anal sex yet, and I was sure that would send her packing. I’d lied and didn’t feel guilty about it at all. Not every women loved dicks or plugs up their bums, but if breaking up with him ensured he found a woman more suited to his needs, then lying was what I’d do.

All I wanted was for him to be happy.

I imagined Catherine’s shock and horror at him going down on her while they’d been in the theatre. I stifled a giggle. He hadn’t specified whether it had occurred in the back row, whether people could have seen them. Given the scant information I knew about her, I couldn’t see her allowing that, so how had he managed it? And did she have some fantasies lurking inside her after all? If she did, I’d have to play this carefully. My best intentions might go to waste if she ended up being receptive to his needs.

I tapped my fingernail on the desk, itching for his reply. I’d been cruel, had basically taunted him with my blowjob comment about how much I loved it, knowing he might sit there thinking that my mouth was here, just waiting for him to shove his cock into it. But it wasn’t waiting. I had no plans to suck that man’s cock again, however much I’d enjoyed it.

My stomach turned over as his email came in.

You’re a teasing bitch, but you knew that, didn’t you.

No, I realise not all women like delicious-tasting cum flowing down their throats, and to be honest, I’m pissed off about it. Blowjobs are one of the things I like best, but you knew that as well, which is why, I suspect, you teased me the way you did. You know I’m not likely to get one anytime soon, and by the looks of it, going by the other things you said, I may well not get anything else anytime soon either. I wouldn’t be surprised if Catherine never wanted to see me again.

Shit. Way to go in making me feel guilty, Mistress Bloody Z.

But I shouldn’t complain. Not your fault. I asked for your advice and you gave it. I knew when I turned to you that I wouldn’t get anything sugar-coated. Nope, straight to the sharp, wince-inducing point, you are.