The Mercy of Strange Men: Erotic Stories (4 page)

I pour a
whiskey and put on some music. I refuse to look at the clock on the
wall

My flat remains
unfilled. I am about to give up, call myself a fool and go to bed
when there is a hesitant knock at the door.

They tumble
into my flat like nervous, excitable puppies, pausing briefly and
not quite making eye contact. With them comes my bravado; I give a
‘hey’ that comes out even huskier than I’d intended, and they both
look to me. I place myself between them and am immediately lost to
hands and tongues. My questioning fingers find warm skin and hair
under shirts and waistbands, my mouth finds each of theirs.

In the lounge
room, I pour them each a whiskey, and then lead them into my
bedroom before we have any chances to lose our momentum. They are
quiet, polite, almost freakishly so given the strength of the booze
I can smell on their breath. I point at the bed and they both take
a seat on it, put their drinks on the bedside table, and
unconsciously clasp their hands in their laps

There is almost
enough space between them for me to sit, so I do. They move aside
slightly so that I am comfortable; their heat comes at me from both
sides, they both look at me – they’re still cautious. But oh I want
them so much and I almost can’t believe this is happening, and I
try to keep my face neutral and feel myself failing miserably.

I am wet, and
have been since the knock on the door.

‘I’m glad you
came,’ I say, and it sounds like such a terrible line, one of those
things that should only be said if one is imitating some awful
middle-aged British man.

A blush races
up Nathan’s neck, and Cooper meets my eye and smiles. ‘Wouldn’t
have missed it. Hey, thanks for having us.’

I roll my eyes,
and Cooper’s smile turns into a grin.

‘I’m sorry.
That was terrible.’

‘It was. It
really, really was. I ought to kick you out on the street right
now.’

‘Hey. There’s
no need for that. Maybe I can make it up to you.’

He stands up
and he pulls his tight fitted t-shirt over his head.

He draws Nathan
to his feet and pulls Nathan’s shirt over his head. Nathan’s body
is pale and smooth, with bones like etchings. They regard me
silently.

‘Pants,’ I
manage.

They reach for
their belts.

‘Each other’s,
please.’

Cooper pauses.
Nathan looks hesitant. They reach out and unbuckle each other’s
belts, then the button flies, and then they are helping each other
remove those tight low-slung denim skins. Nathan hops a little and
has to balance a hand on Cooper’s broad back. I have never been a
fan of skinny jeans until this moment.

‘On the bed,
please.’

I am nothing if
not polite.

They sit close
on either side of me. Cooper leans into me, confident and willing.
Nathan hesitates, but I turn to him and see that while his shyness
holds him firmly, in his grey-blue eyes is nothing but lust; his
pupils are dilated and fixed on me. I cup his face in my hand and
he melts against me.

Cooper reaches
around from behind and his hand finds its way under my skirt from
mid-thigh to cunt, slipping my knickers aside. His fingers have
just the right combination of smooth and rough and I slick them
down. His fingers circle my clit and already I am on edge. Nathan
sits near, with his hands to himself, watching me. I lean over and
kiss him; his lips are hot and forceful.

I turn to
Cooper and direct him to lie down on the bed, as I stand to take
off my underwear. Nathan goes to stand up, manners getting the best
of him.

‘Stay right
where you are,’ I say, and he stops still, embarrassed; he’s such a
sweet boy.

I climb onto
the bed and straddle Cooper’s head, lowering myself onto his face.
He moans, low and guttural. The vibration of it spreads out from my
vulva, through my pelvic bone and into my stomach. He puts his
whole lower face into pleasuring me, his tongue and lips working my
labia. My clit and his nose meet, protuberances meeting each other
and making their presence felt.

Nathan’s hands
cup my breasts, softly learning my flesh, nipples caught
gentle-rough between thumbs and forefingers.

I run my
fingers through Nathan’s hair and when I hear him give a little
sigh, I wrap up my hand in a fistful of it and pull, and his chin
jerks up, exposing his neck. He looks surprised, but his cock
swells beneath his underwear. I smirk.

Cooper knows
exactly what he is doing, hidden down there between my thighs, as
his tongue strums my clit. He sucks my labia and I ride him harder
and faster as the pressure builds in my cunt.

I pull Nathan
to me by the makeshift ponytail I’ve made of his hair, thrusting my
tongue into his mouth so he knows that, no matter how much they
might think it otherwise, no matter how many times these boys make
me come tonight, I am the one in control of the proceedings. I bite
down on his lip and he makes a noise halfway between a yelp and a
whimper of desire. I muffle it with my tongue.

He kisses me
back insistently, a little sloppily, and what his mouth tells me is
that he wants ever so much to please, that he wants to be a good
boy and do what the nice lady says. I like the things that mouths
can say without words. I like them a lot.

I pull back and
he gazes into my eyes, cuntstruck.. I cup his cheek in my hand and
he nudges against it. I smile, pulling it away from him and then
bringing it back as a stinging slap. His eyes widen.

‘Did you like
that?’

‘Yes.’ The word
is a hoarse whisper, but I saw the way his cock jerked, a bold
flesh underline to his assent.

I slap him
again.

‘Filthy
slut.’

His cock has
fought its way past the waistband of his underwear, and winks up at
me imploringly, at attention. I slide my hand under the waistband
run my index finger up the underside of it, from base to head; he
lets out a surreptitious little moan. Out of the corner of my eye,
I see Cooper smile to himself, and I wonder if he’s seen this
before. I wonder if he’s been the cause of this reaction
himself.

‘Lie down,’ I
murmur, stroking Nathan’s face. He doesn’t move. ‘Lie down for me,
on your back. I’m going to ride you.’ I turn to look at Cooper.
‘You,’ we smile into each other’s eyes, complicit. This is not the
way he was expecting this evening to play out. He is as intrigued
by me as he is aroused. Top to top, we take each other in. I smile
at him.

‘You can do
whatever you like.’

He smiles
back.

I grab a
condom. Nathan lies back on the bed, watching me patiently, waiting
for his next instruction. I ignore him, focusing instead on his
cock, which quivers and jumps as I roll the condom down.

Nathan gasps,
and Cooper gives an echo as he watches Nathan’s cock slide into me.
I fuck him like my life depends on it, like everything in the world
hinges on him and me and making sure that we get off. His eyes are
saucer-wide, and his lips are stuck in a pursed little ‘o’, and it
occurs to me that this is probably the most fucked he’s ever felt
by a woman.

The brief
thought of arse fucking him is almost enough to make me come then
and there, and I banish it immediately, not wanting to give myself
over quite yet

Cooper reaches
around and rubs my clit. Hands and mouths and cocks and we are all
just one beast given itself over to sensation.

My cunt grasps
at Nathan’s cock, and I am forced to lean over him, our lips nearly
touching, as Cooper continues to work my clit. I give myself over
to orgasm once more, and in my fog I feel Nathan come, the pulsing
spasms of his cock mirroring my own orgasm.

Cooper’s weight
over me becomes too much, and I collapse on Nathan. Cooper joins me
and we lie, panting, a pile of limbs and sweat and sated lust.

When I awake,
the grey pre-dawn light infiltrates the curtains of my bedroom. The
boys stir, and we disentangle ourselves with sleepy smiles and
small sighs. I watch them find their scattered clothes and dress,
and put on enough of my own clothing so I won’t get cold seeing
them to the door.

I lead them to
the front door and pause, not sure of the most appropriate way for
us to say goodbye. Then they are on either side of me, hands
everywhere, and I kiss Nathan, then Cooper, sweet whiskey breath
mingling from all of us.

They slip out
into the night and are gone, another figment, another footnote in
my story of Fitzroy.

It took some time for me to hear the
phone. It was only because the CD I was listening to, PJ Harvey’s
4 Track Demos
, came to the end of a song that I heard it at
all. I made a mad dash while the CD kept playing and answered the
phone just as the caller was about to hang up.

‘Hello?’ I
gasped.

‘Um…is this
Ange?’ a vaguely familiar voice enquired.

‘Yeah,’ I
panted, ‘Who’s this?’

‘My name's
Jess, I’m a friend of your cousin Ellen? I’m ringing to invite you
to her hen’s night next week. The twenty-fourth. You think you can
make it? It’s at La Maison. Seven-thirty for dinner, then we go out
raging.’

‘Uh, yeah’ I
replied.
Great,
I thought,
not another of these goddamn
things.
‘Sure. I’m there. Anything special I need to
bring?’

‘No, just
yourself. We’ve got it all planned out. Nice to talk to you Ange!
See you there!’

She hung up
before I could muster the politeness for a goodbye. I put the
receiver down and cursed her, Ellen, marriage and the whole world.
I would have to go out and be sociable when I’d rather stay at
home. And ‘raging’? Who even said that anymore? People who didn’t
ever party as a general rule, I guessed. People who used the
services of the Party Bus. Oh please, don’t let there be a party
bus involved. The inevitable plastic penis regalia were going to be
more than enough without a whole bus of screaming straight women. I
hoped fervently that there would be no male stripper involved in
any of the evening’s proceedings; a hen’s night celebration is
not
the time to come out to all your cousin’s friends.

Plus, while I
loved my cousin Ellen, and her fiancé was, you know, fine, I really
couldn’t see the point of marriage. Why would you put yourself
through that if you didn’t have to? It wasn’t like it was a
necessary requirement for doing anything else in life.

But I could
hardly talk. It wasn’t exactly like I had a committed relationship
myself.

I wandered back
into the lounge room, where PJ Harvey was still at it, this time
performing ‘Hardly Wait’: ‘
It's been so long I've lost my
taste…’

‘Yeah,’ I
muttered, flopping on the couch, ‘I know how you feel.’

For once time
passed quickly, and soon the week was over and it was time to go to
Ellen’s party. In spite of myself, I was feeling a little
enthusiastic, maybe even excited. I didn’t let it get the better of
me though – I deliberately dressed down as much as possible, only
checking to make sure my clothes were clean and the outfit didn't
look too horrific overall, and applying a little makeup, including
my signature lipstick, a bright scarlet red called Splendour. May
as well pretend I was making an effort. It was, after all, Ellen’s
night, and we’d been close friends growing up. She was one of the
few people who seemed to respect me for who I was - which did make
me wonder why she’d invited me, seeing as she knew how antisocial I
am. Token gesture to keep up appearances, I guessed. Against my
slightly misanthropic nature, though, I was kind of pleased to be
included.

I made my way
to the restaurant by foot, as it was within walking distance of my
flat. The marks of autumn were already on the city; the leaves
browning and falling off the trees, the air cooler than it had been
for some months. I walked into the restaurant and realised I didn’t
actually know what name the party I was with was under. As it
turned out, this didn't matter anyway because a very hyperactive
and slightly drunk Ellen screamed “
Ange!
” across the
restaurant and came galloping to meet me, slinging an arm across my
shoulders. The other patrons – not to mention the staff – looked on
disapprovingly, but no one said anything. We walked and stumbled,
respectively, to Ellen’s table, where she loudly introduced me as
her dear cousin Ange and gave me a smacking kiss on the cheek. The
others greeted me, and Jess told me how glad she was I’d come,
gesturing me to sit beside her.

Ellen was a
fright, dressed in some kind of veil someone had fashioned out of
tulle and decorated with inflated condoms, sachets of lubricant,
fake flowers, and several photos of her fiancé, Sam. The jokes and
the sexual innuendo were running high, and I felt myself retreating
into my shell, all too aware that I was out of place here, maybe
even more so than the drunken female high jinks in this fancy
restaurant.

While looking
for some kind of escape, I noticed the girl on the other side of
me. She looked almost as out of place as me, and although she was
laughing and making jokes about Ellen and Sam’s sex life with the
rest of them, she seemed a little lost, a little distant. Her hair
was long and blonde, and looked bleached by sun rather than
chemicals. Her skin was pale and covered with light freckles. She
wore a tight black-and-white-striped t-shirt and a black skirt. Out
of an unthinking curiosity, I glanced under the table and saw her
feet were covered with strappy high-heeled shoes. I wondered if she
felt the cold at all.

Maybe feeling
the weight of my stare, she turned to me and gave me a smile.

‘Hi, you’re the
famous Ange? Ellen has been loudly wondering where you’ve been for
the last half hour.’ I blushed, knowing that my lateness was due to
my hesitation about being there. She smiled. ‘Your cousin’s
definitely an interesting person to be around. I’m Kate, by the
way.’