The Sexopaths (12 page)

‘My client wants something a
little different this time.  You are to pretend to rape her.  I’ll
blindfold you now – then fluff yourself while you wait.  Enter in
five minutes.  Make it hard and fast.  And it must be real –
you have to come inside her.  Don’t hold back.  Then return and
shower and I’ll come for you.’

‘But… what about…?’

‘You don’t have to worry –
there is absolutely nothing that you need fear… I assure you.  Okay?’

‘Shit.  Okay.’

So he’d done as commanded,
already light-headed from travel-fatigue and the draining Mykonos
experience.  He’d made an excuse to Monique that he wanted to collect a
book due for delivery to his office during their trip.  She hadn’t
demurred, tired herself, and was content to conduct a weakly protesting Camille
through her bedtime routine – customarily his job.  Heart pounding
he’d sped to Leith, arriving just before the clock struck the allotted
hour.  Fifteen minutes later he’d emerged from the basement condominium
into the rain-spattered autumn night like a disoriented drunken sailor turned
out of a bar onto the glistening black streets of an unfamiliar port. 
Such was the speed and efficiency of the whole operation, he’d even had time to
visit his office and telephone Monique to inquire if he should bring a takeaway
– but she’d answered the call in the negative from their bed.

He’d returned home to find the
house already dark and silent.  Reluctant to chance a wakeful Monique,
he’d defaulted softly into his study, quietly switching on the angle-poise and
spotlighting his Mac beneath a cone of pale light.  He’d sat and flipped
open the lid and the screen had sprung into life – to reveal
unaccountably and to his horror Xara’s escort page.  My God! – he
must have forgotten to shut down after he’d logged on to get her number to text
his impending arrival.  He’d stared at the screen, hardly daring to
breathe.  Had he even closed the laptop before he left?  If not
– what had Monique seen?  It wasn’t unusual to find her checking
something online on his machine.  Had she looked tonight?  Even just
in passing to turn off the lights?

But, hold on.  If Monique
had
seen the page, wouldn’t she have been onto him in a flash?  How could she
not
have put two and two together?  Even the most trusting of wives would have
jumped to the obvious conclusion.  Yet Monique had made no mention of it
when he’d called.  And – think about it – even if he’d left
the lid open, first the screensaver and then sleep mode would have activated
within a few minutes.  The Mac would have looked like it had been turned
off.  He’d checked the history – no other pages had been
viewed.  Squinting into the blackness beyond his window pane, he’d begun to
count his lucky stars.  This wasn’t the first disjointed aberration in his
normally meticulous attention to detail – the wedding ring, for
instance.  And there’d been the
Post-it
^â
with a potentially incriminating
address left affixed to his dashboard; worst of all, stripping off in a strange
and tawdry bathroom, relieving his pockets of his personal possessions,
discovering his phone still connected to his last call to Monique’s office, on
air throughout the seedy preliminaries.

‘Adam, hurry! – I shall go
crazy!’  Now her tone takes on some of the insistence she employs with
Camille at meal times.  ‘Or to sleep.’

He enters their bedroom. 
‘Here I come.  You’ll like the oil better now it’s warm.  And just
lie quietly.  Clients don’t usually complain like this, remember –
especially if they want the masseur to be gentle.’  He moves about the
room, methodically extinguishing lights and all but one candle until darkness
is near.  He joins her upon the bed.

‘Who says I want it to be
gentle?’

‘Isn’t that what you liked about
your Russian friend?’

Monique evidently doesn’t feel
inclined to answer this.  She rolls onto her front and settles into the
soft bedspread, burying her face in its folds.  For a while she’s silent,
Adam begins to apply the oil.  He wonders if she’s comparing his amateurish
strokes with the expert, and considers how – paradoxically – he is
the professional as far as Ms Y is concerned.

‘What are you thinking?’ 
It’s Monique that asks the question.

He can’t tell her what he’s
thinking.  ‘I’m picturing you in the sauna.  Picturing him picturing
you.  I can’t believe that what I see now is what that Russian creep got
to see.  And feel.’

Monique grunts noncommittally,
which could just as easily be a reaction to what his fingers are doing as a
response to his statement.  He reflects upon the similarity of the scene
to his last commission with Ms Y.  So how does this compare?  The
answer is unwelcome – there is no comparison.  Sure, he is aroused,
but conventionally so, and in this respect he is emotionally becalmed. 
And, while Monique’s body is rewardingly perfect, to the eye, to the touch, to
the taste, what drips dopamine into his bloodstream right now is the idea of
her arousal by the stranger-sex she’d almost experienced earlier. 
Almost?  Her illicit high at once injures and excites him.

Now kneeling astride her thighs
he continues with the massage.  She seems very relaxed, but her breathing
is shallow and rapid, and he can sense the raised beat of her heart.  He
guesses that right now she’s back in the bubbles room, recalibrating fear and
desire.  What
would
she do if she returned?  Her remark
– that second time around would be for only one reason – casts
further doubt on the completeness of her account.

‘Nice?’

‘Mmm.’

‘Just like earlier?’

‘Mmm.’

He’d have preferred ‘Better.’

‘You know,’ he whispers, leaning
over so that his lips are beside her left ear, hair tangling with his lashes,
‘It would take so little for an innocent massage like this to turn into… this.’

She groans as he slides inside
her and as he quickly thrusts back and forth she reaches down and in seconds
she’s coming, loudly and without inhibition.

They lie in this position,
gasping like sprinters who’ve collapsed over the line at the end of a
desperately close race.  After a minute or so Adam whispers:

‘Bad girl.’

‘It felt good.  Good bad.’

‘Mmm.’  It’s his turn to
employ the gentle onomatopoeia.  But he’s shocked at his own demonstration
– just how easily it could have been perpetrated.  Again he sees the
image of the guy in the tight thong, the proprietorial pull around Monique’s
waist, the conspiratorial smile to him, her own words at the time, slightly
drunken, unnaturally relaxed.  He says:

‘I have a fantasy.’

‘Tell me.’

‘I’m massaging you, like I just
did.  Except you’re tied up, spread-eagled, lying on your back,
blindfolded.  Then I go out of the room – into the bathroom to get
more hot oil… you think.  And then when I come back… it isn’t me.’

‘Mmm.’  Now the sound is the
sudden revving of an engine.  Adam hastily applies some brakes to the
scenario:

‘I was thinking it was a
girl.  And she massages you.  And you still don’t know.  But
maybe you think something.  Then she does lots of bad things to you. 
And you know, but you don’t let on.’

‘And you know what, my darling?’

‘Tell me.’

‘I know we’ll do something like
that.’

Blog by Anonymous – 3

OMG!  Just
having a drink to settle my nerves.  I’m in my bedroom at mum’s.  Was
doing an incall half an hour ago and mum came home right slap-bang in the
middle of it!  She’d not long gone out for the afternoon, but she’d left
her ciggies and lighter by the tv.  Thankfully I’d put the chain on the
front door so it gave me a minute to think.  She knew I was in and started
shouting through the letter-box.  I was naked except for pvc thigh-boots
and the strap-on I was fucking the guy with – I left it sticking in
him!  He was seriously tied up, so I just had to leave him on the bed and
chance it.  OMG!!!  I jumped in the shower for five seconds and went
out with my hair dripping in her pink frilly dressing gown – I use
her
room for incalls!  (It’s got the double-bed and ensuite shower.)  OMG
she’d kill me!  I told her I felt safer when the chain’s on when I’m in on
my own, because of the break-ins there’s been in the flats lately. 
Junkies.  I was sure she’d notice how jumpy I was – like I was
keeping myself between her and her bedroom door and willing her to go. 
Luckily she was in a hurry because she wanted to get to the bingo on time and I
said ‘I’ll just put the chain back on’ so it didn’t seem so odd that I followed
her into the hall and saw her out.  She did give me a bit of a strange
look – like ‘Are you on something?’ – but her mobile rang and she
just kissed me and went.  I’d told the guy it was my flat-mate – I’d
put a ball-gag on him so he couldn’t say anything!  It must have only been
2 minutes anyway that I’d left him and he seemed okay when I just started up as
though nothing had happened.  I gave him extra time and let him come over
my boots.  He said he’d like to see me again and could my flatmate join in
next time (!) – punters always assume if you have a flatmate she’s on the
game, too.  I said I’d be able to arrange something – but maybe I’ll
book an apartment like the girls who come round on tour.  I don’t reckon
Sarah would let me use her place any more – unless she was in
charge.  Anyway, this punter wasn’t her sort – she only takes the
executive types.  I can’t be so choosy.  She did call me round for a
two-girl one night last week, but in the end I just had to stay out of sight in
the lounge.  She said she was trying something a bit risky with a client
and wanted someone there in case there was a problem.  She never told me
what it was.  I noticed there was nothing lying around – she must
have put everything in the safe.  When she’d finished she gave me the
usual amount – I was surprised as I’d not really done anything –
but she seemed pleased with herself and even offered me a vodka Red Bull. 
I wondered if she was going to ask me to stay over, but she wasn’t drinking and
said she needed to drive.  I didn’t get the impression it was an outcall,
though – she wasn’t getting ready or anything.  She called Liz to
pick me up and said to put the fare on her account.  I’m still shaking
from mum surprising me like that.  Excuse me while I go for a little
top-up.

‘She’s coming here - it’s an
early birthday present.’

‘What! 
What?
’

‘For you… for both of us.’

‘Monique – like…
how
come?’

‘My darling – did we not
say… the other night?’

‘I thought we were…
teasing.’  Adam finds that for some reason he skirts around the word
‘fantasising’.

‘We can cancel if you
prefer.  I thought you would like it.’

‘Well… I might, but…’

‘So there is no problem.’

‘But I can’t believe you’ve gone
and done it.’

‘I thought I should strike while
the iron is hot, as you say!’

‘You’re fucking crazy.’

‘So you are pleased?’

‘I don’t know
what
I
am.  You’ve booked a
threesome
.  With a…
call girl
. 
I’ve not got a stock answer.  Fucking tomorrow!  I mean – what
am I supposed to say?  I feel like I’m in that restaurant scene when Liza
Minnelli tells Dudley Moore she’s a hooker.’

‘I think you’ll like our hooker.’

Adam recognises the same nervous
giggle she’d greeted him with a few days earlier, fresh from her sauna experience. 
He’d noticed she was drinking more than usual while she prepared their
meal.  Maybe building up to this.  He shakes his head in exaggerated
disbelief and reaches for the wine bottle and re-fills their glasses.  The
overhead lights are dimmed to faint stars and two candles burn steadily between
them.  Leaning against the table he can feel his upper body ever so
slightly rocking to and fro as the extra blood his heart is pumping seeks
somewhere to go.  He tries to select the right question to ask – most
of those rudely crowding his thoughts are queuing prematurely.

‘It’s definitely a girl?’

She laughs.  ‘Of course it
is a girl, my darling.’

‘And you fancy that?’

‘Why not?  We talked about
it.  It is harmless.  Interesting..’

‘That depends on what happens. 
Are you sure you want me in on this?’  He doesn’t mean it but he feels he
has to sound as though overwhelming excitement isn’t his first reaction.

‘My darling, don’t be
ridiculous.  Of course.  And I want you to do whatever you
want.  Although I have some ideas too.’  Her eyes glint decadently
over her glass, like a performer in burlesque.

‘I daren’t ask.’

‘You know what I like… in the
movies.’

He thinks he knows what she
likes, but wonders how that service could be supplied.  When they play one
of their continentally sourced R18 movies as a backdrop to lovemaking, it’s the
scenes of two guys on one girl that set her off.

‘But I couldn’t imagine us… well…
are you making this my turn so next time it could be… a bloke, or something?’

‘Something?’

‘I don’t know… a couple,
swinging… whatever.  I do know I don’t want anybody else – a guy
– to be with you.  I couldn’t do that.’

‘It is just a girl, and that is
all I want us to do.  It will be fun.  A bit crazy.  It will
spice up our love life.’

‘I didn’t know we needed that.’

‘My darling – we
don’t.  But… you can always add a different spice to a dish.’

‘You’re not trying to get even
with me?  So I can’t complain about your Russian massage?’

‘There is nothing to complain
about.  And, so – no, I am not.  I’d like to feel what it is
like with another girl.  And it will turn me on to see her with you. 
And the three of us together.  I thought this was your fantasy.’