Author’s Note:
Too much time on the preamble. Like I’m writing a novella or something, which I AM NOT. Still, there’s cum. As always, if it’s on this site, it’s an unrevised first draft. This is probably a three parter. Also, quality control wise – about half way through I forgot it was supposed to be third person story, so if “I, him” happens, blame preferred pronouns.
Musical Note:
Lost on you by LP
The Story
The three little dots, like little pills at the bottom of the messenger screen, indicated that a message was incoming from Kirsten. I didn’t know why Kirsten should be messaging me, but the three little dots piqued my interest and I was momentarily distracted from the contract evaluations I had vowed to complete by the end of the week. I sat back on my seat, leaning as far as it would go, and listened to the hum of air conditioning and the tapping and clicking of the other evaluator in the room. Proofing was going on all around me – proofing of associates’ letters to clients, proofing of internal communications destined for the Singapore and Los Angeles offices, and proofing of social messages intended to seem impromptu and friendly and not at all as if a team of corporate advanced communicators were tweaking and managing the messages to ensure they didn’t contain any forward looking statements, which was eighth floor’s latest concern.
After what seemed like a long time, a message popped up on the screen.
“Hello.”
This didn’t immediately inspire excitement. I decided not to respond, picked up the document and skipped back to the 43rd page, where all the disappointing legalese was. I’m not snobbish about legalese – I can read inverse structure and centre-embedded critical clauses all day and all night, providing the coffee was good enough, but this was exceptionally dull stuff. I put on his jacket and walked out to the lift, to visit the 26th floor and the outside air.
I checked his phone in the glass lift as the car sped towards and then through a low cloud bank to the blue sky. In the distance a Boeing 747 began a final bank towards Heathrow and I watched as it was joined in the pattern by hulking Airbus A380. Idle thoughts. Check the phone.
I accepted the massage from Unknown. “Hello”, I responded. What else was there to do?
Three little pills.
“Hello. It’s Kristen. I don’t suppose you remember, but I thought I’d look you up because you said to do so if I was in London.”
I frowned as the car decelerated on its arrival to the sky deck. Kristen? I tapped on her profile picture, which was a picture of a smiling brunette with big sunglasses and a smile standing in front of the Eiffel Tower. I tapped again and it showed the full photo – it was an evening shot with the tower illuminated, and she in the Paris-obligatory little black dress and a glass of champagne. I remembered her. She had been flirty and forward as only Dutch – or South African in her case – girls can be – but she was pursuing other quarry that night and I was just out for the laugh.
“Hello Kristen! I remember, of course. How are you doing, and what has you in London?”
I left the car and emerged into the bracing air of the sky deck. The sun gave a sharp contrast to the temperature of the late autumn air – there was a breeze and I felt it penetrate the fibres of my jacket and refresh me exactly as I had hoped it would.
“I’m in transit. I’ve a layover for two nights before I’m due in Buenos Aires. Corporate cost cutting.”
“Good lord, that’s exotic and bleak all at the same time.”
“Isn’t it? I have no clue why they couldn’t just route me via New York, but here I am.”
“Here you are. What are you up to?”
“Anything. No plans. Might go to a show. Might just pin drinks in a bar. I’ve done London to death last year, and I’m tired of touristy stuff.”
“I hear you.”
I thought through my work for the rest of the day. If I was being unscrupulous, I could kill off the current document by discovering a conflict somewhere – there were always a few – which would mean it got sent back to New York and delay it until beyond the close of play. That was easy. The next one had come down from the single most anal retentive client in the company’s portfolio, so it could be signed off with a quick scan. Then there were three I hadn’t even had a glimpse at. I took a deep breath of air, let my face bask for thirty solid seconds in the sun and strolled back into the lift back to the seventeenth. It was time for an adventure, wherever it was going to take me.
Coffee is a fine stimulant, and as a rule, I didn’t drink it unless I needed it. Another fine stimulant was the prescription medication my drinking buddy at the Eastern Markets Desk picked up every week from the pharmacy in the shopping mall beneath the monstrous tower. I took a stroll over to Danny’s desk, where Danny was just powering up his screens.
“Half day, Danny?” I asked.
“Very good,” he laughed. “We had a software update, so we’re just coming back online now. How’s tricks?”
“I wish I had tricks. I have documents, a headache and a generous remuneration package.”
“Headache?”
“Yup. The headache is that I have six documents to get done and enough time to do about two of them properly.”
“Ah. You’re after a go-faster stripe?”
I had forgotten that Danny also engaged in non-prescription pharmaceuticals.
“No, not really. I was wondering if you had one of your little yellow pills?”
“I have! I have fucking loads of them. I’m coming off them because, to be honest, I don’t need them so much now I use the nasal spray.”
“Nasal spray?”
“Yeah, nasal spray. Legitimate. Legal. And I have three of them. Would you like a nasal spray?”
“I don’t want something that’s been up your nose, Danny.”
“Fair enough. Anyway, it’s yours if you want it, but you should know it’s a bit side-effecty.”
“Side-effecty?”
“Yeah. It makes me a bit aggressive. Not just wide awake, but perhaps a bit more uninhibited. Well, a lot more uninhibited. It’s like there’s nothing I want that I don’t absolutely completely have to have. They should be banned within fifty miles of a kebab shop. Like drink but no drunkenness. But otherwise they work very well. Very stimulating. No sleep till Brooklyn.”
“Okay. Anyway. I don’t think it’s…”
“Here,” said Danny. “Here’s a strip of the pills – should last you a few weeks if the workload is too much, but do remember to get plenty of sleep the day after you take one. And here’s a nasal spray just so you can see how it works. I have them on prescription, but I also have a source.”
He slipped them into my hand and I placed them immediately in my pocket. Enough people knew what Danny was up to in his spare time, and it would be of no benefit at all to me to experience everyone else knowing as well.
“Of course you do. Thanks Danny!”
I went via the abandoned kitchenette, pulled myself an espresso and downed one of the tablets; I inspected the unlabelled nasal spray, returned it to my pocket and slipped back to my desk.
At the desk, within twenty minutes I could feel the pill kicking in – as it had once before, it seemed to give me an intensity of focus I could not explain – I sent the first paper back, approved the second and then began to tear in to the next paper, making proposed amendments and developing cross references between sections and clauses that needed more work from the draughting agent. Eventually I spotted a show-stopper and was able to stab the contract right through the heart and sent it back to Primary Legal. I sat back and looked at the clock, and noticed that only twenty minutes had passed – this would take the guts of a day in normal circumstances, but maybe I had just gotten lucky.
My phone pinged.
“You hear me?”
“Oh, Shit, sorry, got stuck into work. I can knock off a little early today if there’s something you’d like to do?”
“Which building is yours?”
“Lorenzo Tower,” I responded.
“Which floor?” She asked. This was new.
“Seventeenth. Why?”
“I can see you’re below the cloud base. I’m in the Novotel. I’m going to hit the gym for an hour. Any chance we could go for an early dinner?”
I stood to look out the window, trying to place the Novotel – I’d been in there for drinks a few months before, when I had just moved to London, but it wasn’t somewhere I could easily place from the seventeenth floor.
“Sure. I’ll get cleared up here.”
I gave the final file a quick scan and, with a red pencil scored through some unnecessarily prescriptive agreement deep in the undertakings and launched a report on the system. This could be handled later. I was done. It was two thirty four. I fingered the strip of tablets in my pocket and placed them and the nasal spray into my small backpack and sauntered to the lift shaft again, and down to ground level.
As I exited into the enormous lobby my phone rang – it was Lauren, whom I’d been seeing off and on, and with whom I’d been keeping things steady and very pleasant in recent weeks.
“Hello!” She said, as soon as I’d picked up.
“Hello, you!” I responded.
“So, listen, quick query. My friend Kristen is in town and she’s looking to go to dinner tomorrow night. Would you like to come?”
There is something in my psyche of which I am not entirely proud, but which has kept me both out of and firmly in trouble since I was a teenager. I could, and perhaps should, have turned it down, because when something sounds like a trap, it’s usually a trap. But innocence simply dripped from me at this moment, so I simply agreed. Innocent early dinner with Kristen tonight and then dinner with Kristen and gorgeous Lauren tomorrow night. Great stuff. Great stuff.
Lauren rang off happily and I set about walking out of the lobby, across the plaza to the hotel.
The Novotel is as dull and sterile as any hotel can be. Sculptures produced by clearly passionate and talented artists are blunted in their impact by the presence of bolts of sound deadening primary colour carpet draped on walls; the scent of French roast coffee wafting across the lobby inspires nothing but resignation. This is where companies send people they dislike to attend training days, and it’s where companies with no sense of imagination place their executives when there’s a chance to save a few hundred quid on a flight connection. It is hotel purgatory, with limp danishes and underbaked ‘fresh’ croissants available right through the afternoon to prove it.
“Shall we eat here?” said a unctuous Afrikaans voice from behind me.
I spun around and there she was – shorter than I had remembered but still there with her curly deep brown hair and cheek bones and a body clothed in gym gear and the perspiration of true exertion. She saw me paying attention and she smiled.
“Jesus Christ no. Have you eaten here? Why would you do that to yourself?”
“I had breakfast. I’m glad you said no.”
“There are a few places with good early menus.”
“Oh, we’re economising with an Early Bird?”
“Kristen, in this part of the city, an Early Bird is not an economy. You wanted an early dinner?”
“I did. Let’s get something very casual?”
We agreed, and she whisked herself off to get changed; I took a seat, ordered a sparkling water and waited for her to re-emerge.
She re-entered the lobby in less than ten minutes, in a long navy dress which may have been specifically made to draw attention to her neckline, and a deeper navy trench coat which she tied with a belt as she approached. She looked like someone prepared for a relaxed night on the town – I refastened my tie in an effort (failed) to match her energy. I was flagging again.
As we walked through the autumn air towards the strip of restaurants in the shadow of Lorenzo Tower, she told me about her upcoming meetings, her latest pieces of work and her plans for the future; Argentina was to be her home for a few months while they rearranged her firm’s South American operations, and she was hoping to come back to Europe via Johannesburg – she hadn’t been home for an extended stay in more than a decade. We happened upon an Italian, and we both decided that a Primotivo was the right drink for a 4pm dinner.
As we waited for the aperitivo to be served, I sipped on an espresso I had begged for at the door. As olives and bread arrived, the light of the candle, which seemed preposterous in the mid-afternoon, was placed by the waiter off centre and lit her face with warmth and a delightfully pleasing shadow – I was delighted to have new company and unknown conversation to explore.
Plates came and went as they will in an Italian restaurant, and I was transfixed on her company – the little yellow pill was coming to the end of its power, but she still retained my focus – it was fairly clear that didn’t need any pharmacological assistance.
When we finished dinner with a well deserved liqueur, I threw the stiff linen napkin down on the table and nodded.
“That was a fantastic meal for an early one. Just gorgeous. And hardly anyone here!”
“It is pretty intimate, isn’t it?” she replied.
“It is. Now. What are your plans for the night?”
“Well, since I know Lauren happens to be busy with her family tonight, I was hoping you might find it in your heart to entertain me? I am tired and I won’t be out all night, but you seem like fun.”
“Do you want to do some expensive and complex shit or do you want to do some really stupid shit?” I asked.
“Sounds like you have a preference.”
“I do. I think the better angels are on the side of us taking a boat down the river to Embankment, drinking good wine in Gordon’s, then I can put you back on the boat here and you can catch some shuteye.”
“That sounds like a good plan. We can start with that plan and see how we get on?”
“We can!”
I paid the bill and we wandered out in the late afternoon air towards the pier; we were lucky enough to catch a boat just about to depart and hurried inside to take a seat. It was warm and comfortable on the ferry and we spent the time looking out the windows and enjoying the sensation of speed between the stations on the route. It was pleasant and friendly and, well, intimate and I expect we enjoyed it equally. Eventually the boat reached the end of our journey and we stepped off, onto the pier, across the little park and onto Villiers Street, then down the steps to the dark cavern that is Gordon’s Wine Bar. I sat in the depths of the arch, lit again by candles, and she came fresh from the bar with a glass of dry sherry for me and something larger and redder for herself.
Liminality strikes every impromptu date – and this is what the afternoon had become, for sure. We were in a different, absolutely romantic space now, again almost deserted, save for a few tourists who had begun to siphon in from outside.
She sipped her wine.
“So,” she said. “We have dinner at an Italian not five minutes from my hotel room, you know I have no plans, and you take me to the other side of the city by boat to a wine bar tourist trap. At least I know your intentions are honourable.”
I laughed. “My intentions are always honourable. My intention is to introduce my friends to this place because it’s the single greatest wine bar in the world and it’s the absolute essence of London.”
She nodded, plaintively.
“You and Lauren are serious, I suppose.”
“I would say we’re happy in each other’s company and long may that continue.”
She raised her glass as if in toast.
“She’s fun. Did you know how much fun Lauren is?”
“Yeah, she’s lots of fun.”
“She’s lots of fun. She know show to have a good time.”. Kristen’s face had developed a conspiratorial aspect and she smirked as she ran her finger around the rim of the glass. I sipped my sherry.
“How do you mean?”
“I mean, I guess you’ll find out if you haven’t already,” said Kristen, drawing deeply from the glass.
“Alright then!” I laughed.
“She’s given you a pass for tonight,” said Kristen. “And she’s given me one, too. Old friend.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” I lied. I knew exactly what she meant as her hand crossed the table to mine. Instantly I felt a rush of blood to my head and further below. Just the first stirring, but distinct and certain.
“You know what I mean. Lauren is too busy to entertain either of us tonight, so she has graciously asked us to entertain each other.”
I nodded. “This is entertaining.”
“Seeing you squirm is entertaining, yeah. Seeing you squirm is very entertaining.”
I finished my glass, excused myself and went back to the bar for another round.
When I came back, Kristen had her phone on the table, open at the messenger. On the screen was a message from Lauren, telling her “Go easy on him, please. None of your craziness. He’s a delicate man.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. “I am a delicate man, certainly. So, what entertainment did you have in mind?”
“Well, I suppose we go back to my hotel, you take my clothes off and do whatever comes naturally to me all night, to put it delicately.”
“Well, to put it indelicately, I was planning for an early night and an early start.”
“Exactly right. Perfectly reasonable. We go back to my hotel right now, which is by any measure early, and you get a good night’s sleep there, then walk freshly into work tomorrow morning with no problems. We get the shirt cleaned overnight, your suit gets pressed, nobody is any the wiser.”
“Fucking hell, you’ve thought this through.”
“No, not really, but I’m faced with a problem to be solved and I just solved it. It’s why I’m being sent to Buenos Aires and it’s why I’m in London tonight, asking you to take me back to my hotel and use me however you wish. I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m pretty fucking hot.”
“You are. And the idea is terribly appealing.”
“Good. Then it’s settled.”
We drank our wine and walked back to the pier. The dark had begun to set in and London was lighting up – we boarded the boat when it arrived and sped back East. As we passed Blackfriars she placed her hand firmly on my leg and allowed it to slip further up until it was, undeniably, cupping my crotch.
‘I won’t be able to stand up,” I warned her.
“Learn a little self control,” she said, and kissed me gently on the cheek.
Presently the boat arrived at Canary Wharf pier and we exited, taking a direct and urgent to route to the Novotel and the sixth floor. When we entered the room, a bottle of champagne lay in an ice bucket with two glasses, and a note, which Kristen read and laughed.
“Lauren sent it. She is incorrigible,” she said. She slipped her coat off and threw it on the chair.
Bidding me open the bottle, she waited until the cork had popped before approaching me and turning her back.
Her skin was clear and well tanned around her neck; I unhooked the dress and slowly ran the zip down her spine, pausing to lean in and kiss the nape and her shoulder blades; I slipped my hand inside the left side of her dress to ease it to the ground, revealing underwear in ornate floral lace, which demanded to be touched and felt; I reached around her body and held her breasts firmly in my hands; I could feel her nipples rise to firmness against my hands and I heard her breathe deeply and sharply inward. Her flesh was warm against my hands and I could feel the soft suppleness of her arms and her chest through the fabric of my shirt. She arched her back, placing the cleft of her ass against my crotch, and my rapidly stiffening cock felt strangely right at home there. She turned her head to me and I kissed her, then slipped the dress totally from her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.
That back. Her skin seemed so smooth, with a glorious recess to her spine and a diamond shaped musclulature at the base. I’ve always loved that part of a woman’s body and never known why; I didn’t have much time to concentrate on it as she spun around and tackled my tie, my shirt and then my belt in quick succession. She had a roadmap tonight, just as certainly as she’d hd a roadmap through her career; she soon had my belt off and my trousers unclasped, and just as unexpected as her text message had been this morning, she was on her knees, slowly pulling down my trunks; my cock was certainly awake; it sprung to attention with a slight upward curve, and I could feel it straining as it filled and became stiff. She turned me around to see herself in the mirror, and, extending her tongue to a sharp tip, she began to lick underneath the shaft, from my balls to the very tip; it didn’t take more than two slow, determined journeys along the length of my cock before she was rewarded with a quickly enlarging bead of perfectly clear, perfectly shiny premium; she gave a little gulp as she licked it from the tip and swallowed it down.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m not sorry.” She opened her mouth performatively and engulfed the shaft, sucking the glans and describing swirls of her now flat and engrossed tongue around what she well understood was the most sensitive part of my whole body. She looked into my eyes as she bore down on the shaft, pumping with her hand and comfortingly caressing my glans with her warm mouth. I shivered with satisfaction and she placed her hand on my chest as she slowly built up her firmness and the pressure of her tongue on my glans. She knew the route to my pleasure centres better than anyone I had ever met, and she seemed absolutely dedicated to the task; I began to panic that it would be all over far too soon; she seemed to see the panic in my eye and she simply went faster; her head bobbing on my now absolutely enraptured dick, my body in sensations I can only describe as paroxysms as I tried to stay standing; she watched herself in the mirror again. A thought crossed my mind; I could enjoy this view as well; I reached to the desk and took up my glass, topped it up again with the crisp cold champagne and took a sip, meeting this time the reflection of her eyes. I drained the glass and reached forward, placing my hands on her head; she shook her head and firmly threw off my hands; she didn’t need any help deciding how deep I would be inside her mouth, and she certainly didn’t need my guidance on the speed of her movement. She hummed in appreciation as she saw me reach for the champagne again, and demanded a glass herself. She downed half a flute and then took half a mouthful, then plunged back onto my shaft; the sensation of the sharp bubbles and the sudden coldness did something to reset my countdown; it was a peculiar sensation and I had a sense that she had enjoyed the attempt to shock me.
She reached around my legs and grabbed my ass, then pulled her mouth down deeply over me; she knew I wasn’t going to last very long; she pulled back , drew breath and told me to cum, and I did.
The sensation of orgasm in this woman’s greedy, talented mouth was as nothing I had experienced in such a long time that it seemed to eclipse everything else in the room. I stood and felt my whole body enforce a crushing, electric ejaculation which zapped every nerve in my body and made impossible my effort to slow it all down and show some composure. What should have been a roar of orgasm was instead just a guttural failure to breathe; she was laughing at me as she swallowed my gushing load, and I was paralysed with the moment.
“There,” she said, as she wiped her mouth. “That got that out of the way. Now, we can get serious.”
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