Act of Exposure (5 page)

Even though
her heart was beating fast in her breast, she let him tie her hands
to the headboard, her ankles to the base. This was what she wanted
from a man. This was what she had always wanted, but had never
dared allow - at least - not willingly.

Not because
the man she was with might not have been willing. Oh no, it wasn't
that. It was just that she had never quite trusted such casual
acquaintances, and somehow, this once, she had trusted.

As he looked
into her eyes, he traced the lines of her face with his
fingers.

Softly, he
followed the arch of her eyebrows, the straight perfection of her
nose, the select drama of her cheekbones. He let his finger fall
beneath her chin, then brought it up to explore her lips, to dip
between them, and - like something much hotter, much more demanding
- force it between her teeth and onto her tongue.

Murmuring,
writhing with pleasure beneath his body, she wanted to drown in
him, wanted to fuse with him like one hot metal to another.

She cried out
as he nipped her nipples, sucked her breasts. It was as though he
were eating her through a straw; like an ice-cream sundae. No. More
like coffee cream, laced with brandy. Smooth, sweet, and incredibly
heady.

In the
half-darkness of the room, the weight of his body pressed her to
the bed.

She was only
vaguely aware of the roughness of the bedspread against her
back.

She was
intimately aware of his pubic curls crushed against hers, the dewy
wetness of the head of his penis as it ploughed through her sex,
its strength and size as it penetrated her; the heat of his stem
against the soft suck of her pubic lips.

'You like
being tied up, don't you?'

His body
thudded against her.

'I might.' Her
voice trembled with passion.

'Say it. Go
on, say it.' There was power in his voice. He was willing her to do
this.

'I can't.'

It was true.
Somehow, to say such a thing would be to expose her innermost self;
the person she really was. Or was it that she didn't want to say
it? That she wanted him to force the words out of her?

His features
hardened. His body banged heavily and fiercely against hers. The
sound of belly slapping against belly filled the tiny room.

She cried
out.

'Say it. I
know you like it.' He continued to fuck her as he said it. His face
was intense, his jaw set like iron.

'I won't!'

Her cry held
more than defiance. It trembled with pleasure.

God - she
liked what he was doing to her, liked this feeling of helplessness
with a man she instinctively trusted!

All the same,
she was aware of the grim line of his mouth, the tight grip of his
hands. The tips of his fingers dug into her hips.

'You,' he
said, as he skewered her more deeply, then paused, 'are not what
you seem.' He withdrew a little, then plunged again. She cried
out.

'You,' he said
as he repeated the ramming, the pausing as he asked her the
question, 'like what I'm doing to you, but will not admit it.'
Again he withdrew, held himself back like an archer about to
fire.

Abby, lost in
her own sexuality, her own fantasy, sucked in her breath. Each time
he thrust her enjoyment increased. Each time he paused, harbingers
of climax radiated upwards and outwards from the centre of her
pleasure. The coming climax was like the feathers of a fan. First
it was only slightly open. With each thrust, each pause, it opened
a little more, tantalized a little more. But it was increasing. The
fan was gradually opening into one fantastic statement. One
fantastic climax.

'You,' he
exclaimed again as he rammed himself into her, 'like to be in
control of your life and of men, yet, when it comes to sex, you
need to submit to the more sordid side of your nature. Is that not
right?'

The sensations
increased. The fan of sexual feathers went that much further
towards its fullest opening.

Moaning
through gritted teeth, Carmel thrashed her head from side to side,
burying her face and her cries in the pillow. At the same time, she
arched her body so that she might better meet the fierceness of his
thrusts.

He retrieved
his cock, then rammed it in again.

'Is that not
right?' he demanded again... and again, and again, her juices
slurping as he pumped himself into her in time with his
question.

'Yes!' she
cried. 'Yes! Yes!' The ostrich-feathered fan of her own sensations
was now fully open.

As her climax
ranted through her mind and her body, she would have said anything,
would have done anything, and would be anything he wanted her to
be.

Even once the
orgasm was completely over and he lay snuggled close to her side,
he did not untie her. Strangely enough, it did not seem to matter.
The way he stroked her breasts as they talked made her forget she
was still tied to the bed and to his wishes. The warmth of his
voice against her ear, and the way one hand stayed trapped beneath
her behind, gave her a strangely secure feeling.

But why am I allowing this?
she asked
herself. It was a question she had asked herself before. The answer
was there, and she knew it was there.

In her other
life she was powerful, successful, and unapproachable. It was her
that led the way, made the headway, and dominated her field in a
way few women ever got to do. Here, in this other world, this
twilight where people indulged their wildest excesses, she was
someone else, and wanted to be someone else. She needed him to
dominate her, to draw her sexuality and her fantasies out of
her.

She yelped
like a puppy as he pulled on her pubic hair. 'Why is your hair down
there so white, and yet the hair on your head is so black?' he
asked.

Her response
was quick. 'I dye it to match the wig I wear in my act. Black gown.
White wig. White pubic hair.'

'I see.'

He believed
her. She was glad of that, but she didn't want any more questions.
She could not afford to let him know the truth. She took the
advantage.

'So why were
you dressed as a woman?'

He laughed
against her shoulder. 'I dared Valeria to come out with me one
night dressed in nothing but her stockings and a coat.' He laughed
more loudly. 'I take my hat off to that woman. She loved doing
it.'

'Where did you
take her?'

'We went for a
drive in the country. Found a lovely old pub with thatched gables
and dark beams - you know the sort of place.'

Carmel nodded
as best she could. Such an effort made her breasts wobble like firm
jellies.

'We had a
drink, had a bar meal. Then we drove into the forest and I made her
take off her coat and fucked her over the bonnet of my car.' He
kissed her ear. 'Lovely, don't you think? Just imagine, the warmth
of the bonnet against her naked breasts and belly, and me plunging
into her from behind. And all by the light of the moon!'

Carmel
murmured a response, and mewed appreciatively as his fingers rolled
back the flesh of her pubic lips. The fingers of his other hand
probed between the cheeks of her behind.

'Then what?'
she asked, her buttocks wriggling against his exploring fingers and
a new climax rising between her pubic lips.

'Then,' he
said, after kissing her neck, 'I refused to give her back her coat.
I made her climb naked into the boot of my car.'

'Like a piece
of luggage.'

'That's what
she said too. Said I shouldn't treat women that way, that I had no
respect for them. I told her she was wrong, told her how much I
loved them, worshipped them, would do anything, be anything they
wanted me to be. So, put your money where your mouth is, she said.
Be a woman.'

'Good for
her.'

They laughed,
kissed, and talked more. He asked her if she made a habit of
picking up men at the Red Devil Club.

'Only if they
meet my very high standards,' she replied.

'So I'm
honoured?'

'Not really. I
thought you were a woman. Archie was trying to get me to go
upstairs with that man I left Valeria with. I did not wish to do
that. I thought I would be safe if I went off with another woman. I
went off with you on that understanding, and that alone.'

'Well, what a
surprise you got.'

'Yes,' she
said, and pressed her leg against his member which was now flaccid
and huddled against his thigh.

His lips then
his voice became warm against her ear. 'Tell me about them.'

'One of my
lovers?'

'Yes. It turns
me on.'

It was her
first instinct to say no, but his cock was still flaccid and she
had a few more hours to kill.

'There was one
in particular. He was American. I think he was in oil. Either that,
or he was a gangster.'

'Why do you
say that?'

She shrugged.
'Looked like one. He had a good body, nice face, but had a scar
down one cheek. Perhaps it was that that made me wonder. He was
staying at the Savoy. The suite was expensive. That night, I lay
between silk sheets.'

In the mean
light of the Railway Hotel, the man she was with cuddled closer.
She felt his penis hardening. He nibbled at her ear.

'How did he
take you?'

She told him
of how he had asked her to walk around the room as she undressed,
as though she were familiar with undressing in front of him. As
though watching her was a familiar habit.

He asked her
to sing as she did it. She had asked him what song. He had said any
- no - 'Move Over Darling' or 'Move Closer'. Either of those, he
said.

So she'd
obliged.

'Was it good
with him?'

'Yes,' she answered, remembering that it had been good. She
was also aware that this man lying next to her had hoped she was
going to say it hadn't been. What an ego boost that would have been
for him.
It's almost
, she thought,
as though we know each
other well. Already, he is showing jealousy
.

Jealousy, like
being recognized, was something else she could do without. Yet
somehow, like him, she was enjoying listening to what she was
saying. She was also enjoying remembering.

'I remember he
had that scar on his face, and another on his chest. It was just
beneath his chest hair. It was barely covered by it. Strange,' she
added thoughtfully, 'but I had forgotten that.'

She didn't add
that the guy, who she vaguely remembered was called Dwight, had
wanted to set her up in an apartment in Knightsbridge. That was her
business.

'I'm stirred,'
he said against her ear. 'I'd get you to tell me about all your
other loves, if we only had time.'

She enjoyed
the delicate touch of his breath on her face before his lips and
tongue again sought hers. His penis had hardened, and as he rolled
over onto her, it dug into her belly.

Abby enjoyed
his dominance, the harsh tone he adopted when he ordered her to
turn over and be retied to the bed. Her sex quivered with
excitement against the crumpled bedclothes as he pinched and
slapped her bottom. Then she cried out as he raised her hips,
steadied them, and pushed himself back into where he had already
been.

Alert to the
sound of his breathing, she waited until she was absolutely sure
that he was sleeping before she slipped out of her loosened bonds
and went to the bathroom.

She washed the
smell of him from her body, then stared at herself in the
mirror.

Who was this
woman who stared back at her? How could she do the things that she
did?

For the first
time that night, fear at what might happen burned in her chest.

'But it didn't
happen,' she said quietly to herself. 'You enjoyed everything that
happened tonight. Leave him now. Leave him to the bed, the bill and
the fact that you are gone and he will never have you again.'

For the first
time ever, she did not quite believe what she was saying. There was
a nervous knot in her stomach about this man. There was also the
premonition in her head that she wanted to see him again and have
him again.

She glanced at
her watch. Almost four. Time to be gone; time to cross the divide
between this life and her other one.

Praying that
the water pipes wouldn't be too noisy, she turned on the chrome tap
that haphazardly sprayed cold water into a cold white sink. With
yellow soap and a frayed flannel, she washed what remained of the
red lipstick from her mouth and the black make-up from her
eyes.

Keen to
cleanse her face of Carmel and the night, she was too vigorous with
the water and the rough towel. Eyesight blurred as a small circle
of plastic tipped out onto her cheek, then fell downwards.

'Damn!'

Squinting
slightly, she felt around the basin for the stray contact lens. Her
fingers failed to locate it.

Exasperated, she threw her head back and clenched her
fists.
No. This mustn't happen! The floor!
Perhaps it fell on the floor
.

Naked, she
dropped on all fours to the cold vinyl. Her actions were more
rushed now. She could not chance him seeing her like this. With or
without the contact lens, she had to get away before he awoke.

Her fingers
failed to locate it. Hopefully, so would anyone else's. She stood
up and looked one last time in the pitted glass of the frameless
mirror.

A pair of
dark-lashed eyes looked back at her; one black, and one blue.

'Damn!' Her
exclamation was vehement, but no more than a whisper.

Quietly, she
crept back into the bedroom, gathered up her clothes and her
handbag, then left.

Not until she
was safely tucked up in her own bed in a room with grey and yellow
wallpaper and furnished with Queen Anne style reproductions did she
think about him and wonder who he really was. After all, she hadn't
even known his name.