Broken Angel

There are times when I seem compelled to follow a certain – often apparently demented – course of action. But the truth is that nothing compels me as much as pure, irrefutable logic. Yes, on the admittedly rare occasion that a course of action is plainly and unarguably the logical choice, nothing – not even the craziest caprice – will keep me from that path.

So it was on that spring day, oh! many months ago now. My heart said, “no!” But my mind said, “Yes.”

It wasn’t just that I knew I would have a good time. That his writing had intrigued and tantalised me. That we had spent one sunny afternoon flirting so delightfully. That there was no good reason not to. That I had promised that I would. That he deserved it, because he had read my blog so religiously. And that we probably wouldn’t have another chance. It was all that, but that wasn’t all. I also had to put him in his place.

“Girls just go gaga for me,” he had confided, with staggering bravado, before we met.

“They do, do they?” I raised an unseen eyebrow.

I wished he hadn’t set me this challenge. But he had, and there was no way I could let a statement of such hubris stand uncontested. In fact, I saw it as my duty towards all womankind to check this tide of insufferable effrontery, tout de suite.

“But how do you know that they’ve gone ‘gaga’ for you?” I asked, just to be sure of what not to do.

“I can just tell,” he said. “And they send me text messages filled with heart-eyes.”

I chuckled softly to myself at my desk, eliciting surprised glances from my co-workers. This was going to be easier than I had anticipated.

I was still nervous, though. Well, of course. The thrill of meeting a stranger. And knowing that something’s going to happen. Not just because I had agreed to it – I could back out of that far too easily – but because he’s paying for it. There’s no going back, I reminded myself as I loitered self-consciously in the hotel lobby, pretending to be engrossed in something transpiring on my telephone screen, and desperately trying not to look up, but every now and then, looking up.

And then I saw him, standing right in front of me, and quite unlike what I had imagined. His braggadocio had led me to picture a burly, somewhat belligerent fellow, with brusque mannerisms, and an insolent swagger. So I was taken aback by the soft-spoken person greeting me in the lobby with an unobtrusive smile. I was thrown completely off balance. And yet I did notice, at once, his strong, masculine hands and sexy lips. My Achilles heel…

We stood incongruously side by side, waiting for the lift, as I feebly attempted to strike up a silly conversation about lifts, and hotels, and cats. And then he pushed open the door to his room, and my eyes widened in fear as I gazed at an array of implements laid out upon the coffee table, some vaguely familiar, and others, not at all. I gulped, now even more nervous than before.

“I’m not like some of your other lovers,” he said, approaching me with a sudden conviction. “I’m not going to just go straight in for the kill…”

Saying this, he pressed his warm, sexy lips against mine. I gasped, trembling slightly as I pulled away. It was embarrassing, I knew I was behaving like a school-girl, but I just couldn’t help it. He reached around me to try to unzip my dress, but – “it’s already unzipped,” he commented. I blushed furiously and quickly pulled it off over my head. He laughed and poured me a glass of Prosecco. I snatched it gratefully and unceremoniously from his hand and quickly gulped it down.

He took the empty glass from me and put it back on the table. Then he kissed me again, reaching down between my legs and expertly massaging the area around my clitoris. I felt myself growing wetter and wetter as I responded to his touch. I moaned, rather sheepishly, for I surely shouldn’t come so quickly. But it was surely just a combination of alcohol and trepidation, and nothing to do with him! Yes, nothing to do with him…

Then he undressed, in that totally un-self-conscious way men have, as though it’s just… no big deal, and not what it actually is, which is just one step away from fucking! And then he helpfully placed my hand upon his erect cock. I stroked it timidly. He watched me for a moment, and then pushed me on to the bed while he finished getting undressed. Then he pulled me over to the side of the bed, on my back, with my head hanging over the edge, and entered my mouth. I know I’m not very good at it from this angle, and I suppose he thought so too, for he told me to wait a moment while he retrieved one of the mysterious devices laid out on the coffee table.

I opened my mouth obediently for him when he returned, and he obligingly entered it again, but this time, as I sucked him, I felt him press a flat, vibrating surface to my cunt. I thought I should probably tell him to stop, as I strongly dislike vibrators, but it felt kind of warm and pleasantly buzzy, so I decided to wait a bit and see. And as the vibrations continued, that warm, pleasant feeling seemed to spread all over my pussy, and then gradually began to emanate outwards, through my legs and all over the rest of me, and it was just getting better and better, in a kind of unbelievable way, and my muscles began to tense up all over my body, even in my mouth and throat which seemed to have sucked his cock all the way in, as deep as it would go, with my lips sort of locked around it, and I really could not breathe any more, but I was so wrapped up in what was happening that I didn’t even notice, because my whole body seemed to be gripped in the thrill of a delectable contortion, and I felt almost on the brink of asphyxiation when the intensity became unbearable and I pulled away, gasping for air, the blood rushing to my head as I collapsed over the edge of the bed in a kind of stupor.

He lifted me up gently back on to the bed, where I curled up in a dazed, hazy ball, shaking all over, and hiding my head in my hands, a quivering wreck, while he looked down at me in amusement and remarked, “But we’ve only just begun…”

Stoned and stupefied, I spent the next hour or so in an endorphin-addled fog, and can now only vaguely remember him telling me to get on all fours, fingering my cunt to get me very wet while he slipped a butt plug into my ass. I also remember him turning me over onto my back and prepared to enter me in the missionary position, and how I trembled with excitement and anticipation at the thought that, after so much discussion and debate, so much hesitation and resolve, it was truly happening! And of course, I remember that first penetration, with my ankles on either side of my head, and how deep and hard he fucked me, with one hand around my throat. I remember the way he looked at me, studying me, as we stood face to face, right before he slapped me. And I remember his come in my mouth – his warm, salty come and how greedily and adoringly I lapped it up and sucked it from the end of his cock and wished for more and more of it.

And I remember him buckling a thick leather collar around my neck, and attaching a heavy chain to it, and slapping my breasts quite strenuously, and then blind-folding me, as I knelt on the seat of an armchair with my back towards him, and my heart beating faster as I didn’t know what to expect, and the painful thud of something like a paddle on the back of my thighs, and a brief moment of terror – I barely know him! – but then the gentle caress of his attentive fingers in between the blows seemed to brush away my fear. Then, all too quickly, the beating was over. I peeped under the blindfold and saw him beginning to attach what looked like little electrodes to my inner thighs and I felt a strange tingling sensation, and loudly protested, wriggling out of my restraints, and begged him to remove them, and he relented but then all of a sudden it got much worse – “sorry, I turned the dial the wrong way,” he said, laughing at my indignant outrage.

And then he told me to remove the butt-plug, and I removed it, trembling, knowing what was to come next. In fact, I was terrified, but I was also so turned on, with dread and arousal battling within me for the upper hand – but that’s no contest, really – and then he entered me, filling up my ass with his turgid cock, and it felt huge, and yet wonderful at the same time. I pushed back into him as he fucked me, faster and harder, and he seemed almost to be swelling and growing even larger inside me. It was just too good to bear, but at the same time, I wished it could go on forever…

Then he fucked me again on my back, on the bed, and I was gasping again – gasping and coming – and then he withdrew and positioned himself at my ass and I trembled in fear again and he said, “yes, I know it’s big” and then plunged all the way in, and I screamed in pain and bliss as he fucked me in the ass again. And I was almost sobbing, and inside me, a huge wave of emotion building, and I was screwing up my eyes and trying desperately to hold it back, to hold it in, and almost choking with the effort, but it was just bursting, bursting out of me uncontrollably –

“Rigel,” I breathed.

“Yes?”

“I’m going gaga…”

“Yes, I know,” he said dryly.

“How??”

“I can see it,” he grinned.

Well! My shameful admission had been plainly obvious to him all along! I groaned in despair – and in the throes of another orgasm – because this just wasn’t going the way my pride had hoped. Lust, pure lust was in control…

“We have run out of condoms,” he announced, indicating the sea of shredded wrappers around the bed.

“I have more,” I offered eagerly. He seemed to consider this for a moment, but then one thing led to another and we began to talk, and I asked him about his name, and he played a song for me, to explain it, and as I lay under him, looking up at him, our naked bodies so close together, and he began to sing softly along to the music, with a strong, deep voice, like melted chocolate, I felt that I was melting away myself, and that there was almost nothing left of me at all…

And it seemed impossible that I could just get up and walk back out of that room, the way I’d walked in, just three hours earlier, and yet, there we were, wearing shoes and coats and clothes again, as he fumbled with the key at the door.

“Is everything OK?” I asked. “You seem a little… strange.”

“Everything’s fine,” he said to me, a little strangely, as we turned down the corridor in search of the lift. “Or, if you really must know, maybe it’s just that I’m going gaga too…”

I laughed cynically and rolled my eyes. What a lie!!

And yet… what a charming lie…

It was raining when we emerged from the building – a soft, light drizzle, but persistent, so I told him not to bother walking me to the station, and we said good-bye. I hurried down the street, stopping every now and then to readjust my hold-ups, which were loose and perilously close to slipping down to my ankles, and at one such stop I became aware of an unexpected presence beside me, along with a sudden lessening of rain.

“The hotel had umbrellas in the lobby,” he smiled, as he took my arm, and walked me down the road to the station.

I do still think of him from time to time… more often than I’d like to admit. And often, I take out my telephone, my fingers itching to send him a message. But I force myself to put it away. I know I wouldn’t be able to resist signing off with a long string of fatuous heart-eyes. And I can’t give him that last triumph… can I?