London, 2020 Pt. 03

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This is the last instalment in the ‘London, 2020’ series. Thank you for reading.


“So, Callie. Did you look in my wallet?”

Shit. I consider a few answers. Yes. No. What wallet, Kris?

In the meantime his gaze steadily holds mine, as second after second ticks by. He’s not afraid of the silence, but I can match him for that. Another second. And another. It’s getting uncomfortable and I’m just about to stammer out something vague when I feel a sudden surge of anger. Who the hell does he think he is?

“I was thinking about it. I didn’t, though. I hadn’t realised it was a fucking test.”

My tone is frostier than I’d intended. I swear I see a glint of pure malevolence in his eyes; and then his face creases into a massive grin.

“What?!” I’m even more annoyed now. “What’s so bloody funny?”

Kris laughs out loud, delighting in my discomfort and confusion, before lowering his head to kiss me. I try to back away but he holds me fast, his lips pressing hard on mine, his hands coming up to capture my arms before I’ve barely had a chance to raise them. Bastard. My struggle is utterly futile, ludicrously weak…and exciting.

Fine, I think. Kris wants a fight – I’ll give him one. I wriggle and squirm against him, my movements as fake as a Vegas showgirl, deliberately rubbing my breasts against his smooth, firm chest and pretending to shy away as his tongue forces its way between my lips. His erection is already thickening against my thigh. As he comes up for air, the mischievous grin is still in place.

“You’re a good actress, Callie,” he says mockingly, “Very good indeed.”

I grin back this time, and mime another sexy jiggle. We collapse in howls of laughter, rocking the bed frame.

When we’ve recovered and he’s holding me tenderly again, there’s another silence – a comfortable one this time. Kris is the first to break it.

“I don’t know why I did the wallet thing, really. I suppose I’d guessed you were a bit of a player, Callie. I knew the minute you came up with those carrier bags full of food in that cute little summer dress. Pure Stepford wife. You were too good to be true.”

“And you wanted to see how far I’d go?”

“Something like that.”

He gazes down at me, a new softness in his look. He delicately runs a finger down my cheek and says, quietly,

“Somewhere between 100 and 150, I think. I don’t really count.”

I frown, baffled by the apparent non-sequitur, and then I suddenly remember what the question was. Christ. My eyebrows raise so high I think they’ll shoot off my forehead.

Kris laughs again.

“Well, you did ask.”


Need I bore you with the details of the week that follows? I cook. I clean. I inspect the fridge what seems like 357 times a day. I pour oil on troubled waters, breaking up the children’s petty squabbles, and try and make a vague attempt to police their homeschooling. I’m sick of lockdown. Everybody is. I rejoice in the news as the numbers decrease, the infection rate slowly dwindling, but I ache at the thought of losing my lover. Once life returns to normal, we will have to go back to our old lives, but the changes will leave their legacy. When Kris moves away, will I continue to see him? Could I make plausible excuses for nights away from the family home?

In my mind’s eye I see Kris. Of course you could, Callie, he taunts.

In the bath, lazing in the warm bubbles, I think about all the women he’s slept with. 150? Really? I try to picture the number, all of them gathered together. A decent-sized church congregation. A meeting of executives in a hotel conference room. The world’s biggest dinner party.

We didn’t discuss my previous lovers, although I’d say Kris has the measure of me well enough. I never played a numbers game in my younger days but loved the thrill of the chase if an opportunity presented itself. Having married relatively young my wild nights soon became sedate; the sweaty Soho nightclubs were swapped for classical concerts at the Wigmore Hall; raucous house parties became polite cheese and wine evenings. And so it went on: a calm, well-ordered, cultured life. Or a boring, mundane, passionless life?

What is life now, anyway? Tedious queues for coffee and bread. Half-empty high streets, shuttered shops. People nervously dodging each other, hopping on and off pavements, as jumpy as crickets. Small gatherings in outdoor spaces having finally been approved by our failing government, the British weather has naturally arrived to put a dampener on the summer. Drizzly days with gusty winds now greet me every morning when I draw the curtains.

I no longer spy Kris in his garden, toning his hard body; neither does he send me emails, as his work is consuming much of his time. Other than our passionate Thursday afternoons, he might as well not exist, which makes our continuing affair feel all the more surreal.

I gaze down at the water, as if the milky, swirling depths were a crystal ball. What does the future escort bostancı hold? For any of us?


On my Wednesday shopping outing in the village I buy a bag of fat cherries, glistening and warm and damson black. I secrete them in a corner of the attic and sneak them over the road on Thursday.

Kris is wearing jeans and a navy blue linen shirt I’ve not seen before, and looking ridiculously handsome, his torso supple and firm under the loose fabric. I’m accustomed now to the routine – tea, laughter, sex – and there seems no sign of the mutual attraction fading. Will it? Should it? The strange times we inhabit don’t allow for that sort of questioning and I try to put it from my mind.

I think I look pretty good myself, today. Earlier in the week I’d had a brainwave and talked the family into a home ‘spa day’ – giving the kids manicures and deep conditioning hair treatments in a steam-filled bathroom. Not only did it lift everyone’s spirits, it gave me a legitimate excuse to do some serious grooming in preparation for another private rendezvous with my lover.

My nails are painted seashell pink and I’ve put on a full face of make-up, blending eyeshadows in coffee and olive-green, smudging in lots of kohl and finishing with two coats of mascara. My tawny brown eyes look huge and sexy. I’m wearing tight jeans and a navy cashmere sweater with a low neckline that skims my shoulders.

Today I’m oblivious to the state of the world. Let the future bring what it may; Kris is here, right now, approaching me with a lustful gaze.

“How are you, Callie?”

“Not bad. Bit embarrassed by the outfit match – I didn’t mean to come dressed as you,” I deadpan, nodding at our navy ensembles.

He laughs. “Well, you could always take your clothes off…”

We grin; there’s a minute’s pause…

“Race you!”

A half-pantomime ensues – tops dragging over heads, zips flying undone – and we’re still laughing when we’re both naked. With no ceremony Kris drags me on to the carpet and wraps his strong body around me, kissing me with obvious delight. I squeak as the embrace gets a fraction too tight and he releases me with an apologetic grin.

“Sorry.” He gently kisses the tip of my nose. “You’re so small, little one.”

I know he loves my diminutive size and I mockingly play up to it, pounding on his chest with miniature fists, making him snort with laughter. Joke over, I raise an eyebrow and lick my lips.

“Shall we see how big my mouth is?”

Moments later he’s sitting back on the sofa while I kneel between his legs. I start with a little show to tease him – licking and sucking my fingertips slowly and sensuously, closing my eyes and performing a full oral display that makes him groan even before I touch him. I deliberately make my fingers very wet before using both hands to inch back his foreskin. I lower my head and start licking the head of his cock with a stiff tongue, then circle it round and round. I open my mouth very wide and slide him between my lips, deeper and deeper, making tiny noises of discomfort as I try to accommodate his huge size.

Once I can take him no further I begin to suck and swallow, over and over until my jaw aches. Daringly, I pull all the way back and let droplets of saliva fall from my lips on to his cock, the drips running down his shaft. It’s messy and wet and he loves it. As he starts to shift uncomfortably I know it’s time to play another game.

I scramble for my bag and find the warm, ripe cherries. I pick one of the best and touch it to his swollen tip, licking him and the fruit in unison, then I start gently nibbling, licking and teasing. Soon there is ruby liquid running down my chin and his cock tastes of cherry juice. Unable to restrain himself, Kris leans forward and hoists me up to sit astride him. We feed each other with cherries, lasciviously licking every place that the juice drips. The room is filled with the sound of soft moans, low laughter and occasional shrieks of surprise. Soon we’re unable to stand the sticky delight any longer and the fruit is forgotten as we surrender to passion.

Writhing in his lap, I feel his erection stiff and bulky against my bottom. Does he have any condoms here, away from the bedroom? Does he know how wet and open and ready I am? As always, Kris can somehow read my body and mind. He abruptly breaks off, mid-kiss, and we lean our foreheads together, eyes locked in expectant longing. Slowly, purposefully, he runs his hands to the backs of my thighs and gently raises my bottom. Hypnotised by his gaze, I allow him to lift me into position…but…

“Kris…are we…”

“It’s okay. I won’t come inside you. Trust me?”

Trust me. The last time Kris spoke those two words they were followed by orgasms I had only ever dreamed of…

I don’t speak but Kris senses the wave of desire surging through me. I’m giving more than consent – this is total surrender. In an instant his cock is plunging upwards into my cunt, ümraniye escort filling me completely. We really are doing this. The risk of not using a condom is unbearably exciting and I cry out, begging him to fuck me. He doesn’t need asking twice…

With unbelievable restraint Kris uses me like a toy, finding one new position after another, never tiring. Now he is on top of me and my legs are wrapped around his neck; now I’m on all fours on the floor as he fills me again and again, both of us moaning but trying to hold back from the release of orgasm.

Orgasm. Will he? Can I truly trust him? My moment’s doubt is obliterated as Kris begins to speed up his thrusting, his naked cock feeling even bigger than before. I can’t control my cries now and I close my eyes, wanting this feeling to go on forever. But he has clearly (finally) reached his limit. With a huge groan he pulls out and catches his breath. I collapse on to my front, letting go of the pressure on my knees and wrists.

With a low laugh, Kris rolls me over and I look up at him adoringly. His cock is glistening with my juices and there’s sweat on his brow. Never idle for a minute, he begins to play lazily with my pussy, using expertly light fingers, keeping my excitement simmering.

“Beautiful, Callie. You’re gorgeous inside.”

This is something I’ve never really considered.

“Am I? How do I feel?”

He grins. “You feel amazing, angel. How about we make it even better for you?”

I’m intrigued. “Okay…I think.”

Kris smiles again and then positions me like I’m making a visit to the gynaecologist; heels together, knees bent, thighs splayed fully open. He gently but firmly inserts two fingers into my vagina, until I can feel his knuckles at the base of my labia.

He waits until my gasps have quietened and I’m used to the feeling of fullness. And then issues his instructions.

“Squeeze. Good. Hold it as long as you can, Callie…now relax.”

My muscles are in pretty good shape but the bulkiness of his fingers makes it a challenging exercise. Kris repeats his commands and I begin to relax and focus on my body, closing my eyes and timing my breathing with the squeezes. Increase the pressure. Hold. Release. Hold. Again and again.

Finally, just as I’m starting to struggle, Kris slips his fingers out of my aching pussy, whispering, “Good girl. All done.”

I’m surprisingly tired. I want to curl up into a foetal position, stretch my lower back, and snooze. But Kris has other ideas.

He gently raises me to my feet, aware that I’m a little dizzy, and helps me to kneel up against the back of the sofa, my head resting on my arms along the wide top surface. He then makes a pedestal of cushions for my knees, raising me higher so my thighs and bottom push out behind me. A heady wave of sex and Hugo Boss assails my senses as he grinds his body against me. His lips brushing my ear, he whispers, “Alright, Callie. Shall we see how it feels now?”

Blindly I nod, feeling his hands creep around my ribs, grasping my tender breasts and pinching my nipples.

This time the penetration feels longer; smoother – the position is perfect – and almost unconsciously my practised muscles squeeze his cock as he enters. I have the satisfaction of hearing his loudest moan yet as he sinks into my body, his chest pressing my fragile frame into the soft cushions. Kris takes it slowly, waiting for me to grip his cock with my muscles as he thrusts all the way in, then release as he pulls out. There’s nothing but pure erotic sensation and I glory in the feeling of being totally desired, utterly possessed.

Kris is gasping now, gripping on to my hips to stay focused in the intense position. I love being fucked hard like this, feeling tiny and powerless as his body surges against me, squashing me into the sofa. In the space between his thrusts I manage to move my hand down my body and start to fumble for my clitoris, trying to get a grip on my flesh through the slippery wetness. I have a shock as Kris grabs my wrist and pushes my hand away, his voice grating harshly into my neck.

“Did I say you could touch yourself? Did I?”

“No! I’m sorry!”

He starts ramming into me harder. Unbidden, two whispered words escape my lips…

“Punish me…”

Instantly I feel a sharp sting as the flat of his hand slaps my bottom. I scream, every cell of my body alive to the pleasure-laced pain. Kris is moaning and thrusting and there’s another slap, harder this time.

I yell again. I’m being fucked, fondled, spanked…oh god…oh yes…

The overwhelming physical and mental ecstasy suddenly triggers my inner muscles into an involuntary spasm, making us both shout, and then there’s a moment’s discomfort as Kris pulls out, clumsily for once, and I feel him coming in hot spurts against my back and into my hair, groaning uncontrollably. All done, he collapses against me.

I can’t deny that I’m thrilled he’s clearly enjoyed an incredible orgasm. But kartal escort bayan his withdrawal stopped mine in its tracks. I’m exhausted, aching with need and confused about my hidden desire to be humiliated. I don’t understand what just happened. I’ve had clitoral orgasms all my life. That fleeting spasm that squeezed his cock so tightly was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced – and now it’s over.

I can’t stop the tears brimming in my eyes. Kris scoops me up, letting me cry on his chest, stroking and shushing me gently.

“It’s okay, sweetness.”

He holds my face in his hands. Reluctantly, I raise my eyes to look at him. He’s flushed from his orgasm yet calm with authority. His eyes are glowing with lust and power. Although he speaks softly I know there is steel beneath the words.

“I know you were close, Callie. But you have to let me call the shots. It’ll be worth it. Understood?”

I nod, miserably.

He smiles, the benevolent dictator. “Let’s go to the bedroom.”

Lying on the cool sheets, I feel detached. My urge for orgasm has passed and I feel soiled and wrung out. Kris sits at the foot of the bed and gives me the nod. Begin.

With hands that feel as if they don’t belong to my body, I start touching myself, circling my clitoris, trying to move beyond the heavy, stale desire that has congealed inside me and into the lightness of release. It’s just beginning to work when Kris leans over and spreads my legs wide.

Oh, no. Like many women, I have a preferred position for masturbation. I come by rubbing my clitoris fast and hard with my thighs pressed together. Kris has seen me touch myself before – he must know this isn’t going to work for me.

“Kris. I…I can’t come like this…”

“You can today. You will, if you want to come at all.” His voice is matter-of-fact, calmly authoritarian. There’s no sense in arguing.

He holds on to my ankles so I’m forced to masturbate in the unfamiliar position, shifting my upper body uselessly. My jaw is tense and I can feel the furrow in my brow deepening.

“Callie. Take your time.” Oh god, that voice! Rich and sweet, like honey trickling over whipped cream.

I breathe deeply into my ribcage and close my eyes. Spread out like this I can’t put the pressure where I need it and I soon learn I have to keep my fingertips circling gently, over and over on the tiny exposed nub of flesh. My thighs start to shake and then…no. Too soon. Shit. I need to come.

Calming myself, I begin again. Growing used to the gentle circling motion now, I relax. It’s a slower start but a good one. Very good. Soon I’m mewing softly and delighting in the new feelings. I unclench my jaw.

“Good girl. Enjoy it. Don’t chase it.”

Kris is loving this. And so am I – to my astonishment my whole cunt is throbbing hard now, my arousal building at a steady pace I rarely experience in my usual frenzy of rubbing. Oh god. I’m coasting on the incredible sensations, not missing a single moment of bliss as the climax finally arrives and overtakes me. My thighs instinctively try to squeeze together but Kris has my legs held fast and instead my pelvis arches upwards as I come in a long, long wave of ecstasy, making a harsh, primal sound I don’t recognize.


“I shouldn’t be here.”

“But you are.”

“…mm. Yes….”

“Do you like that?”

“Lower down….oh, yes…yes…”

“I love watching you.”

“I love being with you.”

We’re soaking together in warm, jasmine-scented water. Another Thursday, another new erotic adventure. The dove-grey bathroom, although reasonably large, has no window, and Kris has turned off the lights, substituting them with dozens of gently flickering candles in tumblers and jam jars.

Corny, yes. But effective. This man knows exactly what women like. I am delighted, on entering the flat, to feel the humidity wafting into the hallway (the chilly weather continues) and I allow Kris to lead me straight to the tub, where he strips me slowly and watches, eyes never leaving my body, as I sink gratefully down into the water. Disappearing for a while he then returns with a tray of tea and biscuits.

“I think you’re the perfect man.”

He snorts derisively and I can’t help but laugh. Kris removes his clothes now and I watch, mug in hand, as his body is slowly revealed. It’s not quite a strip tease but he knows I love watching and he takes his time, movements graceful yet decisive. As always, my mouth waters as his underwear is discarded. I feel the heat rising in my face and Kris smiles at my unconscious blush. I let him take the tea away and pull me up to my knees. Standing by the side of the tub, his body as dry as mine is wet, he gently eases his cock into my mouth. I suck languidly for long moments, savouring his scent.


I had taken a while to recover after the previous week’s encounter. The spanking, the tears, and most of all the supremely confident, dominant side of Kris had left me feeling shaken and disturbed. Once my orgasm had finally subsided, Kris had held me for a long time. As I lay against his warm, naked body, he broke the silence.

“I think I can give you what you want, Callie.”

“Mm?” I blinked out of my drowsiness and looked up at him.

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