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He laughed. He was laughing at me. "He thinks your body is divine; he can't wait to get his cock inside you. He says his balls ache for you. His cock is as thick and long as Cecil Pills's is and I've heard he has a steady and strong stroke, if not the inventiveness of Cecil, for his age. He paid me ten pounds for each go at your tail. He wants you that much. You know that now. If you go with me to the races, it means you are prepared to lie under him without fuss—several times."
When Rushdy was gone, I pulled myself up to a sitting position on the bed.
I would go, I thought, my eyes scanning the room, looking for where my suitcase may have been stored. I would leave him, leave here. Tonight.
But not until Pasha Rushdy Abazar had fucked me properly—when I was conscious enough to feel every stroke of it. I would show him. He would worship at my feet before I left here. He would be lost to me and then I would go, leaving him to mourn.
My eyes went to the armoire. I wondered what one wore to the horse races here in Egypt. And, dredging my mind on whether I remembered what he looked like, I wondered if Sir Hilary really said his balls ached for me. But then, of course they did. All men's did.
- Fini -
- COMMENTS
Anonymousabout 4 years agoWhat is better than the languidness of private sex done with no thought of who but rather the deed done for the pleasure of others by those who use their own selfish pleasure as reason to allow their use as an object.
Brilliant writing that captures a layer of society hard to know and even harder to portray.
YoungTrashover 5 years agoThis 4 part series is so good. Much more than just fucking. It delves into the psyche of a narcissist. Loved it all the way.
