Ruth Gogoll's Taxi to Paris is the best selling lesbian erotic novel in Germany. “I savored the view of her naked beauty for a moment. I walked up behind her and kissed her between the shoulder blades without kissing her anywhere else. She yelped with surprise. Then I saw her shiver from head to toe, and a relief of tiny dots covered her skin. She laid her head back. Otherwise, she didn't move. 'More,' she whispered.” In 1993 Ruth Gogoll wrote her first book, “Taxi to Paris”, which has become the most bestselling lesbian erotic romance novel in Germany. In 1993, though, nobody would print it. So Ruth Gogoll founded her own publishing house, el!es, which has become famous for Lesbian Erotic Romance, publishing more than 100 romances in German. Now these thrilling books are available in English.
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Newly revised edition Translated from the German by
© 2010édition el!es
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All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form whatsoever.
Cover photo: © Sandor Jackal – Fotolia.com
“I like it when my women defend themselves!”
Her eyes blazed with anticipation again – of the fight, the conquest, the siege.
I did not want to give myself to her. Even so, everything in me longed to touch her, to be touched by her.
“Come on, tell me again that you don’t want it! That you hate me!” She laughed, cynical, provocative.
“I hate you!” I screamed. It was the truth, but that didn’t stop the desire burning inside me. And I hated myself for that, for obeying her wish. That was what I wanted least of all, to please her. I could see her arousal climbing. Her eyes flashed. She came closer. Her lips parted. I saw her teeth gleaming and thrashed my head from side to side, trying to escape. She pressed me against the wall and held my wrists with an iron grip.
“No, I don’t want to! Not like this!”
She did not let me go, but threw her head back and laughed. “Yes, defend yourself. That’s how I like it best.” Her voice was hoarse with excitement.
I stiffened. She took advantage of the opportunity and, like lightning, pressed her mouth against mine. Her tongue thrust hard against my tightly clenched teeth. She pressed me against the wall with her whole body. I had to take a breath. She penetrated me, took possession of me. The passion and excitement almost left me unconscious. At the same time, revulsion crept up my throat; I bit down. Her head flew back, but she still held my wrists as tightly as manacles. I had the impression she wasn’t doing this for the first time. She was used to it . . .
She looked at me wildly. A drop of blood hung from her lip. She ran her tongue over it to wipe it away. My eyes never escaped her stare. “You little wildcat! So I had you figured wrong all along! I thought you’d be boring and bourgeois, the type to just lie down and spread her legs.”
A shimmer of hope flashed in me. “Yes, yes, that’s exactly what I am, boring and bourgeois.” Maybe that would stop her.
“No, no!” She laughed again, ragged with excitement. “It’s too late now. I’ve seen through you. You want it. You want the fear; you want the pain. That turns you on, admit it!”
Her fingers kept tightening around my wrists. It hurt, and I cried out.
“Yes! Scream, scream as loudly as you can!” Her voice was now just a raw, excited whisper.
I was startled. The pain hadn’t sobered me, as I’d expected. Instead, I felt it right between my legs, just as she’d said. Was this really what I wanted?
She noticed my indecision. Her mouth fell upon mine again, and this time I didn’t refuse. With brutal force, she plunged in, almost to the back of my throat. I thought I was going to vomit, but just before it went that far, she pulled her tongue back. She really was experienced at this! How many women had she already done this with? Perhaps there were more who wanted this than I would have imagined. And I? Was I one of them? Did I want it?
She began again. I felt the need overcome me, to kick back, to join in, and not to let myself be passively used anymore. But that was just what she wanted! I had to defend myself against that! At least, that’s what my head demanded. My body betrayed me. I could no longer hold back the ever-stronger desire building in me. My knees weakened. She noticed and loosened her grip a little.
My tongue sought hers. She pulled back for an instant, a look of astonishment on her face. Then, she sank into my mouth again, probing and demanding, almost smothering me. Suddenly, she let go of my hands and laid hers on my waist. I stiffened in anticipation of fresh pain. She tore my shirt from my pants and raced across my back. Everything tingled.
Unhindered, she dug her fingernails into my shoulders. I moaned in exquisite pain. Slowly, she raked them across my entire back, down to my waist. It was as if my skin was being torn away, but still not quite such that I couldn’t stand it. I moaned, louder, out of pain or growing arousal I didn’t know which.
“Yes, come on, tell me you want it,” she murmured against my mouth. Her hips still held me, pressing and trapping me against the wall. I tried to arch against them, to push, to rub against her. No, this wasn’t me! This was my pelvis, which had declared its independence from me. Traitor, screamed something inside me. The desire kept growing stronger.
“You want it – say it!” she insisted, hot across my mouth.
“No!” I threw my head to the side and tried to push myself away from her.
She pressed against me again, leaned back a little, and tore off my shirt. I was boiling inside. I could not allow that! She threw the shirt on the floor next to me and bent over me once more. I thought she wanted to start kissing me again. Kissing? Was this kissing, this thrusting, this throttling? She threw my head to the other side. She did not follow. Her head sank down upon my shoulder. A piercing pain ran through me. I cried out again, although I’d pressed my lips together and resolved not to.
“Yes – scream, scream!” she insisted. Her head descended again.
“No – please,” I implored her. She bit down. The pain ripped through me even more sharply than the first time. Now my knees could finally hold me no longer. She held me tightly and pressed me against the wall as before. Her hand moved over my breast. She stroked the rock-hard nipple with her palm. I moaned – this time out of lust.
“It’s quite sensitive,” she said, grinning noticeably.
Panic rose in me again. “Please, don’t do that,” I whispered, trembling in fear. Defensively, I lifted my hands and tried to push her away from me. She laughed, aroused again, and fought playfully with me. Her iron grip damned my hands to inactivity. Slowly, she lowered her mouth onto my breast. She ran her tongue over her lips. I stiffened, trembling even more; my whole body was a single, tightly strung bow, arming itself against the pain. I pressed my head against the wall and closed my eyes. They were so sensitive – I couldn’t bear it!
She sucked my breast in, flicking her tongue across my nipple, over and over. All my fear could not keep down the arousal this triggered. My hips began to push up against her again, but a cold sweat broke out across my skin.
She looked up at me and grinned. “You’re afraid,” she remarked, pleased.
“Yes.” There was no sense in denying it, anyway. “You’re going to hurt me.” I tried to make my voice as quiet as possible.
Completely unexpectedly, she let go of me. While her eyes held mine, she took a small step back, grabbed my waistband, and unbuttoned my pants. Then, with one swift movement, she pulled the zipper down. I leaned against the wall as if paralyzed. She saw that I wouldn’t defend myself anymore. An expression of disappointment spread across her face.
“Come on, don’t spoil the fun.”
“Fun!” I flared. “For you, maybe!” Dammit, that was the exact opposite of the truth! Her eyes blazed again with repressed excitement.
“Yes, it’s better this way.” She came closer and placed one hand on either side of my head without touching me. “You little wildcat,” she whispered into my ear. She nibbled on my earlobe. I expected her to bite down at any moment and stiffened again. Her lips ran down my neck and sent waves of shivering arousal mixed with fearful anticipation through my body. She laughed softly, pleased. I felt her breath moving across my skin. “Yes, it’s best this way. You’re afraid. But you want it anyway.”
Fury rose and made me careless. “Yes, I want it.” I pushed her away with suddenly regained strength. Agilely, she moved one step back. I blazed at her furiously. “But I don’t want you to force it on me. I don’t want pain, I want desire, I want tenderness, passion, excitement, all of that, but no brutal force. That’s . . .” I searched for a word for what I felt.
She raised her eyebrows and said, smirking, “Perverse?”
“Yes – yes! Perverse!” I yelled, full of rage at her, myself and this word I’d never used before. I’d always hated it when the smug bourgeoisie asserted their own “normality” and discredited others with that word. Everyone who was different was defamed indiscriminately, regardless of the reason: homosexuality, communism, or whatever else. But my furious tension lasted only a moment – it gave way to a feeling of senselessness.
I folded my arms behind my back and leaned against the wall. “And now, as far as I’m concerned, you can go get your whip – or whatever else you use – and beat me.”
Her eyes glided over my face.
“You’re beautiful when you’re furious,” she said softly. I wanted to protest this platitude – straight out of a bad 70s porn film – but her mouth had already descended upon mine and closed it. I waited for the pushing, demanding penetration, but she just ran her tongue gently along my closed lips. The tingling grew unbearable. When I opened my mouth, she began to play lovingly with my tongue. She teased the tip of my tongue with hers until I nearly cried out with desire. Her mouth was still the only thing touching me. The air between us crackled.
I raised my hands. No, I didn’t want to touch her! My arms began to tremble. She kept kissing me. Sighing, I let my hands fall to her shoulders and pulled her to me. The buttons on her shirt were cold against my naked skin. She sighed appreciatively in my mouth and encircled me with her arms. Everything was so gentle and tender. What had transformed her so suddenly? She pushed me against the wall again, one leg between mine. Even through the cloth, that touch made me half crazy. I moaned and began to rub against her with more intensity. Then I held back. That was again the point at which she’d inflict pain; I’d subjected myself to it again! I held still.
She noticed this. She stopped kissing me and took a step back to look at me. “You’re confused.” She stated it without inflection. I didn’t answer. What would she do now? She reached out a hand and caressed my face. I didn’t stir. She let her hand sink. It glided over my shoulder to my arm and down my side to my waist. There it stayed. She consumed me with her gaze. Then she set her eyes upon mine again with hypnotic power. “I won’t hurt you,” she declared emphatically. Her hand slid between cloth and skin. A shudder ran through my body. “I want you. I want you like you are.” She worked her way down with unbearable slowness. My whole body cried out with desire. “I want you to moan, and I want you to scream. But not from pain.”
Her fingers touched my hairline and kept moving torturously, slowly downward. She never released my eyes. I tightened my shoulders and buttressed myself with the wall. She wrapped her other arm around me and held me tight. Now her hand lay motionless between my legs. I moaned and bucked wildly against it. Heat rose in me like a volcano. I felt the wetness collecting on her hand. I flung my body back and forth with arousal.
She pulled her hand back. I let the breath I’d been holding out of my lungs and moaned. “No. You promised not to torture me. Please . . .”
She laughed heartily. “I promised not to cause you pain. And I won’t. This is something entirely different.” She stroked the cloth between my legs. I moaned again, demandingly, and rose against her. She placed both hands on my hips. Slowly, she slid my waistband down.
She took her time. Again and again, she ran her hands back and forth. It seemed like an eternity to me. When she had finally undressed me, she bent over and ran her lips along my breast. My skin was on fire wherever she touched it. She approached my nipple. I went stiff. She reacted immediately. “I promised,” she murmured. Then she looked up. “I won’t do anything that you don’t want.” I still could not relax. The fear lay too deep. She ran her lips across my breast again. Then, ever so gently, she took the nipple in and ran her tongue over it.
The sensations washed all my reservations away. “Yes,” I moaned.
She stroked my hard, erect nipples, alternating between her hands and tongue.
I was crazy with desire by this time – I couldn’t have stopped her from doing anything at this point, regardless. Her face was suddenly square in front of mine. She wandered along my lips – just lightly, without hurrying. I tried to hold onto her. She smiled and pulled away. Her hand glided over my breasts, along my stomach, and between my thighs. She stroked gently with two fingers along the insides, wandering back and forth from one side to the other, and then touched the center. I squirmed in her arm.
Now, she began stroking more intensely between my legs, seeking out with circling motions the most sensitive place. The whole time, I felt as if I were just about to explode. She pressed harder. I felt her finger. She found my opening.
“No!” I tore myself away from her mouth.
She stopped immediately. She pulled me to her. “What’s wrong?”
“I . . . I don’t like that.” I swallowed hard. “You promised . . .”
She laughed good-naturedly. “I haven’t forgotten. You don’t have to keep reminding me.”
“I’m sorry. I’m a little sensitive . . . in that area.”
“You certainly are sensitive, I’ve noticed that.” It seemed like she wanted to brush me off, but then her tone became concerned. “Does it hurt there?”
Now I had to answer. “Actually . . . no, not really. I . . . I don’t really quite know.”
“You don’t know?”
I looked at the floor behind her. “No,” I declared defiantly.
She stepped back and held me at arm’s length. The way my face was burning, it must’ve been beet red. She laid a finger under my chin and lifted it up. “But I’m not the first woman you’ve slept with.”
“No . . .”
She looked at me attentively. Obviously, she expected that would get me talking faster than direct questioning.
“I mean, I’ve been with lots of women . . . but not like that.” With defiant emphasis I added, “I just can’t!” I spun around to face the wall.
“And that’s the only reason?”
The wall protected me, at least, from her direct stare. Nonetheless, I had the feeling that her eyes were boring into my back. “What else? Isn’t that enough?”
“You’ve never been with a man –?”
I didn’t let her finish. “No, I haven’t!” I spun back around to face her. “Should I be ashamed of that?”
She still watched me vigilantly. “No, of course not! What were you thinking? But I also meant not against your . . .” She broke off.
“Against my . . .? Oh,” I understood. “No, I haven’t been raped.”
She sighed, relieved. Now I was really furious. How could she be so concerned all of a sudden? “And until this evening, no one had tried, either,” I hissed angrily.
She turned around and took a deep breath. Then she looked at me again. Not a muscle moved in her impenetrable face. “Then everything’s fine,” she said.
I thundered inside. She thought everything was fine now?
She sighed. “Earlier, that was . . .” she paused to consider, “. . . a misunderstanding.” As if that had settled everything, she sauntered back over to me, smiling.
Attempted rape a misunderstanding? She couldn’t think I was that stupid.
She didn’t, either. Attentively, she’d followed the emotions playing across my face. She sighed again. This time, she sounded resigned. “Yes, I know what you’re thinking;” explaining, she continued, “but most women want it that way. That’s why they choose me.” She looked at me sadly. “You obviously didn’t know. And I thought . . .” She let out a bitter laugh. “Like I said, a misunderstanding.”
By this time, I was more than confused. “Didn’t know what?” Somewhere in this chaos, there had to be some key I could find to untangle this mess!
She turned to face me fully and stood with one hand on her hip. “I’m a whore, sweetheart!”
I was shocked. That was definitely one of the effects she was going for. But the other – that I should feel repulsed – she didn’t get.
She stood a few steps away from me and looked out the window at a neon sign as it blinked on and off. She spoke into the empty darkness, “You can go quietly now. I won’t hold you back.” Her spine was straight as a board.
I took a step toward my clothes. But then I stopped. I didn’t want to leave; that was perfectly clear to me. But what else did I want here? She was a hooker; she had expected me to pay for a “service” I had no idea I was getting. She conformed to my wishes when she saw that I wanted something different – as any good service is performed to suit the wishes of the client. The client? I suddenly saw myself in a very unfamiliar light.
She turned around and glared coldly at me. “Should I leave?” Her voice was icy.
I suddenly became aware of my nakedness. Embarrassed, I grabbed my shirt and threw it on. “No, that would be ludicrous.”
She shrugged. “Most women want to be left alone afterwards. It’s all the same to me.” This icy voice somehow had a heart-softening quality. A contradiction in itself, but it seemed that way to me.
I buttoned my shirt and observed her. She had her arms crossed and stood there, legs apart, an unconquerable fortress. I went toward her. She followed my every move with her eyes, but she didn’t stir. I stood in front of her and looked up. My God. She was at least 6’2”! “I don’t want to be alone, and I don’t want to go.” I watched her, unshaken.
Mockingly, she screwed up her mouth and looked at me.
“Ah – the lady has developed a taste for it!”
She laughed. It sounded rather lachrymose. She bent down a bit. “Until just now you didn’t know, and you were irritated. Now you know and already” – she snapped her fingers – “it turns you on, right? Until now it was just a somewhat exotic adventure. Something outside of the ordinary, am I right? But now, what an opportunity! What’s it like to sleep with a woman who does it for money? You’d like to know, right? Why shouldn’t you try it, now that we’re already here?” She turned away from me and unbuttoned her cuffs. Over her shoulder, she added, “I hope you have your checkbook with you. I’m quite expensive.”
With one jerk, she took off her shirt and tossed it on a chair. I saw her taut back and heard the scratching of her zipper. With a quick shake, she kicked off her boots, and her pants flew after her shirt. Now she was naked. With a crisp movement, she turned around and raised her arms for a moment. “There you are; I’m at your disposal.”
Finally, I had the opportunity to look at her again and to establish what I had noticed at first glance, once more, she was unbelievably beautiful. I moved toward her and touched her. Her skin radiated the cold of a marble statue.
“No.” I shook my head. “No, I won’t do it. I won’t treat you like a whore just so you can get rid of me more easily.” I backed up.
“But sweetheart,” she raised her eyebrows, as if to express her bemusement that I obviously didn’t know the rules, “you’re paying me. And I am a whore. Come!” She had put on a professional smile and came toward me. She reached behind my ear and stroked the sensitive spot under my earlobe with her thumb. I shut my eyes. “That’s better,” she cooed.
I wanted to forget it. I wanted to give in to the sensation of her stroking hand. But I couldn’t. I opened my eyes. She was still smiling professionally. “What would you like? You can tell me, even if it’s unusual. I’ll fulfill all of your wishes. You needn’t have any inhibitions.”
She played it out like the opening credits to a movie. Suddenly, she smiled knowingly. She stopped stroking behind my ear and ran her hands down along my body until they rested on my buttocks. Then she knelt down. Only now did I realize what she had in mind. I’d been too busy with her show and my sensations. I pushed her head away. “Stop it!”
She wiped the smile from her face, stood with an indifferent expression, and looked at me coldly. “Whatever. It’s your money. If you’d rather, you can abuse me for it, too.”
I’d never before been in such an intimate situation with a woman who could switch herself off like that. She made me nervous; I wanted to know what she really felt. It enraged me how she took control of me in this way. And I’d never been able to conceal my anger. I blazed at her.
Promptly, she turned her smile back on and tried to pacify me. “But there must be certain things that you’ve never dared to ask from a woman.” She laid her hand behind my ear once again. It would’ve been a wonderfully tender gesture if she hadn’t done it so mechanically. Nevertheless, I enjoyed the moment of quiet. She bent down and kissed me gently on the lips. I wanted to believe for a minute, to imagine that she saw in me the woman, the beloved – not just the customer, the client.
She kissed me carefully, yes, that was the right word, carefully! She forgot nothing important! Her right hand ran down my body. Her left slid under my shirt and played with my nipple until it was hard. It was such an automatic routine; it almost made me sick. She must’ve done exactly this at least a thousand times before!
I wanted to push her away, but my hands landed right on her breasts. They were wonderfully soft. The velvet skin arched itself against my fingers. I began to stroke them. Instantly, she began to moan and pulled herself toward me. At first, I was surprised, but then it occurred to me what she was doing. Regretting that I had to give up the velvety softness of her breasts, I pushed her away. She looked at me with clear eyes. No trace of arousal.
“Didn’t you like it?” she asked, professionally interested. I tried to hold her eyes, but she avoided me. She looked over my shoulder. “I’m sorry. I need some time to adjust myself to you. Most of my customers’ demands aren’t so . . . eccentric.”
I couldn’t help but smile. Her helplessness did more for me than the self-assurance she’d displayed up until now. I looked at her with loving affection. “You’re beautiful.”
Something flickered in her eyes, but then her face clouded over again. She asked coolly: “So why don’t you want me then? You’re paying for it. The others tell me what I should do, or if I shouldn’t do anything . . .” She opened her hand in a gesture of helplessness.
An idea crept into my head. Under no circumstances did I wish to let myself fall into her game. But if she’d listen to me . . . She kept watching me, waiting coolly.
“Lie down,” I ordered, with as much authority as I could muster. Astonishment flashed briefly across her face and disappeared again immediately. She spun around and took a step. Then she stood still.
“Where?” she asked flatly into the air. Her stiff back became even straighter.
“On the bed,” I decided.
She set herself in motion. She strode gracefully to the bed. When she’d laid herself down, she stretched out her arms toward me. “Come,” she said. She’d obviously decided to dispense with the professional expression. She looked honestly and deliberately indifferent.
I crossed the room and stood next to the bed. “Not like that,” I contradicted. “Roll over.” She hesitated. I waited. Then she turned herself over onto her stomach slowly, with an odd sidelong glance at me. I admired the soft, curving line of her back. She was really a beautiful woman. What could have caused her to . . .? Well, that was a pointless thought. She’d have her reasons. My fingers tingled with the desire to touch her, but I only traced the outline of her body in the air. I bent down and kissed her between the shoulder blades. She jumped. “Don’t you dare moan,” I warned. “We already had the show.”
“The others like it now and then,” she countered, shrugging, with her cool, indifferent voice.
“But I don’t. So let it be.”
I couldn’t see her face, but I could’ve sworn she was smiling. “As I said before, you’re somewhat . . . eccentric.”
I kissed her again between the shoulder blades and noticed how she tensed up. She was trying to suppress the twitching. I smiled. That wasn’t such a bad start. I began to cover her whole body with kisses. Slowly and tenderly, I wandered from her neck to her shoulders, then to her arms and back to her shoulder blades. My mouth glided along her ribcage and dawdled awhile in the hollow above her bottom. Although I took full advantage of this activity, I tried to observe her at the same time. At first, her hands lay next to her head. She seemed peaceful and relaxed. After the first kisses, she got goose bumps. She began to dig her hands into the pillow. Her knuckles became even tighter and whiter. As I came to her lower back, fine drops of sweat beaded up on her skin and shimmered, glistening like a fine rain. She breathed heavily, but buried her head in the pillow.
Again, my fingers traced very lightly the path from her neck to her ass. She jumped at many places this time. Her breath became heavier. She couldn’t get enough air through the pillow anymore; she lifted her head and turned it to the side. Gasping, she sucked in air.
Although I believed her reactions were real, a little devil suddenly appeared on my shoulder. Perhaps the particular dynamics of this game I’d never played before, had taken hold of my brain and knocked out my normally attentive control mechanisms. In any case, I didn’t think any more about it. Against my better judgment, I reprimanded her: “Don’t act for me . . . I warned you!” It was only supposed to be a joke. I was firmly convinced she’d notice that, but she stiffened immediately. She was still gasping. After a few gulps of air, she began to tremble. Her hands pushed slowly under her head. “Please don’t,” she whispered flatly. Her voice was harsh with fear.
What was wrong? I stroked her back soothingly. She drew back as if struck by a whip and pressed her hands more tightly against her head. “No,” she whispered hoarsely, almost inaudibly. “Please don’t hit me,” she whimpered softly, to herself.
For a moment, I was dumbstruck by such words from this big, strong woman I’d been so afraid of! Then I overcame the shock. I grabbed her shoulder. She cried out in fear. I shook her violently. “Never, do you hear me? Never! I would never hit you! Look at me, please.” She lowered her hands and laid her head to the side. Her eyes drooped. She was coming out of a nightmare. As soon as she recognized me, she turned her head away.
“Please go now.” She spoke to the wall. “You have no obligation to me whatsoever.” She paused. “Of course, you don’t have to pay.” Her tone was bitter. “And of course I can’t stop you from talking about this.” She took a deep breath.
At first, I wanted to challenge her furiously. Then I controlled myself. That wouldn’t do either of us any good. I grabbed the blanket and pulled it over her naked body. Surprised, she rolled onto her side and propped her head up on her hand. “Thank you,” she said. Her voice was neutral. She let her gaze glide over me coolly. “It would really be better if you left now.”
I sat carefully on the edge of the bed. “I don’t think so,” I really just contradicted her because everything had flown by me so quickly, and because I don’t like to leave a theater without understanding the plot, but her reaction was violent.
Her eyes narrowed to slits. They glistened like pure ice. “I see,” she said, drawing it out, “you’re not one to be satisfied with half a cookie when someone’s promised you the whole thing.” With a swift motion, she grabbed me and pulled me onto the wide bed. “You’ll get the other half. I always keep my promises. And now, since I’ve let you out of paying, it’s even free.” She laughed scornfully. “You’ll never get a hooker as classy as I am this cheaply again.”
I granted her that. The desperation I felt in her made me helpless. I only hoped that she wouldn’t hurt me too much; I’d never been very good at tolerating pain. And today, I’d already established that my ability to do so had not improved.
She detected my fear. “Ah, now you’re afraid?” She emphasized her words with a dismissive hand gesture. “I told you I keep all my promises, didn’t I?” I nodded, to avoid making her angry again. It seemed doubtful to me that I would be able to guarantee such a promise in her condition.
She grabbed my arm. I held back a cry of pain. That was going to leave a nice bruise. She pushed me backwards onto the bed and laid herself half across me. Ruthlessly, like at first, she penetrated my mouth with her tongue. But she only went as far as she’d promised, and she didn’t hold my hands down. I lifted them slowly and ran them along her back. She moaned deep in her throat. Now I knew for sure that her reaction earlier had been genuine. I stroked her back some more, and she gasped even more heavily in my mouth. I noticed that she was definitely ready to lose control. But first, she abandoned my mouth. With a violent movement, she tore my legs apart. At least two more bruises!
She let herself fall between my legs and lifted them up. She kept pushing them even farther apart and higher up. It hurt, but it was bearable. With the same severity that she’d shown in penetrating my mouth, she now entered between my legs. No foreplay, no preparation, not even a quick caress. Instead, the movements of her tongue were even heavier and more demanding, as she forced my legs even wider apart. My God, soon I’d have to scream in pain! I clenched my teeth and waited for her to be satisfied with me. On its wild hunt, her tongue found the center of all sensation. I moaned aloud. Had it not been for the pain in my thighs, this might’ve felt rather nice. I sighed.
She’d taken a brief recess and rested up. Then she began again, carefully, circling my clit with her tongue. She flew back and forth across it like a butterfly. I jumped every time. Gradually, my sensations grew more intense. Surely, she’d stop soon. All she wanted was her own satisfaction, which I was to bring to her. As I began to lift my pelvis against her, moaning, she stopped. Ah, that was it. I tried to hold back my excitement. Suddenly, I cried out. She penetrated me deeply with her tongue, like no woman had done before. This long tongue, which had caused me so many problems in my mouth, brought me here only pure, ecstatic pleasure. She pushed back and forth, and in between played briefly behind the entrance. She really knew every spot! I suddenly didn’t care that my legs hurt, that with every thrust of my hips I felt red-hot needles all the way down to my tiptoes.
“Come,” she murmured, barely audibly, between my thighs. She thrust the full length of her tongue into me once more. Then, she pulled it out and resumed her butterfly dance against the erect pearl. “Come,” she whispered again, demanding.
I exploded in long, raging waves. I heard myself screaming, but it was as if the cry would not stop while the waves came and went, came and went. I tried to count them, but there were too many. After an eternity, I collapsed and struggled, exhausted, for breath. I’d never be able to breathe normally again! She came up and nipped at my breasts.
I still hadn’t caught my breath when she propped herself up next to my shoulders and pushed her legs between mine. After they’d been ripped apart like that, everything hurt. I groaned in pain before I could stop myself. Immediately, she lay quietly. I raised a hand and brushed the sweaty hair from her forehead. She gave me a strained smile.
“Go on,” I said softly. “You’re not hurting me.”
“I’m not, really?” she asked, confused.
“No.” I brushed the hair tenderly from her face once more. “You really aren’t.”
She began to move again, carefully. Then she began to speed up. After a short while, she was again gasping with excitement. I could feel all of her muscles straining. I felt a vibration between my legs. She came in quick thrusts, moaning. Her eyes were closed. I thrust my hand between her legs. When she noticed that, her eyes flew open. “I don’t want to . . .”
“Yes, you do.” With my other hand, I held her tightly against me. It didn’t take much, in any case, to change her mind. She began to moan as soon as I touched her. I entered her carefully. “Yes.” A primitive sound forced its way from her throat. She bucked against my hand as if she wanted to take the whole thing into her. She stiffened. A small cry left her lips. Completely exhausted, she let herself fall back onto the bed. Still breathing heavily, she lay next to me.
“That was . . . not . . . necessary,” she managed raggedly. I propped myself up on my elbow and smiled at her.
“Yes, it was. And actually, I believe you need some more yet.”
She pressed her lips together and shook her head. It most likely had been a long time since she’d been so free of resistance. I slid on top of her quickly. She protested weakly. She tried to hold her legs together, but she hadn’t yet regained her strength. With both hands, I pushed them apart and laid myself between them.
She was as beautiful down there as she was as a whole. I said so loudly enough that she could hear me.
“Get back up here right now!” she hissed in answer.
“Not a chance!” I laughed at her irritation. Slowly, I began to sweep a wide circle with my tongue. She sighed, and I noticed her thighs tightening. I twirled the circle smaller and tighter. She chased my tongue with her hips.
“You’re driving me crazy,” she whispered, so softly that I could barely understand her. I continued. She dug her hands into my hair and held on. “I can’t take any more . . . please.” I didn’t let her out of my mouth. “I can’t stand it anymore! Please . . . let me . . .” Her voice was hoarse and demanding as it reached down to me. I took all of her into me and let her find her own rhythm. This time, she came with a long, steady scream and innumerable twitches. When her orgasm had ebbed, she lay as if dead. I slid on top of her and kissed her. She was covered in sweat.
When she could speak again, she smiled easily. “Whatever did you do?”
“I? Do? Not a thing.” The innocence of a country girl was nothing compared to me.
She laughed, amused. “That’s not at all what it felt like.” She groped at the nightstand and pulled a long, narrow cigarette from its long, narrow package. She lit it with a beautifully decorated silver lighter and took a deep drag. Cliché, at its purest.
She looked at me. “Oh, pardon me, would you like one also?” Her hand wandered back to the nightstand.
“No, thank you,” I pouted. “I hate to get lost in a cloud of smoke right afterwards.”
“I usually don’t either, right afterwards. But today . . . it’s your own fault. If you hadn’t worn me out like that . . .” She reached one hand tenderly under one of my breasts, leaned over, and kissed it. “Mmm,” she hummed appreciatively. “Sweet as champagne.” She looked at me again, closely. “Like the rest of you,” she said then. She leaned back onto her pillow and smoked.
So, she had decided, at least for the moment, to like me – or perhaps just to tolerate me? I observed her from the side. She sat there, relaxed, an incredibly beautiful woman, holding her cigarette with an elegance I’d never imagined possible. The smoke circled up just as elegantly, as if it felt obligated by her manner to do so, toward the ceiling.
She ignored me. At least, she acted as if I weren’t there. What did she expect from me now? Our business relationship was clearly over. I scolded myself silently. I didn’t want to think about it, but I had to. What should I do in this situation? Should I just leave? But that was exactly what I didn’t want to do. I wanted to stay with her; I wanted to get to know her. She had touched me deeply – her vulnerability, which she tried to hide behind miles of protective walls – her fear, and that she had chosen this in particular as a career . . .
I looked at her, searching. She crushed out her cigarette and looked over at me. When she noticed my expression, she twisted her mouth a bit.
“Don’t bother holding back.”
“From what?” I asked, somewhat irritated.
She pulled the blanket up over herself and covered her breasts. “You want to know how and why I got here, to what I am, right?” In another situation, those cold, flashing eyes would’ve driven me right out of the room. As she’d inflected it, it was really an obscene question that I’d never dare ask. I kept silent.
She raised her eyebrows. If she did that one more time, I’d have to kiss her, even if I had to pay for it!
“Everybody wants to know that. I’m sure you’re no exception.” She looked out the window. “Almost every time I’m with a new client, she asks the same question.”
I stiffened. I didn’t actually want to be a “new client”. And I didn’t feel like one, either.
She looked at me indifferently. “You really don’t want to know?” I shook my head. “Well, I don’t suppose it makes any difference; I never answer the question.”
I could tell that she wanted to be rid of me. She began to get restless. Any minute now, the fastest way to get me to leave would occur to her. And here it came already!
“So, did you get what you expected?” She looked at me very professionally. I almost expected her to add, “Will there be anything else, ma’am?”
I had to smile to myself. Instinctively – or perhaps completely rehearsed – she had chosen the topic that would, under normal circumstances, scare me off the fastest. But what were “normal circumstances” in a relationship with her? This whole evening and the entire night up to this point could not be compared with anything in my experience. And this woman was not going to get rid of me so easily.
She became impatient. “Were you satisfied?” She gave me a scrutinizing look. “Or did I do something wrong?” My silence made her nervous. “I know it didn’t all go as you had imagined it would.” She made a remorseful face. She was good at it! I bet most women melted right down when she pulled this one. She grabbed an appointment calendar from the nightstand. “We can make an appointment that’s convenient for you, and you can tell me what you didn’t like.” She unfastened the black leather band and flipped through the pages.
This was truly unbelievable – she was offering me an improvement!
“What are you afraid of?” I asked.
She froze. Her eyes told me, more clearly than her reaction or any words could, that I had hit a sore spot. She retreated to her own mental terrain in order to steady herself.
“Should we not make an appointment, then?” she asked, leafing aimlessly through the calendar. She turned to face me once more. Her eyes had this I-have-no-idea-what-you-want-now look. They reminded me of the big luxury cars with wipers on the headlights. One moment dirtied – one wipe, and they were clear again.
Now she smiled knowingly. “If you have a reason to complain, that’s bad publicity. And bad publicity is bad for business.”
I was reminded of a conversation I’d had recently with a car salesman. He’d presented himself in much the same way. In that case, though, he’d wanted to sell me a car and not his body.
“You can call me.” She pulled out a card.
“Oh, no!” I groaned. “Don’t give me your business card now, too!”
She laughed, pleased. It seemed authentic. “I knew you’d hate that,” she said. She took a pencil and wrote something on the card, then handed it to me. It was an elegant, white, handmade card, completely empty except for the large, curving figures in the middle. No name, no address, just the numbers. That was really the extreme in discretion.
I looked at her. Tiny laugh lines crinkled at the corners of her eyes. “Business cards are not typical in my line of work,” she explained, even more amused. “Sorry to disappoint you.”
There we sat, two naked women in one bed who had just slept together, as if we were sitting together having coffee at an upscale café.
“Would you like some more sugar?”
“Oh, no, I’d rather have another small orgasm. But not too strong; I’m having my hair done this afternoon.” The scene occurred surreal to me.
I had no more reason to stay, much as I didn’t want to admit it. But I wanted to see her again. How could I do that? As her client? Never! Did I have the slightest chance, then? I kept looking down at the card in my hand. Slowly, I was growing uncomfortable in this bed. And it could have been so comfortable. Fall asleep together, wake up together, a little cuddling, a little sex . . . I felt the tingling begin again.
She watched me. I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye. No, I decided, she’d never do that. And I needed to get out of here as quickly as possible.
She continued to scrutinize me. Before I could think of my next move, she said, “I’m going to take a shower now. Would you rather go first . . .?” Her polite, professional, obliging manner hid it badly; this was my final dismissal. I shook my head mutely, without looking at her. She rose. I watched her go. That graceful walk . . . I relished every one of her movements.
When she had shut the door behind her, I leapt out of the bed. I dressed quickly. At the door, I spun around one last time. I heard water running and looked back on the bed. I wasn’t going to forget this night anytime soon.
My office was waiting for me at eight o’clock the next morning, as always. “Project Manager” was under my name on the door, together with the names of my two male colleagues. We were the so-called “project leader pool.” My work was a bigger part of my life than I often wanted to admit. I didn’t feel right when I was away from it for any length of time, like for vacation or sick leave. After that, I was usually really happy to get back behind my desk again. And often, work alone had gotten me through my personal crises.
“Where on earth should I start? Look at all this!” My colleague Mark let out his usual lament as soon as he saw me. I smiled involuntarily. Even though I had next to nothing to do with my colleagues on a personal level, I couldn’t help but like them. This made working together a lot easier.
“Oh, Mark, you’re not the only one with a lot to do. We’re all up to our eyeballs in work.” My answer met his expectations, just like the rest of my normal behavior. This was our daily ritual. He was only half listening to me, just like I would half ignore or automatically answer his usual running commentary on the day. This gave us a sense of belonging together, and didn’t distract us too much. Professionally, we were busy with two completely different projects, such that we rarely had a substantive conversation.
My other colleague came through the door in his usual quiet manner and saw me. “Good morning,” he said, which I knew had to be the beginning of a business conversation. I wasn’t disappointed. “Have you looked over what I left on your desk yet?” I turned around and saw his report lying on top of the mountain of other paperwork on my desk. I shook my head.
“No, I haven’t. I just got here myself.” I went over to the desk and flipped quickly through the pages. “You adapted the plan, like we discussed yesterday?”
He nodded. “And I made the changes you wanted to the draft. I think that will shorten your project by as much as 200 man-hours. That you’ll see in the project plan. I printed a copy of the new version.”
“Okay.” I smiled at him a bit absent-mindedly, as my gaze had already shifted to the next report that was positioned under his. My thoughts wandered on to alternative proposals and solutions. I was in work mode.
Throughout the day, work proved an effective distraction from the previous night’s experiences. The evening, on the other hand, was only torture. Wherever I looked, I saw her face. Her eyes, the way they’d flashed at me, and sometimes her hands, the way they . . . try not to think about it! I longed for her; I could not forget her. My body felt like an addict going through withdrawal. I wouldn’t have been surprised if someone had tried to sell me some dope on my way home. In love with a hooker – wonderful!
I’d planned our next encounter so nicely. In a couple of weeks, I’d go for a walk through town. Coincidentally, I’d run into her. We’d greet each other cordially, share a banana split in an ice cream shop, chat about our common experiences – Remember the incredible sex we had that night? – and make another coffee date. A really nice, uncomplicated friendship. Well, I could toss that to the breeze! In a couple of weeks, I’d be dead!
I’d hardly slept that last night, even after I’d gotten home. With the intensity of my work that day, I hadn’t noticed that my appetite had also fallen off considerably – but now it registered that I hadn’t even gone with my colleagues for our usual lunch together. No food, no sleep – how long could a person live like this? In the insane hope of meeting her “coincidentally” this evening already, I left at five o’clock to run aimlessly through the streets. I ate the banana split as well – even fate must be given an opportunity.
When the sun went down, I gave up. At home in bed, I tossed restlessly. It seemed like I’d only just shut my eyes, but suddenly it was morning. I made coffee, drank it, made more coffee, and drank that too. My nerves thanked me with uncontrollable shaking. Since the day before yesterday, I’d had nothing but the banana split to eat. I picked up the phone and called in sick. In this condition, I’d never get any work done. I didn’t want to go out; that would induce me to go looking for her again. So I paced in my apartment like a caged wild tiger – from the balcony to the window, from the window to the balcony.
I looked at the clock. It was eight o’clock in the morning. Much too early to call someone like her. I held out until nine. Then I got out the card with her phone number. At a quarter after nine, I called her. She was probably still asleep, with long nights like those . . . She answered with her number. She sounded wide-awake. I announced myself with my name, somewhat less wide-awake.
“Yes?” she said, expectantly.
“I’d like to . . .” What should I say now? “Can I . . .?” I didn’t want to make an appointment with her, at least not officially.
“You want to come over?” she asked quietly.
“Yes.” That was the hardest part; I exhaled heavily.
“When?” she asked, in the same quiet tone.
Preferably, right now! But of course, I couldn’t say it like that.
“Today?” I asked for that reason, trying to imitate her tone of voice. But she could do it much better.
“Yes, that’s fine. At eleven o’clock?” She awaited my answer.
“Actually, I was heading into town just now . . .”
“No,” she declined firmly. “I don’t have time before that.”
That meant she probably had a customer with her, or was waiting for one! Can one be jealous over a prostitute? I could! To be able to answer, I swallowed the lump in my throat. With a halfway normal voice or, at least with what I hoped was one, I said, “Good, then. Eleven o’clock.”
She hung up. Without a word. She was definitely not alone! My imagination tortured me with scenes of her room. While she was talking to me, perhaps another woman had undressed her, caressed her, and kissed her. But wouldn’t I have noticed that? Her voice had sounded so calm. That doesn’t mean anything! She’s a whore; she doesn’t feel anything during . . . Really? I remembered it much differently!
The minute hand on the clock seemed to be counting hours instead. Every time I looked up, it seemed hardly to have moved at all. I changed clothes at least five times, although there weren’t all that many possible combinations in my closet. Shirts and pants in different varieties. I didn’t have any skirts or dresses. First, the jeans seemed too casual; then the pleated pants too formal. The plaid flannel shirt was too rustic and the silk too sensitive to sweat spots.
What do you think this is that you’re going to? Really, now! You act as if you were headed for some sort of rendezvous. Oh, yeah? I couldn’t decide how I should categorize this meeting. I seemed to be behaving as if I were anticipating a romantic rendezvous, and I felt like it as well, but my head was correct, this was no such thing. This was an appointment for paid sex.
Finally, it was quarter to eleven. She wouldn’t particularly like it if I got there too early, and she lived right around the corner from me. So I waited another five minutes. When I arrived at her door, it was one minute before eleven. I rang the doorbell. For one brief, horrible moment, I thought she’d stood me up and wasn’t home. Then I heard footsteps. What if that was another customer that she was saying goodbye to? No, she wouldn’t do that! Or would she?
The door opened. She stood before me. She held the door for me and stepped aside. “Come in.”
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