Unexpected Gifts

1 -- MARCUS

Marcus poured a stream of bubbling water over his dinner – a bowl of Ramen noodles. Not exactly the ideal Valentine's dinner. Shelley was out of town performing. Holidays were always the busiest time for her band. He had spent Christmas and New Years alone as well. He didn't mind all that much. They always had a belated celebration when she came back.

Marcus hadn't yet decided what he would get her for Valentine's. His gifts always paled in comparison to hers. At Christmas the leather purse he had given her had been almost insulting beside the hand crafted Makonde statue she had given him. He collected African art and the piece she had found him was extremely rare.

The doorbell let out a shrill peal. "Who the hell is that," he muttered as he left the dining table. He hoped it wasn't a relative. One of the down sides of inheriting his father's estate was that every few days some uncle or distant cousin came by looking for a handout.

Sighing, he unlatched the front door and opened it to find... well definitely not a relative. There was a stripper in a nurse's uniform standing on his door. Marcus didn't know for sure she was a stripper but he was pretty sure she was one because, for one thing, the nurse's uniform was vinyl and the woman's huge breasts were barely being held in by her top. Her body was also too perfect. Only actresses, models and strippers could justify the hours in the gym daily necessary to maintain such a figure.

"Are you Marcus Gaines?"

"Yes."

"Good," she said smiling. "I'm your Valentine's gift."

"Ex...excuse me," he stuttered.

"It's cold out here," she said.

He stepped aside and she walked in. He noticed her flesh was covered in goosebumps and she was shivering. Why didn't she just wear a coat?

He closed the door and found her looking around his hallway. "Very nice place; it's huge. You live hear alone?"

"No, my girlfriend..."

"Oh right, silly me, I knew that. Shelley, right?"

"Ya. How do you know her?"

"She's the one who hired me, said she felt guilty about always leaving you alone."

"She hired you to strip for me!"

"I'm a lot more than a strippogram Marcus," she replied. "She paid me nine hundred which means I can do anything you want. I can give you a blowjob, I can tie you up and give you a spanking if that's what you're into, we can fuck on the floor, on the couch, in your bed, you can fuck me up the ass, I can wear a strap on and fuck you up the ass, you can cum in my hair, in my face..."

She ran her fingertips against Marcus's arm and he jerked away. "There has been a mistake. Shelley would never hire a hooker.'

"I'm an escort."

This didn't make any sense. Shelley was an extroverted, adventurous person in every sphere of her life except sexuality. She wasn't even comfortable trying new sexual positions. Whenever Swingers or people in open relationships were mentioned she always said that they clearly didn't understand love. As for the idea of Marcus and another woman? Shelley couldn't even stand him looking at another woman. Her getting him a strip-o-gram would have been hard to believe. This was impossible. "Are you sure you have the right address?"

"You're Marcus. Your girlfriend's Shelley. You have any neighbours with the same names?"

She had a point.

"Come on," she urged. "I know you want me. Your eyes have been locked on my tits since I came in."

"Sorry," Marcus yelped, averting his gaze.

"I don't mind. I'm here to fuck you remember. Why don't you unbutton my top and take a closer look. I have freakishly long nipples. Fun to suck, you know. If you have whipped cream and strawberries we could really get into the Valentine's theme."

"Wait a second," Marcus said and darted to the phone. He had to get to the bottom of this.

2 – SHELLEY

Shelley was exhausted. Her body ached. A seven hour bus ride followed by five hours straight of singing, dancing and playing had made her ache in places she had not even known were part of her body. The other band members had invited her to go out partying and she had declined. All she wanted was a nice long bath and then some much needed sleep.

She unlocked the door of her hotel room and

immediately started ripping off her clothes on the way to the bathroom. They were drenched with sweat and stunk of cigarette and marijuana smoke. That was the worst thing about rock concerts; they left you feeling like something that could be found stuck to the sole of someone's shoe.

Shelley had just immersed herself in the tub when the doorbell rang.

"Shit," she muttered. She pushed open the door to the bathroom.

"Who is it?"

The doorbell rang again.

"Could you come back tomorrow. I..."

It rang again.

Angry, Shelley got out of the tub, wrapped herself in a towel and walked to the door. She opened it. Standing outside her door was a tall, gorgeous hunk of black man in a tuxedo. Well, in most of a tuxedo. He was wearing the pants, jacket and bowtie but no shirt. The jacket hung open over a bare, muscular chest.

"Hello Shelley," he said. "I'm your Valentine's gift."

"What?"

"Courtesy of the hotel. The concierge was extremely happy with the band's performance and he has therefore provided for a little something extra. There's no need for any of you to be alone on this of all nights."

Shelley was offended at first then thought about it. While on tour promoters had often arranged for strippers or prostitutes for all the men in the band. It was actually rather progressive of the hotel's concierge to send her a gigolo. She looked at the man's perfect body and cherubic face. Why didn't this kind of thing happen to her a few years ago?

"I'm sorry. I have a partner."

"I have a partner too," the man replied. "And I was worried we had nothing in common."

Shelley laughed. She couldn't help it.

3 – MARCUS

"She's not picking up," said Marcus, hanging up.

"So we're back to square one," said the woman.

"Well..."

"Look," she said. "I've already been paid. We don't have to have sex. Just don't make me go back out into the cold. We can just hang out, watch television or something. I'm freezing. The main reason I'd like to be having sex right now is it would warm me up. Can I use your shower?"

"No problem."

She smiled and marched off to the bathroom. Marcus heard the rustle of her clothes coming off and then the sound of the water turning on. He couldn't help but picture it. She'd left the door open and he knew if he just inched forward a little he would be able to see her. It was ridiculous. A few moments ago he'd refused to have sex with her, now he was fantasizing about spying on her.

She let out a purr which sent a shiver through Marcus. "It feels so good. You should come and join me."

I should. Even if it doesn't make any sense, Shelley did sent her to me. Unless... Maybe it's a test? That's even more ridiculous. "What's your name?" He called out.

"Caramelle," she replied. Clearly an alias. Not even hippies would name their child 'Caramelle'.

Marcus adjusted himself in his jeans. He had been rock hard since she had first appeared at the door. Any of my friends in this situation would be in there fucking her against the shower

wall, he thought to himself.

"Marcus," Caramelle called out. "Could you come here for a second?"

"Why?"

"Just come. Don't be afraid."

He got up and walked to the bathroom. Caramelle's naked body was obscured by steam and the glass door to the shower. That somehow made it worse. He could see the outline of her form and his imagination was working overtime envisioning rivulets of water trickling down her supple flesh. He didn't have to imagine it long because Caremelle pushed open the glass door. Her body was even more divine than he had expected. She had the kind of figure that would inspire sculptors and painters to create masterpieces. Her breasts were definitely fake which Marcus usually didn't like, but right now all he wanted to do was charge her and bury his face in them.

"Pass me a towel," she said.

Marcus didn't move. He was entranced. He took her in: shoulders, breasts, belly, waist, hips. His eyes lingered on the dark hair between her legs.

Caramelle turned the faucet off and leaned back against the wall. Slowly she brought her fingers to her breasts and she held them gently and squeezed. She moaned and Marcus, impossibly, became even harder. Caramelle's right hand then began to wander very slowly down her belly and over her pubis. She spread apart her vaginal lips. As she did this, her eyes were locked on Marcus's, daring him to act. She bit her bottom lip as she began to rub her clitoris in small circles.

Marcus forced himself to move. He grabbed a towel and passed it to her.

Her eyes flickered with disappointment and she accepted the towel from his trembling hands.

"Thanks, she said."

"You're welcome."

He left the bathroom at a run and Caramelle dried herself and followed. He turned to find her dressed in one of Shelley's bathrobes. It was amazing the change one piece of clothing caused. In the vinyl nurse's outfit Shelley had looked like a porn star and consequently had found himself thinking of her only sexually. His mind had been clouded by thoughts of sucking her tits, fingering her and fucking her. Now, with a thick robe around her, Marcus found himself noticing tiny details about her for the first time. Her face was a ghostly ivory and there was a small scar above her left eye and another across her cheek. Both had been concealed by makeup. Her face was all sharp angles and planes and she had a malnourished emaciation that was just the other side of thin. He wondered when she had last eaten. He also wondered what the story was behind each of those scars and he wondered what had led her to a life of prostitution.

Caramelle lay back and stretched like a cat, letting out another throaty purr.

Marcus sat on the bed beside her and found himself wishing he knew her real name.

"So despite my efforts to the contrary," she said. "It doesn't look like there's going to be any sex on this bed tonight."

Despite my efforts to the contrary. She didn't talk like a hooker. Not that Marcus had any idea what a hooker talked like anyway. Other than what he had seen in films, his exposure to the seedier elements of Montreal were minimal. He'd frequented a few strip clubs and once dashed into (then dashed straight out when the receptionist spoke to him) an erotic massage parlour.

"Sorry," he said.

"Why are you apologising? I'm getting free money for doing nothing. I could try to entertain you in other ways. You know, when I'm not selling my body to random strangers, I'm trying to make it as a stand up comedian. Want to hear a joke?"

"All right," Marcus said. Might as well give in to the surreal fever-dream he was in.

"Whatever happened to David Blane, he was supposed to be the next big thing, but he disappeared."

Marcus waited patiently for the joke.

"Get it, he disappeared. He's a magician."

Marcus laughed.

"I think I'm the one who's meant to fake laugh at your bad jokes. So much for my budding career as a comedian."

"How... How did you start... you know?"

"The million dollar question eh."

"Sorry, you don't have to answer, I was just..." Marcus broke off. Caramelle's hand was on his crotch and she was stroking. He started to move away and she grabbed his penis hard. He winced in pain.

With her other hand she unzipped him. "Don't move. I'm going to answer your question."

Marcus stopped resisting. It had been a battle that was getting harder and harder over the last forty minutes. Now, with her fingers around his member it was too much to resist. She pulled his trousers down to his waist and tentatively, touched his penis. Now that she was holding him directly, she stopped stroking. She pulled herself up into a crawling position and placed her lips directly above his penis. She spoke softly, her hot breath caressing his blood engorged tip.

"When I was sixteen I was raped by six men."

"What?" Marcus gasped.

"Or," Caramelle continued. "When I was sixteen my father had a drinking problem and got the family into debt with the wrong kind of people. The kind of people who don't forgive." She brought her lips closer to the tip of his penis. "Or I am a nymphomaniac. I am a rabid slut who needs sex like a crack addict needs a fix, like a starving man needs food." She was so close to his penis now he wanted to jerk forward and shove his dick into her mouth. She held him down firmly, letting the torture continue.

"Better yet," she whispered. "I am an addict. I sell my body for money to buy drugs. My dealer is also my pimp. He ties me up and fucks me up the ass while feeding a syringe into my thigh. He fills me with semen and heroin at the same time."

Caramelle gave Marcus's tip a single lick and then she pulled away. "I am a feminist academic researching the lives lived by whores and strumpets for my doctoral thesis. Or it's a trap, someone is videotaping us. After you cum, you'll be blackmailed. Or I'm in a cult, we believe that sex is the only way to communicate with God. Our ceremonies are orgies and our prayers are orgasms."

Caramelle began to stroke him. Her fingers pumped up and down while she continued speaking, her voice almost incantatory. "When I was sixteen I was raped by six men. Oh sorry, said that one already. Maybe I read a book. That's what it was. I read a book about a woman who sold herself for money and I wanted to be her. Reading about her life made me wet. It made me touch myself and shove anything I could find into my cunt. I'm possessed. That's what it is. It's a demon. When I sleep I dream of creatures with fangs drinking my blood. Or let's say I lost a bet. Strip poker taken to the next level."

Caramelle bit into the soft flesh just beneath the mushroom head of his penis. Marcus screamed.

"Don't worry. I'll kiss it better." She kissed his tip once. Then again. She laid another kiss half an inch lower, then a little lower than that. They were small butterfly kisses that both teased and tortured. He moaned. Her mouth opened wide and she took him in deep like a sword swallower. Then, as quickly she had taken him in, she withdrew and was staring up at him, her expression carnal. She stroked him with both hands, moving both up and down and in clockwise and anticlockwise twists. "Or maybe It's because of Shelley." The mention of Shelley shattered the fantasy but somehow, at the same time, intensified the pleasure. Caramelle continued.

"I was a school pal of Shelley and I was in love with her. We had a short sapphic fling. She licked my cunt every night and her fingers explored me but she didn't love me. To here it was just playing around. She broke my heart and I hate her and and I hate you, the man she now loves." Caramelle spat on Marcus' dick and her fingers immediately gathered and distributed the saliva all around his shaft. She jerked him faster, frantically. "I'm going to fuck you and make you mine. Do you want that? Do you want me to ride you and take you into me? Do you want to come? I can make you come right now? If you do something for me. Tell me you are going to leave her for me. Say it. Say it or I'll stop."

She continued stroking him but when he said nothing she let go and started moving away.

"I'll leave her," he begged. "I love you. I'll do anything you want,"

Caramelle's head shot forward and she took him into her mouth again. This time she sucked. Her head bobbed back and forth.

"I'll do anything you want. I'll do anything you want," he breathed as she sucked him. She was gentle at first and then she sucked him hard, but only for a few seconds. Then she was gentle again. Now she was using both her hands, her lips and her tongue to overwhelm him with sensation. She was relentless and he groaned as he felt his release built. Amidst the rising tide of ecstasy as he came in her mouth, a tiny part of his mind accused him viciously. You're cheating on her. Shelley would never do this to you.

4 – SHELLEY

Kano. That was his name, and he moved like a dancer.

That's how she would describe making love to him if she ever had to, but she never would. This was her secret. She was far away from home and no-one would ever find out. This was hers and hers alone. Her secret dance.

This is how it went: Kano held her close and firm; his hips swayed and thrusted like a seasoned Samba dancer at Carnival; he moved with her. His hips and arms guided her motions and they undulated to a primal rhythm. Kano's fingers caressed her back, her buttocks, her thighs. His eyes drank her in. He had insisted they keep the lights on. She had resisted. He had insisted. Thank God he had. The wild desire she saw in his pupils ignited her. She felt more than beautiful. She felt like a Goddess and she basked in his gaze.

Within her, his penis was a catalyst. It was as though she had never truly had sex, made love, fucked or whatever other name was used to describe it. This was different. With Marcus it was always a routine. Kiss, fumble, kiss, undress, a little rubbing, a little more kissing, some licking, some kissing and then in out, in out, in out, and it was over. Sometimes it was fun, sometimes it was not. It was never like this.

Liquid fire coursed through Shelley's veins and her gasps were more than just expression's of pleasure, they were desperate, she felt as though she was drowning... or burning on a pyre like a witch in Salem Massachussets. Surely so much pleasure was a sin.

"More," she wanted to yell. "Fuck me harder," she wanted to demand but she could not shape the words. Somehow he seemed to hear her anyway. Kano's pace increased and she her legs wrapped around his waist pulled him closer. Her nails dug into his buttocks drawing blood.

Before entering her Kano had worn a condom and for some reason she wished she hadn't. She wanted him inside her naked and pure. She wanted to feel his eruption inside her when he came. She began to tremble and he held her firmly; he slowed his motions to a gentle sway. Her trembles broadened into convulsions and he smiled as she began to orgasm. The pleasure hit her in waves so intense she expected to faint. Her chest heaved and she grabbed hold of the sides of his face and kissed him. Their tongues melted together and Kano continued moving inside her slowly.

"Thank you," she said, and as she spoke she lost control. She was crying.

Kano stopped moving, worried.

"No..." she begged. "Don't stop. Please don't stop."

His hips began to move again and Shelley rolled him over so she was on top. Her body was shaking as she sobbed but her tears were tears of joy – no more than that. They were tears of release and tears of escape.

She began to rock back and forth. "Kano," she whispered. "You are a song. You are a dream."

Making love to him was a dance and it had only just begun.

5 – MARCUS

Caramelle continued to suck Marcus after he had come. She cleaned the sperm off him with her tongue, lapping every drop ravenously.

"That was amazing," Marcus sighed.

"Yes it was, wasn't it," said a woman's voice.

Marcus started when he realised it hadn't been Caramelle who spoke. She was still sucking him.

The door separating the balcony and the bedroom opened. A fat woman dressed in a crisp grey business suit stepped in. In her hand she carried a video camera.

"You can stop Louise." After a few final licks, Caramelle/Louise got up. A few splashes of sperm had got on Shelley's bathrobe and Caramelle/Louise wiped them off with the quilt.

"Here's the situation Mr. Gaines." said the fat woman. "I have some Oscar worthy footage of you getting a thorough treatment from the very talented Louise. One of a kind isn't she."

Marcus stared at Louise. She wasn't looking at him. She was staring at the floor and she was as still as a statue.