Chance Encounters 7

The life of a hedonist is something of an odd one. We live fast and drink hard; we fuck harder, and indiscriminately. We value love, but ultimately all that matters is pleasure. Men, and for that matter women, are to me what wine is to an alcoholic, and moderation is not a term that I am familiar with. But of all the men I have had, only one has ever had me.

I was seventeen when I met him. He stood at the bar, whiskey in hand and tie loose about his neck: whether a businessman or a lawyer, I never found out. It wasn't important. I suppose I should say that he exuded raw masculinity, that his primal sexual urges were too strong, too potent to be hidden by his veneer of respectability.

That, however, would be bullshit.

In reality, he was entirely contained. Perhaps, to a more perceptive person, hints to his character could be ascertained from the cut of his suit and the colour of the aiglets of his shoelaces. But I'm not exactly Sherlock Holmes, and I didn't really care that there was dust on his shoes and a scratch on his neck. I was more concerned with the way he was examining me, one eyebrow raised as he took in the sequins of my dress and the way I wobbled in my borrowed stilettos. Under his eye I became uncomfortably aware of how garish it all was, the lashings of eyeliner and over-padded bra the hallmarks of a teenager feigning maturity.

"You're too young to be in here." he observed.

My eyes flicked to the barman, but he was occupied with serving another customer.

"Don't worry, I don't care. I'm not going to get you kicked out." He drained the last of the whiskey, placed the glass on the counter and left without another word. I stared after him, almost unconsciously. That was our first meeting.

The second time we met I was an intern, balancing an enormous stack of photocopies and a cup of coffee as I attempted to press the button for the lift with my elbow. All of a sudden a hand appeared from behind me and pressed it for me. I turned to thank my helper and found myself looking straight into those unreadable brown eyes from three years before. I recognised him instantly, though his tie was now neatly knotted and he held a briefcase rather than a glass of whiskey. Just as he had the last time, he raised an eyebrow at me with my precarious stack of papers before stepping into the lift.

"Floor?"

"Sixth. Thank you."

He was silent as the doors closed and there was a second's pause before the lift began to move. Still unspeaking, he turned to look at me until I met his eye.

"We've met before, haven't we?" he said.

"Yes."

He nodded to himself. A momentary pause. And then, in an instant, he had me pressed against the wall of the lift, his free hand in my hair and his lips on mine. For an instant I hesitated, half insulted at the audacity of this stranger. But his lips nibbled insistently on mine and I gave in, acutely aware of the proximity of his pelvis and the way my papers crushed my breasts. Then, in an instant, the doors were open and he was stood modestly away from me, facing straight forward. I got out of the lift a little stunned and glanced back at him, eyes meeting for a second before the doors closed once more and he vanished from sight. As I walked to my desk I realised that my underwear was already damp with arousal and cursed him in irritation - whether at having ruined my underwear or having left me unsatisfied, I wasn't sure.

The third time was only a few months later. I was in a club in Soho, dark and cramped and throbbing with energy. The smell of sweat mingled with the odour of cheap vodka, intensified by the heat into a stench that proved too much for my stomach and, desperate for a reprieve, I pushed my way through the crowd and outside. And there he was, walking down the pavement towards me. I tried to ignore him, focusing on replacing the rancid air in my lungs with refreshingly pure air outside. But he stopped next to me, and I knew before I even looked that his eyebrow would be raised.

I was right.

Suddenly I wanted to hit him, furious at his condescension, at his silence, his aloofness. Exhaling aggressively, I made to leave, eager to leave the oppressive sphere of his presence. But as I pushed past him, his hand caught my wrist. Once more I found his lips against mine, but this time I decided I would not be so pliable. I glared at him until his eyes opened and he found himself staring straight into my eyes. He paused, my bottom lip caught lightly between his teeth as we stared at each other. And then, in a moment of infuriating honesty, I realised that there was nothing I wanted more than this man's hands on my ass, his lips on my neck and his cock buried deep inside of me.

A moment passed as this desire was imparted, then time blurs. Somehow I found myself in an alleyway with his hands roaming all over me, clutching at my breasts, my waist, my ass. Frustration rose in me at the fabric that separated his rough hands from my skin, but I was distracted as his teeth found my neck and he bit down hard. I gasped in pain, but he had already moved on: he turned me and used his body to crush me against the wall. I was acutely aware of his erection, pressed hard against the softness of my ass.

"I'm going to fuck you," he hissed in my ear, and a hand slipped round to grasp my neck. He pulled my head back and took my mouth yet again, his tongue slipping in roughly and claiming my mouth as his own. Keeping me trapped against the wall with his body, I heard his belt clink as he removed it, clumsy in desire, and his hands yanked at my dress, nails scratching my thighs as he tore my underwear out of the way.

I felt his cock at my dripping entrance and for a torturous instant he paused and let me burn in my need to be filled. Then, violently, he thrust himself inside of me. I gasped, breathless, at this first instant of penetration, feeling my pussy stretch to accommodate every inch of him. At the same time he groaned, deep and animal, in my ear as my tightness enveloped him. He did not move immediately, but instead buried his teeth once more in my neck and squeezed my breasts hard with each hand.

"So wet," he groaned, "you're so fucking wet for me."

He began to thrust himself in and out of me so hard that my pussy ached. And yet I could not bring myself to stop him, pain mingling with pleasure as he pounded me. The rapid slap of his balls against my ass turned me on more still, until desire overwhelmed my every rational thought. All I knew was the sharpness of his teeth on my neck, the tightness of the hand on my throat and the relentless pounding of his dick as it buried itself inside of me.

His pace only increased and pain began to overwhelm pleasure. Instinctively I tried to wriggle away from him, but his only response to was to slam himself into me again and wrench my head back so that he could hiss once more in my ear.

"You're going to keep taking my cock even if you beg me to stop," he said, "your cunt is mine now."

His thrusts became more insistent and accompanied by grunts in my ear, then he buried himself in me and I felt his cock throb as it released wave after wave of cum, marking my pussy as his territory. Part of me reviled him; most of me revelled in being made his whore.

Slowly, he withdrew his cock, though still he kept me trapped against the wall with his body. A hand slipped down to my pussy and I felt two fingers probe deep inside of me. They emerged, slick with semen, and he slipped them into my mouth.

"Taste us," he whispered, and obligingly I licked his fingers. His lips moved up my neck, gentle now, and he nibbled softly on my earlobe as his fingers returned once more to my pussy. Deep inside of me, his fingers twitched and beckoned expertly until, with a moan of relief, I came.

He laughed soft and low at my ecstasy, withdrew his fingers and stepped back. I leaned against the wall, resting my forehead on its roughness as I regained my breath. Finally, my vision cleared and I turned.

The alleyway was empty. Distracted in the exquisite bliss of my orgasm, he had slipped away without me noticing. I do not remember how I felt: the intensity of my desire, and then of my pleasure, had exhausted me beyond feeling. I sat for a while there in the alleyway. Then, as dawn approached, I straightened my clothing, finger combed my hair, and headed for home.