Sophia's World

EIGHT

While Kriszta was getting the 9-inch cream-coloured strap-on from the chest of drawers, Sophia wondered what Peter was up to with Myška. If ever a couple needed to get a room, it was those two. All the billing and cooing sometimes embarrassed Sophia. Was Peter like this with every woman he fucked, she wondered? According to him, there had been no one during their marriage apart from the Czech minx and her lover, Piri. And now, of course, he'd added Kriszta to the list; that is, if he hadn't already fucked her. What was certain was that Sophia couldn't trust him with these central-European types, especially with their capacity for adoration - bordering on hero-worship - which Peter positively lapped up.

Anyway, whatever the lovebirds were getting up to, they were being very quiet about it. 'Oh God!' Sophia thought. They might be indulging in their silly banter, where the joke is always assumed to have been made and is incomprehensible to anyone else. And whatever that joke might be, it always had the pair of them in stitches. She imagined they'd be up soon - not just to check on the children but also to indulge their voyeuristic side. Well, she would make sure that she and Kriszta put on the best damned show they could wish for. Just the thought of that giant cock - bigger yet than Peter's - made her shudder.

'I just hope that gypsy knows how to really use the thing.'

Thus Sophia gave herself pause, before reflecting in a calmer moment that any sister of Piri's was guaranteed to have a PhD in all things cock-related. As she had just discovered, her pussy-related skills came in at post-doctoral level.

The object of her contemplations came back to the bed, the truncheon proudly jutting from her midriff. Sophia vividly remembered the pleasure it had given to the Ethiopian woman, Nyala, when she had been the one wielding it. Now, she would be on the receiving end and the thought was already giving her the mother and father of a case of the butterflies.

Besides assuming the strap-on, Kriszta was set on assuming control of the interaction. This suited Sophia fine, even if she would not take the attempt at dominion lying down. She smiled to herself when she realised what she had just thought, but, in a way, her words were prescient, as the Hungarian told Sophia to get on all fours so she could 'fuck her like a wolf'. Wow! Sophia thought. So in Hungary they did it in the wolfie position, did they? Well, whatever turns you on, and Sophia was getting pretty turned on herself, and rather fancied that the gypsy was feeling plenty of excitement as well.

'Your husband - he has big dick like this.'

Sophia couldn't be sure if the girl was asking a question (even though she ought to know by now, having just fucked him) or making a statement, so she decided to hedge her bets and keep in character.

'Oh, fuck, yes!'

This seemed to do the trick, as Kriszta started to make a rumbling noise (is this what wolves sounded like in Hungary? did Hungary even still have wolves?) and babble in Hungarian - the only words she was able to recognise being 'Péter' and 'fuck'. Suppressing the urge to tell the predatory bitch to lay off her husband and perhaps concentrate on

her

for a bit, Sophia spread her pussy lips wide like a porn star to try and get the ditzy gypsy back on message. It only half worked.

'Péter, he is so lucky to have this beautiful pussy where he can put his giant dick.'

'Yes, he's a very lucky man,' said Sophia matter of factly.

'He is a wonderful man,' continued Kriszta, oblivious to the cock which waited in position adjacent to the afore-mentioned 'beautiful pussy' - now all but forgotten as she became lost in her reverie.

Sophia reckoned the only thing to do was to ride out the storm. Experience had taught her there were few more powerful forces in the world than the one which took possession of a woman when she was overcome by Peter-worship.

'He's quite simply the most wonderful man in the world,' she said, trying to inject as much sincerity into her voice as possible.

'And you are the luckiest one of all, Sophia, because you live with him and receive his giant every night.'

Sophia had very little time for this type of tosh and would normally have put her interlocutor right, but these were hardly normal circumstances and she couldn't afford to alienate the woman - however unhinged she might be - when she wielded so much power and held the key to her immediate happiness.

'I know,' she said simply. 'And I want you to fuck me as if you were fucking him.'

This really hit a nerve, as Kriszta rammed the dildo into her, thankfully, wet cunt, singing a paean to Peter as she did so. Sophia decided to up the ante.

'Imagine you are fucking wonderful Peter in the ass!'

'I am! I am!' cried Kriszta, coming as close to signing her own death warrant with Sophia as she could.

'Oh, well, in for a penny, in for a pound,' Sophia thought. 'Then fuck him harder! Fuck him harder!'

For a second, Sophia regretted her words, as the pole threatened to tear her open, but she took a deep breath or two and, well, channelled her inner Peter.

'Fuck me like I am your dear Peter!' she panted, as the springs in the mattress struggled to cope with the pounding it was getting.

'Oh, dearest, dearest Peter!' the gypsy intoned, as if in a trance. 'I'm sorry that I am unfaithful to you.'

'But you are not being unfaithful to him,' came back Sophia, quick as a shot. 'You are fucking Peter in me.'

It might have been baloney, but it worked. Kriszta's pace went up a further notch and her intensity went stratospheric. Suddenly, as if remembering it was a woman with whom she had to do, a hand came round and cupped Sophia's breast, causing her to catch her breath. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of Peter and that Czech trollop, as they made their way across the room to the two-seat sofa, giggling as per fucking always.

Sophia now had added motivation to make this one of the best performances of her life. But, for this to succeed, she had to make sure the Hungarian ditz quit all the Peter talk, and she wasn't sure how she would be able to manage that, the fixation being so deeply entrenched in her psyche.

'Do you like my tits?' she asked - perhaps a little weirdly - but her object was to get the girl to focus on the fact that she was with a woman and not a man.

It seemed to work.

'They are so big and so soft,' Kriszta replied, as if reading from Sophia's script.

'And my pussy? You like that too?'

But Piri's sister appeared to have drifted off into a world of her own.

'I am about to come. I am going to come!' she cried.

'Great,' thought Sophia, even though she was not yet near that place and she thought the main point of the exercise was for

her

to reach orgasm, not Kriszta.

But, hard as it was to believe, through the fake cock, through the girl's hands, through every other connection she had with her, she could feel the orgasm welling up. She tried to will herself into the same state, but her mind was too scrambled and it was never going to happen.

'Aw, fuck!' yelled Kriszta, her eyes closed in Dionysian abandon. 'I'm going to come.'

Only a moment or two passed before the lid was blown right off.

'I'm coming! Receive my sperm, Péter!'

Spent, she collapsed onto the bed - like Peter. And, like Peter, she fell into a deep sleep.

'My, my, that was splendid,' said Peter, turning to Myška and receiving a smiley nod of corroboration. 'You two have a real chemistry.'

Sophia looked at the naked form snoring beside her and wanted to give her husband a piece of her mind. Then she thought of the enmity this would bring between the two of them and decided discretion was the better part of valour. Myška would be incredibly difficult to replace when she returned to Prague in the summer. She was so good with the children, as well as being a responsible individual with initiative who you could rely on. Sophia had long since reconciled herself to the idea that the nanny, who she had originally imagined as her own personal plaything, was closer to Peter than she was to her, even if they still slept together from time to time, especially if Peter was on a business trip.

It was a little galling to be getting mercy fucks from the hired help, but hey! them were the breaks. And it didn't seem to harm her relationship with Peter. His harem gave him something she couldn't give him - adoration - while she gave him something different - an anchor perhaps best summed it up. And the sex between them had definitely improved since they started experimenting 20 months before. Maybe they were the kind of couple who benefited from enjoying a bit on the side. Maybe playing away from home helped keep things fresh and unpredictable on the domestic front. It was, Sophia knew, an odd arrangement, but it worked for them, and she cherished the strong family unit they had become.

'I guess you two would like the bed,' Sophia said to the occupants of the sofa.

'Actually,' said Peter, 'Myška was just saying that she and Kriszta ought to be making tracks, as Piri has an exhibition in the morning, and she would appreciate them helping her set her stuff up.'

Twenty minutes later, husband and wife were lying in bed reflecting on the evening. Peter seemed to see nothing odd about Kriszta fantasising about him as she was coupling with Sophia, saying something about her need for a father figure. Sophia couldn't quite take this seriously, given that Peter's main input into her life had been of a strictly carnal nature. Peter contended that Sophia was taking too reductionist a view of intimacy - that is, she was reducing everything to the sexual act - and Sophia wondered where Peter had got this nonsense from. Was it

GQ

, as she couldn't imagine any of his friends using a word like 'reductionist' and Peter hadn't read a book in years?

As usual, he was equable in the face of her derision, and quick to play down the 'harem' aspect of his relationship with the women.

'Look,

you're

the one they're always talking about.

You're

the one they aspire to be like. Whether I was around or not, they would be queuing up to bang you.'

'I'm not sure if I'm meant to feel better for that or not, dearest. Surely, there's more to life than getting laid?'

'Not when you're young and attractive and gagging for it! Now look, the first thing you do when you go on these trips of yours is look for a man or a woman - or both - to bang. I've come to accept that it's in your DNA. It doesn't mean you love me any less; it just means that you have a powerful sex drive and a desire to share any love you have left over with others.'

'And you? What about you?'

'Well, with me it's less physical, for starters. Sometimes when I meet someone, I feel a connection, and -'

'But you don't have to act out on it.'

'And usually I don't. But sometimes it's very strong and it seems right and no harm is done.'

'Like with Myška?'

'Yes. Exactly. When she told me you were sniffing about after her, I saw that she was vulnerable and I wanted to comfort her, to let her know she was loved. I knew we could share her. Your intensity in the immediately post-Veronique days was quite scary and I felt I could provide the

yang

to balance out your

yin

.'

'Wow! "Sniffing about"?! You make me sound like a bitch on heat.'

'Well, darling, there was a time back then when I wondered if we were losing you. Actually, Myška proved a real lifesaver to me, as I struggled to make sense of what was happening.'

'Lifesaver, eh? I think I've heard it all now. I live in expectancy of the day when you sue me for divorce so you can start a little nest with your little Czech friend.'

'You are such a drama queen, Sophia! In many ways Myška is like a little sister to me. She needs protection and care and love. She doesn't have your self-assurance, you know.'

'Peter, may I be blunt?'

'I think I know where this is going, but, of course, tell me what's bugging you.'

'That girl craves your cock. You drive her mad with it. When she's with Piri, pound to a penny she's fantasising about you when she's being shafted by her girlfriend.'

'Oh, dear, oh dear, oh dear. How you will reduce everything to the sexual act! It's not just about cocks; it's about intimacy, about love, about empathy. And, do you know, she told me this evening that she's starting to feel that she's receiving these things from you now too.'

'Oh, thanks a fucking lot! She's hot for cock. That's what it's all about with her. Vagina comes in second best. I actually feel a bit sorry for Piri.'

'Piri understands her, she accepts her and she embraces her duality.'

'For fuck's sake, Peter, don't talk like a second-rate shrink. If she's bi and proud of it, all well and good. That makes two of us. But she has no more right than anyone else to go around using her sexuality to worm her way into other people's lives and try and break up families.'

'Do you really think she is doing that?'

'When I see the two of you together, I have to wonder. I sometimes think you'd be happier with her.'

'She isn't the mother of my children - or of anybody's children. Of course, there is a different dynamic between me and her than between me and you.'

Peter thought for a minute and then added, 'Do you think I'm really in love with her?'

'I don't know. You tell me.'

'Of course not, darling. Look, if it would help, I won't have sex with her again. If that helps you trust me like you used to, I'll do that.'

Sophia thought for a moment before replying.

'I'm not sure that would be fair. I still take my pleasure with her from time to time, and I know I would miss it if I had to give it up. If I could be convinced that you were merely comfortable with her in the same way that I am comfortable with her, then I wouldn't care less. It's just so long as I think you're in love with her, I can't bear to see you together. I feel so excluded. Can you understand?'

'Ah, my darling,' Peter said, hugging Sophia tightly and wiping away her tears with a tissue, 'the last thing I want to do is to hurt you. Truly, I could never love anyone but you. I never have and I never will.'

'That's all I wanted to hear,' said Sophia. 'As long as we have that straight, you can fuck the little minx as often and as hard as you want!'

They sealed their understanding with a kiss and within a couple of minutes they were asleep in each other's arms.

NINE

The bank group met together in the business class lounge for refreshments and a final pep talk from Mr Yamaguchi, President of the European operation of the group. Totalling 13, they were drawn from four different countries and multiple divisions, departments, sections and units. (Japanese banks are highly stratified organisations.) As often, Sophia was the only woman and one of only three people from the UK's non-Japanese staff. It was, in other words, quite an honour for her to have been chosen for the trip, which she was making ahead of staff of similar rank who had been with the bank for much longer.

Ironically, her image in the company was of someone who was aloof and sexually unavailable. A few men of some seniority had tried it on with her, but, receiving no encouragement, they had moved on to other, easier targets, such as secretaries and interns. Of course, there had been the dalliance with Abdelrahman - a wealthy client of the bank - which had landed her the plum position of CFO, but this had been brokered by long-term bank employee, Seth, who was the soul of discretion. Well, the soul of discretion, except when it came to telling Peter, with whom he had worked in the City for some time when they were younger, all about Sophia's various trysts. Sophia never quite got to the bottom of the Egyptian's reason for doing this. The best she could come up with was that he felt a kind of responsibility to look after Sophia and that included making sure the man of the house - Sophia's protector, indeed - was kept informed of his woman's whereabouts and wellbeing.

Having - after a fashion, at any rate - come to terms with Seth's self-appointed role as guardian angel, Sophia had also come to terms with the fact that much of what she got up to would get reported back to her husband. And since her husband and she had stumbled upon their own form of a seventies-style open marriage, she had grown quite comfortable with their arrangement. She sometimes regretted not having her own network of spies to keep her abreast of Peter's peccadilloes, but she realised that this regret had its source more in her natural competitiveness and desire for knowledge as power than in a genuine concern about his philandering. For the truth was he didn't have the same drive, the same needs as she did. He clearly got a kick out of tracking her amorous adventures - albeit in a haphazard fashion - so why would Sophia wish to upset the apple cart by making a fuss? And it was not as if her bargaining power was very strong, anyway, given her outsized libido and her propensity for indulging it.

The first full day in Tokyo was taken up with meetings and a welcoming banquet in the evening. So many staff had descended on Tokyo from around the globe that they were being accommodated in two different hotels a mile or so apart. The main events were being held in the hotel where the majority of the delegates were staying, the White Lotus, while Sophia and perhaps 20 others (the majority from Japan itself) were staying at the smaller, boutique-style Sakura. This suited Sophia fine, as the other hotel was only two stops away on the Metro, or a short taxi ride, if she avoided the rush hour.

On the evening of her second full day in Tokyo, Sophia had arranged to have dinner at the Sakura sushi bar with her counterpart from the United States, Meg O'Shaughnessy, someone she had known through video conferences and phone calls for some time, but who she had only just met in person. They got on immediately, perhaps because they were opposites. While Sophia was self-contained, professional and not overly outgoing, her Irish-American counterpart was an extrovert with a wicked sense of humour, who naturally carried the mantle of 'life and soul of the party'. Twice divorced, she was 15 years older than Sophia with red hair that was now streaked with grey. She retained something of the ruddy faced look of a milkmaid from County Kerry, which is just what her great-grandmother had been before she was whisked off to the New World by her ambitious young husband nearly a hundred years ago.

Sophia was almost ready to leave her room after showering and changing when she received a message from Tom, Meg's colleague from New York, to say that Meg would be unable to join Sophia, as she had come down with acute appendicitis and was being rushed to hospital. She asked Tom if she should go the hospital to hold Meg's hand, but he told her that they were likely to perform an emergency operation once she got there and that she would be in post-operative recovery without visitors for at least 12 hours after that. He assured her that he would message her with visitation details once he had them.

Sophia thought about changing from the mid-length dress she had changed into only half an hour ago into jeans and ordering room service, as she was quite tired after the long journey east and didn't fancy venturing out on her own into the neighbouring district with no one to guide her and, more importantly, translate for her. She had already noticed that almost everything apart from road signs was in Japanese only. In the end, she decided to go down to the sushi bar as originally planned. Sitting at the bar, a woman on her own didn't create so much attention as one sitting at a table for two, and she could pass the time pleasantly enough checking her messages and generally chilling.