The Blue Guide by Carrie Williams Page B

don’t feel at all ashamed of myself. It’s natural, after all; everybody does it, even – or perhaps especially – in the four-thousand-pound-a-night suites of international superstars. Who can blame me?
    Paco clearly doesn’t. Nor does he do what I expect him to do and back slowly out of the room and close the door behind him. No, he’s still there, still looking at me – not at my sopping cunt, mind, or my breasts, but into my eyes as before. I sit up, smile at him.
    â€˜That was beautiful,’ he says. ‘Really fucking beautiful. I wish I’d come in a little earlier.’
    I raise my eyebrows, emboldened. ‘I could do it again,’ I say. ‘If you wanted.’
    His face lights up. ‘You bet,’ he breathes, and he steps into the room and scoops me up in his arms, carries me through into his bedroom like a new bride. Through his trousers I can feel the head of his dick pressing into my hip, urgent for me.
    â€˜Do you need a rest?’ he says. ‘You were really going for it in there? I’ve never seen anything like it.’
    â€˜I’m fine,’ I say. I don’t tell him I can keep coming and coming like a train, with the right partner. Or by myself.
    He sets me down and I look around, assessing the room. There are two richly upholstered sage-green andred chairs either side of an oval silver chest of drawers, and I pull one over to the bed, lower myself onto it. He sits down on the bed and I place one foot on either side of him, knees slightly bent. I’m on full display, giving this virtual stranger the most intimate of views, and I’m loving it. I’m loving the look on his face as he watches me bring my hand to myself and spark myself off again. The numbness succeeding my first orgasm has faded, and I’m electric again.
    I start with my arsehole, licking my fingers and then running them around the tender rosebud of my rim. I often do this in front of the mirror at home: it gives me a big kick. Next I part my lips and hole with my hands, wide as they will go. I stay like that for a few moments, letting Paco enjoy the scene. I can tell by the play of his hands on the top of his thighs that he’s fighting the urge to get his dick out and start going at himself. There’s nothing, in many ways, that I’d like better than to see his undoubtedly beautiful member spring forth from his Calvin Kleins and come to life in his hands, especially for me. But I also want to prolong this: he’ll come really quickly, I think, and then I will too and it will all be over. I’ll retrieve my clothes from the bathroom, get dressed and take a taxi home. Carlotta will be back tomorrow, and I’ll hardly see anything of Mr Bigshot Dancer. That’s if he doesn’t dispense with my touristic services after this little adventure. There’s a boundary, and we’ve overstepped it.
    I was right: his hand moves to his fly, and I have to reach out and stop him from releasing himself.
    â€˜Not yet,’ I say. ‘Wait.’ I turn over on the chair, so that I’m kneeling now, and he gets a whole new angle on my arse and cunt. I can feel myself drizzling down my inner thighs as I push my fingers inside me and fish for my core. I don’t know who’s moaning morenow, Paco or me. I put my head down, close my eyes. I imagine he’s taking himself out now, but I’m too far gone to protest any more.
    And then all of a sudden he’s upon me, between my thighs, pulling my hands away and parting me with his cock, pushing into me. I haven’t set eyes on his prick yet, but I can feel its superb girth as he arches in and out of me, punctuated by the bounce of his balls against my arse. Rightaway – with a little help from my own fingers on my clit – I’m soaring, gasping, carried away by an orgasm that seems to lift me up into the air.
    Its contractions are still rippling deliciously through me