By: Cara McKenna

I stood and skirted the shade, intending simply to move it aside. But my fear was gone so I let my body lead me, and it led me to sit right next to him on the edge of the bed and watch from close up. His lids looked leaden as he turned his face to me. I could have kissed him, I’m sure. I even leaned in, but when we made contact it was forehead to forehead. Yet it felt more personal than any kiss I’d ever experienced, more explicit by miles. His skin was hot and damp, breath sweet from the wine and scratchy with arousal. The moment was nothing like I’d feared. It was nervous but somehow natural. Sweet. I nestled against his shoulder and watched his hand, wondering what his cock must feel like…surely as hot as the cheek pressed to mine. But I wasn’t ready for the tease to end and real exploration to begin.

The smell of his sex was something I hadn’t anticipated. Heady and dark as rum, dark as his eyes and brows and the tidily trimmed hair between his legs.

He pulled away an inch to whisper, “What do you want from me?”

“Keep going. Until you absolutely have to…”

He nodded, and even in the candlelight I could see how pink his lips and ears and cheeks were. His cock was flushed as well, his shaft dark against his stroking hand. It was a revelation to know his arousal was so real, when I’d imagined his experience must have turned him into a cold machine, going through the motions.

I thought, I could kiss this man, so easily.

Just as easily, I could discover all the things I’ve denied myself. I could find out what a hard cock feels like against my palm, what it tastes like, how it feels to have a man in my mouth. What it’s like to have Didier above me, sliding inside me. What it feels like, the first time. If you’re really turned-on, it’s not supposed to hurt very much. No problem there. What would it be like, to feel his cock rushing in and out? And how would I feel to him? Does it actually feel different with a virgin?

“Have you ever done this… Has a woman come to you, I mean, who’s a virgin?”

He nodded, lost in his own pleasure or the struggle to keep from losing it.

“Does it feel different?”

“Every woman feels different.”

“Oh.” Another good answer.

“I know if you decided you wanted me,” he said, “you would feel amazing.”

Fuck, that melted me. If I decided I wanted him. As if his wanting me were beyond speculation. Maybe it was even true. Maybe I was one of his prettier and younger clients. Maybe he’d even have smiled at me, had we met in line at a café and not under these strange circumstances.

I tried to imagine what other women might come here to do… To have a beautiful man kneel between their legs, take them roughly on this stately old bed, or ride his hard cock until they got their fill. He’d said nothing was off-limits. I imagined him tied down, or doing the tying. Getting spanked or doling out that punishment. He was whatever that evening’s client wanted, and right now, he was exactly mine, intuitively guiding my experience. I wondered what else he’d know I wanted, before I knew it myself.

“I’m imagining you,” he whispered.

My heart stopped, tangled in what he’d said. “What are you thinking about?”

“Imagining what you might have me do to you. Maybe undress you here on this bed. Taste your mouth and neck, and your breasts. Your sex.”

“I don’t know what I want yet.”

“I can’t wait to help you find out.”

Oh, but he could wait, surely. I bet no one can delay gratification like Didier Pedra.

“Do you like being watched?” I asked.

“I like pleasing a woman, so yes. I like the way you watch me.” His eyes were nearly closed, voice shallow and strained. “You still want this?”

“Yes.” So badly I prayed it would never end. “Would you stand? In front of me?”

Didier got to his feet and it felt precisely how I’d hoped with his body looming, just the slightest streak of intimidation warming me. I glanced at the little bottles beside his bed.

“Do you ever use any of those?” I asked, pointing.

“I do. Would you like that now?”


He reached for the largest bottle and lifted the sphere from its top, drawing out a glass wand and dripping a measure of clear liquid onto his palm. I recognized the smell—mineral oil.

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