Quiver

“This is bad. He should marry you. You are worth it.”

“How do you know?”

“An instinct.”

“The same one you use for choosing horses?”

“Perhaps.”

He refuses to be insulted. This excites her further, the champagne rendering her fearless. Behind him she can see June bringing Jock another bottle; there is something intimate about the way she touches his arm. Stacey turns back to Ahmed. Close up he smells of a sweet, musky aftershave and soap, as if under the Italian suit he is as well scrubbed as his English accent.

“Let’s go upstairs.”

“Pardon?”

“Upstairs. There is a collection of photos of racehorses, the ones Jock owns.”

She takes him by the hand and drags him across the dance floor, past the buffet table, past the frantic caterers, past the drunken farmers whirling crazily around them. As they leave the tent she catches a glimpse of Jock staring at her.

Up in Jock’s study they stand before a photo of Jock’s favorite racehorse, a mare called Prime Cut.

“She has long, slender legs like yourself,” says Ahmed, running his hands up under her skirt as if to confirm his theory. His large hands span her easily.

“Good breeding stock, with a strong broad back and firm flanks.” She allows

herself the luxury of being able to rest her head against a standing man. He squeezes the cheeks of her ass. She can feel his erection.

“I have never made love to a woman my own height.”

“Me neither.” They both laugh at her statement, at the sudden awkward intensity between strangers. He turns her around suddenly and plunges his tongue into her mouth, tasting the sweetness of her, while slipping a foot between hers, catching her as she falls onto the carpet.

The room is spinning. It is all wrong, as if the decor fits into the irrationality of her act, of surrendering to a man she doesn’t love in revenge for her lover’s infidelity. She is intoxicated with the smell and feel of him. She resigns herself to his caresses, and throws her head back as he lifts her skirt and buries his mouth into her sex. She moans as he sucks on her—now she is the conqueror, the one being served.

Her hand curls around something under the couch. She realizes she is clutching the twin of the tiny red stiletto. How could he? Here, in the house.

Ahmed emerges from under her skirt, his face flushed, eyes bright, and tears off his shirt, jacket and tie in one motion. His chest is huge, broader than her own, hairless; his coffee-colored skin seems far younger on his body than on his face. Kneeling on the floor, he unzips his trousers and pulls his penis out. He is longer and thinner than Jock. Uncircumcised, something gold glimmers at the tip. She takes him into her hands, his size and weight unfamiliar to her. Close up, she sees that he has a pierced foreskin. A small gold bead sits at the top of his glans.

“What’s this for?” she asks, her voice breaking into the moment. He smiles broadly. “Wait and see.” He places himself between her lips, then pushes her back suddenly.

His cock seems to pierce the neck of her womb. The pain becomes pleasure as the gold bead rolls over her clit as he enters her again and again. She is close to coming, his shoulders and arms engulfing her as he rides her faster and faster.

Suddenly she hears a muffled cough. Opening her eyes she fleetingly sees Jock ducking behind the couch.

“Look at me! Look at me!” Ahmed’s voice is urgent, close to orgasm. Glancing up she gazes for a moment into his eyes. There is nothing there but this act between them. Sex, pure sex. And the knowledge that she is being watched. She wants to show Jock what he risks losing.

She spins on Ahmed’s cock and turns with her back to him. He runs his hands down her broad back, parting her firm ass. He watches himself entering her, her wet clenching as he slips in the whole length of himself. He moves back so that the tip rests between her glistening lips. He slips a finger in beside his cock and traces the moisture up to her anus, massages the rim, then pushes a finger in. Stacey gasps, the pleasure is intense as if two centers within her link and throb. She is close to losing control. Ahmed groans and thrusts into her. Reaching around he cups her heavy swinging breasts with his left hand while playing her with his right.

“I’m coming,” she moans, loud enough for Jock to hear. Jock peers out from between the gold frame of the legs of the couch.

“I’m coming!”

Jock’s head appears in full view, an expression of pain and fascination dances across his features as he watches this huge man, this giant, take his lover.

“Ahhh!” she screams and grasps the shoe, throwing it full pelt at Jock. It hits him on the chest, bounces off and smashes the photo of the filly. Behind her, she hears Ahmed come in a huge resonating shout while Jock picks up the tiny red shoe and stares at it.

DOUBT

The plane trip had been bumpy. No matter how hard he tries, he can never get used to flying; there is something horribly unnatural about defying gravity on such a large scale. Mercifully, no one had recognized him on the plane. Normally he wouldn’t have liked that, being a vain man, but after the ignominy of last night, he was thankful for any anonymity he could get.