Sensuous Stories Read online

  But as he sat, he spoke about the power of transformation. He said it was a difficult pathway to travel and many thought it a curse, but in his country it was a power valued above all others. Anyone with the ability to transform the ordinary into something else was greatly revered.

  This surprised me as I had begun to believe I was cursed and destined to be an eternal outsider. I wondered about his country and about this man, whose darkness and power pulled at me. He was both seductive and fearsome as he sat before me and looked into my eyes. I felt he could see every secret, every wild desire I had ever had. But in his eyes I saw them reflected back to me with passion and delight.

  My body came alive under his gaze in a way I had not experience for a long time. My skin prickled and heated. I wanted him to touch me.

  As he hadn’t made a request for a door yet, I had no images of how his door should look. I felt increasingly agitated as we spoke about how I came to decide on what I should paint, and I found myself telling him about Rebecca. As I spoke, I started to weep, recalling the pain I felt as her life unraveled.

  He sat across from me, reached over to my face, and wiped my tears away. His hand was calloused and rough like sandpaper. I lifted my hand to cover his and pushed it all over my face and down my neck feeling my skin abrade where his hand slid over it. He undid my shirt and pushed it off my shoulders cupping my breasts. As he scraped his hands across my nipples I shuddered, feeling unaccountably comforted.

  I fell into his dark eyes as he told me he wanted me to paint my own door so he could see what I would create for myself.

  As soon as he finished his request, my mind was full of images. I was very fearful. I had always avoided thinking about what I wanted for my door not wanting to know my path. Now all I could see was every door I had ever painted suspended forever in a giant spider web. This would be on the front of the door. On the back, I could see a diptych. One panel was a dark and hooded man dragging me into the Underworld away from my house and my sunroom.

  In the second panel, I was painting in my sunroom and the work on the easel depicted a man and a woman entwined in the act of love. The man was thrusting into the woman who had arched her back and wound her legs around him. On the work table was a halved pomegranate with six seeds spilling on to the surface.

  I had never painted anything like this.

  After the man left, I started to work feverishly, needing to finish my door as soon as I could. I painted day and night for a week. When I finished, I looked at my door and felt utterly exhausted. Not only because I had painted for so long, but because every door with every life I had painted was in front of me. It was as if I had vomited all the joy, responsibility, pain and horror from each of those doors, onto my door. I didn’t think I could live with it in my house.

  When I looked at the other side, I could see my own face on the woman in the picture, entwined with her lover, a look of painful yearning in her eyes.

  As I gazed at my door I felt a sense of great doom. I feared my life would change in a way that would hurt me. But tiredness claimed me and I sank onto my couch and fell asleep.

  When I woke the door bell was ringing and the man had returned. He looked very sad as he examined the front of my door, closely studying each tiny door in the spider web. When he saw the back of the door he smiled widely. I could see what I hadn’t seen before, that the man in the picture was him. His face was fierce with desire, his mouth on the breast of the woman-who-was-me in the picture.

  My body was on fire and my mind in turmoil. This door had set in motion something that would change everything. I was not sure it was a welcome change.

  I turned to him and frowned, telling him how I felt. He told me it was too late, the door had already created my future. He brushed my mouth with his lips and slid his hands up my arms to cup my face. I shuddered, wanting his rough hands all over me, wanting him to scrape and scour my skin, to peel away my doubt.

  He told me my life would be full of love and belonging when I went with him to his country. I felt my body and soul yearn for him, but mourned the loss of my precious life of solitude, painting doors.

  As I stood before him torn with conflicting longings, he asked me to paint his door.

  On front of his door I again painted the dark hooded man pulling me down to the Underworld. On the back of the door, I painted myself standing in a doorway, one foot in the darkness and one in the light. I was holding the halved, glistening pomegranate with six seeds. It was luscious and juicy and ready to be eaten. Some of the pulp was smeared on my breast. I was offering myself and the fruit to my dark, hooded lover who reached for both willingly, turning to the light.

  At first my love was perplexed when he saw his door but as he traced his fingers over my face and breast in the image he laughed. Turning to me, he told me transformation was always a risk, even for him. Now he would have to live some of his time in the light.

  He pulled out a pomegranate from his coat. I took it and bit into it. Turning to him, I kissed him and pushed the slippery fruit into his mouth. The juice dribbled down onto my breast and he bent his head to lick it.

  The door opened wide.

  Angel

  Somewhere along the corridor he could hear a low moan. As the night wore on it got louder and more desperate. With lust or fear; he wasn’t sure. Maybe here there wasn’t a difference.

  David Jenkins caught his finger in the hole punch and cursed. Then cursed louder when he knocked over his coffee. He could’ve stayed in bed, pulled up the covers and ignored everything, but the soft snores and sour breath of his pregnant wife drove him out. Work seemed a better option until his secretary called in sick. Then he fought hard against the temptation to close up shop and take the day off.

  He grabbed the newspaper to soak up the coffee and jerked with frustration when the form guide fell out. Happy Dancer was in the fourth at Randwick. He could take a little spin out to the track and lay a few on with his favorite bookie. Stroll through the members’ enclosure and scope out all those sleek tarts with their mile high legs and firm breasts. He’d always been partial to a little silicone enhancement. After the baby was off the breast maybe he’d start working on Chrissy to have her tits done.

  Sure. As if they had enough money for that. He scrubbed his hands over his face and gazed around the office. The dirty cream walls and grey, threadbare carpet sneered at him. A stale, rancid smell of cooking fat drifted up from the fast food place downstairs. He threw the soaked paper and the form guide in the bin and stared out the grime-flecked window. There were better ways to make money than on horses. With any luck the delivery would arrive soon and he’d be able to sell the items for a good price. Fuck it, for a great price. Virginal Thai quim wasn’t all that common and lots of places were hanging out for supplies.

  Nothing would get done if he didn’t get a replacement for his secretary. She told him she’d be off for at least a week with a bad flu. She wasn’t the best secretary in the world, but she knew the ropes and more importantly, could keep her mouth shut. It was a risk getting a temp in, but he’d sink without one. He was certain he could keep his extra-curricular activities hidden and let the temp concentrate on the immigration paperwork.

  The bell in the outer office tinkled. He opened the door and stood, staring. She was tiny, blonde and couldn’t be more than seventeen. Wide blue eyes, minimal makeup and a simple, sunny dress that draped softly around her boyish figure. She smiled shyly.

  “Mr Jenkins? I’m Sandra Hall from the temp agency. They said you needed someone for a week?”

  “Yeah. Yeah. How old are you? Sure you know what to do?”

  “Here’s my resume. I’ve been overseas for the last few years. Only got back a few days ago.”

  He scanned the pages and saw she was twenty-five and had a fair amount of experience. Definitely not his type though, even if a faint imprint of her round nipples pressed against the soft cotton of her dress. She certainly didn’t need to wear a bra with those slight bumps passing for
breasts. His cock twitched unexpectedly. Lack of sex was making him desperate.

  “Okay. Good. I mainly need you to answer the phone and do some typing and filing.”

  “Sure,” she said. “No problem.”

  He stood behind her after she sat and fired up the computer. Bending slightly, he pointed to where the files were kept. The scent of something flowery floated around him. He glanced at her short, curly hair and moved his gaze down the smooth, pale skin of her arms and back to her neck. Her pulse was beating fast and she seemed breathless. She shifted in her seat.

  He smiled at her nervousness. More than just nervousness he realized as she glanced up at him and blushed. She wiggled in her seat some more. She was a pretty little thing despite the lack of curves. A warm feeling of satisfaction tinged with lust stole through him. It was gratifying to see someone respond to him. Someone young and fresh and virginal. Which made him think of his delivery. There was nothing incriminating on the computer network, he’d made sure of that.

  He straightened and stood next to her, aware of the bulge in his trousers. She turned her head slightly and blushed again, quickly averting her face. His cock hardened and a surge of hot greed spiked through him. She was so small. He wondered what she’d look like naked, underneath him, as he pushed into her tiny cunt. She’d be tight. Tight and wet. It would probably hurt her and she’d gasp and whimper and beg him to stop. But he wouldn’t and then she’d realise it was better that way, better to open wide and be stretched, take him in and feel his whole, hard tool ram home.

  His pulse hammered as he watched her. She shifted again and her nipples sharpened. She wanted him, he was sure of it. Maybe she was embarrassed. Somehow that made him even harder. It was time to broaden his horizons, stop being so predictable. Just because she didn’t have decent sized tits didn’t mean she couldn’t fuck.

  “You all set now Sandy? Anything else you need to know?”

  “Uh, no Mr Jenkins it all seems fine thanks,” she said sounding shaky and tentative.

  “Let me know if you have any trouble.”

  She nodded and started typing. He went back into his office and stood at the window. It looked like rain.

  During the day, David made up reasons to go out and talk to her, ostensibly to see how she was going. He made sure he was on his best behaviour, determined to relax her and get beyond her shyness. He made her tea and asked her about her travels. She became animated when she told him about the places she’d been.

  “What was your favourite?” he asked.

  She ran her hand through her bouncy curls and considered. “Probably Turkey. It was cheap and not full of tourists. I liked Vietnam and Thailand too, but by the time I got there, I was looking forward to getting home. I’d like to go back. Have you ever travelled?”

  He smiled and thought about what to tell her. That his last trip to Thailand was spent in a brothel? That when he wasn’t buried deep inside some nameless drug fucked tart, he was haggling with the owner about the details of the next shipment? He’d scare her half to death. She seemed so sweet and innocent. She even had freckles across her nose.

  He saw though, his first impression of her as sexless and childlike was wrong. She was really quite luscious, like a petite Marilyn Monroe. She had a way of catching her lower lip with her teeth when she wasn’t certain about what she was saying that made his cock tingle. He blanked out of the conversation as he wondered what her teeth scraping against his cock would feel like. All those gold curls bobbing up and down and her big blue eyes staring up at him with his cock sliding in and out of her mouth, hitting the back of her throat, making her gag.

  As if realising what was going through his mind, she’d stopped talking and blushed again. He was hard and knew he’d been staring at her with glazed eyes. Standing, he adjusted his trousers, smiled grimly and went back to his office.

  In the afternoon while she was filing, he came up behind her to reach for a box on top of the filing cabinet. He heard her sharp indrawn breath as his body brushed against hers and held himself there. When she pushed back against him, tentatively at first and then with a sinuous shudder, he wanted to shout with triumph. She gasped when he pushed his hands under her dress to touch her thighs, then slid them up to her hips. He kissed her neck and nibbled, thrusting his bulge against her buttocks and heard her small moan. She was wet and slick when he slipped his fingers under her knickers and felt her smooth, hairless pussy.

  “Come into my office,” he said, pulling away from her. She swayed and leant against the filing cabinet taking in deep breaths. “Take off your knickers.” He didn’t look back at her knowing she’d follow him. Sure enough, after he sat in his desk chair, he looked up and saw her at the door way. Her eyes were wide with fear and he thought, excitement. She moved slowly to stand beside his chair and he swivelled it around to face her. Oh yes, she wanted this alright. Her eyes were on his fly and she licked her lips.

  “Lift up your dress.”

  She bunched her dress in her hands and inched it up to her waist. The air caught in his lungs when he saw her pussy. It was so smooth, so innocent looking. Just a curving slit hiding all her treasures. Exactly the same shape as a ripe peach. He leant forward and with both thumbs, parted her lips. Out popped her dark pink wrinkled clit shimmering with moisture.

  He pushed his index finger slowly into her and heard a low moan. Just as he thought, she was tight. He moved his finger in and out and watched her face as she closed her eyes and tipped back her head. Soon she moved her legs apart and started fucking his finger, thrusting herself against it. She made little mewling noises as he pushed in another finger, then another.

  When he pulled his fingers out and stood up, she snapped her head forward with glazed, slack eyes.

  “Take your dress off and sit on the desk.”

  She looked uncertainly at the window.

  “No one can see us.”

  She whipped off her dress in one fluid movement and sat on the edge of the desk. Her body was like nothing he’d ever seen, nothing he ever thought he’d want. Her breasts were even smaller than he imagined with dark brown pointed nipples. She wasn’t thin thank goodness, just small. As she sat there, blushing again and glancing at him from under her lashes, he fought the need to push her across the desk and impale her immediately. Something about her made him want to see how much she could take, find out how far she’d go. All that pale skin cried out to be marked and used.

  He opened the draw of his desk, rooted around and pulled out a condom. “Open your legs.”

  Her breath hitched when he stood between her legs and unzipped himself. His cock sprung out hard and ready. At the sound of the foil ripping, she jerked.

  “Lay back.”

  She stared up at him with her wide blue eyes. He lifted her legs and spread her wider. “I’m going to fuck you now. Fuck you hard. It might hurt but you’ll like it,” he said and thrust into her.

  He wanted to rend her, fill her completely so all she could feel, all she could think about was his cock, ploughing into her. He wished he had more cocks, that he was some kind of super being with cocks on demand that could fill all her holes. He thrust harder, imagining her with his cock up her arse and in her mouth, pinned, writhing.

  She arched her back and whimpered as he pounded into her. Soon her hips were pushing up to meet him. “Yes,” she muttered. “Harder, yes!”

  Her hands gripped the edge of the desk and her ankles linked around his neck as he worked her. She was incredible. Her cunt clutched around him like a fist. He looked into her eyes then and saw it. She knew what she was doing. The little girl act was just a put on. He could tell she liked to fuck and fuck often. As he shot into her he knew it was going to be a great week.

  And it was. She was insatiable. Every morning she’d come into his office, drop to her knees, unzip his fly and take him into her mouth. She sucked like she wanted every drop of semen in him. At morning tea, she’d make him a cup of coffee and deliver it to his desk then climb ont
o his lap and fuck him senseless.

  He began to feel he was caught in some kind of porn movie fantasy. Cum Guzzling Office Sluts. Not that he minded. She stopped wearing knickers so any time he wanted he could feel all the hot wetness of her cunt or tip her over a chair and have her. At the end of the day she’d lie across his desk her legs spread wide while he fucked her. Sometimes she’d beg him to come all over her tits. The look of her brown nipples covered in his cream made him hard again almost immediately.

  She wasn’t innocent, far from it, but at the same time that’s exactly what she was. The more he pushed her the more she was like a child experiencing her first Christmas. When he thrust into her arse for the first time, she screamed like she was on a roller coaster. Delight and exhilaration and fear. There was nothing she wouldn’t do, nothing she refused. He’d never been into bondage and hitting but now wanted to do that to her, see her trussed and bruised with his cum all over her.

  As the week went on, the feeling of unreality increased. He spent his days listening to clients beg him to help them get residency or arrange for their families to apply for immigration, interspersed with moments of frenzied thrusting and spurting. His cock felt swollen and his balls tender and sensitive.

  On the Thursday, her second last day, she sat on his cock riding him, while he sucked hard on her breast and heard her whimper. He loved that sound. It meant she was about to come. It shocked him to realise that soon he might never hear her whimper again.

  When his secretary called him with the news she’d developed pneumonia, he wanted to howl with joy.

  “Can you stay for another month?” He could hear the begging in his voice but didn’t care when she smiled and unzipped his fly.