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Kirstie's Tale - Part One - A Dream of White Horses

Kat Canfield

Part One

A Dream of White Horses

I sit on the dune, staring out to sea where, under a stiff breeze the surf rolls in, tossing its white horses onto the beach.

The surf fascinates me, frothing and boiling as it dances over the sand, holding me in its spell in the way a flame will hypnotise, enrapturing the eye. A million white foaming bubbles race and toss and die, only to be reborn on the next wave.

The dogs frolic in the waves; at least Emma, Meg and Archie do. Mac is far too dignified to get wet, and he settles for exploring the strand line, poking through seaweed, dead crabs and driftwood. Sometimes, he finds a plastic bottle or other floater that he identifies as entertainment, bringing over his offering and inviting me to do something interesting with this enticing object, like play tag or fetch, or make it go….

If I’m really lucky, he’ll find a dead seagull and roll. As it is, the car is going to be full of salt and sand, but everyone, me included, will have had a good day’s exercise.

The sky is blue and bright, white clouds scudding high above, speeding across an azure dome, silvered at the edges by brilliant sunshine.

It is a perfect day.

I’m dragged from my thoughts by excited yapping. Meg has something in her mouth and is making threats to another dog; a stranger,

What has she found?

It’s a dog toy, one of the rope tuggers, and it’s not hers. Its owner, some sort of terrier, ears askew and fur sticking out at odd angles, is not cowed by her threats, the two squaring-up for combat.

From off-stage a man comes jogging in, calling. I close on the pair as well. Meg can be a snappy little madam when she wants to be.

“Meg.” I call. “Come on, Meg. Give it to me.”

Reaching carefully, I take the toy from her. She grumbles, but doesn’t snap. Once of a day I couldn’t have done this with Meg, but she’s improved a lot in the couple of years since I brought her home from the shelter.

Offering the tugger back to the stranger. “Sorry about that. Meg thinks she owns all the toys in the world.”

He laughs. “Thanks. Don’t worry about it. They can be like that, can’t they?”

I don’t recognise the man. Letting my gaze wander over him, I try not to be too obvious about it. He’s nice looking; not spectacular, but…. nice…. Taller than me, he is dark haired, with steel grey eyes set into a serious, almost stern face. He is casually dressed in trainers and sweats. Of course he is, out jogging on the beach.

He glances round. “Are all this lot yours? Four of them?

“Yes, all mine. Everyone has a vice. Mine’s that I’m a serial dog rescuer.”

“You’re not kidding… four?”

“I never intended to have so many, but when they turn up, well… what do you do?”

He nods. “I bet you never have any trouble when you’re out, walking with your wolf pack.”

It sounds like a joke, but he doesn’t smile.

“You’re not wrong there.” I reply.

“Oh, I’m Ben, by the way.” He holds out his hand to shake, and I take it.


“Nice to meet you Kirstie. You come here often?”

“Yes, most weekends. It gives the dogs a good run, me a good walk and I love to sit and watch the sea.”

“Yeah, me too. It’s a good place…” He hesitates, as though he wants to say something else, then, “Anyway, I’d better go finish my run. Scruffy there wants to be off….”

“Scruffy?” I call after him, as he trots away. “What kind of name is that?”

Still jogging, he turns, running backwards for a few steps. “Well, look at him. What would you call him?” Then he turns again, continuing on his way.


Back at home, I open up my laptop, checking e-mails and the ‘dating’ site I use.


I trawl through what’s come in. It’s the usual stuff. I never make the first approach, always letting ‘them’ to come to me, and the responses to my profile, as ever, run the full range from the sublime to the ridiculous.

“I have read your profile and you look very nice. I am looking for a long-term friendship and hopefully more….”

So.… you haven’t read my profile….

I am very clear that I want casual contacts, a bit of fun a couple of times a week, have a meal, conversation, throw each other around between the sheets for an hour or so, some of pillow talk and then, a firm “Goodbye.”

I want my bed to myself in the morning. I like to wake up alone.

I will remain in charge of my life….

I scan more of the messages.

Image of genitals…. Delete.

Image of full frontal with blurred out face…. Ugh! Delete.

“Knight in shining armour seeks maiden with can opener……” I chuckle, but delete anyway. That sounds a bit too romantic for me.

“Hi. I can c from your Birthday that u r a Scorpio. The sexyest of the signs. I am a Scorpio too….” Oh, God. You don’t believe in all that stuff, do you? Can’t spell (or be bothered to try) either.… Delete.

You just want to fuck? Great. Me too. I’m really well hung….” Picture of genitals…. OMG! Look at the size of that thing.… Delete

“Hey… you look cool. You’ve tried the Rest now try the Best….” Cheesy, or what? Delete.

Hi. I don’t want to sound conceited, but I’m pretty good looking. Do you like being eaten out? It’s a deal breaker for me if you don’t like being eaten out….” Delete

It’s looking like a poor crop for today’s harvest, but then….

“Hi Debbie. I just read your profile and it looks pretty good. I get it that you like to keep things casual, but you still enjoy good company. If you can’t have a conversation with someone you’re ‘sleeping’ with, what’s the point? That’s what I’m looking for too. Why don’t you take a look at my profile and see if it you are interested? If you like what you see, then get back to me and we can chat. All the Best, Ryan”

This looks a bit more interesting. It’s a good start that he uses my name. Of course, it’s not my real name, but nobody on-line gets to know who I really am until I’ve met them, and often not then.

His profile reads well. This one’s actually literate. He can string a sentence together, and doesn’t sound cheap or tacky.

On his profile, he doesn’t sound bad physically either…. ‘Attractive’, ‘5 feet eleven, dark haired, clean shaven, non-smoker. Physical attraction is always important, but even more so when you’re screwing for screwing’s sake. I don’t want a husband or a boyfriend. I want a fuck-buddy, someone who’ll not try to take over my life.

I’ve had too much of control freaks….

Mmmm…. Travels for his work and wants to call by every few weeks….

A wife in every port?

Education…. University level. Interests…. movies, classical and jazz music, politics, science, art, the outdoors….

Bit of a Renaissance Man….

Marital status…. Separated….

Could mean anything….

I don’t like hanging out with married guys and always avoid it if I can. Despite my own poor experience, I hold on to the belief that there is something sacred to marriage, trying hard not to get involved with anyone if I suspect there is a wife in the background.

Age…. A couple of years older than me. That’s the classic male/female mix of course. Personally, I’ve found that it often leaves me sitting next to a guy who feels like my grandad. I have a definite preference for younger guys, and I look good enough to pull it off. Still, I can make exceptions.

Photos? No, none uploaded. Fair enough. There are none of me on the site either. No way is my face going to be plastered over the internet from a site like this.

Here we go then. I tap out a reply….

“Hi, Ryan. Thanks for contacting me. Yes, I do like the look of your profile, and I’d be interested to know more about you. First of all, can you please send me a current photo. Debbie.”

Time for a coffee….

And as the water boils, I hear the bing of an incoming message.

Yup, it’s a photo….

Whoo hoo… He’s hot!

Bing! Another message…

Hi, Debbie. I hope you like the photo. Could you send me one of you, please.

I’ll say I can…


Seated at the bar, he is watching the door as I walk in. He stands as he sees me, smiling. “Debbie?”


He looks good enough to eat. Beckoning me to the barstool by him, “What can I get you?”

“Red wine, please. Did I keep you waiting long?”

“Not at all, I just arrived a couple of minutes ago.”

As he waves over the barman, I study him. Ryan understated himself in his profile; tall, with strapping shoulders and a lean fit build. Dark, slightly wavy hair and a light tan set off his white smile and dark eyes.

He is disconcertingly attractive. There’s usually a reason that someone who looks this good is on the dating circuit, even when it’s only for sex dating.

Fourth finger, left hand…. No, nothing there….

Nice hands though. Long fingers….

Holding two glasses of wine, Ryan eye-points me across the room. “I hope I’m not out of order here, but I booked us a table. Even if we can’t stand the sight of each other after a couple of hours, at least we’ll have a good meal inside us.”

He sees me looking askance at the table. Holding both hands up, almost warding me away, “Hey, it doesn’t mean I’m making any assumptions other than it’s the end of the working day, and I’m guessing that you’re hungry. I certainly am.”

Feeling foolish. “Yes, sorry. My suspicious nature….”

He looks at me oddly.

Weighing me up?

I think so, yes.

“Shall we sit?”

He seats himself opposite me, ignoring his wine, gazing at me. Chin propped on a fist, he is, very obviously, looking me up and down.

“So, what’s the deal?” he asks. “Women who look like you don’t tend to appear on dating sites like that one. There’s generally some guy in the background beating the jungle drums.” He glances down at my left hand. “And if you ever wore a wedding ring, there’s no sign of it now. Have you ever been married? For that matter, are you married now? Is this supposed to be some kind of ‘on the side’, ‘playing away from home’ kind of thing?”

He's wary of me….

“Is this ‘Twenty Questions’? Yes, I’ve been married. But no, not now. Been there, done that….”

He laughs. “…. Seen the movie, read the book, got the tee-shirt, eh? That bad, was it?”

“Oh, yes, that bad. But I’ve got control of my own life now, and I’ll not be letting it slip out of my fingers again.”

He sniffs, reflectively I think. Not critically. “That’s why you’re doing this? You don’t want entanglements?”

“That’s right. What about you?”

“Very similar. My last long-term relationship was a bit of a nightmare. Just now, I prefer to keep things very easy-going. No strings.

He pauses; sips his wine. “You didn’t do yourself justice you know, on your profile. Very few women describe themselves as ‘Not pretty’.”

I cock an eyebrow at him. “Is this where you tell me you think I am pretty?”

So…. Are you a liar? A flatterer?

“No, I don’t think so. You’re right. You’re not conventionally pretty. Your features are quite strong, and your nose is a bit big for a woman….”

I burst out laughing. “You’re a silver-tongued charmer aren’t you.…”

His brow furrows. “Have I offended you? I didn’t….”

“No, not at all. I was expecting you to come out with some typical bit of patronising, male blarney, and you said exactly the opposite.”

He sits back in his chair, holding my eyes, rubbing his chin.

“Just because I don’t think you’re pretty, doesn’t mean I don’t find you attractive. Quite the contrary. You’re just…. unusual, in more ways than one I think…. Can I ask you something?”

“You can ask.”

“Is Debbie really your name?”

“No, of course not. On a dating site like that, do you think I’m going to hand out my details to anyonebefore I’ve had chance to meet up and eyeball them?”

“Very sensible. It’s quite dangerous doing what you’re doing, especially for a woman.”

“I’m careful. I follow the rules. No name. No address. Meet in a public place….”

“I’m pleased to hear it. Have you encountered any…?” He hesitates.

“Freaks? Looneys? Yes, a few. Most of them I manage to weed out at the e-mail and messaging stage. Only one got past my first defences so that so that I actually met him….”

He looks intrigued. “Really? And….”

“We’d talked on the phone a couple of times before we agreed a date. He had a beautiful speaking voice, all honey and cream. Y’know, a Richard Burton, or Morgan Freeman, or Alan Rickman kind of voice. But when I met him, I knew instantly that there was something wrong….”

He cocks his head. “Instantly? How?”

“It’s hard to describe. Something in his body language. I made a point of sitting on the opposite side of the table from him, but he moved across, all but pinned me into my seat. He kept coming too close, invading my space…. And there was something about the way he looked at me. Too.… Oh, I don’t know…. Too eager…. He made my flesh crawl.”

“What did you do?”

“I sat with him for a polite hour; had a polite couple of non-alcoholic drinks, said graciously that it had been nice…. which it hadn’t… and we must do this again sometime…. which I was lying about…. Then I got in my car and drove off, determined never to see him again.”

“So, you never found out if he was really a screwball, or if it was just your imagination?”

“Oh, I found out. He was completely unzipped. Although he didn’t have my real name or where I lived, he did have my mobile number. The messages started coming in within five minutes of me leaving. They were polite enough at first, but when I said that it didn’t feel right and I didn’t want to see him again, they got first nasty, then strange….”

“In what way, strange?”

“Um, he started sending me very graphic descriptions of what he wanted to do with me. And some of them were…. Odd. Revolting actually. I’m pretty-broad minded, but I wasn’t interested in going the places his mind roamed. I don’t know if he imagined it was some kind of seduction technique, but it felt like stalking… I changed my phone number in the end.… Um, do you mind if we change the subject….”

“Of course. Not at all. But after an experience like that, you still do this?”

I shrug it off. “Not everyone’s like him. And I’m not afraid of men in general. I just exercise a bit of judgement.”

“You trust your own judgement for this? How do you know that a man you meet like this isn’t a psycho in disguise? Me, for example?”

“How do any of us know that? How do you know that the woman you meet in the theatre, or the library didn’t just walk out of ‘Play Misty for Me’ or ‘Fatal Attraction’…. Me for example?”

He grins, nodding. “Point taken. I exercise my judgement…. So….”


“So, if you and I hooked up, this would be strictly a casual thing. You’re not husband-hunting? Looking for a partner or long-term relationship?”

“Nope. Not me. I don’t want to be tied at the hip. I like a bit of fun a couple of times a week, and then my own life back.”

“So, no dreams of white horses then?”

“White horses?”

“Bearing princes in shining armour, come to carry you off for happily-ever-afters in some far away kingdom?”

I laugh. “Not me.”

He nods. “And would this be, um…. exclusive?” he asks.

“Your profile says you just want to pass by every few weeks… and you want exclusive?”

“I didn’t say I wanted it. I’m just trying to establish the guidelines; what you would expect of me.” His eyes are dark, thoughtful.

And he’s asking all the right questions.

He really is amazingly good looking.

My imagination is going into over-drive….

Ryan…. his weight on top of me…. my legs wrapped around his hips…. he, sliding down my body, his lips grazing my belly as he moves to go down on me.…

His tongue over my clit….

….in my pussy….

I’m drawn back outside my head. He’s still talking.

“…. I’m trying to choose my words carefully, because…. well…. even though we’ve met in the way we have, through a sex-chat site…. I’m very conscious that I’m a stranger to you and I’m trying to, er, get to the core of things without scaring you off or weirding you out.”

I suck my cheeks in against a smile. “You think you might weird me out? Ryan, believe me, you’re not in the running for that.”

“I’m not? I wasn’t sure. I’ve never done anything quite like this before…. Do you do this a lot?”

“I do it all the time.”

“You have other…” He struggles for the word.

“Fuck-buddies? Friends with benefits? Yes, I do.”

“Friends with benefits? Friends, plural? More than one?”


“How many?”

“They come and go. Right now, there are two others.”

I see him digesting that, then, “Let’s cut to the chase.” he says. “Are you interested? If you want to say No, that’s fine. We’ll enjoy the rest of the meal together and be friends without benefits at the end of it….”

I chuckle. “Oh, no… No need for that…. I’m interested.”

“Ah… good.” His expression changes completely, from politely attentive to.… what…? I can’t quite read him. “That, er… that puts a different light on the evening.…”

He sucks his bottom lip, apparently deep in thought.

You can suck me too….

He eyes me speculatively. “Without wishing to seem pushy, did you have any plans for later this evening?”

“Not at all. I wanted to see how this worked out.”

A smile plays over his lips. “Rather well so far as I can see…. Can I offer you…. coffee…. back at my hotel?”


And so, not for the first time, I enter a stranger’s hotel room. This is where I find out if he’s really what he appears to be.

A nervous tingle runs down my spine, the doubt of the unknown; the knowledge that, just possibly, I have misjudged and this man is…. a crackpot, a loony, a weirdo….

And of course, the doubt is part of the thrill….

“When did you book this room?” I ask.

“I’m staying here anyway. I wasn’t making assumptions. As I told you, I travel for my work and I use this hotel regularly.”


He hangs his jacket neatly over a chair, then dims the lights

“Would you actually like some coffee? Or would you prefer wine?” he asks. “It’s always a little embarrassing, isn’t it? The first time with someone. So, just in case…. I got a bottle in….”

I nod. “Yes, those toe-curling minutes between the last cup of coffee and….”

He throws a side-glance at me then, chuckling, he produces a couple of glasses and a bottle from a cupboard.

“Music perhaps?” he suggests, waving me to a player. Have a look through the list, see what appeals to you. Make yourself comfortable.”

It’s a pleasant room, and looks expensive; beautifully decorated, with fresh flowers by the window, fruit in a bowl and elegant furniture.

Eyeing the pale, thick carpet, I slip my shoes off.

I watch Ryan as he wrestles with the corkscrew, then pouring two glasses, passes one to me. Such a good-looking man; in the lowered light, his chocolate eyes are almost black.

Together on the settee, we sit in awkward silence for a minute. The wine glass is a handy prop, giving me something to do as I sip, waiting for….

…. for what comes next….

“So, who makes the first move, mmm?” he says, his arm slipping around my shoulders. “This may not be the last of the great romances, but I think we can both enjoy this.”

Taking my face in his palms, he brushes back a stray lock of my dark hair, finger-combing it back behind an ear.

He doesn’t smile, but his expression is intense as he gazes at me. “No, not pretty. Little girls and flowers are pretty. Kittens are pretty. You are beautiful.” He leans in to me, his mouth close to mine, not touching, but halfway, inviting me in closer. As I sway in to him, his lips brush my skin, just barely.

And now he smiles, his lips curving as he inclines his face to mine. This time, the kiss is deeper, the soft flesh of his mouth pressing to mine. He tastes of wine and a sweet, lustful masculinity.

The fingers of one hand twine through my chestnut locks. The other hand glides around my shoulders, pulling me in.

His face resting by mine, “How do you like it, Debbie? Hard? Soft? Do you want to take the lead? Or do you prefer me to?”

I didn’t expect him to ask me this. Most men simply get on with it.

“I like to be man-handled a bit….”

He pauses. “You enjoy pain?”

“No, not pain, or not too much. But I like the man to take charge.”

He nods. “Take charge? Dominate you, you mean?”

“Yes, that’s just what I mean.”

He pauses, collecting his thoughts I think, then, “Stand up.” He takes my wine glass from me. “Go on. Stand up.”

A little uncertainly, I rise.

“In there.” he says, head-pointing me through a door.

It’s the bedroom. Ryan follows me in, then spinning me by the shoulders, a hand on my chest, pushes me hard, backwards against the wall.

He’s strong….

“Like this?” Grabbing me by the wrists, he raises them over my head, pinning them, his body pressed against mine.

So close, he looms over me and my breath snatches….

“Like this?” he repeats, his voice fierce. “Answer me, Debbie. I’m not going to play these sorts of games without an answer from you.”

“Yes, like that.”

He presses against me harder, my heartbeat drumming through our joined bodies. “Do you undress yourself, or do I strip you?”

My breath juddering, “Strip me.”

His head tilts. “Really? Wish I’d known that before. I’d have made some arrangements over what you would wear….”

His hands sliding down to the hem of my pullover, he tugs at it, jerking it up and over my head. “I’d like to rip it off you, but not this time, eh?”

My heart is racing, chest heaving. He reaches back around me, deliberately rough, unclipping my bra and yanking it off me.

My breasts freed, he fastens his mouth around one, stooping to take it between his lips. The other, he kneads one-handedly, pinching at the nipple, which hardens and crinkles.

“You do enjoy this, don’t you?” he murmurs. “So do I. Let’s see just how rough you like it.”

Grabbing my wrists again, he pulls me away from the wall, dragging me towards the bed, then turning me, pushes me down on the mattress, flat on my back. The zips rasps as he unfastens my jeans and peels them away, leaving me in just my white lacy panties.

Propping myself on my elbows, panting now, I watch as he strips off tie and shirt, and shrugs off shoes. Through his black trousers, the unmistakable bulge of his erection presses tight. Bare chested, he is tawny skinned, with a scattering of black hair and taut, lean abs.

“I’m going to enjoy this, Debbie. Fucking you….”

He’s pressing all my buttons…. all of them….

My clit tingling, my pussy knots and clenches, and my panties are wet…. very wet….

Ah, Jeez….

“…. Kirstie.”


“It’s not Debbie. My name’s Kirstie….”

He cocks an eyebrow. “It suits you better. You didn’t really look like a ‘Debbie’ to me. That’s a ‘pretty’ name.” He clambers over me, hovering on all fours, straddling my quivering body. “I’ll rephrase it then. I’m going to enjoy fucking you, Kirstie.”

He kneels up, still straddling my legs. “So, you like being dominated…. Do as you’re told then.” He cocks his head to my panties. “Show me.”

“Show you what?”

“You know what. Let me see what I’m going to fuck. Give me a show.”

“You want me to….?”

“Do as you’re told.” He looks down at my crotch. “If I thought seduction was what you wanted, I’d go for it. But you don’t. I can see from here that you’re dripping. And if you wanted to be coy, you should have worn black. Now….” he traces a finger over the dark stain on the crotch of my panties, then, pulling the satin to one side, slips it inside. “So, if you want me to fuck you, show me what you’ve got.”

He’s not smiling any more. Instead, his gaze alternates between my eyes and my liquifying pussy.

“I’m waiting….” His finger brushes over my clit, sending a shudder skipping through me. Very, very gently, he winds the hardening nub in a circle and electricity skitters through to my core which quivers and pulses.

Then it stops….

“That’s all you get, until I get what I want. Show me….”

Trembling, Ryan looking down at me, his eyes following my movements, I glide hands down into my panties, sliding them away. My movement is blocked by his legs straddling mine, and he swings over to sit beside me instead, his gaze locked on my hands.

As the lacy garment slides off, leaving me naked to this near-stranger, arching my spine, I display myself….

“Very nice, but open your legs more.”

Suddenly feeling a bit timid, I ease my thighs further apart to display my unfurling pussy.

“Wider. I want a better view.”

I slip finger in between my folds. A hot flush is spreading over my breasts, perspiration beading my skin, and despite my discomfiture at what I am being asked….


….. to do, my pussy is welling; swollen and slick.

“That’s better. I can see properly now. You’re sopping. Now, fuck yourself. Go on, let me see those fingers moving.”

Obediently, I push into myself, dipping inside my slick channel.

“Deeper.” he says.

Pressing in more deeply, I reach for my g-spot. It’s not easy; very difficult to do for yourself, but I try.

He pulls my hand away. “Here, let me do that.” Penetrating me with his long fingers, they curl up inside me, rubbing at my inner walls. And as sheer pleasure ripples through my belly, I wail, a hot gush bursting down my thighs.

“Good girl, Kirstie. That’s what I like to see.” He rubs harder, and my wails rise to howls, while my hips rise involuntarily, my body arching to rest on my soles and shoulders. “I want your cunt dissolving by the time I get my cock inside you.”

Retracting his fingers, he sucks them clean. “Mmmm, lovely.”

Then dipping in again, pushes his hand at my mouth. “Taste yourself. Lick yourself off me”

As I mouth my briny, lemony juices away, he says “That’s nice. I wanted to see a preview of how it’s going to look when I’ve got my cock in there. Do you like to suck cock, Kirstie?”

His fingers still in my mouth, awkwardly, I nod.

“Good.” He says. “I’ll see what I can do about that in a while, but for now, I’m going to lick you out; get a better taste of you.”

Rolling to his knees between my legs, he stoops, covering my sex with his mouth. The delicious heat of it bathing my folds, I whimper as he rolls the hardened nub of my clit between his lips.

A frisson shivers across my flushing skin. “Oh, that’s wonderful.” I murmur, my fingers wandering through his hair. He makes a pleased sound, but doesn’t break away. Instead, he drops to my pussy, drawing his tongue through my entrance, caressing my cunt and folds and clit in long, slow strokes; winding circles through my pussy, spiralling my bud.

Stroke upon stroke, my tension rises, my climax building….

There is a pause, a plateauing where time stands still; reality holding its breath….

…. Orgasm surges through my core and belly, my cunt pulsing heat that radiates out as I scream and howl out my crescendo. Heart hammering, blood pounding, rapture sings through my veins as I arch and strain and Come.

Gripping hard on my hips, fingers digging in, Ryan hangs on, swirling out my gushing, pulsing cunt.

Oh God……

“Stop. Ryan. Stop, please.”

He sits up, pulling the back of his hand across his mouth, eyes crinkled at the corners.

Standing, he unzips, dropping his pants. His hard cock quivers upright against a tracery of fine black hair leading down from his flat stomach.

Then crawling up the length of my body, he presses his naked, narrow hips between my thighs, his cock pulsing at my entrance. But, he doesn’t enter me yet.

“I’m going to fuck you first.” he whispers. “Then, I’m going to come in your mouth; leave you with the taste of my cum.

A bolt of pleasure sizzles through my core, and my hips jerk under him. “Ah, that’s good Kirstie. That’s very good.”

Slowly, inch by inch, he buries himself in me, filling me with his shaft as my pussy quivers around him. Slowly hilting himself inside me, he sighs, then taking a long breath, pauses….

Keeping his control…?

Abruptly, he thrusts; withdrawing, then ramming home hard, all but knocking the breath from me. I yell, and again, as he bangs into me once more.

“Am I hurting you?”

“Yes, but don’t stop.”

He repeats, building to a rhythm, and I rock with him as my body shakes and shudders under his.

He’s looking down on me now, supporting himself on strong arms as he plunges inside me, ram-rodding home. Sweat running down his forehead, he smells of musk and sex. His dark eyes squeezing shut, he bites his lip, then, with a gasp, withdraws.

Hovering over me again, “I’m going to face-fuck you now. Do I straddle you, I wonder? Feed myself to you here on the bed, or do I get you on your knees…?”

He drops to take a nipple in his mouth, pulling it with his teeth, nipping, hard enough to make me yelp and buck.

“On your knees, Kirstie.”

He stands and I kneel in front of him. Seizing my hair, he pushes his cock, glistening with my juices, against my lips. “Lick me clean.” he mutters. “From head to balls. Lick me clean.”

Compliantly, I glide my lips and mouth the length of his shaft, tonguing away the slick juices. But he is flowing now; a steady trickle of pre-cum that draws into sticky threads, glutinous over my lips and mouth. I wipe over the rim and the silky skin of the head, sucking gently at the slit.

Drawing a shuddering breath, he says “Open up.”

Parting my lips, he pushes in, still streaming, salty-sweet. He’s close now; too close. With a judder and a hoarse bark, he spurts, splashing inside my mouth, over the back of my throat. His hands gripping the back of my head, he holds me there as he spills.

Extending the moment for him as long as I am able, I circle him with the tip of my tongue, but he jerks away.

“Stop, Kirstie. That’s enough.” With a gasp, he falls backwards onto the bed, panting.


We lie together quietly, he beside me, hands behind his head on the pillow, staring up at the ceiling “Wow. That was quite a ride, Kirstie. Thank you.”

“Thank you. I enjoyed it too.”

“When you asked me to manhandle you, I didn’t expect to enjoy it as much as I did.”

“You’ve not done that before?”

“No, I haven’t. I’m more accustomed to women who want flowers and romantic dinners.” He props himself up on one elbow, looking down at me. “You’re a bit of a contradiction you know.”

“How do you mean?”

“You tell me that you want control of your life, that you want to be in charge, but in the bedroom, you enjoy being…. I don’t think mauled is too strong a word.”

Heat blushes up my face and he rolls his eyes. “Don’t be embarrassed. If that’s what gives you your kicks, I’m happy to help…. “He hesitates. “Is that why some of your previous…. partners…. didn’t work out? They weren’t comfortable delivering what works for you?”

“Some of them, certainly, yes.”

“You want to meet up again?”

“I’d love to.”

“Good.” He looks pleased, really pleased. “I’m leaving in the morning for this trip, but I’ll be back in the area next weekend if you’d like….”

“Suits me.”

“Great. I’ll see you in a few days then. And next time, I’ll know what to expect. I’ll come prepared.”


The day is much darker than on my last visit to the beach, overcast and with the breeze gusting cold. Rain threatens, and I decide not to walk too far from shelter.

Parking up near a beach bar, I open up the car to let my gang bound out in a melee of joyous, barking enthusiasm, racing off ahead of me to go chase waves and threaten seagulls.

The surf is much stronger today, the sea roiling, forbidding under the threatening sky. I walk briskly, warming myself against the chill.

As the first raindrops splat fatly onto the sand, I realise that I have walked much further from the bar than I intended. Turning, I see rain sheeting down over the sea a mile or so out, a grey haze that obliterates the view. The downpour is heading my way fast. If I don’t get to shelter quickly, I’m going to be soaked.

On the flat expanse of the beach, the only shelter is the cafe bar I left behind me. Calling the dogs in, I sprint back up the beach, racing for cover. The dogs, in a spirit of co-operation, weave themselves around my legs, forcing me to break stride, slowing me down.

I don’t make it. A few hundred yards short of the cafe, I hear the splatter of raindrops behind me, and a second or so later, the whoosh of water hammering on to the sand, before it catches up with me, battering through my thin tee-shirt and jeans.

Within moments I am drenched, and the wind picking up, the chill bites through me. Dashing for the warmth of the beach bar, I recoil at the ‘No Dogs’ sign on the door, heading instead for the car where, as I lift the hatch, as one, the gang jumps inside, shaking rain, slobber and hair over the interior.

Great. The car’s going to be wet and stinking for the drive back home.

Shivering violently now, I sprint once more to the beguiling warmth of the bar, fling open the door and then stand dripping on the threshold.

It seems only manners to remove my boots before I go any further, and I unlace them, my numb fingers struggling with the knots. But nothing stops the steady drip of water from my sodden clothing.

“Coffee?” says a familiar voice. “Or hot chocolate perhaps?” It’s Ben, sitting at the bar, himself nursing a steaming mug.

“Coffee, please.” I say to the waitress.

“Allow me.” says Ben, dropping a few coins on the bar.

“Thanks.” I wrap my hands around the cup, warming my fingers, but still shivering. My clothes are clammy with cold, clinging wetly to me.

“The rain caught you, then? It almost got me too, but I must run faster than you.” He looks at me, brow furrowed. “Hey, are you okay? You really are drenched, aren’t you? Don’t you have any other clothes with you?”

I shake my head. “It was bright sunshine when I left home. Didn’t think I needed anything else.”

“I’ve got a clean pullover in the car. Back in a jiffy….” He strides out, car keys jangling, returning a minute or so later, his hair wet but carrying a sweater.

Thrusting it at me, “Get that on you. There’s a bathroom out at the back to change.”

It feels a bit odd, accepting clothes from a near stranger, but I’m in no position to argue. My jeans are still sopping, but with the warm jersey, at least my top half is warm and I do feel much better.

The sweater is not a good fit and would easily accommodate another one of me inside. I’d not realised before how broad-shouldered Ben is, or for that matter, how much taller he is than me.

A bit self-consciously, I return to the bar. He eyes me, mouth puckering. “Not exactly a fashion statement, is it?”

“Thanks very much. I owe you one” I say, pushing the sleeves up past my wrists, trying to free my hands to pick up my coffee mug. “I really appreciate it. Er…. do mind if I borrow it to go home in? I’m happy to post it back to you.”

“I’d prefer that you handed it back to me, perhaps when we meet up for a meal?” He cocks an eyebrow at me.

I sip my coffee, thinking.

He wants a date with me?

An actual date?

It’s been a while….

“Hey, if you’re not interested, that’s fine. I didn’t mean to offend you.” He looks down, then away, out of the window at the lashing rain.

“I didn’t say that. I was just thinking…. It’s been a while since I had a date. Er, that is what you meant is it?”

“Yes, that’s what I meant. So….”

He’s so serious. He never smiles….

What harm can it do?

“Yeah… I’d like that. When did you have in mind?”

“You doing anything tonight?”

“I’d no plans, no.”

“Do you like Italian food? Do you know Luigi’s Restaurant, in the City?”

“Yes, and Yes. it’s only a couple of streets away from where I live.”

“Good. I’ll meet you there, say…. eightish?”

“Sounds lovely.”

“And, um, perhaps a change of clothes before I see you again?”

I look down at the jersey, hanging limply from my frame. “It’s a bit big.”

His eyes slide down me. “I’ll admit it’s not what I usually have in mind when I get a woman out of her tee-shirt…”

Did he just say that?

He winks. “Gotta go. See you later.”


I make a point of arriving at Luigi’s a few minutes early. But I don’t go in, instead buying myself a latte at the coffee bar opposite, and seating myself in the window to watch.

Why am I nervous?

At five to eight, Ben appears around the corner. The rain has cleared, and he wears a plain white shirt, the top couple of buttons undone, and black jeans.


He pops his head through the door to glance inside, then returns to wait outside, looking up and down the street.

Something feels unfamiliar about this. Of course, it’s been a while since I last had an actual date….

Yeah…. it’s a date. Not a meet-up for a quick fuck….

My stomach is fluttering, my throat tight as I swallow my coffee.

Don’t be so damn silly. It’s a date. That’s all….

Gulping down the last of my drink, I exit the cafe to cross the street. “Ben….”

“Ah, there you are.” He gives me a peck on the cheek, then, “I reserved a table for us. Shall we….”

Courtesy itself, he opens the door, gesturing me through first. At our table, he pulls out my chair to seat me, offers me the menu. He is a perfect gentleman.

But he never smiles. There’s something about him, a kind of grimness, that’s a little off-putting.

Is he nervous too?

“Got yourself dried out alright?” he asks. “You’re feeling okay? Not going to come down with anything?”

“I’m fine. I had a long soak in a hot bath. It’s going to be a while before it’s pleasant being in the car though. You know what the smell of wet dog is like.”

“Yeah. It’s just the worst, isn’t it?” And he laughs.

And with the laugh, his whole face changes, lighting up. Suddenly, from being a little ordinary, he is a strikingly good-looking man, his features transformed.


“Something wrong?” he asks, and I realise that I am gaping at him.

Embarrassed, “Er, no nothing. It’s just that you look very different when you smile.”

He clicks his tongue; flashes his brows. “You’re not the first to say that. My mother’s forever on at me to smile more. She says it makes me look more like my brother.”

“Your brother? So, there’s more like you out there?”

He rocks his hand back and forth. “No, not really. He was at the head of the queue when they handed out the good looks.”

“I think you’re underplaying yourself a bit. You’re not bad-looking….”

“Yes, but that’s as far as it goes, isn’t it? ’Not bad-looking’. He has women throwing themselves at him….” He stares down, paying attention to his meal.

Is he jealous? Of his own brother?

I try to lighten the mood, crack a joke. “Every maiden’s dream, eh? Perhaps I should look him up….”

And he smiles again, his face transforming once more. “Too late. You’ve missed the boat. He got married recently.” He casts a speculative look over me. “I’m assuming there’s no ‘Mr Kirstie’ out there?”

“No. It’s just me. I opted out of that club a while ago.”

“Why was that?”

“Um…. mainly that my husband’s girlfriend was pregnant. It put me off the whole relationship thing.”

He rolls his eyes. “Yes, that would do it. How long ago was that?”

“A couple of years.”

“And, there’s been no-one since then?”

What should I say?

“I’ve been off the whole dating thing. Didn’t want to get involved.”

He arches a brow. “This is your first date since then?”

“My first date, yes.”

Change the subject….

“And there’s no ‘Mrs Ben’ either, I guess?”

“Nope. There was, but it turned out that she preferred my best friend to me.” He looks away, his mouth twisting.

“Yeah… that would do it too.”

“Shall we talk about something else?”

“Good idea.”

Take it easy. No hopping into bed on the first night with this one….

He winds spaghetti around his fork, visibly casting for a new topic.

“So, four dogs? That’s a lot. All rescues? They look a mixed bag.”

“Yes, ‘The Long, The Short and The Tall’ aren’t they? It’s not what I intended, but you can’t turn your back on them can you?”

“No, you can’t. Scruffy’s a rescue too, or at least I assume so. I was out jogging on the beach one day and he just joined me; ran all the way up and down the front, right by my side. There was no-one in sight, so he came home with me. And no-one ever came forward to claim him.” He glances up at me; cocks his head. “What?”

“It’s a nice story. I wish there were more like you about.”

He holds my eyes; swallows his pasta. “There’s not too much wrong with someone who’s kind to animals.”

He’s not smiling, but the smile is there, behind his eyes…


“It’s been a great evening. I’ve enjoyed it.”

Ben’s hand slips over mine. “Enough to do it again?”

“I’d like that.”

“Can I walk you home? It’s dark. You shouldn’t walk home alone.”

“I’d like that too.”

As we leave the restaurant, he takes my hand again, holding it as we stroll. Our pace is leisurely. I see no reason to hurry. He seems to feel the same way.

At my doorstep, I hesitate.

Do I invite him in?

No, play it cool….

“It’s been lovely.”

He hovers, then, “Good night…. Um, can I call you?”

“You have my number.”

His smile blossoms again. A little awkwardly, he leans forward and kisses me on the cheek.

“Good night, Kirstie. I’ll be in touch tomorrow.”

The Story Continues In

“An Illusion of Happiness”

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