TABOO TALES(erotica)

The harsh light cast deep shadows over his face so that he appeared almost demoniac, his eyes sunken into their sockets and crescents of darkness under each of his worn and rugged contours.

Her mother’s voice, slurred with drink. “There she is.”

The man turning his eyes on her, the irises and pupils indistinguishable like the black orbs of a hungry shark, and she heard his voice, like wet gravel.

“How much?”

“Two hundred.”

He laughed. “I can get younger pussy for half the price.”

“One fifty, then. She’s a virgin.”

“One hundred, to do what I like.”

Her mother nodding, her eyes gleaming with greed. “Done.”

His weight on her, squashing her down into the mattress, vile breath on her face and in her mouth. The sound of her own screams and his laughter as he pulled his trousers open, his fingers thick and rough on her virgin skin. The pain of penetration, like a bayonet being plunged into her vagina again and again, and the grunting and sweating of his copulation as she sobbed underneath him.

Her mother, laughing at her after he had gone, counting the money – so little for what she had lost. So very little for the broken trust and the burden of hatred that she would carry for the rest of her life.

Sophie looked down at the banknotes over her pussy, and her resolve to never be poor again burned like acid in her heart. She swung her legs out of bed and began to dress, the expensive silk panties as soft as gossamer as she drew them over the bruised and swollen lips of her vulva.

*****

Ben Rogers closed the door to his office and smiled at his secretary. He’d only been promoted recently and he was still getting used to the idea of having someone look after him.

“I’m taking an early mark, Michelle.”

“Certainly, Mr Rogers.”

“I’d like you to call me Ben.”

She smiled. She was of the old school, and old habits died hard. “Right, Ben.” They both knew that in the morning he would be Mr. Rogers again. It was a little game they both enjoyed.

“Why don’t you take an early one too, Michelle? It’s going to be a long day tomorrow.”

“I will, Mr Rog – er, Ben. I just have these accounts to attend to.”

“Right. Well, I’ll see you in the morning.”

She waved in farewell and he walked out, down the long corridor to the lifts. His company car was in the basement, a dark blue BMW, and he felt the familiar twist of pleasure as he approached it. Chelsea would have liked this, he thought, and immediately regretted it. She’s gone, and I did it. Move on.

On impulse he turned left into National Circuit. He liked driving home this way, through the green belt – he thought that one day he might be able to afford a house here, perhaps when he was a Managing Director. Each one was different, but there was an appealing symmetry in the way that they were presented: the black wrought iron fences, the squat gatehouses and the neat gravel driveways dissecting the beautifully manicured lawns.

A large Mercedes was stopped in front of him and he pulled out to pass it. He could see that it had hit a small sedan that had been reversing into the street, and both drivers were talking at the side of the road. It was a minor thing, a broken tail -light only, and it wasn’t worth him stopping. He accelerated away, his eyes on the road, thinking of Sophie waiting for him at home.

It wasn’t until he was well passed them that he realised what he had seen – the car was Sophie’s and she was on the sidewalk beside it gesticulating at the burly male driver, her little face angry. He pulled over and put the car in reverse, looking back. He could see her some distance away, her back to him as she leaned over the bonnet of the car to write on a scrap of paper. He could see the opulence of the neighbourhood and the incongruity of her little car, pushed up into the kerb, and he could see what she was wearing. In sudden insight he understood that there was far more happening here than he understood, and the realisation was like a boxer’s blow to his belly.

Ben sat in his car looking back, his mind filled with questions, and then, after a little while, he drove away to find somewhere to think.

*****

Monday Evening

Chelsea regarded Rebecca Armitage across the dining room table. She was a pretty girl, a year or two younger than her, and she had proven to be a good housemate. She had needed someone to help pay the rent and she’d selected Bec from a bevy of applicants, some of whom had to be seen to be believed. They were talking about it now over the second bottle of wine.

“Well, for a start, he was dirty.” Chelsea held her nose to illustrate her point. “I mean, really stinky. He had on a black tee shirt and ratty jeans and sandals, and he wanted to pay the rent with his music.”

Bec was intrigued. “His music – what, sort of sing to you each day?”

“I guess. He had a guitar with him and he insisted on playing me a few bars to show his talent.”

“So what was he like?”

“You know Mark Knopfler?”

“Sure.”

“Well, he wasn’t related. On a score of one to a hundred, where one is the highest, I would have given this guy four hundred.”

“That bad, huh?”

Chelsea smiled at the memory. “Appalling – and I tried to tell him nicely, but he wouldn’t have it. He insisted that he would make it big, and then, when I told him that I didn’t need songs I needed money, he asked if he could pay in kind.”

Bec smiled. “Sounds like an easy offer to refuse.” She looked at Chelsea shyly. “So why did you choose me?”

Chelsea twirled the stem of her glass, watching the crimson fluid sparkle in the candlelight. “You were the first one who could string two words together, and you looked good.” She thought for a second. “Shit, that didn’t sound right… I meant, you know, you weren’t a complete skank.”

“Well, thanks!”

Chelsea waved her hand magnanimously. “You’re welcome. I did worry about how long it would be before you wanted to bring someone else in, though.”NôvelDrama.Org copyrighted © content.

“Really? What made you think that?”

“I figured that with your looks you’d have someone you were hooked up with – a guy, or perhaps a girlfriend.”

Bec shook her head. “Just little ol’ me.” Her eyes were sad for an instant, and then she smiled. “Did you really think I was a lesbian?”

Chelsea shrugged. “Hell, how would I know? I didn’t care either way – I just didn’t want a third person tagging along.”

“Why not? The house is big enough.”

“Not really. We’ve only got the one bathroom and besides, three’s a crowd.”

Bec nodded, and took another drink from her glass. “Would you have accepted me if you really thought I was?”

Chelsea shrugged again. “It wouldn’t worry me either way.” She gave the girl a searching look. “Are you?”

Bec shook her head. “Not that I know of.” She was silent for a while, sensing the mood of the conversation changing. “Perhaps I should be, for all the luck I’ve had with guys. I had someone…. he was pretty special, too.” She looked down into her glass. “He decided that he didn’t want to settle down… not with me, anyway, although I hear it didn’t take him long to find someone else.”

“When was this?”

“Just before I met you…. it was the reason I was looking to find somewhere to live.”

“Are you over him yet?”

Bec looked towards the window, her eyes empty as if she hadn’t really thought about it. She could still feel the pain of separation, like a blade cutting into her flesh. She thought the question had been direct, but she was not offended. Her eyes flickered back to Chelsea. “Not really. I keep thinking it was my fault, somehow – you know, maybe I didn’t try hard enough.” Chelsea could see she was upset. “It isn’t logical, I know, but I can’t help looking back and wondering if I could have done something different.”

Chelsea leaned over and squeezed her arm. “Don’t beat yourself up, Bec. I’m sure it wasn’t your fault. I had a similar experience – you know, nice guy, settled down, all going well and then suddenly – wham! Out of the blue there’s a little blonde on the scene with fuck -me eyes and nice tits. She wasn’t after me, either.”

“Did you try and keep him?”

“Not on your life. I told him to fuck off.”

Bec smiled a little. “I wish I’d done that with Jeff. At least it would have been a clean break.”

Chelsea stood up and started clearing the table. “It really didn’t help. There isn’t a day that goes by when I don’t think about him and what we had. Don’t get me wrong – I think he’s a complete prick, but I miss what we had.” She paused, thinking about her brother -they had been so completely certain that they would be lovers for the rest of their lives. How could it have gone wrong so quickly? Was it really all his fault, or was there something she could have done? She shook her head, as if answering her own question. Bec was right – you did feel guilty, right or wrong. She looked at the girl opposite, with her bright eyes and rosebud lips – it was hard to imagine anyone not finding her irresistible.

She picked up a plate and continued talking. “I know what you mean about feeling guilty, though. It sort of gets to you… you know, your confidence takes a hit, and you get lonely -” She stopped suddenly. Bec was hunched over the table and her shoulders started shaking with silent sobs. Chelsea put down the plate moved quickly to her side, resting her hand on her back. “Hey, kid, he’s not worth crying over.”

Bec stood up and flung her arms around her, burying her head in her shoulder, her body shaking. Chelsea could feel her tears soaking through the thin material of her blouse. She stroked her hair gently, feeling the glossy strands under her fingers, aware of the warmth of her body through her dress. She’d sensed a sadness when they first met, but she hadn’t realised the extent of the girl’s loneliness, and she felt her heart go out to her. She held her tight, waiting for the grief to pass.

“I’m sorry, Chelsea.” Bec’s voice was muffled.

“That’s OK – we’re friends, remember. That’s what I’m here for.”

Bec turned her head a little, still clutching her. “It hurts so much!”

“I know, honey.”

“I was OK until you said you were lonely too… it just brought it all out.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were hurting?”