Popped (4 page)

My jeans came
next. After lowering them past my hips, I lay down and let Goran
pull them free of my legs. Then I turned over onto my side, showing
him the cute white panties I’d bought last weekend at the Ann
Summers shop. They only covered half my bum, and had a frilly
little bow at the back. What man would not want to pull on that bow
and expose my pale white cheeks? The bulge in his pants grew as he
stared down at me.

“Now you,” I
said, and watched as he undressed for me. He sported a short,
almost military haircut, his face was clean shaven, and he had a
six pack that could only come from time spent in a gym. The light
dusting of blond hair across his chest completed the
picture
—
he was perfect. And that was before
he dropped his pants. I’d never seen a real live cock up close
before. Phillip’s didn’t count
—
I may have
felt it when he screwed me up against his bedroom door, but I’d
never had a chance to look at it, hold it in my hand, or suck on
it.

Goran’s cock
wasn’t huge, but it was hard and ready and pointing right at me.
I’d made him hard. Me and my little tits and tight little bum,
wrapped up in a pair of white panties and tied off with a pretty
bow. Clara Churchill, cock raiser and Croatian heart breaker. I
giggled, drunk on alcohol and arousal.

He climbed
onto the bed next to me and crawled up my body, running his hands
over me from my legs up past my bum, until they covered my little
boobs. “So small,” he said, and crawled further up my body until he
was straddling my chest, his balls only inches from my face. Two
pendulums, hanging like fruit from a tall tree
—
that’s how they looked to me as I lay there. I reached
up with both hands, grabbing hold of his cock with my right hand
and squeezing his balls with my left. There was a little hair but
not too much. I wanted to taste his cock, put it into my mouth and
suck on it like I’d read about, like Parker would do, but I
couldn’t reach it from where I was lying, with Goran on top of
me.

As if he knew
what I wanted, he raised his hips high above me, and lowered his
cock until it touched my lips, then he moved it left and right,
rubbing the tip across my open mouth as if daring me to take it
inside. There was no foreskin, nothing to peel back, just a big
purple and red head, engorged with blood and eager for release. I
took him inside, running my tongue over the tip. It was a mouthful,
it was warm, and I loved it. The air smelled of that musky scent
that could only come from a naked man
—
a
mixture of sweat and whatever came out of his cock after a night of
dancing and hard-ons in the presence of pretty girls. I sucked and
licked and swallowed his cock. I made it mine. I loved every inch
of it and I was determined to make him come for me, on me, in
me.

“Show me,” I
said, my hand stroking his penis. “Come for me.”

I didn’t need
to tell him twice. Before I could move he grabbed hold of his cock,
and began to stroke it vigorously. It was a well practiced
maneuver, something he’d done before many times. In less than a
minute I could see the pressure building up like a dam about to
burst. When it did burst I felt the warm rivers of cum shooting out
onto my face, wave after wave of pungent white cream landing on my
cheeks and forehead, lines of cum in my hair and covering my nose
and lips. Then it was over, and the stiffness and urgency went out
of his cock. The smell was over powering, a smell I was only barely
familiar with from Phillip last week, but this time it was
everywhere. I opened my mouth and used my tongue to lick the drops
from my lips, eager to see what it tasted like, what it felt like
in my mouth. Slippery, slippery and different
—
not like anything I’d ever tasted before. I wasn’t
sure I liked it, but I was sure I wanted it. Wanted him.

He lay down
beside me and sighed in sleepy satisfaction. This would be the
downtime I’d read about, the re-charging in preparation for round
two. At least I hoped it was. He was talking to me in Croatian
again, one hand resting on my flat stomach. A happy soldier, his
work done, his woman loved and marked. I reached out with my left
hand, grabbed a t-shirt from the bedside table and used it to wipe
my face clean, so that I would be ready for the fucking that I
hoped would follow.

A few minutes
later the door opened, and Parker poked her head into the room. She
motioned at Goran lying next to me, and made some weird hand
gestures
—
a thumbs up maybe. I had no idea
what she was on about, so I tossed the soiled t-shirt at her. She
caught it, raised it to her face, and then immediately dropped it,
wringing her hands and trying hard not to laugh out loud. I could
see that she was naked, her boobs silhouetted in the dim light of
the room. She waved and retreated back into the living room.

I needed to
fuck him. I needed to feel that wonderful cock inside me, to ride
him as he lay there. And why not, I thought. This was why I was
here, why I’d asked for Manchester and why I’d asked for Parker.
This was why I’d run out of Phillip’s mother’s house last week.

I slipped out
from beneath Goran’s arm, raised myself up onto my knees and pulled
my panties down. Goran was watching me, following every movement as
if I were something dangerous that he had to keep in sight at all
times. I peeled the panties off, tossed them onto the pillow next
to his head, and climbed on top of him. He was a big man, easily
twice my size. I took hold of his soft cock and began to massage
it, stroking it and pulling on it gently, encouraging the blood to
start flowing. I didn’t have to wait long, in minutes he was rock
hard again. I was ready and eager to have him inside me, to feel
what it was like when I wanted it to happen.

With one foot
planted on either side of his chest, I lowered myself onto his
cock. My pussy was more than just damp; it was ready, had been
ready all night, maybe all my life. A coating of hair surrounded my
opening, and I guided Goran’s cock between my lips, through the
dark bush and into the moist warmth. Once I’d trapped his head I
lowered myself slowly until he filled me, my hands resting on his
chest. I felt no pain, no violence or urgency
—
it was peaceful, as if I’d come home after a journey
of many years and much hardship. And then I raised myself up and
lowered myself again, building up a slow but steady rhythm. Goran
watched me as I moved above him, content to let me lead and take
from him what I needed. I felt that he knew how special this moment
was to me. I rode him slow, I rode him softly, and I rode him hard,
looking down at him as I did. I rode him until I came, for the
first time in my life, truly came, the orgasm shuddering through my
body, touching every cell and filling up a great emptiness. And
then I continued to ride him until I brought him to another
juddering, hungry, messy, but so beautiful orgasm. I lay down on
top of him, and he held me in his arms, whispering meaningless
Croatian words into my ear, his cock still resting inside me.

I slept.

Chapter 8

Morning comes
late in January, and when Parker shook me awake the room was in
darkness, with no signs of sunlight from the window. It could have
been two or seven in the morning, I couldn’t tell.

“Clara, wake
up,” she said, whispering into my ear.

“What time is
it?” I said, lifting my head from where it rested on Goran’s chest
and rubbing my eyes with one hand.

“Six in the
morning. We have to go if we’re going to get back to the hotel in
time to get ready.” She fumbled around in the dark using the street
lights from the window to guide her.

“Where are
your clothes? Come on, Clara, get up.”

“Alright,
alright, I’m coming.” And then I almost laughed. I’d come alright,
for the first time in my life I’d really come, and the reason was
lying asleep on the bed beside me. After I rode him we’d fallen
asleep, but I’d woken some time later to the feel of his hands
between my legs, and we’d made love quietly in the dark of the
night. He parted my legs and laid himself on top of me, entering me
with his penis while his tongue entered my mouth. It was a perfect
end to a perfect night, and a perfect start to my new life.

I crawled out
from under the covers, being careful to pull them back up so that
they covered Goran, and I took the jeans that Parker was holding
out to me. I didn’t bother trying to find my panties, as I had no
idea where they’d ended up. Another pair lost, I thought. I quickly
pulled on my sweater and stepped into my shoes. My bag was waiting
by the door, and I slipped my glasses on as I closed it behind us.
The living room was in darkness, with sounds of light snoring
coming from the sofa. Parker opened the door as quietly as she
could and we both stepped out into the hallway and made our way
down the narrow staircase.

There was a
light drizzle falling as we stepped out onto the steps in front of
the house. It was still dark but there was activity on the streets,
buses taking early risers to work and cars on the move. The day had
begun, even though the sun still slept. I felt like my life had
just begun. This had been the greatest night of my life, and I
didn’t even know the man responsible
—
a
stranger, but a kind, foreign stranger. Then there was
Parker
—
without her, this wouldn’t have
happened. Oh, I’d have found my way on my own, but she was the
perfect guide in my new life.

I looked up at
the dark sky and held my arms out as if in worship. The rain water
baptized me, welcoming me into the fold of a new congregation. All
at once I was euphoric. I was high, high on life and all the
potential and possibilities that lay before me.

I opened my
mouth and shouted as loud as I could: “FREEDOM!”

Parker was
laughing so hard she was bent over, her hands on her knees and her
hair wild. I shouted again, letting the world know that something
momentous had occurred
—
that I had arrived.
And then I joined her in laughter.

“Come on,
Braveheart,” Parker said as she pulled on my arm and forced me onto
the foot path. “We’ve got a bus to catch.”

It was ten
minutes to seven when we crashed through the door of the hotel,
laughing at each other, at our messy hair, at the craziness of the
whole situation. Two men in suits were checking out and looked up
as we crossed the tiny lobby.

“Nice arse,” I
said to one as we walked past, and then I burst into laughter and
hurried up the stairs.

“What’s got
into you?” Parker asked.

“Life,” I
answered, “the universe, everything. I got laid last
night
—
properly.”

“I know. It
kind of shows. Now get in there and get ready. You’re the boss,
remember. Start bossing.”

“Yes, yes,
yes, I am calm,” I said, trying to pull myself together. “Half an
hour in the lobby. Let’s do it.”

I took a long
hot shower, washing the scent of sex off my body and the dried cum
from my hair, then I spent a good ten minutes drying and brushing,
thinking of the night before and what it meant for the days and
weeks ahead.
Clara’s New Life
was well under way.

Chapter 9

The following
Friday evening found me on the train to Chiswick Park once again.
I’d decided that I had to put a formal end to things with Phillip
and say my goodbyes to his mother.

It had been a
fantastic week
—
the user-group was hailed as
the best ever, with compliments coming in from all quarters, and we
had received a great reception back in the office. Dale had hugged
me after calling me into his office, using the opportunity for a
quick ass grab
—
big surprise. A few weeks
earlier it would have embarrassed me, but now I knew that he was
just a harmless old man, and there was talk of promotion, so I let
it slide.

Stephen and
Adrian walked around the office with sour looks on their faces,
bemoaning the fact that the praise had landed on everyone but them
and their boy’s club. I’d put Parker forwards for a promotion to
line manager
—
it had nothing to do with our
out-of-office escapades, honest. Cross my heart and all. Things
were moving in the right direction. I was enjoying life for the
first time since I was a school girl, and it felt liberating.

So here I was,
traveling to Chiswick to tie off a loose end before embracing my
future with abandon. I was eager to get it done, eager to see
Phillip one last time, to see what he looked like through my newly
colored glasses.

Earl’s Court
station was packed
—
as usual
—
with crowds of commuters changing trains and heading
for outer London. As my train left the station, I felt something
familiar behind me and almost laughed out loud
—
that same hardness pressing into my back that had
kicked off my soul searching on New Year’s Eve. I looked at the
reflections in the window to see who it was, and as expected it was
the same pervy guy in the same tired gray suit rubbing himself up
against me.

Bad timing. I
was a different woman now.

I looked over
my shoulder and met his eyes. Speaking calmly and loud enough for
everyone around me to hear, I said: “Is that your penis you’re
rubbing up against me?”

He looked at
me as if I’d slapped him, and hurriedly pulled back, bumping into
the two young women standing behind him and almost falling
over.

“Well?” I
said. “I’m waiting.” And I gave him my boss lady stare.

“I wasn’t
doing anything. I was just standing here,” he said, his eyes
darting from left to right, looking for an escape route.

“You dirty
little pervert. Get yourself a girlfriend,” I said, and then turned
away from him as if he were of no more consequence to me than a dog
piddling up against a lamp post. Most of the other female
passengers were grinning, and one of them had a mobile phone out
and pointed at him. The flash from the camera sent him rushing down
the carriage, and led to a burst of laughter from the two women
he’d almost fallen over.