Darker Shade of Rose - A dark erotic thriller
The sound of her phone ringing snapped her back to reality. It was one of her regular callers that came through. His was a fantasy of a different kind, not so much fantasy as he did this for real. Amazingly it was always the same fantasy, as with most of them. She referred to him as “The knicker-sniffer” He was obsessed with sniffing worn panties. A sixty-four-year-old widower, called Les, who got hooked on sniffing dirty knickers after visiting a massage parlour in a fit of extreme horniness brought on by not having a woman in his life since his wife passed away some three years before. Suzanna had discovered this about her caller on and off the last two months of chatting with him. She had been quite surprised to discover just how well she had gotten to know several of her callers over time.
She remembered that first time with him very clearly; his devotion to knicker sniffing was astounding.
“Hi there, you’re through to Rose. Would you like to know what I look like?” If only she had a quid for every time she gave her description, she thought. As always, this was followed by…” So, what turns you on, horny man?”
A deep guttural groan of pure sexual pleasure vibrated down the phone line. Then came the sound of sniffing. At first, it was almost animal-like, she could imagine it to be a sniffer dog. He was a dirty dog, all right!
“Dirty knickers!” He continued sniffing deeper into the garment he most surely was holding sometimes the sniffing sound was muffled. “I love sniffing dirty knickers.”
“Then you’d absolutely love sniffing mine. I’ve had then on since nine this morning.”
“Fourteen hours? You’ve had them knickers on all that time? Fuck me, they must stink!”
As Rose, Suzanna chuckled at his remark and could not resist adding, “How would you feel if you knew I hadn’t washed down there for two days?” She knew her men liked it real dirty, and let’s face it she aimed to please. She was not disappointed as she got the reaction she wanted. She had to confess she did get a kick out of whipping them into a verbal frenzy. Thanks to this bit of juicy information she even managed to sell him a few of her knickers via eBay over the weeks they had been talking. That had the advantage of bringing in a bit of extra money, since he had bought a dozen pairs in that time. The disadvantage being he wanted the real taste of her.
All he wanted to talk about was her sitting on his face all night while he licked her, all the time with her pretending to suffocate him at the same time. There were all kinds of asphyxiation and seemingly a lot of men were turned on by the idea of being suffocated by some girl’s dripping wet pussy. But, that was all it was as a rule, the idea of it. No man would really want to die that way. At least, that was her first thought but, the more she dwelled on it, she supposed there were some guys that might want to. After all, as she had learned on the ‘lines,’ there were more fantasies out there than she could have ever had believed possible! How amusing she found the notion. She had to confess it did turn her on somewhat. Total control did make her a bit giddy at the thought of it, but in a sexual way. Nothing like the sort of control she had been the victim of recently.
This mad world of eroticism Suzanna often found herself lost in was a completely different place to anything she had ever experienced before. It was like a strange sea she was adrift in, and she relied upon the Rose persona as her life-boat. The current and waves transported her, as she did the callers, to a place only they could share. Those ten, twenty, sometimes sixty minutes of sharing another life seemed to renew a passion for living in her. On the phones lines she became stronger and in more control of her life and destiny. All she ever really wanted was to take care of herself, financially and rely on no man for anything.
This time it seemed Les wanted to take things even further, perhaps a little too far for Suzanna, even as Rose.
“You know I’m obsessed with the scent of you.”
She knew all right, after all it was her that got him into this state in the first place.
“You ever asked to meet up with any of your callers?”
Smiling at the mouth-piece she replied, “Oh, all the time. It seems to be an occupational hazard with this job.” Now he could see the smile on her face from the laughter in her voice.
“And have you?”
“No, it’s just something I wouldn’t do.” And as she intended to put him off completely, she told him. “Baby, if I have to take time off to meet with one of my callers I’d lose money, if I don’t work I don’t earn.” She had been asked this question so many times she had worked the chat-lines this reply usually put them off.
“I could make it worth your while.”
“No, thank you for the offer, but no thanks.” She cut him stone dead with her reply. If there were one thing she would not do that was to have sex for money. Selling her voice and imagination was one thing but her body, no way. On that she was adamant. Suzanna had to admit she was a little shocked by this, many times she been asked to meet just for a quickie or an all-night session but never offered money before. The thing was it could be so easy, like the next progression but she could never lower herself to start selling her body.
Little did she know that fate would soon be having her doing something similar to what the caller Les wanted to do, eat her; but she would be eating her own words.
“Mmmm, I’ve got a nice wet pair of panties for you this time,” Rose purred down the line. She was talking to Les again. In fact, in the weeks since she had first spoken to him, he had called her a dozen times. “White and frilly and I’ve been wearing them for two days, rubbing myself through them all the time…”
“Oh, darling, you’re spoiling me,” Les’ voice was thick with arousal down the line.
“I know,” Rose laughed sexily. “At the rate you keep buying them off me, I’m going to need to start buying panties in bulk soon.”
“No problem,” he replied. “I’ll buy as many as you can send me.”
“Oh, I know you will, baby,” Rose shook her head, chuckling. She had just run through another fantasy with Les about her sitting on his face and drowning him in her cunt juice. She was finding herself more and more turned on by his fantasies and did not mind at all that she spoke to him twice a week now. She had not been joking about needing new panties, though. She had sold him about a dozen pairs; sealing them in plastic bags in big envelopes and sent off to the address he had given her, all of it arranged via email. “I’ll send them out to you today,” she promised him.
“I’ll talk to you again, soon,” he assured. “Keep that cunt dripping for me, darling.”
“Oh, you do that just by speaking to me, Les,” she told him. They laughed together, and then:
“Have you thought any more about my offer, Rose?” She knew exactly what ‘offer’ he meant. The offer was to meet up and turn his fantasy into reality.
“I don’t meet my callers, Les,” she said. “I’m sorry, but I don’t.” She usually teased her callers into believing she would meet with them one day but she did not want to do that with Les. Even though he was a dirty old sod, like most of them he seemed a nice old bloke to string along.
“I’m going to keep trying, you know,” he told her.
“I know that too,” she replied. “Bye now, take care.” The line went dead, and Rose logged off the chat line. She put the phone down, and let the character of Rose go once again, returning to being Suzanna. She loved escaping into this other world, becoming this other persona Rose. Sometimes, Suzanna wondered if she would ever let this other perverted, kinky side of her step out into reality. Maybe this was a darker side to her psyche she had kept hidden. She found it so easy to slip into to ‘Rose’ it even scared her a little. The stuff she found herself talking about shocked even her.
Putting that out of her mind, Suzanna got up and went to the table. She had a clear plastic bag already laid out, next to an envelope, which was already addressed to Les. She slid her panties down her shapely legs and stepped out of them. As she had told Les, they were wet, and Suzanna quickly bent down, scooped them up and placed them in the bag. She sealed it, and slid it, and its moist contents, into the large brown envelope, which she then put to one side.
Then, after some days now of putting off the inevitable, Suzanna finally turned her attention to the collection of other envelopes on the table. The mail she had retrieved from Gary. Fighting back a little shudder at the memory, Suzanna reached for the pile. If it had been important enough for her to go and get them, she supposed she should at least look at the letters she had fetched.
The first few were nothing, just junk mail: offers for credit cards she could not afford or cheap purchases she did not want. Suzanna sighed, hoping that she would find something, anything in the pile that would make renewing contact with Gary, if not worthwhile, then at least not a complete step backwards.
A moment later, she realised that sometimes, you really should be more careful about what you wish for. At first glance, the plain envelope did not seem particularly earth shattering. It was rectangular and white with a little plastic window on the front to show her address, nothing out of the ordinary. Suzanna slid her finger under the sealant to open it and tugged out the letter within.
Her heart skipped a beat as she read it. And read it again. And, even a third time just in case she was still reading it wrong. She did not recognise the marked stationary, from ‘Richards, Hedley and Johnson Accountants,’ but she did not need to know who they were to understand what was there. We are sorry to inform you… Although your mother’s life insurance was fully paid up… Insurance company suffered badly in recession… Insolvent… All funds lost… Company gone into receivership… Balance of the policy never paid…
Suzanna read it through a fourth time. And yes, despite what she hoped, it still said the same thing. The company she had paid into, every month, for years, for her mother’s life insurance, had gone bankrupt, before they paid out the policy that was supposed to pay for the cost of the funeral. Cold fingers running down her spine, Suzanna found the next item of post from the funeral home. With trembling hands, she opened it, her mouth tasting like ash.
Dear Miss… Final demand… overdue payment… She read it over three times, again. Suzanna was numb with disbelief. The funeral home had never been paid. The insurance that was supposed to have paid them was gone. She was suddenly liable for the full cost of her mother’s funeral. Some eighteen-hundred, twenty-seven pounds and ninety-four pence. Suzanna stared at the letter, at the large, bold-print figure at the bottom of the letter and felt her head swim.
“Oh, Christ…” she breathed. Her legs felt like wet rubber as they folded up beneath her. She was suddenly sitting on the floor. How the hell am I going to pay eighteen-hundred, twenty-seven pounds and ninety-four pence? For fuck’s sake. Normally, she saved the swearing for her callers but right now she wanted to swear at the indignity of it all. Instead she screamed a tirade of obscenities silently inside her head. Money was tight enough as it was without a bill for nearly two thousand pounds coming out of nowhere. Her poor mother would have been horrified if she knew she’d been buried in debt, she never owed a single penny to anyone in her entire life. Now, in her final hour, Suzanna felt she had let her mother down. What could she do? No one she knew could lend her that kind of money. Well, one person would trip over himself to help her, the man who she had gone to retrieve the letter from, but there was no way she was opening that door again. Not even for this. She would almost rather sell herself first. Almost…
In a daze, Suzanna pulled herself to her feet and went to her old, out of date, barely functioning laptop, and pulled up her bank balance. A lump of lead settled heavily into her stomach as she realised that, at most, she could put three hundred pounds towards the debt. So, I still need to find fifteen-hundred-fucking-quid… she thought despondently. What the hell am I going to do?
For three days Suzanna tried to keep her life in some sort of coherent existence. Throwing herself into the calls and her callers. Maybe she should just contact them and offer to pay so much a month, but then how much would ‘so much’ be? Besides, it could take years, and she hated the idea of going cap in hand, hated the indignity of it all, of having to admit that she had no money to pay for her mother’s funeral with. Had it been any other bill, she could have coped, but for that… It felt like everything was falling in around her. She wished so badly for a lifeline. Something or someone she could turn to. While she had several friends she could ask, perhaps beg a few hundred from each one. There was then the problem of paying them back. And what if I can’t? She thought. Suzanna certainly did not want to alienate them.
The phone ringing dragged Suzanna out of her ever-spinning thoughts, leaving her occupied for the next three hours with a wide selection of intermittent calls from both new and returning callers. The slew of calls trapped Suzanna in her Rose persona, enabling her, to her relief, to take a break from her tumultuous deliberations. The next call came through on ‘special interests,’ which made her sit up and pay special attention; some of those could be very interesting indeed. Could be just what she needed to stop her brain from exploding! You could say it was just the diversity, and diversion, she needed right now.
“Hello, you’re through to Rose.”
“Hello darlin,’ you a big girl, then?” Suzanna found it more profitable to say yes to whatever they wanted from her, and so confirmed that she was, in fact, just as big as he obviously hoped.
“Do you have a big fat arse?” The man enquired greedily, huffing, and puffing like a warthog down the phone. She imagined she could hear the spittle spraying from his slobbering wet mouth.
“Yes, a humongous fat arse, babe.” Suzanna could not help getting a bit of a kick out of winding the guys up, whipping them into a frenzy, as she termed it. She had to stifle a little throaty giggle at this. Once more she threw herself into this perverse world.
“Oh my God! I’ll just bet you’ve killed a few blokes with that big fat arse of yours.” The hopeful eagerness oozed out the caller’s mouth.
Feeling slightly antiqued, but completely into the call already, Suzanna replied, “Fuck yes! I’ve killed loads!” She seemed to have a knack of knowing where the caller wanted to take the fantasy and slipped easily into any role that was expected of her. Suzanna’s imagination had never been tapped into so vividly before. Perhaps she was a latent actress, she certainly took to all parts very well.
“Ooh…yeah, bet you crushed their heads like grapes. Smothering them under the weight of that ‘humongous’ backside of yours…mmmmm”
Suzanna swore she could hear the man slavering his delight at this thought over the phone. “Yeah…” Suzanna continued to feed his frenzy. “Some of them got stuck up me until I had to grab hold of their ankles and hoist their semi-conscious bodies out my big fat arse!” Sometimes she delighted in her own wickedness. Often, she just could not help herself and continued once more with her dance of deception. “There was this one old bloke,” she confided in the caller. “I sat down so hard on his small, wrinkled, old bald head that his false teeth shot up my arse!” she chuckled silently at the man’s gasp of disbelief, then on she danced with the grand finale, in the absolute certainty that it would finish the caller off. “I wouldn’t mind but it took me two hours to pick his fucking teeth out my arse!” This left her in fits of laughter, with the phone discretely muted, of course. She laughed so hard she almost missed hearing the man showing his appreciation by spraying, with such intensity, that he must have splattered all the way up to his ceiling.
It was a good job the caller left when his did. Suzanna had to make a mad dash to the bathroom, she felt sure she had wet herself from laughing so hard. Adjusting and removing her sodden underwear, Suzanna thought, boy oh boy he was just what I needed, an injection of humour into my life right now. She had to admit it was the oddest things that made her guys cum on the chat lines.
The phone calls slowed down quite significantly, and Suzanna was just about to call it a night. She had tired her brain out sufficiently to at least get some sleep tonight, the heavy-laden news pushed far enough into the back of her battered mind. She was in the process of logging off the phone system when the recorded voice informed her ‘you cannot log off at this time as someone was listening to her intro and could she please try later.’ This often happened when the calls came in thick and fast. Anyway, she decided to just take this one more call and then attempt to log off again.
The caller trying to get through was Les, her friendly knicker-sniffer. She guessed he must be due another pair. He could have the dirty wet ones she just took off tonight. God alone knew what he did with them all; sometimes she half expected him to ask her if she wanted to buy them back!
She had recognised his voice instantly. “Hi Les, so I take it you’re feeling horny tonight?”
“Always am when I’m thinking of you, dirty girl. I’m ready for another pair of your cunt-soaked knickers, reckon we can fill a pair tonight?”
“Oh, I’m sure we can,” she smiled to herself as she glanced over at the pair she took off earlier. “Shouldn’t wonder if they don’t weigh heavier than normal they’ll be so fucking wet!” Her dirty laugh had Les almost growling down the phone in anticipation of Rose’s soaked, dirty knickers.
“I’ve an idea, why don’t you deliver them by hand, to a hotel for example?”
“You crafty old dog! Is this you trying to get me to meet up with you? I’ve told you, I don’t meet up…” Suzanna’s eyes unexpectedly rested on the envelope she had retrieved from Gary’s. She stared at it for a few seconds as though mesmerised by its appearance in her eye line. The letter was sticking out, partly folded, so she could see the final line: the demand for payment, and the amount in big, bold type. Les took the silence as his opportunity to persuade Rose into to meet up with him.
“Look I promise all I want to do is lick you out. Just sit on my face and pretend to smother me. I pay the parlour girls just to sit on my face all the time, but they just won’t fake smothering me. I’ll pay you whatever you ask, name your price…”
“Eighteen hundred.” The words left her mouth without her really realising she said them. She never knew, later if, in that instant, she had been making a serious offer, or just reading the demand for payment aloud. Either way, the words just popped out. The envelope still in clear view, the plastic window glinted at her in the lamplight as though winking at her like an obscene suggestion made by the devil himself as if it, or he, was amused at what she had just said.
“Ok.” Les, clearly less amused than astonished, could not believe she had accepted his offer to meet after all this time. She could hear his hopeful disbelief in his voice as he asked, “You ain’t pullin’ me plonker are you, babe?
“Oh no, Les. I am deadly serious,” and from that moment, she was. “But, it’s just a one off and that will be it. You must promise not to even ring me again. If you do, I’ll just hang up. If you mention the meet even by accident it could get me the sack.” She was serious, and was committed. Suzanna decided in an instant it was the only solution, the only answer to her dilemma. “It has to be soon, though. The sooner the better, before I change my mind.”
Three days later found Suzanna sitting nervously in the hotel room as prearranged by the email exchanges with Les using the account that she had, up to now, only sold him panties through. He had made the promise she had asked him for, but even so, she was still nervous. If anyone from the office contacted her about meeting her caller she had decided to say that it was all part of the fantasy, but even so, she knew she was risking her job. On the other hand, the fact that her callers were always talking about arranging to meet her and, invariably, never did. It was her word against theirs.
She had collected the keys at reception. As per her instructions, Les had booked the room with a completely bogus name and address and come in the day before to pay in cash. It was not the kind of hotel that asked too many questions about their guests, especially not when they paid in cash.
As Suzanna straightened the short, dark wig she had put on for the occasion, waiting for Les’ arrival, she looked down at her knees and drew them tightly together. Not for the first time the thought of them being spread over a total stranger’s face set the bile rising in her throat. She had had second thoughts several times since making her agreement with Les, but every time she had moved to cancel it, she had seen the bill, with its demand for payment in those big, bold, black letters, dark as a black hole that threatened to swallow her soul. Every time, that had been enough to stop her.
That alone was enough that her emotions were raw and wrought. Part of her wanted to run from the room and keep running until she fell off the edge of the earth. Only the memory of that bright white envelope, so bright and yet carrying such dark news, kept her in the room. Suzanna took several slow, deep breaths in an effort calm herself. Deep down, she was not sure what she resented more: the letter, for giving her the motive to set herself up in this position, or Les, for providing the opportunity. For all that she had found herself liking him on the phone, that resentment, fuelled by the nerves, and the fear, of what she was about to do, built and built and built in her, until she was beginning to look forward to smothering the dirty knicker-sniffing bastard.
No, she told herself, I’m not doing anything. It’s Rose he’s here to have her sit on his face, not me Suzanna. I will just have to be Rose. She had found it so easy to be Rose on the chat lines, so easy to slip in and out of character, but now, it was a struggle. Suzanna’s fears and nerves got in the way. I could leave, she told herself once more. I could just leave… Except, then what? She had said she would rather sell herself than go to Gary for help and, after all, was that not what she was doing? If she left, what could she do, except go to Gary?
Perhaps it was that thought that finally cemented her resolve, or perhaps it was the fact that, just at that moment, there came the knock on the door. And just like that, Suzanna slid under the mask of ‘Rose,’ and it was Rose who got up to answer the door.
“Rose?” the man who asked the question had Les’ voice, but he was not how she had expected him to look. Although, come to think of it, she was not sure how she had expected him to look. He was a short, elderly man, perhaps in his late sixties, or well-preserved seventies, with salt-and-pepper hair and a weathered, but still strong face.
“Hello” Rose stuttered out her greeting. She tried smiling before nervously allowing him to enter the hotel room as she stepped back a few paces, as he passed by her. He on the other hand bounded in eagerly like a child on Christmas morning, wanting to unwrap his favoured present. Rose followed Les over towards the king-size bed.
“Before we start, I need to see the money. Can you put it on the dresser over there” Suzanna gestured towards the door, not daring to look Les in the face.
Suzanna had hated the thought that she was about to ask about money like a whore, but Rose, however, did not care. As Rose she realised that she could treat this exactly as a chat-call. On the phone, it was just words, words that did not touch her, but here, it would just be actions, actions that touched Rose, but would never be allowed to touch Suzanna as herself.
“Of course, I will,” Les replied, producing a bulging envelope. “You think after all the work it took to get you to meet me I’d risk it by not keeping my end up?”
“Oh, I’m sure this is keeping your end up,” Rose told him, smiling seductively. She found that, if she thought of this as just the same as the calls, she could act as if she were describing the scene to a caller, instead of living it.
“Oh, you know it is, baby,” Les was already starting to unbutton his shirt as he laid the envelope down on the dressing table. As he did so, Rose noticed something shiny in his hand as well. A foil packet, it was a condom packet. For a second, the persona of Rose faltered, and she was Suzanna again:
“Oh, no,” she shook her head vehemently. “We didn’t say anything about sex, Les. The deal was I’d sit on your face, that’s it. Nothing more.” She saw a look of disappointment cross his face, but only for an instant. Then, it was gone, and he did not try to argue with her, perhaps sensing how, in that moment, she was once again close to bolting. But, with his apparent acceptance of her conditions, Suzanna found herself subsiding back into Rose.
When she said nothing else, he continued to undress and now, feeling as if she had to at least start to play her part, Rose did as well. She slipped off her short jacket, and then dropped her skirt, exposing her red silky panties, the colour he’d previously requested. The old bastard’s eyes lit up as they came into view and Rose felt a touch of colour rising in her cheeks, which instantly matched the red of her panties. She stepped out of her skirt, and her shoes.
“Drop the panties,” Les said, staring at them as if they were the Holy Grail. He was already naked, grasping his cock with one hand. Rose was not surprised to see that it was not as big as he had implied on the chat lines. “Come on, baby, I want to watch.”
“Alright,” Rose purred, her character overcoming her hesitation. “But you lie down on the bed. I want to drop them and be able to stand right over you…”
He could not agree fast enough, at once going to the bed and lying back, looking at her with his head tilted back as she slid the red silky underwear down her legs. His eyes almost popped out of his head as her cunt was revealed.
Once more, for a second, Rose hesitated, Suzanna’s reservations rising again. Deciding that she would not feel so concerned if she could not see his expression, Rose took her place, right over the old bastard’s head.
She lowered herself down, and gasped aloud as her inner thighs touched his face. Rose tightened her legs, gripping his head.
Les gasped: “Not so tight, love, I want you to smother me, not break my neck!” His breath ticked the lips of her pussy, sending little flickers of electricity through her, both fearful and pleasurable.
Forcing herself to relax, to breathe slowly, calmly, Rose lowered herself those last few inches, until she felt his lips touch her. She tried hard to forget who she was sitting down on. She knew what it felt like, a wet slippery slug burrowing its way into her. The more he licked and sucked the easier it got. After some long minutes of bouncing and gyrating against his face another feeling began to take the place of her revulsions, the sensation of arousal.
Rose rode his face hard, whimpering and writhing in pleasure as his tongue thrust into her dripping cunt. His breath was coming hard and fast, blowing up inside her or over her mound. She could feel him shaking under her, his hand moving on his cock, jerking himself off so hard and fast he was almost a blur. Rose found her gaze drawn to his cock as he wanked hard, and she found herself wondering if he had wanked as hard over her on the phone lines… But she only wondered for a moment, as his tongue delved deep into her again, and she found rational thought suddenly impossible. Beneath her, Les bucked, his entire body spasming, thrusting his face upwards so hard it lifted Rose up, momentarily off the bed. She cried out as the sudden sensation finally became enough to overcome her reservations, and the wall inside her broke. Rose came and came and came, grinding her cunt down on his face as he spurted, cum spraying from the end of his cock to splatter on his legs, even as his entire body jerked once more, going completely, totally rigid.
After moments, seconds or minutes, Rose could not tell, her own climax subsided and she realised he was lying still beneath her. Suddenly feeling weak, unsteady, Rose slid off him, collapsing off the bed. As she hit the floor, the situation hit her, just as suddenly. She had just cum on the face of a man old enough to be her father, in exchange for money, in some seedy hotel room. That realisation was all it took to snap her out of character. Rose disappeared, and she was Suzanna again, kneeling on the floor, Les’ saliva coating her thighs and cunt as he lay there, motionless, his own cum cooling on his legs.
Overcome with shame, Suzanna grabbed at her panties, cheeks burning with humiliation. She could not bring herself to look at the bed, she did not want to see if he was watching her as she pulled them on, and her skirt. Les made no objection but, honestly, Suzanna doubted that she would have cared if he had. She glanced at him. He was still lying there, eyes closed, clearly spent. She knew that he had paid her to sit on his face all night but she was sure she had given him enough. He was clearly unconscious, and she doubted, at his age, he would wake again before the morning. He would never know she had left early and, deep down, all that Suzanna wanted in that moment was to get out of there. Out and away.
She grabbed the envelope of money. It did not feel anywhere near as good in her hand as she had thought it would. She felt no triumph at clearing the debt, only a deep, burning shame. Suzanna was out of the door in a moment, locking it and pushing the key under the door so Les could hand it in the morning, and then she was gone, not quite running because, even if she had been, she knew she could not outpace her own sense of shame.
Suzanna stumbled through her front door without really being aware of unlocking it, or even opening it. The entire journey back from the hotel took place in an out of body kind of blur. She could remember where she had gone, how she had travelled, but it was as if there was a gauze curtain between her and the events, reducing them to little more than an indistinct haze.
The entire way home, her mind had played with her like a cat playing with a mouse. Only a few steps out of the hotel, she had been convinced that she could still feel the old bastard’s tongue between the lips of her cunt, probing into her, wriggling like some obscene parasite trying to invade her. A few steps more, and she was hallucinating the feel of his breath hot and moist against her thighs and groin.
She had felt her legs sticking together as she had walked, his spittle turning into a sticky goo, but again, she was not sure, even then, how much of that had been in her mind and how much in reality. Sitting behind the wheel of her car, it had even felt as if it was still his face, not the car seat, beneath her. The seatbelt around her waist had not been a safety restraint, but his hands, holding tight to her as he ate out her cunt. Suzanna had re-lived every lick, every thrust of his tongue, every time he had closed his mouth on one of her lips, or over her clit, every time he had tongue-fucked her.
The tricks her mind had played on her had almost been fatal. She had nearly driven straight off the road nearly three times as, distracted by her shame-induced hallucinations, she had let go of the wheel with one hand and pawed at herself, trying to wipe the spit away with her panties or her skirt. In all honesty, Suzanna did not know how she had managed the drive back to her home.
Now, she slammed the door behind her, as if trying to shut out the memories and, just for a moment, she leant with her back against the solid wood. It was somehow comforting. And, for a few beats of her heart, she felt better. She started to slump, to slide down the door until she was sitting on the floor, her back still to it. But the movement shifted her panties, and suddenly she felt them, wet with Les’ spit, pressing tightly to her, pulled up by her slide down the door so that they bunched into a thin rope, pressing between the lips of her cunt and, just like that, it was as if his tongue was in her again.
Suzanna felt her stomach clench, her guts rebel at the thought. Somehow, the taste of vomit filling her mouth, she managed to scramble, half on her feet, half on hands and knees, from the front door to the bathroom, and get her head over the toilet before she threw up. She rested both forearms on the seat of the toilet, her hair hanging either side of her like a curtain as she emptied her stomach of, what felt like, everything she had ever eaten in her life. The vile taste of acid and bile overpowered her as she closed her eyes, hot tears of shame pouring down her face as she retched again, feeling as though she was emptying her life into the porcelain bowl.
Finally, when there was nothing left in her, and she felt as physically hollow as she felt emotionally empty, Suzanna managed to rock herself back so that she was kneeling before the toilet. Her thoughts seemed to bounce around inside the empty space of her head, ricocheting off the inside of her skull. Memories of what she had done, thoughts, images, all flashing past in a blur.
She forced herself to her feet and, as she rose, Suzanna glimpsed herself in the mirror. Her hair was lank from sweat, her face stained with vomit and tears. Sweat plastered her clothes to her chest and back, and her skirt clung, moist at the front from soaked in saliva. Her thighs glistened with drying spit and suddenly, Suzanna could not bear to look at herself.
With a scream, she spun away from the mirror, and started tearing at her clothes. She felt more than dirty, somehow unclean. She tore her shirt off, the buttons popping and flying everywhere. Her bra snapped in her hurry to get it off and she tore the clasp of her skirt as she forced it down her legs. She clawed at her wet panties, pushing them down, kicking them off her feet. She felt a sudden burning, irresistible desire for something to cleanse her, to purify her.
Suzanna practically threw herself across the bathroom and into the shower, grabbing the taps and turning them on full. Water so hot it was almost scalding cascaded down over her and she stood there, facing the showerhead, her head bowed, her hands braced on the walls, sobbing to herself as the hot water washed over her. She grabbed the curled-up exfoliator and began to scrub at herself, pouring shower gel over her body directly, even as she rubbed at it. She scrubbed hard, in a sudden, blazing frenzy; less scrubbing than scouring. She rubbed at herself with the course material so hard that it hurt. She lathered and rinsed her thighs and crotch again, and again, and again, rubbing until her skin was almost raw. She leaned over to the sink reaching for the disinfectant she kept there and sobbed as she scrubbed herself with it, her breath coming in huge, wracking gasps and, eventually, she once again sank to the floor, squatting in the shower, her arms wrapped around her legs as the water continued to pour over her, eventually going from scalding to hot, to warm to tepid, and finally to cold.
At last, Suzanna pulled herself out of the shower, forcing herself to stand. She still did not look at the mirror. She did not want to face herself. She staggered out of the bathroom, ignoring her scattered clothes. She trod on the wig she had worn, lying just outside the bathroom door. She did not remember taking it off. Somehow, she found herself standing by her bed. And then she collapsed, emotionally and physically exhausted, falling onto the soft covers, even though she was soaking wet, she did not care. She could not care. Her last feeling was one of relief that it was over, as a dreamless sleep took her.
When she opened her eyes, Suzanna had no concept of time. She had no way of knowing if she had been asleep for seconds, minutes, or hours. She sat up slowly. Her stomach ached from the vomiting, and she was still damp. The bedclothes beneath her were soaked and for a moment, she could not remember why. She sat up and blinked, and, slowly, the memories came back to her. The hotel room, Les, and the drive home. Once in her bathroom her cheeks heated with shame and humiliation as she made herself get up. Her empty stomach ached for food, but she had almost no appetite.
Suzanna stepped into the bathroom, and turned, for a moment, into a statue, transfixed by what she saw. Her clothes, ripped and ruined, tossed about like trash. The shower was still running, the water ice cold. She winced at the smell from the toilet she realised she had not flushed it after her attack of vomiting. The pine tang of the disinfectant reminded her of the dirt she had felt engrained in her body. Moving like a robot, as if in a dream, she turned off the shower and began to gather up the clothes. Holding them, bundled in her arms, she went to the wash basket… and paused.
She stood over the basket for a long, long time, holding the soiled, ruined clothes in her arms and then, very deliberately, she left the bathroom, and went to the rubbish bin. One by one, she dropped them into it. The soiled knickers. The torn bra. The ripped skirt. The button-less shirt. Still moving like a puppet, she returned to the bathroom, and then she saw it: The envelope. It lay on the floor underneath where her shirt had been. It was fat and bulging with money. It was the reason she had done what she had done.
Suzanna picked it up cautiously, as if it were a hand-grenade, rather than a huge wad of cash. She held it, and at once, her hands felt dirty again, as if the money itself carried the shame of the last night like some sort of disease. Suzanna found herself holding it at arm’s length, standing over the toilet. The envelope dangled above the bowl and, for a moment, the mad, crazy idea flashed through her mind just to drop it, to flush it away with the rest of the vomit, away with every reminder of her shame.
And then, she thought about the other envelope. The demonic envelope, containing the demand for payment that had forced her into the Faustian bargain with Les. If she dropped the money, then she would have sold her soul for nothing. Even Judas had had his thirty pieces of silver… Suzanna turned and carefully laid the envelope beside the sink, and then turned back to flush the toilet, and wished that her memories could disappear in a rush of water just as easily as the contents of the bowl did.
She kept her mind blank as she washed her hands, and then dried herself. Pulling a light robe around herself, she took the envelope of money, went back to the bedroom, and tucked it under her panties in the bedside cabinet. She was not sure why she put it there, but something told her to, and she listened, besides, it seemed appropriate somehow.
By now, her need for food was so intense it felt as if her stomach was cramping. Even though she did not, truthfully, have any appetite, she went into the kitchen to fix herself two pieces of dry toast. Honestly, she doubted she could force anything else down. Nibbling at a corner, she sat down in front of the television, hoping for something to distract her.
She was shocked to see that it was time for the lunchtime news. She could not remember what time she had gotten home the night before, but she could not believe that it had been that late. Which meant she must have slept for the entire morning. She forced the toast down, only half listening. The newsreader was saying something about divisions in the government, about the economy slipping back into recession, about someone found guilty of a murder committed twenty years ago because of new techniques in analysing DNA evidence. It all slipped over Suzanna like water. First the national news, then the weather, and then the local news: Some petition to evict a group of travellers from land next to school playing fields had amassed ten thousand signatures, two men had nearly died trying to rescue a dog stranded by incoming tides…It all washed over her.
And then… Suzanna’s head jerked around, her attention caught by something she had half-heard. “…body of an elderly man, in his seventies…” the newsreader was saying. “…found in the morning by a maid cleaning the rooms…” Suzanna’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates as she saw the suited reporter, standing directly in front of the hotel where she had been last night! The plate, with its cargo of half-eaten toast, tumbled suddenly from her nerveless fingers as the television report received all of her attention:
“Police have identified the body as that of Leslie Adams, seventy-three,” the newsreader was saying. Suzanna’s heart skipped a beat at the name. “Next of kin have been informed, and the police are appealing to anyone who may have seen Mr. Adams that night…”
Next to the reporter’s head, a photo appeared, and, if her heart had skipped a beat before, now it seemed to freeze in her chest. Les’ face stared at her from the screen. The same face that had, just hours ago, been pressed into her pussy…
A noise somewhere between a moan and a whimper escaped her half-open mouth as she stared, transfixed, at that face, up until the moment that the picture changed, and another story began. But Suzanna did not see the next story about a crossing for wildlife, all she saw was Les’ face. And all she remembered was the way the old bastard had bucked and convulsed beneath her, before lying perfectly still, immobile, lifeless, as she had fled.
She stared, unseeing, at the television, as the news became the weather, and then the weather gave way to other programming. She stared, and stared, always seeing the same old face, feeling the bucking, the jerking, over and over until, startling her out of her reverie, the phone began to ring.
It took several rings to galvanise her into action. Fear of who it could be calling her had her nerves jangling in time with the ringing of the telephone. It took her a moment to realise that, if she were suspected of Les’s death, it was unlikely that the police would be contacting her by phone.
In her befuddled mind Suzanna did not at first register who it was that was speaking to her. The voice of the reporter on the television was still trapped in her head, blocking out the words of the caller trying to penetrate her brain. Only when she heard him shouting: “Annie, Annie?” at her did he manage to get through to her.
“Gary…” she all but screamed his name. This time his voice held no fear for her, only anger that he should still be trying to get back into her life. After everything she had just gone through, after the horror and fear she was feeling over Les, what was he to her? She neither had the time or the patience for the man. “What do you want?” She spat the words out at him.
“I was just wondering how you were. The mail…”
For some reason she was seething at the man, all her fears and hatred came spilling out of her. “Oh yes, the mail? I take it this means you knew what one of the letters were about. Ringing to gloat, are we?”
Gary stammered out his reply. He had never heard Suzanna react this way before. “I just thought…”
“Yes Gary.” Suzanna cut him short. “That’s always been your trouble, thinking for other people. Controlling, that’s what I call it! Well, sorry to disappoint you but I’ve sorted it out, all by my little pathetic useless self! I would prefer it if you stopped bothering me and let me get on with my life, without you in it! You made your choices, now leave me to make mine. Goodbye!” Without giving him the chance to reply, she slammed the phone down hard, like a full stop to her relationship with him.
Collapsing back down into her armchair, Suzanna sobbed uncontrollably. Tucking her legs up into the seat, almost folding herself into a foetal position, she cried herself to sleep.