Eat Me by Linda Jaivin Page B

course. I remember now. There was one who used to trail you around like a pageboy to a princess. As a matter of fact, if I remember correctly, they were all a bit like that. Besotted.’
    â€˜I think,’ said Chantal, drawing on her fag, ‘I liked Bram because he was different. He seemed, I don’t know, stronger, less malleable and more defined.’
    Philippa sucked a few globules of caviar off the top of a cracker and waited for Chantal to continue. ‘So, did he seduce you or what?’
    Chantal considered the question. ‘I suppose you could say that I seduced him.’
    Bernard rolled onto his back. Philippa blew on his tummy. His head hung off her lap and almost touched Chantal’s silver satin-covered thigh. His eyes closed, and a thin train of saliva dribbled down onto the shiny fabric. Absorbed in her memories once more, Chantal didn’t even notice. All she ever needed to do, she was thinking, was turn around and walk out. Bram was still beckoning to her. She shook her head. She nearly did walk out then.
    The reason she didn’t was because she decided that she would neither give in nor give up. No. She would have him, but on her terms, not his. She drew herself up to her full height. (She’d been stooping slightly so he wouldn’t seem shorter than her, which he was.) She looked him straight in the eye. A smile played across his features, but she greeted it with a cold sneer.
    â€˜Take your shirt off,’ she ordered.
    He looked surprised.
    â€˜Or should I just go home?’
    She could see from his eyes that this new game excited him. He put the joint out in the ashtray, pulled his shirt over his head and leaned back on his elbows. ‘What next, Natasha-girl?’ he asked.
    â€˜Trousers. Boots. Socks.’
    He did as he was told.
    â€˜Good boy,’ she said.
    Chantal had noticed candles stuck to saucers or jutting out of candlesticks around the room. She put down her beer, fished her lighter from her purse and walked around the room touching the flame to the wicks and watching them sizzle to life. He watched her, trying to appear cool but it’s hard to look cool when you’re just wearing little red briefs. She could see he was getting a hard-on.
    He’d switched on a lamp that rested on a shelf above the bed when he’d come in. She knelt on the bed to turn it off. When she did that, he wrapped his bony fingers around her leg just above the knee. She stared down at his hand. ‘Off,’ she said. He relaxed his grip and looked at her with a curious expression on his face.
    Men. Treat ’em mean and keep ’em keen. How true it is. Chantal sat down in the chair and crossed her legs. ‘Take off your jocks.’
    He took off his jocks.
    â€˜Good boy,’ she repeated. She liked the patronising sound of it.
    He was horny as a toad. Chantal laughed. This seemed to make him even harder.
    â€˜Play with yourself,’ she told him. Her heart was pounding. She was on unmapped territory here. She’d never actually seen a man spank the monkey before. She found herself hypnotised by the rhythm of his hand and the incense of the scented candles. She uncrossed her legs.
    Still pulling away, his eyes bulging, he watched riveted as Chantal slowly pulled off her own shirt, and then wriggled out of her long skirt, which she let fall to the floor. She then unlaced and toed off her Docs and pulled off her socks. Black socks, of course. She still had on her favourite slip, a black satin number she’d got in an op shop. It had a rip at the hem. Leaving the slip on, she reached up for her panties and snaked out of them as well.
    She sat and watched him for a while like that.
    Spreading her legs a bit more, she inched her slip up until she was just exposed to him. She was very wet. She inserted her fingers into herself and then pulled them out and sucked them.
    â€˜Natasha, please...’ he moaned.
    She ignored him. Taking her time,