The Mammoth Book of Short Erotic Novels by Maxim Jakubowski Page A

fault.”
    “Sounds very much like one-way traffic to me.”
    “She said that the coming of my seventeenth birthday would mark a significant point in our relationship. That I had satisfied her so far and she would show me her gratitude on this
occasion.”
    “What did she do?”
    “We drove to Brussels on a Saturday morning. I thought she would be getting me new outfits at the shop in the Galerie, but this was not the case. It was a large building in the suburbs,
a doctor she knew well. I would come across him again at the special parties. He used electrolysis to depilate my pubic area. I’m told it will never grow back again. Then, he pierced my
breasts and fitted the rings I still have now. I was in heaven. I was Anne-Louise’s slave, in both body and spirit.”
    “What are those special parties you mentioned?”
    “They occurred later. I will tell you.”
    “OK.”
    Their second full day in Manhattan. The spring weather is clement. They walk. Catch cabs. Shop. Snack. Battery Park. The Cloisters. Central Park, watching the squirrels hop
along the scarce vegetation.
    They talk.
    “Are you happy?” he asks her. “It’s such fun showing you this city, all these places I have known and liked for years. I try and imagine what it feels for you to see them
for the first time.”
    “It’s nice,” she answers. “But you’re too soft with me. I don’t deserve this, you know. If I were in your place, I would be crueller, much harder. Somehow I
think you’re too sensitive. Almost like a girl . . .”
    His face clouds over. “If you were in charge and I was a girl, would you fuck me?” he quietly inquires.
    “I would,” Thalie says. “I would stretch you, hurt you until you plead for mercy, but I wouldn’t give you any. I have been taught well. Switching is no
problem.”
    “I see.”
    “Would you prove your devotion to me by letting me treat you like that?” Thalie asks him as they cross toward the Plaza Hotel.
    He doesn’t hesitate. “I would,” he replies.
    “OK,” she says.
    They catch a cab which takes them to a dark side street near the Port Authority Terminal. In a sex shop manned by Pakistani assistants, they buy a strap-on dildo. Flesh-coloured, veined,
awesomely realistic and life-size. And handcuffs. So that he doesn’t change his mind, she says.
    He is in no hurry to return to their hotel room.
    He reminds her she wanted to go to Macy’s.
    She wanders indifferently through the designer label departments.
    “I want to buy you something nice,” he insists.
    “Why?” she queries. “How do you want me to dress? Like a whore or a princess?”
    “As a young woman.”
    She agrees to stockings, a silk cream-coloured see-through blouse and a flowing skirt in rainbow colours.
    They arrive back at the hotel mid-afternoon. The room has been made, and the smells of sex have faded.
    “Undress,” she orders him, herself stripping from the waist downwards and fitting the strap-on belt around her waist. He notices she has reattached the safety pin and the
padlock.
    He silently sheds his clothes, takes a step towards the bathroom, planning to wash the sweat away from his body.
    “Don’t,” she forbids him. “I want you dirty. I want to smell your vileness as I fuck you.”
    He knows he shouldn’t protest; his face reddens as his arse crack feels all clammy, and his feet sticky.
    “On your knees. NOW!”
    He gets down on all fours.
    “Raise your head.”
    He does. His eyes are parallel with her labial rings. He notices she is seeping there. She is excited. She thrusts the artificial cock toward his mouth.
    “Suck me,” she intimates.
    The rubbery material fills his mouth; the taste is unpleasant. She only lets him suck the dildo for a minute or two then withdraws it and places herself behind him. All she wanted was for him to
wet it.
    She places the strap-on head against the outer ring of his sphincter and begins pushing it in.
    It enters him with surprising ease. Initially, there