The Maestro (2 page)

Her hunger,
though, was too deep and urgent to be satisfied merely by his
tongue. Delightful though it was, it carried too much promise of
the hot, thick cock she had felt push against her panties.

As if sensing
this, he climbed up from his kneeling position. She reached her
hand behind her and found his penis, liberated it from his slacks,
unzipping him first, then sneaking her fingers into the flap of his
briefs. She couldn't see his tool, but it felt so beautiful, thick
and long. Her hand began stroking him from the base of its shaft to
the thick ridge of the bulbous dome.

She wanted to
take it in her mouth, to lick the head, taking the whole of him
between her glossed lips, but the desire to have him inside the
burning heat between her legs was too overwhelming. She pulled his
cock towards her.

He slid into
her slowly. First pressing the engorged head of his hefty member
against her labial lips; his hot dome slid along the juiced folds
before slipping inside her. His thick meat pressed against the warm
flesh of her cunny muscles, expanded inside her as she clenched
tight onto him harder and harder with every stroke of his cock.

Suddenly, he
thrust inside her, pushing further up her than any man had ever
done, stuffing her with his hot meat, making her gasp hard at the
depth of the insertion. He placed his hands on her shoulders and
pulled her body roughly onto him, ramming his cock even deeper
inside her.

The pace
suddenly increased, became frantic, the strokes lengthening, her
bottom slapping off his tensed thighs. She wanted to scream again,
to cry out with the rough pleasure that he was bringing her, but
she dared not give in to such venting of her pleasure. She could
feel him throbbing, swelling inside her, his hands gripping her
shoulders more fiercely, propelling her harder and harder onto him.
He was filling her like no man had filled her before. His teeth
were nipping her ear. His hands reached down from her shoulders and
caressed her breasts. Then he tugged her already tumescent nipples
between his fingers, his thick cock rammed even harder inside her,
almost ruthlessly. She felt totally dominated by him.

Before it
happened she knew that it was going to happen; that they would
orgasm together, that as soon as he shot his seed into her, she
would climax. She did not know, though, that the moment he
ejaculated, his hands would sweep down to her hips and he would
swivel her around his stiff pole, so that her orgasm would be so
breathtakingly intense.

It must have
lasted for a moment, but the moment seemed to contain an infinity
in its centre. As her hips rotated on his twitching cock, she felt
each gush of his jism as a counter point to each elated electric
shiver that passed through her.

He didn't pull
out of her straight away. His hands reached up to her ruby nipples
and pinched them again lightly between his fingers. It felt like he
was touching her nerve ends, the painful pressure managing to
prolong her orgasm even further beyond its natural course.

When it was
over, he kissed her so tenderly on the neck it had shocked her
almost as much as the force of his prodigious sexual power. He
turned her around and sat her down on the edge of the bath. He
pulled out a card from his back pocket and passed it to her.

'Call me!' he
said smiling, knowing, she was sure, that she would obey him. She
was too astounded by what had happened to reply, merely acquiescing
with a nod of the head. 'Don't worry, I'll go down first. I'll sort
it out.'

'What do you
mean?'

'The dress,
you know, it doesn't normally take so long to clean, especially as
there are two of us. Don't worry!' He smiled beautifully at her,
stroked the side of her face, leaned over, kissed her on the lips,
and with that, he was gone. She knew already that she had fallen
crazily in love with him.

She had to
stay in the bathroom for a little while longer, until, at least,
the blush of her face paled so that nobody would suspect, but
surely they must, that anything had happened between them.

However, five
minutes later as she descended the spiral staircase she was met not
with smirking faces, but with concerned looks.

'How's the
headache?' the host asked. 'Sebastian told us...'

'I hope you
don't mind,' Sebastian looked at her, smiling.

It was not
what he had said - the excuse for their lengthy absence was in
reality quite lame - so much as the conviction he had said it with,
the true thespian skill, managing to pull off such an incredible
suspension of disbelief.

Her index
finger continued to strum the hard nub of her clitoris, the memory
of Sebastian inside her fading, being replaced by another figure.
She shouldn't let him into her fantasy like that, it was a fateful
portent, but she couldn't help it.

If she was
honest with herself it was another thing to be added her list of
reasons for going to Barcelona, something that she did not
willingly place in the forefront of her mind: Alfonso. Of course
she didn't love him; of course there was nothing like that. And he
was, after all, Sebastian's friend, had known him long before she
had met him. Maybe this was what had been the problem with
Sebastian: Sebastian knew exactly what Alfonso was like and perhaps
he had detected something about Linda's desire to go to Barcelona
and her swift willingness to give up work that was not purely
concerned with proving herself as an artist. It might go some way
to explaining his flippant attitude towards her lately when she
spoke about her artistic ambitions. He was usually so
encouraging.

What was
Alfonso's attraction? He wasn't so handsome, quite normal looking
once you took away the exotica of Latin allure; he had an
attractive dark complexion, deep brown eyes, and his body was firm
and muscular, but he certainly was not in the Sebastian league of
good looks. No, it wasn't that he was so handsome, she thought; it
was that there was something quite immoral, or at least amoral
about him. He always made it perfectly clear that he was very
attracted to her, usually as soon as Sebastian left the room. He
would look in a certain leering way at her, or momentarily take her
hand in his own and make some feeble pass in his best English.

At first she
had found it disconcerting, but over time his constant flirting had
become a joke between them, Linda realising that it was a kind of
reflex action, it was the way he was with every attractive woman he
knew. It was different now though. Before Alfonso was always aware
that Sebastian was on the scene and that she wasn't likely to stray
from the marital bed, but now with three months together in
Barcelona. She couldn't stop wondering how she would react when, as
he inevitably would, he made his first attempt to seduce her.

She imagined
Alfonso naked, his huge member swelling before her eyes. In her
mind's eye she was taking him in her mouth, sucking hard on his
engorged phallus while he towered above her, propelling her head up
and down on him. She imagined holding him by the purple head,
licking the whole length of his shaft, taking each one of his balls
in her mouth, sucking on the coarse skin.

Then she was
straddling him. His soft hands were reaching up to pinch hard on
her erect nipples, as Sebastian had done during that first
encounter. She, still sitting on the kitchen stool, tweaked her own
breasts until she felt a sharp pain shoot through her chest; she
saw herself watching his tool piston in and out of her, so fast and
hard.

She moaned
with the pleasure that she was bringing to herself, that she
imagined Alfonso was bringing to her with his steel rod, clenching
hard now on her hips, pushing her harder onto him.

The telephone
rang, interrupting her. It was Alfonso.

'
Carina!
'

'Alfonso.'

'What time is
your flight?'

She still
could not get the picture of him fucking her out of her mind. Her
hand instinctively reached down to feel the moistness between her
legs. She was blushing now, partly because of the hot pressure of
her sexual excitement, and partly because she was embarrassed to
have fantasised about the man she was now speaking to on the
telephone.

'Four-thirty.'

'Spanish
time.'

'Yes, Spanish
time.'

'I can meet
you.' He sounded his natural jovial self.

'It's okay,
you don't have to.'

'I want
to.'

'Are you
sure?'

'Of course,
Linda, but I won't be alone,' he said, purposefully wistfully so
Linda thought. It did strangely disappoint her though.

'No?'

'No,
mi amor
will be there.'

'I didn't know
that you were seeing anyone, Alfonso.' This was better; this was
the safe ground of mutual flirtatious teasing, a mere
inconsequential game.

'But I'm
always seeing someone, Linda.' He chortled lewdly on the other end
of the line.

'Look,
seriously, if you're busy, I can make my own way to the hotel. I
can meet you tomorrow.'

'Linda, first
I want to meet you, secondly Maria wants to meet you. She's very
interested in you after what I've told her, and thirdly what would
you think of Catalan hospitality? There is a nation's honour at
stake.'

'Well thank
you. I can see that you wouldn't want to disgrace your country.'
She laughed.

'Did Sebastian
get away okay?'

'Yes, this
morning.'

'I'm looking
forward to seeing you very much, Linda.'

'And I'm
looking forward to seeing you, Alfonso.'

'Good.'

'Linda,
fantastic to see you!'

She was barely
through the perspex parting door and into the arrival's hall when
she saw the tall figure of Alfonso coursing up to her from the
metal rail. He looked more healthy than normal; his naturally sepia
skin was tanned to a darker brown hue. He looked good, too, in the
baggy collar-less cotton shirt and the casual beige slacks.

His embrace
was long and firm. She could smell a heady masculine aroma of
cologne on his soft skin as he held her tightly.

'Alfonso!' she
exclaimed theatrically when they withdrew.

'Good
flight?'

'Perfect.' No,
he wasn't as good-looking as Sebastian, but for such a rogue he had
beautiful, soulful eyes.

She momentarily scanned the people clustered behind Alfonso
for his
amor
, but
she could not detect anybody that she felt he would be attracted
to.

'Maria
couldn't make it, but we can meet tonight for dinner, if that is
okay?' he said as if reading her mind.

He took the
luggage trolley with a proprietorial eagerness and began wheeling
it through the crowded concourse.

'So this
Maria, is it love?'

He laughed.
'You know I have always found that concept a little, what can I
say?'

'Challenging?'

'Challenging.'
He mulled the word over in his mind. 'Maria is very
interesting.'

As the sliding
doors opened she was hit by the warmer, Spanish air.

'Where did you
meet her?'

'She's a
model.'

'An artist's
model?'

'Yes.'

'Isn't there
some Hippocratic thing about that?'

'Most of the
great artists fell for their models, not that I am a great artist,
but I do know great beauty when I see it.'

'So, she's
beautiful?'

'Of course she's beautiful, but then again
mi carina
, so are you.'

They drove
into the centre of the city in Alfonso's lipstick-red sports car.
She had visited Barcelona many times before, for pleasure or
conferences and once with Sebastian when he had been filming
something for the BBC about the Spanish Civil War, but however many
times she came, there was still that rush of adrenaline when she
reached the outskirts of the city.

'I've reserved
a room for you at the Imperial on Las Ramblas, near the Opera
House.'

'Fantastic.'

'You know
it?'

'Yes, I stayed
there once with Sebastian. It's fabulous.'

Occasionally
as Alfonso drove through the broad nineteenth century avenues of
the grid like L'Eixample, he would turn to look at her as they
aimlessly chatted. She didn't know where his gaze rested through
his opaque sunglasses, whether it was her face, her fulsome
breasts, her lap or the expanse of her sun-starved shapely legs
beneath her cream shorts. She found it arousing never quite knowing
where his eyes strayed, where they lingered, or what erotic images
they were producing in his lusty mind.

They parked in
an underground car park near the hotel, Alfonso insisting on
lugging both her suitcases the short block to the hotel.

A certain
sexual tension was building in her, an affect of the excitement of
the day, she supposed later, of imagining Alfonso fucking her, of
sitting beside him in the car, of anticipating what it would be
like to go to bed with him in her hotel room. She was also tired, a
little groggy from the flight, so her usual defences of logic and
her sense of plausibility as much of propriety were not as strong
as they might usually be. The thought of inviting him to her room
seemed lodged in her mind. She felt her heartbeat increase as she
watched Alfonso's broad shoulders and thick chest as he deposited
her cases near the reception desk in the hotel foyer.

But then he
turned to her, interrupting her just as she was about to speak.

'Look, I'm
very sorry, but I have to go now,' he said, passing her the key to
her room. 'Jordi here will get someone to take up your luggage.
You've got a wonderful view.'