LITMIR.BIZ

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The sharp click of the latch was like a switch in my brain. It was a split-second sense of unease. Probably my lack of sleep making me jittery.

       Smarten up, Luke. Look at where you are.

      I was in a sexy woman’s front room, in a nice house in suburbia, and she wanted to sit down and feel comfortable and relaxed and have a drink with a guy like me. That was all.

      ‘I’m having a whisky and soda. Would you like one?’

      ‘Yes, thanks.’

       Hair of the dog. And some.

      She gestured me towards her leather sofa and I sank into it as she fixed the drinks. The respite was all fine by me, because I needed to ease into the right groove if the sex was going to go well. The alcohol would help kick-start my confidence.

       How many clients does it take before it’s all water off a duck’s back?

      Clare handed me a glass, and stood before me and watched me take a sip, then took a sip of her own. She ran her gleaming white teeth over her top lip.

      ‘Look, you don’t mind if we don’t use the bedroom?’

      I shook my head. ‘Nope. Wherever you’re happy,’ I smiled, trying to put her at her ease.

      She looked over at the closed door. ‘I like to keep the noise out, you know.’

      Clare bent her head towards me and drew the hand that wasn’t holding her whisky glass up my neck so my upturned lips met hers.

      Actually, I didn’t know. Okay, people would start leaving their homes about now to go to work, but apart from the odd slammed door and cars passing the house, it wasn’t exactly Piccadilly Circus around here.

      Then she tensed and pulled away from me as if someone had walked across her grave. And whoever it was, at that moment they’d walked over mine too.

       What is it? There’s something not quite right about this set-up.

      My head was in no fit state to make much sense of what the hell was happening, but a moment later Clare had gathered herself together and it was as if any unease she’d just felt now spurred her on. Falling to her knees, she set down her glass by my feet and grabbed at my belt and unbuckled it fast. She was dragging my jeans from my hips even as I was pulling off my shirt.

      Clare’s hands were around my dick and she was drawing her open mouth to it and I was scrabbling around in my pockets for protection while all the while my body couldn’t have given a damn. And I held the condom out to her and those inviting lips of hers halted in mid ‘O’ and she flicked an evil grin up at me from between my legs. ‘Sixty-nine,’ she growled, and grabbed at my waist, and we struggled and tumbled together onto the rough of the carpet.

      Hers was a damn practised mouth that jackhammered me to my senses and slewed off my shattered drunken skin. I drew her nightdress up from her ankles along the length of her legs towards me and buried my face in its silk before burrowing beneath it with my tongue. Clare writhed with pleasure as I licked her clean.

      I flickered licks and kisses over her belly towards the uplands of her breasts and she rose on her elbows to meet me and I wiped my mouth on the back of my hand and kissed her. I kicked my legs from under me and entwined them with hers and drew her down towards the floor again.

      I ran my hand up her smooth thigh and she eyed me with desire.

      ‘You’re my birthday present,’ she whispered as I leaned back and ripped the wrapper off another condom with my teeth.

      ‘What?’ I raised my eyebrows.

      ‘I celebrated with friends last night but you’re my private party,’ she grinned.

      ‘Happy birthday,’ I replied as I thrust into her.

      She gasped, and her legs on reflex buckled upwards, caging me between them. Her hands on my back gripped tighter. I got into my stride, my eyes all the while intent on her. The rise of her breasts in unison with my own rhythmic drive towards her, the taut honeyed length of her neck, her handsome jaw-line jutting upwards, her closed eyes and the healthy thickness of her hair. And half a metre away was the telly on a corner-stand, and below it the DVD player, and on the slim shelf between them a revolver.

       What the fuck…?

      I’d never before seen a real live gun. Or maybe it was fake. But the point was, I had no idea. And Clare was within reaching distance.

      She could clip me right here and nobody would know. All my friends are asleep. I could just vanish into thin air, and nobody would ever know.

      It wasn’t as if she even looked in that direction. She was too busy being pleasured by me. But if she’d got a gun in the house, what on earth was it for? Protection against me? Or against someone else? I certainly couldn’t concentrate on the sex any more. I just wanted out of there.

      The lovemaking slowed to a halt and Clare and I drew apart. I tried to act as if nothing was the matter. Our session would soon be drawing to a close—the minutes were ticking by. We settled back on the sofa.

      ‘Would you like a coffee?’ she asked.

      ‘No, no, I’m fine.’

      ‘I could certainly do with one. You stay here.’

       No, you stay here. I don’t want you anywhere but here.

      If she remained with me then I had some chance of controlling the situation. Out of my sight, I hadn’t a clue what she might be up to. But I couldn’t say anything without alerting her suspicions and she left the room.

      So, my hunch earlier had been right and not just a figment of my drink-addled imagination. There was something out of kilter about this place. I tried to avoid looking at the gun but it had a magnetic appeal. I anxiously looked away. I didn’t want Clare to come back in and find me staring at it.

      The more I thought about it, the more I was certain it wasn’t just the two of us in the house either. During the sex, I’d had the distinct impression we were being watched, even though the door was shut. I hadn’t a clue how anybody could see us, but I just felt it. It gave me the creeps.

      Or maybe I was just imagining things. You could scare yourself shitless if you wanted to. I flicked another look over at the ledge beneath the telly. The gun was still there. I damn well wasn’t imagining that, that’s for sure.

      Suddenly, I heard muttering outside the door. My whole body stiffened. I didn’t give a damn about the money. I just wanted to collect my stuff and get the hell out of there. Seconds later, Clare came back into the room with a mug of coffee in her hand. I tried to act as if nothing was wrong. We even had sex again because I just wanted to do what was needed to get out of there as quickly as possible. The gun in my head I had to force into the shape of my cock battering Clare’s pussy so I could perform. I didn’t even need to wait for her to call a cab. I could do that myself once I was down the street and away from here.

      But I didn’t need to. She’d already arranged it for me and gave me my fee and the fare. When the cab came to collect me, I took one last wary look at the gun under the telly. I was back in the porch before Clare asked if she could phone for me again.

      ‘No problem,’ I muttered. ‘No problem.’ Hoping desperately that she wouldn’t. And I walked out into the early morning sunshine, hurried down the garden path without a look back, and climbed into the car and was out of there.

      ‘So, how goes it, stud?’ Mark threw at me across the grass as we lounged around after our regular evening kick-around in the park.

      Mark knew perfectly well how things were going with the escort work. I’d gone to bed as soon as I’d got back from a gruelling stint at the café to catch up on the lost zeds and told him about my time with Clare when he came in later from his temping job. He’d seemed impressed with the combo of

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