Strong hands took Mary from behind. Her handsome lover, or a lusty chambermaid who’d simply wandered into the room at the wrong time? She assumed the latter, though it aroused her to let her imagination run, wild and free as a doe bounding through the forests, chased by an imperious stag, surrounded by enormous, phallic oaks. Images whirled through her mind as he entered her and thrust, and, contented and satisfied in his grasp, she stared up out of the window over gorgeous downtown Montreal, lit up in the nighttime. Were there voyeurs watching, she wondered, from apartment windows or cars? The thought only thrilled her more, sending a shiver from the tip of her head to the soft fleshy nodule on the visible end of her clitoris, a giddy delight and a spasming, heaving joy that might burst out of her at any moment, threatening to explode across the squeaking queen-sized bed.
Just moments before, Mary had watched him from across the floor of the sumptuous EconoLodge restaurant. It was the finest budget hotel in the city, filled with the great and the good, the beautiful and the wealthy. He’d been standing at the bar, sipping on a vodka martini, shaken, not stirred. Like James Bond, she thought, but with an elegant goatee beard and a full head of wild, spasming hair that flowed from his intelligent forehead in every direction.
“Dan Garvey,” he said, extending a hand as she curvaceously approached.
“The famous author,” she responded lustily, her eyes widening. Of course! How could she have been so foolish as to not recognise him? Daniel Garvey, author of the sweeping epics, filled with epic lusts and breathtaking characters and a kind of brilliant sexual philosophy that preached equality to all men and all women and everything in between.
“You’ve read my books,” he said, arching a sardonic eyebrow.
“I have,” she replied, with a sultry grin. Hurriedly, she glanced down in order to check that her cleavage was visible. She saw that he saw her looking, but she wasn’t concerned; presumably Garvey knew enough about strong-spirited, sexually-mature women to expect this sort of behaviour from her. “Would you like to go back to my room with me? I think I’d like to…inspire you for your next book.”
Garvey picked up on the double-entendre almost immediately.
“Why not?” he said, wryly chuckling as he raised his glass to her. “As it happens, I myself love nothing more than getting my pen out.”
She could have guessed that he was witty; but she was not prepared for the…other ways in which he was equipped. His member was a colossus; a great trunk of skin that swelled up out from his codpiece, spasming as he became aroused, like a phallic butterfly pressing itself up out of its cocoon, growing all of the time.
She ran a hand down his highly-toned chest, and then began to undress herself, already wet, breathing fast, anticipating his grand cock.
When he laid her down upon the bed, her underwear still clinging to her sweaty skin, and entered her for the first time, it was a great battering-ram, heaving against the gates of the shattered defences of her vagina. ‘THOLMOK’, she dubbed it, a monstrous and beautiful thing of iron and steel and spasming flesh that broke through the gates of her labial lips and set aflame the soft city that lay within. All feared THOLMOK, yea, and worshipped it too, as one worships a god.
The feverish assault went on, and on. Someone was crying out, in tortured ecstasy,‘Oh, God, yes! Yes! YES!’ and it took Mary a moment to realise it was her. His hands were rising, like tidal waves with fingers, over the mountains of her hilly breasts; Mary was in the Biblical Flood, swallowed up beneath him, and there was no Noah or Ark to be seen.
He finished, pulling out of her with a howl of ecstatic delight, his seed spraying forth over her thighs and the brown-patterned bed linen like a volcanic eruption from the tip of a gigantic domed minaret.
And then he turned her over, onto her back, prising her cheeks aside with the delicacy of an inquisitive child prising apart the inner segments of a Satsuma, and took her from behind, alternating between her defenceless entrances with breathtaking flexibility, and it was a good ache she felt in her vinegary loins and inside the spasming tract of her anus.
Afterwards, they did it again, and this time they pretended to be pirates.
In the morning, waking beside him, Mary realised that she’d never loved anyone so much.
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