Up Against The Wall

Prologue

'See anything you like?'

Charlie looked up hastily from the woman's cleavage. He was usually pretty good at not looking at women who weren't his wife. But this girl, with her shining blonde locks and plump red lips, had drawn his gaze down into the valley between her full, pert breasts.

She looks, he thought, like Jane did on our first day of university. Caught me off-guard.

He picked up one of the pamphlets from the table, as though the stack was what had drawn his eye.

'Uh, yeah,' he said. 'I'm very interested in...' The pamphlet said Parabolic Resonance Imaging, which he didn't trust himself to say convincingly. '...this.'

'Uh-huh.' The Jane lookalike wasn't fooled, but nor was she angered. She flashed him a perfect smile.

In high school, Charlie had fallen madly in love with Jane. She wasn't as loud as some of the other girls in his class, but when she spoke, it was with a quiet confidence that enthralled him. He saw her fail many times, but unlike everyone else he knew, he never saw her give up. And when she looked at him with her fierce blue eyes, he had the thrilling sense that she was seeing right through him.

Perhaps that was why she rejected him -- with devastating politeness -- when he asked her out.

Ultimately, that was a good thing. If Jane hadn't turned him down, he wouldn't have noticed Sally in his psychology class at university. The svelte, graceful redhead had a wicked sense of humour and an incredibly kind heart -- both of which might have completely escaped his attention if Jane had wanted to be more than just friends.

When Sally asked him for help with her psych homework, it didn't take Charlie long to realise that she didn't need it. Weeks later, he was cupping her freckled cheek as they shared tender kisses whenever her parents left the room. A year later, they were married. Jane had been a radiant bridesmaid at the wedding.

'Enjoying the show?' the girl asked.

Charlie snapped back to reality. He glanced around at the endless rows of noisy, crowded booths. The rain drummed on the ceiling, drowning out most people's voices and making the exhibition hall sound like a poorly tuned radio. The grey carpet, clean when he had arrived that morning, was already leopard-spotted with coffee stains.

'Sure,' he lied. 'How about you?'

'It's been pretty full-on,' the girl said. She stretched her shoulders back, thrusting her breasts forward, and groaned. 'I'm so sore. I'm really looking forward to my break.'

She waited for him to ask when it was.

Charlie held up the pamphlet in his left hand, so she could see his wedding ring.

'Thanks for this,' he said. 'But I have to run.'

'Oh, okay.' She hid her disappointment so well that Charlie wondered if he had only imagined that she was hitting on him. 'See you later.'

He escaped into the crowd, relieved. He was only average height, with curly hair and a slight build -- he wasn't used to being flirted with. He didn't know the protocols for rebuffing these advances.

Feeling guilty, he got out his phone and dialled Sally. He turned absent-mindedly as it rang, and found himself facing the Jane-lookalike again. She was chatting with a young, handsome man. From this angle, he could see her jeans hugging the pronounced curves of her butt. He turned away again.

His wife's voice came on the line. 'Hi, you've called Sally and Charlie. We're out and about, but if you leave a message, we'll call you back soon.'

A beep.

'Hi sweetie, it's me,' Charlie said. 'I just wanted to hear your voice. Give me a call when you're free, okay? Love you.'

He hung up. When he looked back, the girl was gone. Perhaps her break had begun.

He kept wandering around the trade show floor, weaving through the babbling throng. None of the booths interested him, and very few of them would be of any value to his company. Not for the first time, he cursed his boss for sending him on this fruitless mission.

After almost half an hour, he had a bundle of pamphlets, a handful of business cards, and a grumbling stomach. The food hall had looked fairly depressing -- stale paninis, weak coffee and not much else. He decided to go for a drive. Even a roadside cafe would be better than this.

His car was a long way from the main entrance of the exhibition hall. If he went out that way, he would be drenched by the time he reached it. He wondered if there were any other exits. None were signposted, but that didn't mean they weren't there.

A dim grey door lay in the shadows between two booths. Promising.

Charlie hesitated with his fingers on the handle. What if opening the door activated the fire alarm? What if the whole building had to be evacuated and it was his fault?

But no signs indicated that this was a risk. And hell, Charlie thought, at least that would get me out of the trade show.

He pushed the door open a crack. No good. It wasn't an exit -- just a storage closet, which currently held mountains of sticky notes and whiteboard markers.

Charlie was about to let the door fall closed when he heard an agonised moan.

He popped his head through the door, wondering if someone had fallen off a ladder inside--

And saw the girl, laying on her back on a stack of notepads. Her eyes were squeezed shut, and some of her hair had fallen over her face. Her tank top was pulled down to expose her bulging tits, which jiggled as her hips shifted on the pile. Her nipples stood straight up in the air, as though recently pinched. His jeans were tangled around one ankle, and her legs were spread wide.

A man was crouched on the floor before her, his head buried between her thighs, his muscular, naked back to Charlie. A shaded motorcycle was tattooed across his shoulder blade. It was hard to tell from behind, but Charlie thought it was the man he'd seen her talking to after he left.

'Yeah, yeah, yeah,' the girl hissed. 'Keep doing that. Oh, fuck.'

Charlie stood frozen for a second, hypnotised. It was the first pair of breasts he'd seen in the flesh since his wedding, other than Sally's -- and he hadn't seen Sally's in a long time, either. He could hear the soft, wet sounds of the man slurping at the girl's pussy.

'That's it.' The girl was breathing hard and fast. 'Yes, yes...'

Charlie bit his lip. Enticing though the sight was, it was wrong to watch. But when he closed the door, they might hear him.

His dick was throbbing in his pants. It was like his teenage fantasies of Jane, nude and horny, had come to life before his eyes.

'God!' the girl gasped, and she slid a hand down to her groin, rubbing in tiny circles as the man plunged his tongue into her. 'Fuck! Yes! Ah!'

She threw her head back and wailed. Her legs quivered on either side of the man's head. Figuring that she was making enough noise to cover the sound, Charlie stepped back and let the door fall shut.

He wondered if they had heard. He wondered if that could have been him, licking the girl's slit. He wondered how guilty he should feel about what he had seen.

He wondered what Jane was doing right now.

Chapter 1

The lipstick, sports-car red, gleamed as she blew a kiss to her reflection. Yes, Jane decided. That's the right shade.

She swept the tissues, stained with her previous attempts, into the bin and unhooked another button on her blouse. The bumps of her nipples were barely visible -- should she wear a thinner bra? And was that too much cleavage? Did she look comical?

She pushed her breasts together, examining the valley between them and the fringe of lace around the cups. No, not comical, she decided. Sexy.

The bathroom was the cleanest it had been in weeks. The makeup bottles which usually surrounded the sink were neatly lined up in the cupboard. The tiles had been swabbed with a soapy rag. The bathtub gleamed, free of hair and dust. She wasn't exactly sure why she'd had this sudden urge to clean. She wasn't expecting visitors. Perhaps the desire stemmed from subconscious guilt -- what she was about to do made her feel dirty.

She spritzed a little perfume onto her wrists and left the en suite, twirling in front of the full-length mirror on the closet door. She smoothed down her satin skirt, and bent over, looking back at her reflection. The skirt slid up, but didn't reveal her lack of underwear until her chest was parallel to the floor. Unless she had to change a tyre, no-one would see. No-one who wasn't supposed to.

Sitting down on the duvet, Jane rolled up the thigh-high stockings and strapped her feet into the three-inch obsidian heels she had chosen. Then she grabbed a leather bag from the dresser, and tossed in her phone, her keys, her wallet and a tube of lubricant.

As she returned to the mirror to examine her mascara one more time, she caught her own gaze and felt a sudden tightness in her lungs.

'Am I really doing this?' she asked, aloud.

The empty apartment offered no reply.

She reached up under her skirt, and traced a fingertip across her labia, trying to get herself aroused. It didn't work. She was too nervous.

Taking a deep breath, she waved away a fallen blonde lock like it was a troublesome fly. Then she left.

* * *

The further from the entrance she walked, the warmer it was. Jane could already feel a droplet of sweat tracing down her belly.

The neon lights under the bar threw shadows of the patrons onto the ceiling, where the plaster was carved into delicate patterns. A DJ with gel-crisped hair and a designer-faded T-shirt stood in the corner, ignoring everybody and largely ignored himself as he selected thumping house tracks to blast through the speakers. The air was thick with lust.

'Can I buy you a drink?'

She turned to face the boy. He was young, with scruffy hair and a shy grin. His sneakers were so white they almost glowed. His eyes, warm and brown like freshly-baked cake, never left hers.

'You wouldn't owe me anything for it,' he added. 'I'm just looking for someone to talk to. Want to tell me about yourself?'

He seemed genuine, which disqualified him. 'Sorry sweetie,' she said. 'I'm bad news. You don't want to know me.'

His smile faltered. 'I'm sure that's not true.'

'Tonight it is,' she said. 'Don't worry. You're cute; there'll be other girls.'

She turned away, and he let her go.

The man she was looking for would be on his own. Young-ish. Handsome, but maybe not as handsome as he thought. Eyeing the crowd, rather than his phone or a book. A wedding band on his finger.

Once she had ruled out all the couples and groups, few men remained. Most were too old, or ugly, or distracted. But one stood out.

Jane watched his biceps swirl under his skin as he lifted the beer to his lips. His hair was thick but close cropped, and a trace of stubble grazed his chin. His silk shirt was stretched across broad shoulders, and his jeans were tight around muscular buttocks. A golden ring gleamed on his left hand.

She imagined her legs wrapped around his hips, his hands tangled in her hair, his breath hot on her lips.

This was her last chance to back out. To admit that this had been a stupid idea, to come up with a new plan, to go home before he saw her.

After all, he was married, and not her usual type -- she might not be his type either. He may not even be interested.

But his royal-blue eyes, when they locked onto hers, left no room for doubt. He was interested.

* * *

Striking is the wrong word, Eric thought. Even stunning doesn't cover it.

As he took in the toned legs, the short skirt, the plump breasts, the tresses of silky blonde hair, his first thought was that she must be with somebody. She wasn't wearing a ring, but no woman who looked that good would be here alone.

But as she walked, her skirt hugging her smooth thighs, he realised that she was headed his way.

He told himself that this wasn't what why he was here. He had gotten all his projects done and come home from work a few hours early. Irene -- his exquisite wife, with her terracotta skin and eyes like black glass -- wasn't there. Nothing good was on TV, and he didn't want to strain his eyes on the laptop, so he came here. Just to have a drink and listen to some music until it was time to go to bed. He wasn't here to flirt with strangers.

But if all that was true, why hadn't he looked away, when the beautiful woman met his eye?

You're a bad man, he told himself.

The woman gave an apologetic smile as she squeezed past him to get to the bar. Her breasts grazed his stomach.

He swallowed the last of his beer. It was bitter, and too warm.

'I'll have a screwdriver,' the woman told the girl behind the bar. Her voice was dark and sultry.

The girl nodded, shaking loose some feathery hair. She started scooping ice into a glass, which jingled like sleigh bells.

'Can I get you another?' the woman asked, and it took him a moment to realise she was looking at him.

'Uh, sure,' Eric said. 'Crown.'

'And a Crown for my friend,' the woman told the bar girl, before turning back to him. 'I'm Sally.'

'Thanks,' he said. 'You don't look like a Sally.'

She looked shocked rather than amused, and suddenly he suspected that it was a false name.

'I don't?' she said.

He shrugged.

'Who do I look like?'

He considered the question. 'Serena,' he said. 'Or Sophia. Definitely something ending in A.'

The bar girl returned with the beer and the cocktail. The woman handed her fifteen dollars, and waved away the change.

'They're pretty names,' she said, passing him the beer.

'I agree.'

She clinked her glass against his. 'Cheers.'

'Cheers,' Eric said. 'I'm Grant.' You lie to me, he thought, and I lie to you.

'You do look like a Grant,' she said.

'Thanks, I think.' As he sipped his beer, he watched her tongue probe the straw and her lips purse around it.

'You from around here?' she asked, almost shouting over the music.

'Ten minutes' drive.'

'Sorry?' She offered her ear.

He leaned in closer. Her hair smelled of wild berries.

'Ten minutes' drive,' he said, practically cheek-to-cheek with her.

'I'm not sure I can wait that long,' she whispered, right into his ear. He felt her nails drag across the growing lump in his jeans.

Eric had never cheated before -- not exactly. Once, when Irene was visiting relatives in Vietnam, he went to a party without her. He got talking to a skinny brunette in a sequinned dress, and offered her a lift home. On arrival, he barely had time to pull the handbrake on before she wrapped her arms around his neck and slipped her tongue into his ear. He found his hand sliding up her smooth thigh toward her panties before he caught himself and asked her to leave the car.

This time, he was drunk. And the woman was gorgeous. Would he be able to resist?

'I'm married,' he said.

The woman leaned back just enough to meet his gaze. She was looking for loyalty to his wife, and not finding it.

'So am I,' she said. 'But my husband isn't available right now.'

She drew closer, her lips almost touching his. He could smell the toothpaste she had used. Her eyes, huge and blue, swallowed his gaze.

'Is he better off if I go hungry?' she said. 'Is your wife?'

Her palm was flat across his cock. He could feel it pulsing in her hand.

'Let's get out of here,' he said.

She spun and walked away, hips swaying. For a moment, he thought he had offended her. Then he realised he was supposed to be following.

* * *

As they emerged into the cool night air, the woman turned left instead of right. Her bouncing hair was glossy in the moonlight.

A few sedans coasted past along the blacktop, looking for parking spaces. Posters which advertised local bands fluttered in the breeze. Eric could hear the sizzling of a churros stand somewhere nearby, and smell the sweet batter.

'My car is this way,' he said, pointing over his shoulder.

She kept moving in the same direction. 'Like I told you. I can't wait.'

'Where are we going?'

She rounded a corner, and he followed her into the gloomy alleyway. A crow cawed at them indignantly, and, when they kept approaching, fluttered away. Ancient oil stains patterned the ground.

Ten steps in, Sally turned around and placed her hands on his chest.

'Here,' she said, and fell to her knees in front of him.

'Jesus.' He watched her release his belt buckle and drag his jeans down his legs. His penis, already thick and heavy, sprang free and slapped her cheek. He thought he caught a momentary look of horror on her face, but then she laughed.

'Something wrong?' he asked.

'Nothing at all,' she said, and gently kissed the tip.

He closed his eyes, and felt her nails raking through his pubic hair, up his shaft and under his balls as her breath cooked the tip of his dick.

I shouldn't be here, he thought. I shouldn't be doing this. Then he felt her lips close around his shaft and her tongue swirl across the head, and these thoughts suddenly felt like too much effort.

He threaded his fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp. She pushed forward, swallowing more and more of him, then choked and pulled back. She didn't seem to be an experienced fellatrix, which surprised him, given that she was married and clearly adventurous. But her lack of skill didn't reduce his pleasure as she suckled on the tip of his aching cock, her breaths hissing through her nose. He let his eyelids flutter closed as the warmth expanded to fill his whole body.

Then something cold spilled onto him, and he yelped.

Sally was squirting him with a tube of lubricant. She grinned up at him. 'Spermicidal,' she said, as she clenched her fist around him and slid it up and down his shaft.

He hadn't used spermicidal lubricant before. It didn't feel any different. As her fingers squeezed his flesh, rubbing him into slippery ecstasy, all he could do was moan. His heart was pounding in his ears.

Think of your wife, he told himself. Think of Irene.

The knowledge that he was cheating, breaking through a boundary that he'd promised himself he would never cross, didn't help him resist. If anything, it turned him on more.

Looking down, he saw that the woman had her other hand under her skirt, where she was tickling frantically at her clit. Her breaths were heavy and her eyes were squeezed shut.

'You like that?' she hissed. 'You like me jerking off your cock?'

He did like it. But the longer she kept it up, the less time he would last inside her pussy. He could already feel an eager twitching in his penis.

'I want to fuck you,' he said.

'In a minute,' she whispered. Her hand was a blur beneath her skirt. Her fist was making wet sucking sounds around his dick. He could smell the medical tang of the lube.

'Please,' he said. 'Please let me fuck you.'

She let go of him, and wiped her hand between her thighs before rising to her feet and turning to face the wall. Then she spread her legs and hiked up her skirt, showing a bare, perky arse. She put her palms flat against the wall, as if preparing for a strip-search.

'Well,' she said. 'Since you asked so nicely.'

The contrived spontaneity of this one-night stand struck him as suspicious. But she was a beautiful woman, bent over with her high heels a metre apart and her pussy glistening in the moonlight. He wasn't going to back out of this on a feeling. So he walked up behind her and rubbed the head of his cock over her swollen labia.

'God, yes,' she whispered. 'That's it.'

Her entrance was tight, but warm and wet. He pushed a little, prying her butt cheeks apart so he could watch the head of his cock slowly disappear.

She groaned. 'More!'

He eased forwards, gasping at the friction. One of her hands left the wall and started frigging at her clit again. She pushed her hips back and her pussy swallowed him whole.

'Holy shit,' he hissed.

They stood still for a moment, fused together. He slid his palm up her thigh, marvelling at her ivory flesh, so different to Irene's milk chocolate skin.