Sanaya Shah

Sanaya Shah

This story concerns Luke, a university student, who meets a much older and successful professional lady and begins an erotic sexual relationship with her.

The story is a slow burner but I hope you think the wait is worth it. It does contain descriptions of anal sex, so if that's not your thing, please pass on by.

I hope you enjoy the story and I look forward to readers' comments.

Oh, and if you want to know the story of Tom and Faye, please read "The Air Hostess".

Sylviafan

It's great to win a place at a good university, doing the course that you wanted to do, reading for a degree in a subject that interests you and will form the basis of your career. The downside is that life at such institutions is expensive, especially nowadays, and nothing is more so than the student lodgings that you are obliged to move into at the beginning of your second year.

And of course in this brave new world there is little or nothing in the way of state financial support, it's all about student loans. I'd finished my first degree with a debt just shy of thirty-five thousand pounds, and that had included a fair bit of help from my parents. My master's degree would effectively double that. Add to that the fact that careers in the sciences don't generally pay very lavishly and the future looked pretty bleak. It felt like I'd be starting out with a mortgage but no house.

One solution was to get a part-time job. It wouldn't do that much to reduce the vast debt I was building up, but it would allow me to eat properly and to attend university social functions without feeling the need to steal all the complementary sandwiches and sausage rolls.

After a lot of deliberation and a lot of foot-slogging around Bristol city centre, I managed to land a job serving in a wine bar, five afternoons a week and all day on every other Saturday. Of course, it wasn't ideal. My lectures were mainly in the mornings but afternoons were when I did my serious reading. Well, now it would be evenings. And that wasn't such a bad thing as I wouldn't be so inclined to go to the campus bar with my fellow students or out into the pubs and clubs of Bristol.

The wine bar was called Angela's, after the owner's wife. It was in the Old Granary Building on Little Kings Street, in a nicely refurbished area of the city, close to the docks. Inside it was done out to resemble the inside of a nineteenth-century sailing vessel, all wood panels and brass fittings. It was divided into a main bar area and several smaller rooms which opened off the main room or were accessed by a little maze of passages. It took me a day just to get used to the layout.

My duties weren't particularly onerous: I served behind the bar, delivered drinks and snacks to tables, helped out in the kitchen and did anything else my supervisor told me to. My supervisor was the assistant manager, Chloe. She was a full-time employee and I suspected that she'd been given the title of assistant manager so that she could be expected to work overtime for free. Although Tam, who worked in the kitchen, and I made up the full complement of her staff on weekday afternoons, she took her responsibilities seriously and gave us lists of tasks and compiled work timetables and generally behaved like a little manager.

I didn't mind. For one thing she was very attractive: long, blonde hair, a pretty face and a model's figure. She was only a couple of years older than me and I fancied my chances with her, given time. The fly in the ointment was Rob, her boyfriend. He'd been in the wine bar a couple of times and he was a big unit, a semi-professional rugby player. And he'd given me a couple of speculative looks which made me wonder if Chloe had mentioned that I was coming on to her.

I suppose before I go any further I should introduce myself. I'm Luke, short for Lucas. Lucas Bradshaw, to give you my full name. Just turned twenty-three, five-foot ten and a half inches and about a hundred and fifty pounds. I'm reading for a master's degree, in hydroponics, which is really all about growing plants without the need for soil and might just be one of the answers to mankind's survival problems.

Away from the academic side of things I play a lot of sport: football, rugby, cricket in the summer and squash all year round. I also run long distance, not marathons but 10ks and even half-marathons. So I'm pretty lean and well-muscled and although I'm no movie star, I look ok, with dark, curly hair and regular features. I've never had a problem attracting my female contemporaries, both at school and at university. The idea of attracting, or being attracted to, a much older lady had never crossed my mind.

This story really begins on a Monday afternoon in October, about a month after I'd started working at Angela's. The wine bar was very busy in the evenings and at weekends but on weekday afternoons, except maybe Friday, it was usually very quiet and I could devote my attentions to Chloe. She was ok with that; it never went beyond mild flirting.

On this particular afternoon it was almost empty. A few middle-aged ladies were in the main bar area chatting over glasses of the house "special of the day", in this case a rather vinegary Pinot Grigio. Chloe was in the kitchen, stocktaking, and I was behind the bar, pretending to be busy and thinking about the assignment that I'd got to hand in by the end of the week, when Tam, the chef, appeared through the kitchen door, carrying a plate.

'Tuna sandwich for table thirty-five,' he rasped at me in his harsh Glaswegian accent. Table thirty-five was in one of the back rooms.

'I didn't see anyone come in,' I said.

'Her ladyship said you were taking a crap,' he replied. 'So she took the order.' Tam habitually referred to Chloe as "her ladyship" or "her nibs" although not to her face. He had a bit of a problem with authority. And with social etiquette, I thought, taking the plate from him.

'There's a medium glass of Merlot to go with that, too,' he added as he retreated through the kitchen doorway.

I poured the glass of wine and picked up the plate took them into the little room at the end of the corridor, next to the fire escape. It was the quietest room we had, being the most distant from the main bar, and during the week patrons often spent a couple of hours in here on their tablets or notepads. I thought it was a bit cheeky, using the wine bar as their office, but the establishment provided free Wi-Fi and I suppose as long as they were eating and drinking and we weren't very busy it didn't matter much.

The room was empty apart from a lady typing rapidly on a notepad.

'Just put them on the table,' she said, still typing. I put the plate and the glass down beside her device.

'Open tuna sandwich with salad and a medium glass of Merlot,' I said, wondering if she was going to acknowledge my presence any further.

She stopped typing and looked up at me and I felt a little jolt of something, like the static kick you sometimes feel getting out of a car, and my stomach did a little flip.

She's beautiful, was my first thought. And remote, unreachable, inscrutable.

The lady sitting at the table was almost certainly of central Asian or Middle-Eastern origin. Her thick, black hair fell in waves over her shoulders and framed a face that was both finely sculpted and characterful. She had heavy-lidded, deep-set dark eyes, high cheekbones and a straight, narrow nose above a full-lipped mouth and firm chin. She reminded me of a picture I'd seen recently of Benazir Bhutto, the Pakistani premier who was assassinated in 2007. I had no idea of her age, it could have been thirty or fifty. Her skin was a delicious dark honey tone and seemed not to be wrinkled, although it was always a bit gloomy in this nook and it was hard to tell.

One thing was for sure, I couldn't stand there and gawp at her, not with those piercing dark eyes on me.

'Thank you,' she said, briefly and I smiled a bit stupidly and told her she was welcome and then I turned and scurried out in confusion, feeling the heat of her eyes on my back as I departed.

I should have gone back after half an hour or so to collect her plate and ask her if she wanted another glass of wine or a dessert, but I didn't. I felt slightly awkward about the prospect of seeing her again. A shyness before her looks and poise perhaps, and those searching eyes. I don't know, it was a new feeling for me; I was normally very confident when dealing with customers.

About forty-five minutes after I'd delivered her lunch she appeared at the bar, where Chloe dealt with her payment. Then she walked out, nodding briefly to Chloe and barely glancing at me.

'And thank you, too, Madam.' I muttered to Chloe.

She laughed. 'You won't get much from her, she's a right snooty bitch. Barely says "please" and "thank you".'

'Does she come in often?' I asked, curious.

'A couple of times a month, I suppose. I'm surprised you haven't seen her before; she always uses that room at the back. I don't think she likes company.'

I put her out of my mind and concentrated on trying to engage Chloe in a fantasy where she and I were marooned on a remote island. Before I knew it, it was five o'clock and time for me to go back to my lodgings, cook some unappetising mess on the ancient hob and get stuck into my books.

It was three weeks before the mysterious Asian lady visited the wine bar again. It was a Wednesday afternoon and we were moderately busy, for midweek. I saw her as she came through the doorway, a large bag slung over her shoulder, and I had a glimpse of a smart, tailored business suit with a knee-length skirt. Then she was past the bar and disappearing into the passage that led to her favourite room.

'Oh, she's back,' remarked Chloe. 'Be a dear and go and take her order. I don't think I can face her today.'

I felt myself tremble slightly as the memory of her came back to me. Pull yourself together, I told myself. She's just a customer.

She was sitting typing again when I came into the little room, sitting in the same chair as before.

'What can I get you, Madam,' I asked in my best neutral voice.

She stopped typing and looked up at me and I was struck again by her looks and her presence. The penetrating eyes, the exquisite curves of her cheeks and jaw, the fullness and redness of her lips.

'What's on the vegetarian menu today?'

I listed the options.

She straightened up and sat back in her chair, still looking at me. 'What's the lasagne like?'

I wasn't used to having my opinion asked on the quality of the food. I hesitated, sure that this woman would only accept honesty.

'It's rather nasty, I'm afraid.'

For the first time she showed some emotion, treating me to a half smile that showed a hint of very white teeth. Her hands were flat on the table, palms down, and I noted inconsequentially that she wore no rings and her fingernails were cut quite short and painted a deep vermillion.

'Nasty in what way?' Her English was perfect but there was a trace of accent which I couldn't place.

'The chef makes a big trayful, but we don't sell much so it gets recycled through the oven quite a bit. I think the current tray is on about its fourth outing, so it's a bit tired and rubbery.'

Her smile widened. 'Ok, so what do you recommend?'

'The roasted vegetable and fruit salad's nice,' I told her. 'But it's not very filling. Though you could always have a dessert.'

She looked down at the table, nodding slightly. 'Right, then, I'll have the roasted vegetable and fruit salad.'

'What can I get you to drink?'

She looked up at me and I got a blast from the dark eyes and I felt that little frisson of electricity again. 'Wine. Something that goes with the salad,' she said. 'I'll leave it up to you.'

She went back to typing and I went and delivered the order to the chef. While he was preparing it I asked Chloe which wine would go best with it. 'She left it in my hands,' I explained.

'Give her a glass of the Gewürtztraminer, then. A large one.'

'Is it good?'

'It's bloody expensive.'

So I delivered the roasted vegetable and fruit salad to the back room with a 250ml glass of the German wine, at fifteen pounds a shot. 'See how the snotty bitch likes that,' Chloe had said.

As before, the Asian lady carried on typing as I came in and put the plate and the glass on her table.

'Just leave it there,' she said, without looking up. I was mildly disappointed. I'd at least expected some curiosity about what I'd brought her to drink. I'd googled the damned stuff, too, so I'd been ready with my sales patter.

'Bon Appetit,' I told her and left the room.

This time I resolved to go back and collect her plate. Besides, I'd suggested a dessert. I gave her half an hour and then I returned to find that she'd finished the salad and was sitting back in her chair, sipping her wine. At some point she'd taken her grey suit jacket off. Underneath she was wearing an electric-blue blouse of some satiny material which, although loose, faintly outlined her breasts.

She looked up at me as I came to the table, her expression neutral.

'Congratulations,' she said, raising her glass slightly, 'the salad was delicious and this wine is exquisite. What is it?'

'It's German,' I said. 'Gewürtztraminer. It's very good with fruit and has a flamboyant bouquet of lychees and aromas of passion fruit and floral notes. According to the label.'

She laughed, showing her teeth and suddenly she looked different. Nicer. More human.

'Can I get you the dessert menu?' I asked.

'Just the bill, thanks.'

I took her plate and returned a few minutes later with the card reader. She had finished her wine and was standing up and putting her jacket on, which allowed me to note her slim figure and flat stomach as she stretched her arms through the sleeves and used both hands to sweep her hair over her collar and down her back. She was tall, too, only two or three inches shorter than me, I guessed.

Embarrassingly she caught me staring at her and I blushed as she delved into her bag and came out with a wallet, from which she extracted a card and a ten-pound note. She waved her card over the reader and it bleeped and she handed me the banknote.

'For you.'

I hesitated before taking it. 'That is exceedingly generous of you. Thank you.'

She looked at me with those laser eyes under the heavy lids, then shrugged slightly. 'You've introduced me to a wonderful new wine.' She paused, still looking at me. 'You're a student, aren't you?'

'Yes,' I admitted. 'How did you know.'

'You look hungry. Are you at the university?'

'Yes.'

'What are you studying?'

'Hydroponics. It's about growing plants without soil, I added.'

She nodded, then put her wallet away in her bag, slung it over her shoulder and straightened her jacket.

'You haven't got a name badge. What's your name?' I was beginning to get used to her direct questions.

'Luke,' I answered.

Unexpectedly she held her hand out to me.

'Sanaya.'

I took it, feeling that thrill of electricity as I felt her slim, cool fingers grip me briefly then release.

'I'll look out for you next time I'm in, Luke.' Then she was gone and I was standing holding the card reader and my ten-pound note and feeling light-headed and strangely queasy at the same time.

Sanaya didn't come in the next week, nor the one after that and I was beginning to wonder if I'd see her again when she breezed through the door one Tuesday afternoon. It was teeming down outside and she collapsed an umbrella as she came through the doorway and went straight up to the bar.

'Hello, Luke. I'll have a large glass of that Gewürtztraminer and the roasted vegetable and fruit salad again, please. I'll take the wine with me.'

I was aware, as I poured the wine, that Chloe was staring at me. I hadn't told her about my brief conversation last time, or about the ten-pound tip. I handed the wine over and Sanaya thanked me and disappeared through the back.

'What's with the "Luke"?'

I turned to her sheepishly. 'She asked my name, last time she was in. She's actually quite nice,' I added.

'A bit out of your league, my boy. And your age range.'

'I only told her my name,' I retorted. 'I'm not planning on asking her out. And she's not that much older than me,' I felt compelled to add.

'You haven't seen her in full daylight,' said Chloe, evidently enjoying herself. 'She's over fifty, I'd say.'

'Rubbish! Early forties at most.'

'No chance. I saw her in Marks and Spencer one day. Take it from me, she's in her fifties. She's a successful businesswoman, too,' added Chloe, with a sly smile at me. Owns a chain of travel agencies and some other stuff too. Worth a mint, I should think.'

'How do you know all this?'

'Trevor told me.' Trevor is Angela's husband, the owner of the wine bar. 'He knows her socially. I think that's why she comes in her for her lunch, sometimes.'

When I delivered her meal I called her Sanaya for the first time and she smiled at me and thanked me for the meal. When she paid the bill she again gave me a ten-pound note. I was embarrassed, it was too much for a tip, but refusing it seemed rude.

After that third encounter, I couldn't seem to get her out of my head. She continued to come into the wine bar every two or three weeks and greeted me by name. She asked my advice on the menu and the wine list and I rehearsed what I was going to say to her and she smiled at me and sometimes laughed at my descriptions of the food and I felt a warmth towards her that surprised and excited me.

Of course I knew that nothing could ever happen between us. Yes, she was strikingly attractive, but she was a highly successful businesswoman, wealthy and secure and, for all I knew, married with a house full of children, or grandchildren. I realised now that she was much older than me; Chloe had been right. Further surreptitious scrutiny had revealed fine wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and slightly prominent veins on the backs of her hands; the faint beginnings of loose skin at her neck. She probably was in her fifties.

But I enjoyed mildly fantasising about her and I enjoyed her coming into the wine bar and listening to my sales patter and I enjoyed looking at her as she smiled at me and as she fumbled in her purse for her debit card and for my tip.

It was the ten-pound tip that was the catalyst for what happened next. It was December by this time. I was in my fourth month of part-time employment and Sanaya had been into the wine bar about seven times and, after the first visit, she had given me ten pounds every time and I was getting increasingly uncomfortable. I think part of me wanted to have a relationship with her that wasn't transactional. More of a friendship, perhaps. I knew I was kidding myself; why would she want to be friends with an impecunious student?

She came in on a Monday lunchtime and she had the soup of the day with crusty bread and camembert and washed it down with a glass of Pinot Noir. When I brought the card reader, she handed me her debit card and the inevitable bank note.

'I'm sorry, Sanaya,' I began. 'I just can't keep taking money off you for just doing my job.'

'Oh,' she said, quietly. 'Well it's just my way of saying thank you. You make coming here for lunch an enjoyable experience. I look forward to it.'

I was thunderstruck. This was the first time she'd even hinted at her own personal feelings. I blushed and felt painfully awkward.

'I just thought I ought to say something.'

Sanaya was quiet as she stood up and took her jacket off the back of the chair. I avoided staring as she put it on and picked up her raincoat, a stylish gabardine trench coat in dark blue. She picked her shoulder bag off the table and turned to me and I got the full blast of those entrancing dark eyes and I was suddenly overwhelmed by her sheer presence.