Sophia Pt. 13

THIRTY-THREE

Back at the office on Monday, Sophia received confirmation of her elevation to CFO with effect from 15 October, a little less than three months away. For one reason or another, Peter and she had been late sorting out their summer holiday and Ollie in particular had started bugging them about it, as his final term of pre-school drew to a close. While he was hell-bent on going on safari in Africa, his parents were thinking of Center Parcs at Longleat, where they could combine fun activities with a visit or two to the safari park. Ollie was at first disdainful of the idea - he wouldn't get to see any 'killings' - but in time he came round to the idea and a week's break was booked for August. At least the children wouldn't be losing out; one week there would cost them as much as two weeks in Majorca. That still left them with three weeks at home and Sophia floated the idea of getting in touch with the Ethiopian couple. Reluctant at first, Peter did a quick U-turn when his wife showed him the photo of Nyala.

'That's means "antelope", doesn't it?' he said. 'I wonder if she enjoys the hunt.'

'Why don't we invite them over and find out?'

'Splendid idea.'

So it was arranged for Neberu and Nyala to come down on the following weekend, staying over on Saturday night. Sophia herself gave the guest room a thorough cleaning - removing various items which had found their way into the room through her children's agency - and gave some thought as to what food she might serve. She was by no means a gourmet chef (she didn't enjoy cooking much, which didn't help) and she didn't want to be fussing about when she could instead be getting to know her visitors. So, in the end, she settled on an Ottolenghi tray bake she had done before to some acclaim and a simple, but very tasty, lemon ricotta cheesecake, which involved no baking and could be made in advance.

The day came and Neberu and Nyala, who had travelled to Euston by train, arrived as planned in the early afternoon so they could all go for a walk in the nearby London Wetlands Centre and see the otters being fed. Thankfully, though breezy and cool, the day was free of rain. The children were fascinated with their guests and Ollie had to be chided for staring at Neberu in particular. He took it all in good part, telling Ollie that back home in Ethiopia he would be the one everyone was staring at. Ollie didn't quite know how to take this, going into his shell for a while and wondering if he would really enjoy the attention. He decided that he definitely would not, especially if it meant that all the lions and crocodiles would run off, driven away by all the crowds.

Nyala was very impressed that Chloe - though only three - walked with everyone else. Out of the children's earshot, she remarked on the fact that Peter and Sophia hadn't brought a stroller along for when she got tired. Peter said that if she got really tired he would carry her on his shoulders, but they found she accepted it as normal to walk because she had been encouraged to do so from an early age. They had plenty of friends who were still pushing their children along at the age of four and they felt it wasn't much good for either their physical development or their independence.

'Or for developing inflated opinions about their own importance,' added Nyala.

'I guess it's not a problem where you come from,' said Peter, starting to monopolise the conversation with Nyala.

'Women don't walk down to the river to wash clothes with baby strapped to their back in swaddling these days, you know,' Nyala responded. 'We even have electricity now.'

'Well, I should hope so,' rejoined Peter. 'What with all those dams on the Nile.'

'You'll have to excuse my husband,' chipped in Sophia. 'He spends all his days and most of his weekends with Neanderthals.'

'Yes, I think Sophia mentioned you worked in the City,' Nyala said deadpan.

'None of his friends has read a book for years,' Sophia added.

'Jeff likes to carry a copy of the Economist around,' said Peter.

'Yes, but when he opens it, it's invariably the wrong way up,' said Sophia.

'When I visited Hong Kong a few years ago,' Neberu said, in that serious and rather abstracted way of his, 'I was quite shocked when I saw couples who appeared to be in their fifties wheeling around toddlers. I knew that the birth rate was very low and I supposed the government was offering incentives to couples to have babies, including fertility treatment. It was only when I walked past them that I realised they were using the strollers to transport dogs.'

'Yes, it's really weird,' said Peter. 'And they dress them up in bow ties, coats and even socks!'

'I think they want to make the dogs into little humans,' said Nyala. 'It is sad because dogs are pack animals and they like to associate with other dogs.'

'With other humans too,' said Peter, his hand brushing against Nyala's as they turned a corner in the park.

'It is sad when people want to take away what makes a dog a dog,' said Neberu. 'But whenever you have humans intervening in a situation, you are liable to lose equilibrium, so great is their desire for dominance.'

'I wouldn't mind being dominated by your manhood,' thought Sophia, imagining what lay beneath the lithe African's tight-fitting jeans.

Their conversation had to be cut short because the children were becoming crotchety through a combination of tiredness, boredom and neglect. They made their way home and Sophia showed her guests to their room and pointed out the bathroom and other facilities they might need. She told them to treat their place as their own and said they should come down to the sitting room when they were ready: they would be eating around eight, after the kids had been put to bed. Nyala took Sophia's hand to thank her, which sent an electric blot through her body. With Neberu out of the room, she was tempted to push her onto the bed and shove her hand up the light cotton skirt she was wearing, but she pulled herself together and contented herself with a squeeze of the hand and a 'thank you'.

Sophia put the finishing touches to her (or rather Ottolenghi's) lasagne and butternut squash cake and popped it in the oven, where it would stay for two hours, and made a cherry tomato, avocado, cucumber and feta salad with a simple red wine vinegar dressing. She then went upstairs and showered, tasking Peter with looking after their guests until she came down. This was a task he was more than happy to perform, especially when he saw Nyala, who had changed into a black mini dress with a plunging V-shaped neckline. The dress was so designed that the material of the first four or five inches of the dress beneath the neckline and running parallel to it was sheer. Peter thought she must be wearing a bra. The straps of the dress were certainly broad enough to accommodate one. He caught himself fantasising about unhooking it when he was wakened from his reverie by what he took to be a glimpse of red panties when she sat down. Tantalisingly, she crossed her legs and, although the dress rode further up her legs, confirmation was impossible - for now.

Upstairs, Sophia was changing into a red flared wool and silk-blend crepe knee-length dress with a high round collar and short sleeves. She had bought it shortly before her Thailand trip and hadn't worn it before. She was satisfied with the mixture of elegance and subtlety that was reflected back to her in the mirror. She was excited at the prospect of her first time with a black man - and a black woman. Unlike some of her friends, she'd never had fantasies about big black cocks. She wasn't sure why, now that she thought about it. Mind you, she'd never fantasised about women before Veronique came on the scene. What fantasies had she had as a teenager? She tried to remember. The only one she could think of was older men. She'd fancied two of her teachers and then there was the time when she was at university that she'd spent Christmas Day - or maybe it was Boxing Day - at a friend's house. She'd started flirting with her friend's father, touching his arms while talking to him animatedly and then letting her fingers touch his thigh. Nothing had come of this - the flirting was all on her side. It was funny how the memory had suddenly come back to her now.

When Sophia went downstairs, the others were in the sitting room chatting. Peter had put some music on (thankfully, not rap - it was some playlist from Spotify that he'd put together). Neberu and Nyala were on the sofa, with Peter sitting opposite them in the armchair he always liked to use - often with Chloe curled up with him, listening as he read her a book. Sophia took the chair next to Peter - something she only rarely did, as she typically spread herself out on the sofa. She was not surprised to see that Peter had made an effort sartorially. He'd put on his favourite light beige contrast trim Italian T-shirt and a pair of carbon dust slim-fit chinos. Sophia had to admit she found herself staring at him in appreciation - something that didn't happen that much these days. But her main focus was the lissom Ethiopian.

'God, I can't wait to see how well that cheetah is equipped?' Sophia thought. 'Does he spring on his prey when they least expect it? Does he stalk them? Maybe he ambushes them? Will he dig his claws into me? Will he drag me back to his lair and eat me?'

Sophia's attitude towards Nyala was rather more ambivalent. She was dressed like a tart in that ludicrously short dress, those large silver hoop earrings and her ridiculous black leather ballet flats. She had made no attempt to hide the fact that she had set her sights on her (Sophia's!) husband. She knew that Peter must have a massive hard-on beneath his expensive chinos.

'I don't care if she fucks him,' thought Sophia. 'Just so long as she doesn't tell me what a sweet and sensitive man he is.'

Then there was of course the little matter of what Sophia wanted to do with the black slut. Would she get to fuck her first? She wondered what colour her pussy would be. Pink, like everyone else, she imagined. She would love to use a strap-on on her. She would love to sit on her face. She probably wouldn't mind if the home-wrecking whore used the strap-on on her. Above all, she would love to wipe that smile off her face. Watch Peter as he watches her fucking what he thinks is his personal plaything. Watch Neberu's member swell to impossible dimensions as he sits there, a witness to his wife's being fucked to infinity by a white woman.

'Time to check our dinner,' said Sophia.

'Smells delicious,' said Nyala, looking not at Sophia but at Peter. 'I can't wait to taste it.'

THIRTY-FOUR

Dinner was an unqualified success. Peter had brought some decent bottles of red wine up from the cellar earlier in the afternoon and decanted them, and they complemented the food very nicely. Everyone was feeling a little tipsy when Peter suggested they retire to the sitting room. Ever the gracious host, he offered to take his guests through, but Neberu elected to stay in the kitchen and help Sophia clear the things away. Once they were out of the kitchen, as if acting on a prearranged signal, Peter and Nyala threw themselves at each other - a tangle of hands and tongues and legs. Their mouths locked together, Nyala pushed Peter against the wall, narrowly missing a watercolour, and thrust her hand down his trousers. His groaning was largely silenced by her mouth, as she ran her nails over his taut, aching skin. He responded by reaching for the panties that had been screaming 'Fuck me!' at him and yanking them down till they hung untidily on her thighs.

'Are you wet?' he whispered in her ear.

'Try me,' she replied.

Still kissing her, he moved his hand over her butt cheeks, down her crack, over her bud and onto her puffy lips. Very gently, he eased one finger inside her. She sighed softly. He was in no hurry to move the finger about or to remove it. He just left it there, collecting her juices like a dipper stick accumulating honey. He slowly withdrew his finger, hitched up her panties and led the way into the sitting room, holding her hand.

'Thank you,' she breathed.

'For what?'

'For what I'm about to receive.'

'You're a very well brought up girl.'

'I went to a convent school.'

'How about you show me your gratitude?'

Peter lay the petite woman down on the sofa. Her skirt had ridden up her legs and he could see her scarlet panties. He didn't see much use for the skirt and asked her to stand up.

'Sorry for mucking you about like this.'

'That's okay.'

He unzipped her and pulled the dress down. It slipped off easily enough, revealing a red bra to match her panties.

'I like your shoes.'

'Thank you. Shall I keep them on?'

'I want to see your feet.'

He lifted her feet, slipped the feathery shoes off and kissed her painted toes. From his kneeling position, he had a good view of her toned body.

'You work out, don't you?'

'Sometimes. And you?'

'I hate the gym. I prefer golf.'

She laughed.

'Have you got anything else you would like to show me?'

'It depends on what you like.'

'Well, I'm partial to pomegranates.'

'You're in luck. They're in season.'

'Ripe?'

'Why don't you try them?'

Peter stood up, towering over the Ethiopian, and pressed himself against her so that she could feel the effect she was having on him. She evidently approved, as she unzipped his trousers and let gravity do its thing. Next, she got him to raise his arms and took his T-shirt off. His penis strained against his shorts, desperate to find an escape route. Reaching behind her back, she undid her bra and let it fall to the carpet.

'Should we put something on the sofa?' she asked. 'It may get a bit messy.'

This proved to be the tipping point for Peter. Up to now he had, more or less, been in control. Now, though, he completely lost it. He all but ripped off her panties and threw her onto the sofa. He marvelled at her body stretched out before him, his eyes drawn to the triangle of dark hair at her centre. She reached out and touched his penis through the fabric of his shorts, causing him to spasm and almost lose his balance. Tearing them off, he lowered himself onto her with obvious urgency.

'I am almost there,' he said. 'Can I empty myself inside you?'

'That is what I want,' she replied.

She took his tool in her hand and guided him into her, all the while looking at him with desire and affection. It was too much for him. Using his hands to give him greater leverage, he began to pump her, starting as slowly as he could manage given the circumstances, then building up until he lost all control. Nyala wasn't able to accompany Peter on his paradisiacal journey on this occasion, but she wasn't too upset. She knew there would be plenty more opportunities before the night was out.

Peter's shouts could be heard in the kitchen, where Sophia and Neberu had finished loading the dishwasher and were about to find a novel use for the central worktop area. A little anxious about how Neberu would be feeling about his wife receiving such close attention from Peter, Sophia suggested they join the others in the sitting room. The Ethiopian seemed genuinely surprised by the suggestion.

'She has been like a leopardess on heat since she got here,' said the Ethiopian. 'Let him try his best to satisfy her.'

Sophia wasn't quite sure what to make of this. On the one hand, he was clearly cool with Peter having his wicked way with his wife, but, on the other, there seemed to be an insinuation that Nyala was more sexually adventurous than other women - than her, Sophia, in particular - and she didn't appreciate that at all. Rather than tell him how insatiable she herself was, she thought it more prudent and more effective to show him. She thought she would try the oldest line in the book. Every single member of the male sex, whether black or white, old or young, rich or poor, loved to be flattered.

'So is it really true what they say about black men?'

Rather than answer her in words, or indeed unleash his spear for inspection, he drew Sophia towards him and kissed her passionately. Sophia marvelled at his tongue, which spiralled like a bit on a drill down her throat. She tried to match his pace and his technique but knew she would need a lot more practice before she was sufficiently proficient. So, she contented herself with responding to his lead as best she could, rather as she did at an advanced yoga lesson. The main thing was he didn't seem unduly bothered by her awkwardness and, most importantly of all, his spear was bulging against his jeans. Sophia considered letting it out, but decided on balance that she would prefer him to take the initiative. Men liked that too.

'I have admired your dress all evening,' said Neberu, giving his tongue a rest from its labours. 'It is like a dress worn by a princess: modest and becoming a lady of your breeding and of your standing.'

'I thank you,' replied Sophia with all the grace she could muster. 'I wear it today for the first time for you.'

'Good,' said the African. 'That is how it should be. Do you have a hanger on which I might place it once it has been removed from your body?'

'Wow!' thought Sophia. 'A neatness freak. He has so much he could teach Peter.'

'Um, not in the kitchen, but we could perhaps place it on the back of one of the chairs.'

'Very good.'

He reached round for the zipper and pulled it down in one easy movement. He helped Sophia out of it as if he were a shop assistant, making sure that no part of it touched the floor. Sophia, bare footed, was left standing there in her bra and panties, as he walked to the kitchen table and placed the dress neatly over one of the chairs.

'I will now place you on the marble top. Would you like me to put a tea towel down so you won't be chilled?'

'No, that's fine, absolutely fine.'

'First, perhaps, I remove your brassiere and your drawers.'

It was all Sophia could do not to laugh. But these Africans, she knew, were very proud. You laugh at them and they are likely to leave you - with just your brassiere and your drawers for company.

'That would be very kind of you,' she replied with the straightest face she could manage.

He made short work of the bra, but, before he moved on to the panties, he was back at the table draping the garment around a second chair. When he returned, he smiled at her.

'Now I will uncover your modesty.'

Sophia nodded in response, rather more manically than she intended, but then she was struggling mightily against an incipient bout of hysterics. He bent to remove them, lifting each foot in turn to make sure they didn't come into contact with anything more unclean than a kitchen chair. With no hint of ungentlemanly conduct, such as a quick sniff, he placed the flimsy item on the back of the third of the four chairs.

'Thank goodness I wasn't wearing more gear,' thought Sophia. 'We'd have had to go out into the garden to get the patio chairs.'

Placing a hand on each of her hips, he easily hoisted her into position on the marble top.

'If you would please move a little nearer to the edge,' he said, like a photographer giving instructions to a client in his studio.

As she shifted forward, Sophia felt herself leaving a trail like a snail. Whatever the merits or otherwise of the Ethiopian's prose style, there could be no doubting the effect it was having on her libido. Sophia found herself waiting for him to say, like the character in 'Ello 'Ello, 'I will say this only once.' Instead, he told her that he would now start kissing her breasts in order to 'activate the sexual aqueduct' that ran from those organs to her vagina. Sophia braced herself for the experience, while having to bite her lip once more, when she found herself distracted by his shirt. It was a light blue shirt with large garish red buttons up the front and two more on each of the two chest pockets. It also had red stitching and wide lapels. If genuine 1970s schlock (and Sophia was afraid that it might be), it was the sort of thing that sold for shedloads on eBay. Her musings on the phenomenon of online auction sites were cut short when he got to work on her mammary glands, which work she had to admit he performed in an extremely deft manner, using that spiralling tongue of his to maximum effect. By the time he had reached his ultimate goal, she was ready to climax. They say the journey is more important than the destination, and, although Neberu may have taken that adage a little too literally, there was no doubt that his idiosyncratic version of foreplay had a lot going for it.