The Girls of Club Aphrodite Ch. 11

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Author’s Note: This is the final chapter of ‘The Girls of Club Aphrodite’.

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Fatima and I lay on the bed in a pleasant stupor. She lay on her back, my cock still inside her, one leg stretched out, the other bent with her foot flat on the bed. My body was turned at an angle so I could rest next to her on one elbow, my other hand on one of her breasts. She looked up at the oval ceiling mirror and put her hand over mine.

‘We did it,’ she said quietly. ‘We really did it.’

‘Yes, we did.’

I moved my hand so that our fingers could interlace. Fatima let out a deep sigh. She looked down towards our nether regions.

‘My goodness, how long do you stay hard?’ she said.

‘That’s just what I said,’ said Denisha from the Gladiator chair.

Fatima and I jumped. We’d forgotten she was in the room. As if to say, ‘How could you possibly forget me?’ the woman herself appeared, walking to the side of bed in her silver bikini. Denisha had a truly splendid body and I watched fascinated as she climbed onto the bed to lie next to us. Fatima twisted her head to look at me.

‘Hey! I can feel you looking at her!’ she said.

‘Really?’ said Denisha, grinning. ‘Perhaps he’d like to do me now?’

‘No,’ said Fatima. ‘He’s mine.’

That took me by surprise, but it also turned me on. Fatima looked round at me again, her eyes glittering.

‘Wow,’ she said. ‘You like that…’

I couldn’t deny it. We leant in and kissed, softly this time, our tongues tender and languorous. I slowly rolled on top of her and felt her fingertips scrape my head, while my hand found the smooth skin of her shoulder. My cock, which was softening, reversed course and began to stiffen again.

Denisha cleared her throat.

‘Listen, guys,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to be a party-pooper, but there is something which requires your attention.’

Fatima and I stopped and turned our heads to look at her. Denisha lay on her side, her hand supporting her head, looking at us as though talking to a man and woman in the middle of sex was something she did every day. Who knows, perhaps it was.

‘We have just over twenty minutes left of the original hour,’ she said. ‘So my plan is this: I’ll go downstairs and get the bank card thingy, and then you can pay for an extra hour alone with Fatima. What do you think?’

Fatima looked at me. I smiled down at her.

‘I think that’s a great idea,’ I said.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++

After I’d paid and Fatima and I were alone, we talked about how much we both liked Denisha. Fatima was especially passionate on the subject.

‘When Denisha’s in a room, it’s like a judgement-free zone,’ she said. ‘I mean, I try not to be judgemental and I think I do pretty well, but Denisha just sort of radiates it.’

‘I know what you mean,’ I said.

I told Fatima how, after telling me about Plan B, Denisha had casually squeezed a drop of pre-cum from my erection with the detachment of a mechanic checking the oil of a car. Fatima laughed at the description. We were sort of lounging on the bed facing each other, our legs stretched in opposite directions. I was stroking Fatima’s ankles and feet, and she was massaging my calf muscles. It occurred to me that, in our past conversations, we had seldom looked at each other as we talked. I was usually on my front receiving a back massage, or Fatima would be lying in my arms. But as I watched Fatima press her hands into my leg and smile at me, I realised something had changed; some barrier had been removed. How strange, I thought, that you only notice an invisible barrier once it isn’t there.

‘I have a question for you,’ I said.

‘Okay.’

‘What happens now?’

Fatima smiled and nodded. She ran her hand idly over my leg, as though trying to distract herself.

‘What do you want to happen?’ she said.

‘Answering a question with a question? Nice try.’

‘You don’t think it’s a fair question?’

‘I think it’s a perfectly fair question. But so was mine. And using your fair question to detract from my fair question could be argued as being less-than-fair. Or do you disagree?’

Fatima laughed. She gave my leg a few appreciative slaps.

‘You really are a smart man,’ she said.

‘I need to be. So…’

I gave her a look. Fatima smiled and shifted her body to be closer to me, squeezing her foot between my ribcage and arm. She looked me boldly in the eye.

‘I don’t know what happens next,’ she said. ‘It depends on whether I’m pregnant.’

‘Are you hoping you’re pregnant?’

‘I’m actually okay either way,’ said Fatima. ‘To me, what’s important is that I dared to make a choice. That’s very different from doing nothing and letting Life choose for you.’

‘But…’

I stopped. I realised that, although I didn’t buy her reasoning, I didn’t know why. Fatima’s eyes narrowed. She lifted her foot and gave me a gentle prod on the shoulder.

‘Come on, out with it,’ she said.

I took güvenilir bahis her foot and kissed it, then laid it on the bed, keeping a firm hold around her ankle. I knew she was waiting for me to tell her what I thought. I also knew that once you say something, you can’t unsay it. And I thought this situation was too delicate to blurt out the first thing that came into my head. I looked over at the Aphrodite statue. The goddess looked amused at my predicament, although she did remind me of something.

I felt Fatima’s ankle pulled from my grasp. Fatima herself came scrambling over the bed towards me. I sat up, she knelt across me, and I suddenly found myself staring at her lovely brown tits. I knew she wanted to say something, so with great difficulty I turned my gaze upwards to her earnest dark eyes. She held my gaze, probably to make sure I was paying proper attention. She looked annoyed.

‘I know what you’re doing!’ she said. ‘You’re editing your thoughts. And you don’t have to do that with me!’

‘Yes, I do. Of course, I do.’

‘Don’t you trust me?’

‘It’s not a question of trust. I need to figure out what I think.’

‘But you don’t have to “figure it out” with me! Just tell me!’

‘I’m working on it!’

‘For God’s sake, don’t be such a pussy!’

Fatima looked down at me, like I was one of her teenage boyfriends. I was annoyed. There’s no way you’re talking to me like that, I thought. I grabbed her and flipped her bodily onto her back. She cried out in protest, but I put a knee in the space below her crotch and pinned her wrists to the mattress. My bigger, stronger body covered hers on the bed, although I took care to bear my own weight. The purpose was to immobilise, not crush her.

Fatima glared up at me, unable to move. I looked down at her.

‘I could force myself onto you,’ I said. ‘Make you afraid of me. But what I cannot do is force you to respect me. The only way for me to do that is to act in a way which inspires your respect. And one of the ways I’ve achieved that is by not shooting my mouth off. By thinking before I speak. By choosing my words with care.’

I paused and continued to look down at her, daring her to use the pause to contradict me. She didn’t. Instead, her expression changed from indignant anger to a mixture of wonder and gratitude. I have never seen a woman look so happy to have her argument shot down.

Satisfied that I had made my point, I loosened my grip on her wrists and moved to get off her. Fatima made a small noise in her throat and looked at me with pleading eyes. Perhaps because of all the feminist conditioning in my head, it took me a moment to realise what she wanted. Then I resumed my dominant position and retightened my hands around her wrists. Fatima’s tongue flicked across her top lip and her breathing got quicker. Looking into her eager brown eyes, I could feel my cock hardening. I leaned closer and spoke in a soft voice.

‘I was looking at Aphrodite over there,’ I said, ‘and she reminded me of a story. In Greek mythology, there was a city of warrior women called the Amazons. And, according to legend, when an Amazon woman overpowered a man in combat, she would fuck him, get pregnant by him … and then get rid of him.’

I leaned in close so that my face was right above hers, and whispered:

‘Is that what you’re going to do with me?’

Fatima swallowed, licked her lips, and said:

‘Yes.’

‘You’re a very bad girl.’

‘Yes…’

‘You’re going to have to pay for that, you understand?’

‘Yes…’

‘Keep still. Keep absolutely still.’

Fatima’s chest was now heaving up and down, her breath coming out in little gasps. I moved close, my lips just brushing hers. Her mouth wanted to respond, but she kept still, just like I told her to.

‘Good girl…’ I murmured.

I licked her top lip. Then I took her top lip between my lips and gently sucked it. Fatima kept still, her breathing rapid. I ran my tongue under her bottom lip, along her teeth. I could feel her tongue wanting to move. I lowered my mouth over hers so I could reach my tongue further in. This was torture for her; she wanted to kiss me back. Yet she was enjoying the torture. I was invading her mouth and she let me do it.

‘Here’s the deal…’ I said softly. ‘If you take my cock all the way inside, then you can kiss me. You understand?’

Fatima nodded breathlessly.

‘Good girl.’

I went back to exploring her mouth, running my tongue along her teeth and teasing her tongue which desperately wanted to join in. Meanwhile, my hands still pinning her wrists, I moved my hips down to position my fully erect cock between her legs. Her own hips were already straining to meet mine and I felt her quickening breaths into my mouth as she got more and more excited. This time, the head of my cock easily found her already-fucked hole. I felt her labia open and my penis-head slid in.

‘Remember…’ I whispered. ‘It has to be all the way inside you.’

Fatima türkçe bahis was now panting. Her hips were trying to move downwards, and I kept moving away just enough to keep my cock from getting in any deeper. Her mouth was dying to move and it stayed fixed open by force of will alone. She whimpered as I ran my tongue around the outside of her lips. Then I put my whole mouth lightly on hers. I pushed my tongue against her tongue. I stayed one moment more to enjoy the feel of her agitated breathing.

Then, squeezing her wrists, I pushed my cock all the way in.

Her mouth jumped to life, rushing onto my tongue and mouth with naked lust. She pushed her face into mine with all her strength, her tongue like an animal with a will of its own, seeking to do violence to the inside of my mouth to punish me for tormenting her. Very soon, what she did could no longer be described as kissing.

There are moments — all too rare — when an essentially decent woman throws all decency to the wind. When a good girl stops being good and becomes a total fuck-monster. A man lives for moments like this. To experience Fatima — the polite, respectful Fatima; the kind of girl who thinks twice before using the word ‘fuck’ — to experience her ravish my face with such abandon … it was to die for. Her pinned wrists fought with all the strength she had and the more she felt my superior force, the wetter her cunt became. I could feel it as I fucked her. I could even hear it.

Our awkward sex of the past was a distant memory. Right now, instinct took over and she was doing everything right. Despite the near violence of what her top half was doing, her bottom half was relaxed and encouraging me. Her legs were bent and her feet were in the air, tilting her hips upwards at the perfect angle. Her calves and feet rested with perfect pressure against the outside of my legs, guiding my strokes and ready to lock me in when the moment came. Everything was perfect.

I felt my orgasm approach — not too fast, not too slow. An almost plaintive voice in my head said, ‘What about her orgasm?’ and I almost laughed. Fatima the fuck-monster wasn’t interested in her orgasm or whatever else Cosmo Magazine said women should be interested in. No, the fuck-monster wanted only one thing — to have the man she selects lose control in her womb. To consume and recreate him, binding them forever.

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I roared when I came.

I didn’t mean to, and certainly not in her mouth which was still clamped to mine. I couldn’t help it. When the contractions round my cock and balls peaked and the orgasm hit with a rush of endorphins, I roared in triumph right down her throat. Her legs closed round my lower buttocks, locking me in so tightly that I could feel the pulsing of semen through my otherwise trapped, immobile penis. I felt an intense sense of merging. For one moment, I wasn’t Me and she wasn’t She … and I was seized by a sense of déjà vu.

The feeling was gone almost as soon as it appeared. When the haze of orgasm lifted, I was back with the woman, her legs around me, my hands pinning her wrists to the bed. But my mouth was no longer joined to hers and I had the strong feeling that she was somehow changed. My penis was also no longer in her vagina. Unlike all those other times, when my post-orgasmic cock remained erect inside the woman, this time it had shrunk and slipped out of Fatima’s vagina. Almost as though it knew that its work was done.

Fatima lay on her back, staring up into space. I released her wrists, but her hands stayed exactly where they were. I rolled onto my side and looked at her. The long hair lay in tangles round her head. Her arms were bent weirdly, like a broken doll’s, and her legs lay stretched and limp on the bed. If it weren’t for the open eyes which flickered slightly as her mind turned, I might have thought she was unconscious.

After what seemed an age, Fatima moved to scratch her arm. The expression on her face was very serious. Finally, she turned her head and looked at me.

‘You felt it too, didn’t you?’ she said.

I gave a nod.

Fatima sighed and went back to scratching her arm. I realised that she was looking at her own reflection in the ceiling mirror.

‘We could be imagining things,’ she said. ‘I mean, that was pretty … intense.’ She put a protective hand over her vagina. ‘We might be affected by that, right?’

‘Perhaps,’ I said. ‘But I didn’t feel this the first time I came inside you.’

‘No. Neither did I.’

‘And…’

I stopped. An inner voice warned me that I was about to say something insensitive. Fatima turned her head to look at me.

‘And what?’ she said.

‘I was about to say I’d experienced this before.’

‘With your ex-wife?’

‘She was my wife at the time. But given this situation, I’m not sure—’

‘Freddie, I am totally okay with you talking about your wife.’

I looked at Fatima, trying not to stare. I had of course told her my name at our first güvenilir bahis siteleri meeting all those months ago, but this was the first time she had ever used it. I realised that I had never used her name either in conversation, partly because I knew it was fake. Come to think of it, none of the girls used names in this place. I was always ‘Englishman’ or ‘darling’.

I laid down on my front, leaning on my elbows. My head was over Fatima’s, but I positioned my body away from her at an angle. She needed space. I took the hand that wasn’t protecting her vagina and held it as I looked down at her. Fatima looked serious and a little scared, but I also thought she looked beautiful.

‘My wife had an IUD,’ I said, ‘which the doctor removed when we decided to start a family. He told her she might get pregnant immediately, but we really didn’t believe it.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because people say that a woman’s body takes time to readjust when she comes off birth control.’

‘Ah, yes … “people say” …’

‘Well, we had some great sex after that. There is something exciting about doing it au naturel. Do you know what I mean?’

Fatima grimaced and nodded.

‘Anyway, about five days after she’d had the coil removed, we made love in the afternoon and … it was different. That reckless feeling of ‘Wow! We’re really doing this, aren’t we?’ wasn’t there. It felt serious. And that was the thing — we both felt it. Something was different. And, of course, we both said we were probably imagining it. That we were being silly.’

I stared down at the black sheet of the bed, as though lost in my memories. In reality, my mind was as active as an army base under attack. I could no longer kid myself — I was in love with this girl. Utterly, passionately in love. My body felt it the moment she spoke my name, and my mind had finally caught up.

But I also knew I was one mistake away from never seeing her again. Her eyes were wary, devoid of their usual warmth. The hand I held was as limp as that of a corpse. And, despite her stillness, I knew she was freaking out on the inside. Some part of her brain was saying, ‘What have I done? What have I done?’ like a mantra. I knew, because that same mantra was playing in my own head. The difference was: I wasn’t afraid of it.

I placed Fatima’s hand gently onto her tummy and pushed myself up to a sitting position.

‘Sit up, please,’ I said.

‘Aren’t you going to finish your story?’

‘You already know how it ends. Just like you already know that you’re going to have a baby. That we’re not imagining things. That our bodies already know something our minds are not ready to think about. Come on, sit up.’

Fatima let out a deep sigh, then sat up. I had deliberately placed myself out of arm’s reach and was relieved to see that this was enough for her. She put the soles of her feet on the bed and hugged her knees, her breasts and vagina hidden from me. Still, at least she wasn’t avoiding eye contact. I cleared my throat.

‘Okay, Fatima Whatever-Your-Name-Is,’ I began. ‘You and I both know that you can walk into a pharmacy, buy a Morning After pill, and this whole situation goes away. In fact, my guess is that you already discussed this with Denisha when you were cooking up Plan B.’

Fatima smiled, and this time there was something of the old Fatima there.

‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Fair enough.’

‘We also both know,’ I went on, ‘that I am not the sort of man who will try to impose his will on the situation. Whatever you decide, I will respect your decision. Even if I don’t like it, I will respect it.’

I looked Fatima dead in the eye as I said this. Fatima looked back, held my gaze, and slowly nodded.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I believe you.’

‘Good,’ I said. ‘So, now that we’ve got that out of the way, why don’t you tell me what’s going on?’

I sat, hands together, looking sternly at Fatima and waited for the almost inevitable ‘There’s nothing going on!’ or ‘It’s nothing to do with you!’ or even that evergreen classic ‘I don’t want to talk about it!’ Fatima said none of these things. Instead, she brushed her long hair back with her arm in a gesture I was beginning to adore, leaned on her knees, and stared into space as she gave the question serious thought. I glanced at the clock and saw that we had less than fifteen minutes.

‘I feel scared,’ said Fatima. ‘But, more than that, I feel stupid.’

‘Why stupid?’

‘Because, despite coming off the pill and having unprotected sex, I still didn’t really expect to get pregnant. I mean, rationally I knew it was possible, but emotionally it didn’t feel like it was going to happen to me.’

‘What did you think was going to happen?’

‘I was going to enjoy the thrill of having bare sex with a man whose child I can genuinely imagine wanting to have. And then, I was going to have some sleepless nights worrying that I might be pregnant. But my period would come, like it always does, and I would go on with my life knowing that the Universe didn’t want me to be a mother. And if I should reach my forties as a childless, unmarried woman, well … I could look back on this day and tell myself: I did try to have a baby but “It Wasn’t Meant To Be”.’

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