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Just do it please, I begged.
Really sure? He teased.
Please, please, I'll take it however you want to do it, I said desperately without thinking that much.
He did and I let him for half an hour. My first encounter with rough, hard sex, pinned down by his weight and hammered by his thick cock. I came raucously and my response made him go crazy with lust. Fucking me harder, making me come again even harder. On all fours, bent over and up against the wall. I had been sure the caravan was rocking off its stabilisers.
Afterwards he had very appreciative.
You've got a talent, Gemma, he told me, it takes some nerve to be fucked that hard. Can you walk, sweetheart?
I tried and just about managed to make it back to my caravan where I shut myself in the bathroom for an hour calming my trembles and washing away the evidence. By the time my parents had returned from their stroll, I was reading a book looking charmingly innocent. My Irishman went home the next day and I never saw him again.
Sitting in the jet's opulent, pristine cabin I contrasted my holidays. No jammed packed estate car or roof rack, my luggage was in the cargo hold and we were waited on throughout the flight. Jason was at home, reclined in what was probably his chair as he read a business magazine. Glancing up to smile at me occasionally as I recalled my childhood holidays, I watched the night sky envelop the plane.
“Niall.” My one time lover's name came back suddenly and I unconsciously pronounced it aloud.
“Excuse me?” said Jason stirring from his reading.
“Nothing. Just a random thought. I'm excited.” I grinned inanely.
The drive to the hotel was short, though the road was narrow and winding. The scenery swaddled in blackness, no street lights or even moonlight. We were collected by a chauffeur driven car sent by the hotel. Drawing up outside, a doorman bounded forward to open the passenger door, bracing cold winds swirled into the car.
“Welcome back, Mr Lucas” he tipped his hat at Jason.
“It is nice to be back, George,” smiled Jason at the eager doorman.
As we walked through the foyer, everyone was deferential towards to Jason and curious about me. No checking in, our plastic door key was handed straight to Jason without comment.
“The usual room, sir,” said the concierge. “Anything else you require, sir?”
“Champagne, please,” Jason took me by the hand and led me to a grand staircase.
“Jason,” I spoke up. “You wouldn’t happen to own this place?” I asked quietly.
“Whatever made you think that?” said Jason with a knowing smile.
We ate in our hotel room, privacy guaranteed. A massive suite with sitting room, bedroom and cathedral sized bathroom. The furnishings were lavish but not too over the top. After dessert, the timid waiter left with our last plates. Our conversation had been innocuous. I asked him about Frankfurt, he about my job and it all seemed very normal and somewhat reserved. Jason appeared distracted and preoccupied as if weighty thoughts sat in his mind.
The restrained mood was shed quickly as he divested me of clothes and spent an hour tormenting with unproductive foreplay. With a wicked grin, he allowed my frustrated release and then with a succession of grunts he filled me with rapid movements. A splendid, if somewhat unromantic, start to the weekend. I wondered what else he had planned for me as the evening was understated by his standards.
***
The morning we took our breakfast in the restaurant. A full cooked breakfast served buffet style from hot plates. Jason helped himself to scrambled eggs, toast and bacon. He sat reading his newspaper at a corner table. The staff gave him a wide berth, his privacy always respected. I was starving and headed back for seconds. I stood perusing the hot plates, deciding how greedy I was going to be. Two men stood by close, young like me and laughing loudly.
“What do you recommend?” I asked.
I was happy to engage in conversation with someone who was not Jason. I missed talking to people spontaneously. Jason’s social style was to be distant and cold with the unfamiliar.
They turned out to be keen hikers, spending the weekend in the mountains, though they commented the weather was not looking great. We chatted for a while over the scrambled eggs and wrinkled rashes of bacon. I wished them the best and headed back to the corner table.
Jason was not reading the paper any more. He looked at me his face hard and there was a disquieting unpleasantness about him. I quickly finished my food, not able to decide whether I should probe him with questions. In the end, I had to ask one.
“So what plans do you have for today?”
I looked at him over my teacup. His eyes were cold and unwelcoming. I shrivelled in my seat.
What now?
