Tom Benson Creative Writer and Artist
Tom Benson           Creative Writer                                      and Artist

Through A Lens (Erotica)

           “I wondered,” Vicky purred, “if you’d like me to get completely undressed.” As she continued to watch her companion, it struck her how preoccupied and ridiculous men could look, when preparing to get their leg over.

Ken Farringdon looked toward the doorway of the en-suite and froze. He had been undressing rapidly, but still hung his shirt and pinstripe suit on a hanger. When Vicky spoke, Ken had just placed his folded socks onto his shoes. His eyes widened, and his jaw dropped.    

“Oh my-,” he whispered, sitting on the edge of the bed, “no, please don’t. I want you just as you are.” The 46-year-old’s gaze travelled slowly from the beautiful face and long blonde hair down over the firm young breasts to the black suspender belt, fishnet stockings and stilettos.  

When Vicky moved, she seemed to glide across the plush carpet. She inclined her head to look from under dark, fluttering lashes. Her hair cascaded from her shoulders, partially covering her naked breasts. She clasped her fingers lightly in front of her shaved sex, so that her crimson fingernails contrasted with her skin. A whiff of perfume reached her lover and she watched him inhale.  

“Take off your shorts,” she said, engaging his staring eyes.

He stood, but hesitated before slipping his Calvin Klein’s to his ankles and removing them. He folded them, placed them on his socks, and stood up.  

Vicky looked down from Ken’s reddening face to his erect, tumescent member. “Is that all for me?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You better believe it,” he said, and held his arms out, “you caused it.”

“Turn around for me?” Vicky said, “I want to see those cute buttocks, now that they’re uncovered.”

Ken’s grin faded and his brow furrowed, but he lowered his arms and turned. He would allow her this, he thought, because she was only 27, and gorgeous, but she would soon know who was really in charge. He said over his shoulder; “Come on, don’t tease.”

A glance suggested that Ken had a good body, but Vicky was more interested in the view outside the window, beyond her naked companion. She nodded slowly to herself and her lips curled before she reached forward and gripped his buttocks fiercely with both hands.

Ken inhaled sharply, “Don’t draw blood ....” he said, the words trailing off.

“Okay, calm down,” she replied, “turn around, and sit on the bed facing me.” Vicky approached and stood with her abdomen inches from his face. “Kiss my belly,” she commanded, and reached out to tangle her fingers in his dark hair, “that’s it, now lower ... mmm, that’s better.” She moved her feet apart and eased his head forward, which didn’t take much encouragement.

“I want to ... eat you,” he said as he breathed in her scent and licked, enjoying the flavour of her. “I am ... going to ... make you feel ... so good.”

Even as her lower body was being nibbled, Vicky stared straight ahead. The murmurs and moans she made were at odds with her train of thought. As she felt his tongue start to explore she said, “Okay lover boy, get on your back and let me treat you.”

In less than five seconds, Ken abandoned his efforts and rolled onto his back. As Vicky eased off her shoes, Ken licked his lips and allowed himself a long look at her exquisite body. She climbed onto the bed, and squatted over his belly facing him, then she reached back to rest her hands on his raised knees.

Ken felt the moist heat of the girl’s intimate flesh press against his abdomen. He sighed and reached out to grasp her shapely thighs to push her back. It was only then he realised she was not concentrating on him.

“What are you looking at?” he asked abruptly.

“That there,” Vicky said, as she pointed out of the window and squinted.

Ken sat up and turned to look. He focused on the hotel across the street for a few seconds before gasping, “Christ!”

Vicky gripped his shoulders, holding him still and asked, “What is that he’s holding?”

Ken shielded his face with one hand and tried to shake his lover from his body, “Get off for God’s sake. He’s taking pictures of us ... get off me!”

“You’ve changed your tune,” she said, “what happened to making me feel good?”

If Ken looked ridiculous getting his clothes off in a hurry, he looked comical trying to get them back on. Vicky glanced across the street, smirked, and sat on the bed cross-legged.

“You really know how to make a girl feel special,” she paused, “your name is Ken isn’t it?”

“Of course it is,” he replied, stumbling around the room. His shirt was half-buttoned and his trousers still undone as he tried pulling on his socks. He gave up attempting to balance on one leg, sat on a chair and got his shoes on. As he stood, he looked around wild-eyed, before grabbing his jacket and thrusting his arms inside the sleeves.

Vicky watched, considering the contrast between Ken’s earlier confidence and now.

“I’m sorry,” he said without looking at her, “I’ll call you.”

“Don’t bloody bother,” she said, still on the bed, “I think I’ve seen enough of you, mister high and mighty.”

“You don’t understand,” he said, “in my position-,”

“Your position,” she sneered, “and what position is that? You seemed happy enough when you were in a position to shaft me.”

Ken buttoned his shirt in silence.

“You’re a banker,” Vicky continued, “but perhaps you’re a married banker, and you forgot to mention that.”

“It’s not like that, really-,”

“Are you married Ken?”

“Well, yes but-,”

“Ken,” she interrupted.

“Yes,” he said, pausing to look back, one hand on the hotel room door.

“Piss off,” she said.

As the door closed, Vicky shook her head slowly and looked across at the other hotel. No photographer. She smiled as she considered how well everything had gone.



Thursday 1st March 2018


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