One Final Night Read Free

never was pulled back, although we could plainly hear the little gasps of our dumbstruck witnesses mere feet away. We would be way more obvious to them now that pleasure had taken us over. The movements behind the curtain would look like cats scrabbling inside a velvet bag. Escape should have been my only objective, if I could just make my legs work. I should have left him behind if he was so indifferent to detection. I had a reputation to uphold even if he cared nothing for his. I should have told him to let me go when his hand finally left my mouth, but all I said was, ‘I need you inside me.’
    It was the shock of my own audacity that made our flight bearable. I have never before shown such blatant licentiousness to a man I didn’t know. When he dragged me out from behind our cover, I was only vaguely aware of the outraged cries from the ladies behind. My head was scrambled and my face burning, but he pulled me and I went out the way in, out through the group who stopped admiring the tapestries to witness this new commotion, through the room with the display of Sèvres porcelain in glass cases, out onto the galleried landing.
    I thought he knew the way but he immediately turned wrong, coming to a junction where stairs might have given an escape route, if not for the thick red rope across it and the brass plate informing us there was no public access. He didn’t turn back. He simply lifted the hook at the rope’s end from the little brass hoop in the wall and pushed me through and up the flight of three stairs. He gained the lead again, and in a few steps he stopped at a door marked private. In we went, the cool and the echo inside telling me instantly that it was a washroom – a large, grand one at that, with rows of cubicles and sinks set side by side within a mottled marble slab. However, this wasn’t the most noticeable thing about the washroom. The girl in black mopping the tiled floor was.
    He didn’t even baulk at her. He dragged me in toward the sinks, pointing at the girl and brusquely ordering her to go about her business. Over the marble top I went, my skirt already being lifted and my underwear being pulled down around my thighs to leave me bare. He spanked me. Only three times; not hard, but enough to make me squeal and have the sharp sound rebound off the toilet walls. It wasn’t to hurt me, it was because I was so wanton and he was so full of desire. The maid stood aghast, and I’m not sure whose cheeks were the redder: hers or mine.
    I could see my face in the mirror and see hers too, both with eyes bright from desire. Then I was having my hair pulled back and I was gasping and being filled with his thickness. My readiness let him drive unhindered all the way home to squash against my warmth. His other hand was flat to the small of my back to keep me hard to the marble, my neck kept taut from his grasp on my hair. I felt like his horse, ridden roughshod, no care reserved for danger. This time I didn’t hide my joy, but let it out instead. The release was sublime.
    The maid was swept away by the sight and smell of us, by the sounds of my ecstasy and the echoing slaps of flesh on flesh. She already had her skirt up before she sat upon the marble beside me and spread her legs. I could glimpse her in my periphery, but he made sure to steer my head around so she was all I saw. She was only young, barely out of her teens, thin and olive-skinned, like so many of the Turkish girls who found their way here for work. Beneath her rucked-up skirt she wore thin black tights and she went at them with her nails, snagging and holing the sheer fabric until she could rip it open and expose herself. The slut wore no knickers.
    She was plumper there than me; full, dark lips swollen and lying heavy on the smooth skin of her mound. They would have been so gorgeous in the mouth. She squeezed and parted them, sucking in her breath to counter the hit of pleasure. I have never watched anyone do this, nor have I been