Tuesday, 20 December 2011

Task 1

They’d been chatting for weeks while her
husband slept and she felt sure that
He was the one to give her the
discipline she felt she lacked at home, his
words so articulate, encouraging and
arousing that she went to bed and
woke wet, so when he spoke of
tasks he would set her she said
yes and meant it though her
heart refused to stay still.

On the bus back her thoughts were
jumbled by the stomach-twisting truth of
what she’d done, the excitement
jostling with her shame, the heat of the
club, the half-remembered language of
unspoken lust, the forgotten easiness of it all as she
held all the cards and men just wanted them
dealt, the dirty dancing, the
tug on the wrist, acquiescence, the
chill of the carpark, gravel biting knees.

She waved her children farewell as they
whooped into school, then finished her text:
“Task 1 completed, Sir” and
thumbed through the photographic proof for the
best shot of a stranger’s cock in her mouth, the
best shot of his sperm
decorating her face as she looked like a
chick demanding food, and the
December gloom looked different as she
breathed deeply and pressed “Send”.

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