Eighty Days Blue by Vina Jackson Read Free Book Online Page A

edge of the bed, feeding on Dominik’s cock, who sat with thighs wide apart. He was tiring, losing his hardness. The woman from the bar watched them both, nursing a glass of gin, her eyes eager, her lips moist as she followed their movements. He avoided her gaze, pulled the librarian’s face away from his crotch by her hair and raised himself slightly.
    â€˜Lick me,’ Dominik ordered the young woman in a voice that surprised him. He took hold of a belt that just lay there on the bed, abandoned earlier as part of another sexual variation, and placed it round her neck like a collar.
    She obeyed, and for just a moment, he left his body and became an observer of the scene, watching it all from afar, detached.
    This was sex at its most basic.
    No need for latex or toys, no need for words, to be called ‘master’ or whatever.
    The rush had been blinding.
    A woman between his legs. Another watching.
    Ten minutes later, he was dressed, racing through the hotel lobby and signalling for a cab.
    â€˜Take me to Hampstead,’ he had told the driver.
    â€˜Where in Hampstead?’ the cabbie had asked. ‘It’s a big place, Hampstead is.’
    â€˜I’ll decide when we get there.’
    The night traffic was sparse and they soon crossed the Marylebone Road, cruised through Regent’s Park and reached Camden Town and then Belsize Park.
    â€˜Take a right past the Royal Free,’ Dominik said.
    â€˜You’re the boss, mate.’
    He had ordered the taxi to stop when they reached the pond by Jack Straw’s Castle.
    His mind was bubbling with confusion.
    On one hand, he felt downright shocked by his own actions: the senseless sex, the indifference, the emptiness. Images of the women, the men, the cocks, the animalistic sounds of unfeeling lovemaking. On the other, he felt the electricity of dominance rush through him like a drug running wild through an addict’s veins.
    For a moment, he was tempted to enter the woods by Jack Straw’s Castle’s car park, an area notorious as a gay cruising ground. He had an irrational desire to explore what it meant to be penetrated, used, as if it would help him better understand the women he fucked. Crazy! He stepped one way, then another, hesitated and finally walked slowly towards home.
    Dominik didn’t reach the stone steps leading to his door until well past midnight. He could have hailed another taxi, but the walk had calmed his nerves.
    A week later, he hooked up with one of his former students, Claudia, and broke all contact with the group. Or maybe it was the other way round and they no longer invited him to attend their somewhat particular events.
    The sex with Claudia was good, uncomplicated, healthy in a vigorous way. She accepted his needs, the control he sought, welcoming the variations, the kinks, somehow never questioned them, and for some time he thought he had conquered his dark side, put a brake on his deeper, irrational cravings. Dominik knew, though, there was something missing . . . until he had come across Summer playing her battered violin in the Tube station and the fire inside him had been set ablaze again.
    â€˜So how well do you know Summer? And Victor?’ asked Dominik, as Lauralynn sat down on the blanket she had brought along and spread out on the grass in Regent’s Park.
    She’d suggested a picnic and the weather, according to the forecasters, was going to be warm this weekend, a final hiccup of clement sun before the threat of autumn. How quickly the seasons turned, he reflected, making him think of the Vivaldi piece. Almost a year since that fateful afternoon when he’d ventured into Tottenham Court Road Tube and heard the intoxicating music of a violin coming from along the corridor and had within seconds come under the dazzling spell of Summer and her violin-playing and the way she looked when she played.
    â€˜Victor has been an acquaintance, a sort of partner in crime, for some years.