She was nervous as hell. For the first time in all this she was beginning to have second thoughts. Alan would have none of it though and insisted she went through with it. In his late forties, he was more than twenty years older than she, just less than six feet tall with a slim build, he worked out at the gym and it showed. Beth followed him up the stairway of the dingy, run down house in London’s Kentish Town district to meet the friends he’d told her about.
The two had met in an Internet chat room a few months earlier. She was a sophisticated, well-educated American girl; though one who had seldom traveled beyond her native shores, he was a man of dubious background, always economical with the answers to prying questions. She was surprised when he had put up the airfare for her visit. They had got on well yes, but three hundred pounds was a lot of money for a guy who didn’t seem to have a regular income.
Their Internet chats had, almost inevitably focused upon sex and sexuality. She’d made it clear she was a very experienced woman, no stranger to lesbian experiences and all manner of deviant sex games. The fact that most of this had been pure fantasy was lost on Alan; she didn’t or hadn’t had the nerve to tell him. Certainly in the three days since her arrival there lovemaking had been torrid. They had fallen into bed almost immediately and the results had been spectacular, Beth melting into his maleness at first, as he forced an aggressive pace. As things settled and the initial afterglow subsided, she explored him with her deft touch and he returned the compliment, caressing and kissing her gently, all over her firm young body, reducing her close to orgasmic tears as wave after wave of powerful emotion smouldered then blazed through her very being.
On the second day though he had referred to her previous Internet boasts of multiple partners and deviant experiences with extreme relish. It was obvious that Alan was hugely turned on by this side of Beth. He found himself liking her immensely, and caring for her in more than just an avuncular way. They were on the same wavelength in so many ways. The darkside they both shared was merely an additional thrill as the relationship began to bond into something very special. For her part, Beth was only too willing to continue the lies, eager not to displease him. As a foreigner in a strange land she felt somehow dependant and obliged to be compliant.
As they fucked for hours on that second day, pausing only to eat and drink for a while, Alan told her of his acquaintance Marcus, an amateur filmmaker whose hobby in life was to amass as much photographic and movie equipment as possible. He had hit a hard time lately, recently divorced and having had to sell his house and car to pay off the demands of his greedy ex-wife. He needed a ‘helping hand,’ Alan had explained. Together with Joe, Marcus’ uncle, they had hit on the idea of making some pornographic movies and circulating them in the flourishing underground market that existed in London. The only problem was, he went on to explain, was the lack of a willing girl who wouldn’t charge an exorbitant fee. Moreover, one would relish the chance of a good fucking and had no fear of being recognised (she’d soon be back in the U.S.A. after all).
It began to dawn on Beth that Alan had an additional and ulterior motive for bringing her across the Atlantic. She panicked inwardly as the realisation dawned into place. But her dilemma was clear, did she go along with the plan or reveal herself a complete charlatan? Sure she’s had a few lovers of both sexes, but never indulged in anything really kinky. The net bravado was a form of release, therapy if you like, and where was the harm in it? Alan had seemed a trustworthy guy. The offer of a holiday in London had been just to good to refuse.
She decided to play along.
On the fourth day of her visit they entered a huge old three storey Victorian terraced house, which would have been built originally for wealthy families towards the end of the nineteenth century. The couple ascended the staircase to the second floor, Alan walking confidently and assertively, she tremulous, not having spoken for a few minutes. The dimly lit hallway lent a seedy feel to the old building. As Alan knocked at the door of flat 12, she was almost shaking.
Marcus welcomed them in. He was an attractive guy, about thirty-five years old, slim, with the most amazing hair. Long dreadlocks, unusually thick and profuse for a white guy, hung down his back, a magnificent mane of tangled hair. Beth reckoned there was about seven years of untrained growth on his head. A brief Neanderthal fantasy flashed across her mind as she pictured Marcus at the height of sexual passion, that jungle of hair spilling over her stomach as he ravaged her pussy with his mouth.
