Mark's stomach was fluttering, almost churning inside him, as the taxi set off. Fleeting images of the last few days raced through his mind: the way his aunt had reminded him how she used to tell him stories as a child, the way she had seduced him by telling him a "story" of an aunt who desired her nephew. He recalled the feel of her on his lap, the way she had taken his hand in hers and lead it up her skirt and jumper, and the lurid, frantic fuck standing up in the lounge.
He called to mind, too, the suppressed excitement between them on the train that morning, and the way that his aunt had flaunted herself in the shops. Then, having changed into the short skirt and vest top that she was now wearing, she had acted as provocatively as she was dressed, attracting knowing looks from passers by. Some looks had been leering and hungry, others had been disapproving.
They did not speak in the taxi, but he gazed at her breasts, their shape and size very evident under her red vest top. He recalled them naked, mounted high, and thought of their delicious firmness in his hands and mouth. She parted her legs a little and with a thrill he saw the taxi driver adjust his mirror to look up her skirt. Mark wondered if he could see her panties.
She took his hand in hers and placed it on her thigh. He fondled it very lightly, acutely aware of the driver's glances. She put her hand on the top of his thigh and squeezed it.
Like him, Pat's mind was in overdrive. This role-play was arousing her greatly. No doubt it was inaccurate in many ways, but she didn't need it to be. It was close enough to give her a buzz, and, in nay case, she was acting it out for her own pleasure.
At first she had been shocked when a friend of hers had confided that she was working for a time as a prostitute, though after blurting out the term she then substituted the word "escort". She had stressed that she didn't walk streets but used a well-furbished rented apartment in a nearby town and was as selective as she could be about whom she saw. Seeing Pat's concern, her friend had also emphasised that she had limits as to what she was prepared to do and took steps to keep as safe as possible.
What had shocked Pat more was that her friend had said that, despite the shame she felt, she quite enjoyed what she did. She had stated that most her clients were okay and some were actually nice. In fact, she had said, the bulk of her appointments were with regular clients.
Yet Pat had become intrigued with the idea of sex with a stranger with no bond or affection, and the tawdriness of doing so with a succession of such men on a given day excited her. Charging money for it and knowing that people nearby knew what was taking place next door or across the street was an added taboo.
It was not something that she herself could ever do. It was too nasty, and, besides that, there was an element of danger involved. But it would be fun to play the role. The closest she had come was in having sex with a former colleague on her last day at that company.
After her leaving presentation she was more or less completely sober but had pretended she wasn't. The colleague had offered her a lift home. She hardly knew him and felt nothing for him, but on impulse she wanted sex with this near-stranger. She had directed him to a quiet car park on the edge of town. She had offered herself to him in the badly-lit far corner of the car park, outside, over the bonnet of his car. There was little prelude or subtlety, and the public nature of it meant they had to be quick, but it made her feel very liberated, "naughty but nice" as the cliché worded it. Except this was a gross understatement. She thought about that occasion of public sex as she looked at her nephew's hand stroking her thigh and at her hand caressing his, under the eye of the taxi driver. This was doubly naughty. And doubly nice.
Then, there it was, their destination, just a few yards ahead, the hotel that she had checked out a few days ago. The taxi stopped, they both got out of the taxi and Mark paid the smirking driver.
Times had changed since its heyday and whilst some had kept up and adapted, this particular "Railway Hotel" had been unable to do so. It didn't look too bad, but even from the outside the rotting window frames and faded curtains told their own story. Mark wondered what the inside would be like.
His aunt had chosen it in preference to a decent hotel or even a motel precisely for its downbeat condition, of course.
As they stepped inside she squeezed his bum through his jeans pocket, and pulled him closer to her. A woman in her early forties came to the desk. Her clothes were dowdy. He guessed that she was in her early forties. She eyed him up, then his aunt, then him again.
"Yes?" she asked curtly. He tried not to sound nervous, though her glare was unsettling.
"A room please."
"Single?"
She was clearly trying to be obstructive.
"No, a double please." He tried to maintain eye contact with her. She looked down at the open desk diary on the counter. The page was blank.
"A double." It was a statement on her part, not a question. "Hmmm let me see..."
She paused, then looked them both in the eye again. His aunt took his hand in hers and gave it a gentle and encouraging squeeze.
"And how many nights will that -- DOUBLE room be for?"
Her tone was sardonic as she looked at the carrier bags and absence of any true luggage, even an overnight bag.
"Just the one, please", he added, trying again to sound casual and relaxed, as if it was the most normal thing in the world to book a hotel room without any overnight luggage accompanied by a woman more than twice his age and dressed provocatively.
"'JUST THE ONE'. Of course..."
She eyed them both up again.
"I suppose I can manage that. That will be thirty pounds. The room has a washbasin but the toilet and bathroom are on the corridor. Will that do?"
He met her accusatory stare.
"Yes, thank you. That will do just fine."
"You don't seem to have much luggage. Can you pay now, please?"
Her tone made it evident that this was a requirement rather than an option. He paid, and as she wrote out the receipt she glared at his aunt, who was chewing her gum deliberately noisily.
They followed the proprietess her up the stairs. The carpet was worn, and the wallpaper was faded and scuffed in places. She unlocked a room and showed them inside.
As with the stairs, the wallpaper was old-fashioned and faded, the carpet was grubby and worn. The curtains were dingy and the windows were grimy.
She looked them over again. He tried not to smirk. "You know full well what we've come here for," he thought, "But you don't know that she's not just old enough to be my mother, and the reason is that she's SISTER to my own mother!"
But he just held her gaze and simply said, "The room will suit our purposes just fine, thank you."
At this his aunt sniggered, and he thought that the woman was going to show them out. Instead she just tutted loudly, shook her head in contempt and left them.
He closed the door. Although he had enjoyed sex with his aunt several times over the last week, he felt suddenly nervous at the prospective role-play that she had suggested, even though he had liked the sound of it. She had assured him a second time that it was a pure fantasy and not something she had indulged in for real. He could tell that this was true, and, like her the idea of the role-play had seemed luridly appealing, even though the real thing seemed repulsive.
