The Blue Guide (2 page)

We walked back to his hotel. He'd called ahead, and a couple of margaritas and a trayful of canapés were waiting for us in the little cinema. I whistled as we walked in: the 30-odd seats were clad in soft baby-blue leather, and each had its own small table for a cocktail glass.

‘Cool, isn't it?' said Daniel, handing me a margarita and clinking his glass gently against mine.

‘It's seriously swanky,' I said, looking around.

Daniel eased himself into a seat on the front row, and I followed suit. Then he signalled the projectionist to start the DVD and we sat watching in the darkness, exchanging the odd observation and getting as excited as little kids whenever we recognized a locale that we'd visited that day. A couple more cocktails arrived, seemingly unbidden, adding to our good humour. Finally, just as the end credits were rolling and I was contemplating whether to splash out on a taxi home, and wondering whether there was anything in my fridge or whether I ought to stop off for a takeout pizza, I realised with a shiver of utter, and unutterable, pleasure that Daniel's hand was on my thigh.

I must have let out an involuntary gasp, for he retracted it slightly and said in an almost plaintive voice: ‘Sorry, does that bother you?'

‘No,' I moaned. ‘God, no.' And to reinforce my point I grabbed his hand and placed it back on my thigh, only a little higher this time.

As he turned in his seat and nuzzled his face in my
neck, I murmured, ‘It's just that I thought you were gay.'

Daniel sat up, a bemused expression on his face. ‘What the hell gave you that idea?' he said.

‘Last night,' I reminded him. ‘When you told me you don't have a boyfriend at the moment.'

He chuckled, bringing his face back to my neck and nibbling at me – a move guaranteed to have me in paroxysms of delight in minutes. His lips grazed the tender flesh of my earlobe as he whispered, ‘I said I don't have a boyfriend. Not now, not ever. I was pulling your leg, as I think you Brits say.'

In one fluid movement, he pushed my skirt up around my hips, parted my legs and hooked them over the arms of my seat, then lowered himself to his knees. Pulling the lacy fabric of my knickers aside, he brought his face to me.

‘God, you're wet,' he exclaimed. ‘And you smell – mmm – just great.'

I swooned back, closed my eyes and gave myself up to the feel of Daniel's expert mouth on me, listening to my skin squeaking against the leather as I writhed with pleasure. His tongue flicked at my clitoris, teasing me, and then roamed the little folds and creases of my lips as if trying to locate a mother of pearl within its shell.

‘I could eat you all night,' he said when he finally came up for air. In the dim light I could see the lower half of his face glistening with my fluids. Suddenly self-conscious, I sat up.

As if reading my thoughts, Daniel whispered, ‘How about if we go somewhere more private?'

I nodded and, after I'd straightened up my clothes, we took the lift. A couple got in at the ground floor, and I was more than a little relieved not to have to make inane conversation with Daniel, as I was sure I would
have done. At the top floor we followed the couple out, then Daniel led me through the corridors to his suite. Swiping his card, he held the door open and ushered me into the hallway. I walked down it towards a large sitting room filled with sleek sofas, vases of orchids and tasteful artworks. Through a door to my left I glimpsed a huge bed invitingly covered with white linen.

The mood had lost its edge on the silent journey up from the screening room, and I think both of us were feeling a little shy about setting things in motion again. Reaching into the mini-bar and uncorking a bottle of white wine, Daniel suggested that, since we hadn't eaten, we order in room service. I agreed, suddenly aware that I was ravenous.

By the time our food arrived half an hour later, we had polished off the Pinot Grigio and were naked on the sofa, in what's commonly referred to as a sixty-niner. Daniel's cock was pale and smooth, and felt cool as a pebble in my mouth. And I just loved the obvious enjoyment he was getting from my pussy. We'd totally forgotten about the food, in fact, when the rap on the door came.

Daniel hotfooted it into the bathroom and came out in his fluffy bathrobe, throwing me a similar one and waiting until I'd slipped it on before opening the door. The waiter rumbled in with a trolley laden with crisp napkins, glittering cutlery and white porcelain plates covered with silver dishes.

‘Where would you like it, sir?' he asked.

‘In the dome room, I think,' Daniel said, turning to me. ‘This is really something.'

The waiter advanced through the sitting room at a stately pace, halting before a set of double doors that I'd scarcely noticed up to that point. Opening them with somewhat of a flourish, he stood back and I saw beyond
them a sumptuous circular room, the centrepiece of which was a gleaming round table.

‘What on earth is that?' I said.

Daniel smiled indulgently. ‘This used to be a newspaper HQ,' he said, ‘and this was the boardroom.' He stepped inside and pulled back one of the chairs. ‘Come in and take a seat,' he said as the waiter laid our places on the table.

When the latter retreated, Daniel signed his bill and handed the man a generous tip. Then he turned back to me, poured me a glass of wine from a fresh bottle set in an ice bucket, and, before I had chance to protest, slipped my bathrobe off my shoulders. It fell around me on the chair, leaving me naked at the table.

Bursting out laughing at my shout of surprise, Daniel took his off too, then leaned forwards, swept me up in his arms and laid me out on the table, as if I were part of the meal. Now I was laughing too.

Resting my head back against the table, I looked up at the painted inner dome of the ceiling and thought of all the high-falutin' meetings that must have taken place here over the years. Daniel, meanwhile, had got to work on the starter: he was busy dismantling a neat little dish of tiger prawns and arranging a number of them in a line down from my breasts to the top of my pussy. Bringing his mouth to me, he wound his tongue around and between the glossy crustacea. Then he cupped my ribs with his hands and, crouched over me, took the prawns into his mouth, one by one, clearly savouring the satinesque skin of them before biting into the meaty flesh.

‘Now for the main course,' he announced, looking up into my eyes, and again I felt an immense thrill ripple up through my body as he began jabbing at my labia with his tongue, probing them with his mouth as he
had the seafood. I closed my eyes and envisaged my own vulva, its pinks and purples recalling the flesh tones of the prawns, its juices winking like shellfish on a fishmonger's slab.

I was startled from my weird vision by a sudden icy blast, and opened my eyes to see that Daniel had drenched my pussy with half a glass of Chablis. I sat up, giggling, and pulled him up towards me. Understanding, he rolled over onto his back and this time it was my turn to smear him with butter, which I delved out of the little bowl and massaged slowly, deeply, into his chest, working each muscle group with my fingers until they began to soften like the butter. Then, taking another pat of the creamy yellow substance between my palms, I began to coat his cock thoroughly, thickly, leaving not a square millimetre uncovered. I slathered it around his balls, across his perineum and around his arsehole too. His hips were grinding away as if the sensations were becoming almost too intense for him, and low moans escaped from between his parted lips. His head was thrown back, but I could see that his eyes were open and that he was staring through one of the little round windows that gave onto the night.

As he pleaded with me to straddle him, I thrust one finger up his arse, as far as it would go, in one clean motion. He yelped, and torrents of come began pumping out of him, splashing onto his upper belly and trickling down his sides onto the polished wood of the table.

When he was done, and lay gasping, I brought my mouth to him and slowly coaxed his cock back to life, caressing his flesh with the tip of my tongue until I felt him begin to tighten and strain for me again. Then I sat up and lowered myself onto him, and his hands closed around my hips. My pussy devoured him so avidly that
I was afraid for a moment I was going to suck him up whole. I rocked back and forth, eyes closed, hands clasping my breasts, trying to establish a quiet, measured rhythm, to keep hold of the moment. His hands on each side of me steadied me, were complicit in attempting to maintain the momentum, to stave off what was inevitable – what was desired but perhaps, in some part of us, feared. But the vigour of his climax had excited me too much, and each time my clit ground against him, I came a step closer to losing it. Before long, I couldn't hold my climax back. I came violently, howling up into the empty space of that lovely dome like a she-wolf calling out into the dark.

‘Jesus,' I heard him mutter as we lay spent in each others' arms, amidst the remnants of our barely eaten meal and all the posh crockery and gleaming silver. Then, after a while, Daniel rose and, sliding into his bathrobe, went off into the bedroom. He returned to tell me he'd run me a deep hot bath.

I soaked for an hour or so, letting the water caress my skin that still tingled from Daniel's touch and the frenzy that he had unleashed in me. A little television stuck on a bendy stalk was tuned into CNN news but the sound was down and the disasters and dramas that were being recounted by its coiffed presenters might as well have been taking place on the moon for all they impinged on me. I felt completely unconnected with reality.

When I climbed out, Daniel was in bed, propped up against a pile of pillows, hopping through the channels on a larger TV set.

‘I'm looking for a decent old movie we can watch,' he said. ‘Here,' he added, passing me a mug from the bedside table. ‘I had some hot chocolate brought up for us.'

I was asleep before I had chance to drink it, and I'm not sure whether he found a good film to watch or not. All I know is that when I woke in his arms in the grey light of dawn, I had fallen more than a little for Daniel Lubowski.

WE SHARED BREAKFAST
in bed, laughing as we smeared each other with fresh berries and Greek yogurt, as we stained the pristine white sheets with a mixture of crushed raspberries and our own liquors. Dan marvelled as I lay back and spread myself wide for him, holding my pussy open as if for his inspection. Exclaiming at its juiciness, he brought his hand slowly to me, slid three fingers in and and then moved them in and out slowly, entering me a little more deeply each time until I was trying to sit up, reaching for his cock, begging him to come into me. Knowing that I was on the brink, he carried on teasing me until I couldn't take any more and was up and pushing him back onto the bed. Turning around, I lowered myself onto his dick with my back to him, taking him up to the hilt, then leaning forwards so that he had a close-up view of my arse. He grabbed my cheeks violently, began pushing me forwards and then pulling me back. When it seemed we were both on the cusp of an orgasm, he sat up and pushed me forwards at the same time as he maneouvred himself onto his knees. As if repaying me for the compliment of the previous evening, he inserted his thumb into my sphincter.

With one hand outspread on the leather headboard to steady myself against his onslaught, I reached between my legs and pressed my clitoris, letting my fingers remain still for a few moments, for as long as I could bear it, knowing that the second I began
strumming at myself the fireworks would flash through me, searing me. But even before I began, Dan had reached around me and removed my fingers, replacing them with his own. For a minute or two he peppered my clit with the lightest and most fleeting of touches, as if a butterfly was swooping in on me and then away. Then he mashed his fingertips into me, and as he massaged my clit up and down along my pubic bone, one finger on each side of the little pink nub, I could tell he was listening for my verbal cues, working out what best pleased me. When he hit the spot, his index and middle fingers jiggling me from side to side, he re-intensified the plunging action of his cock and it was as if, in my climax, I was being carried away by some primeval force, as if a tornado or hurricane was sweeping through the room, ravaging me.

Yelling, Dan pulled back and out of me, and I fell forwards onto the bed, tears in my eyes. The feeling was almost mystical, that of being one with the universe – a Buddhist sense, I suppose, of blending in with everything around one, of being an indissoluble part of a greater whole. I let myself float for a while, not even stirring when I felt Dan lean forwards and stroke my hair, plant a kiss on my cheek, pull the duvet up around my shoulders.

When I woke it was ten o'clock, and a note on the bedside cabinet informed me that he had gone to a meeting and would pick me up in a taxi downstairs at one o'clock to take us on our second tour. In the meantime, I was to relax and order whatever I wanted from room service.

I switched the TV on but barely watched as I flicked through the hotel directory, where I noticed that there was a swimming pool on site. After ringing down to check that they sold swimsuits for guests who had
forgotten theirs, I slipped into my bathrobe and waffle slippers and headed down to the basement in the lift. There I spent an hour alternating between lap swimming and just drifting about, the classical music that was being piped underwater helping to sustain the sense of otherworldliness that had taken hold of me.

After another bath and some coffee in the Dome Suite, I was in the lobby ready for Daniel, who soon pulled up in a taxi outside and waved me to join him. As we headed west, he told me he'd been in a meeting with an up-and-coming young director who had worked on music videos for Björk and some other Icelandic artists and whom he was trying to lure into working on something a little more mainstream. He was pleased with the outcome, thought he'd made a breakthrough with the guy. Doodling on the window with his finger as we rounded Hyde Park Corner and I pointed out the majestic Wellington Arch, he explained to me that his dream was to subvert Hollywood from within, to attract the kind of avant-garde overseas talent that would put a halt to the creeping blandness of commercial American film making.