He carried me to the left wing of the house. That room was another fusion of spaces: bedroom, office, walk-in wardrobe. It was modest compared to the main chamber — almost stoic. The headboard of a double bed stood against one wall; the sheets were neatly made, hotel-style. Opposite was a massive desk with an ergonomic black office chair, two large monitors, a printer, and various office supplies. At the back, a built-in niche held three clothing rails: one for shirts, one for trousers, one for coats and jackets. Shelves stored shoes, scarves, gloves, sunglasses, ties, belts, and even hats.
Smith laid me on the bed and turned away to switch on the heating. I seized the moment and dashed for the door, but he intercepted me, locked it with a key, and slipped the key into his pocket.
"I'm sorry, Officer. I can't let you go. Why are you running from me? You know it's going to happen," he said, pulling me close and playing with my hair.
"Smith, you can't do this!" I repeated, struggling against his embrace.
"Please, call me Johnny. It sounds so sweet when you say it. Can I call you Alex? Alex is short for Alexandra, right?" He grabbed my wrists and guided me back to the bed. His hand reached for the sensitive spot at the back of my neck. I clutched his arm to stop him, but he didn't relent.
My body relaxed as he massaged the tense muscles. My eyelids grew heavy; my legs weakened. I lurched backwards. Smith caught me instantly and eased me down onto the bed.
"Smith, no!" I mumbled, pleading.
"It's all right," he murmured, capturing my moans with his mouth. I couldn't fight him — but I also didn't want to lose control.
"Johnny," I interrupted his kisses, holding his face between my hands. "I'll make love to you, but you have to listen. I haven't done this in years, so I want it to be nice for me, too."
His expression softened the moment I spoke.
"Of course! I'll do anything you ask, baby! Tell me what you like," he said, helping me sit up and delicately unbuttoning my coat. "What do you want me to do?"
"Just don't rush. You make me nervous when you put your full weight on me. Be gentle, and I'll be gentle. No name calling or slapping - I don't like that," I said, frowning.
"Me neither. I'm gentle, I swear. Tenderness gets us so much further," he replied, removing my vest and reaching for my T-shirt. I stopped him.
"Aren't you going to take your clothes off?" I asked.
Smith's face lit up. He untucked his shirt and opened it in one swift motion — it had snap fasteners instead of buttons.
We both removed our shoes and climbed onto the bed, moving cautiously, eyes locked like wary animals afraid to startle each other. I reached out to touch his torso as we knelt facing one another. Smith had a good, slender body. He shivered slightly as my fingertips glided over his hairy chest. My palms moved up to his neck. He smiled as I tried to encircle it with my small hands. I traced the curve to his broad shoulders and down his arms. I felt him flex beneath my touch. He had beautiful arms — the kind I had always wanted on a man. Long limbs corded with thick, light-blue veins. I followed one down to his wrist, pressing my index fingernail gently against it. I stroked his fingers, tugging lightly one by one, admiring their elegance.
"Do you like my arms, Mummy?"
"Why are you calling me Mummy?" I giggled.
"I don't know. It turns me on. It feels right … comforting. Please, can I call you Mummy?" he pleaded, grabbing my waist and drawing me closer. I nodded, though I found it strange. There had to be some Freudian explanation.
"Your turn now. Let's take this off," he said impatiently, helping me remove my T-shirt. He cupped my breasts and rubbed his face against them.
"Can I suck on your titties, Mummy?"
"Yes, Johnny," I whispered in his ear as he gently pushed me back onto the pillows. I raked my fingers through his hair, guiding his head as he moved from one breast to the other. At some point he paused to unbuckle his belt and help me out of my trousers. I could see the outline of his erection through the white fabric of his underwear. He froze when I rubbed the hard bulge. Heat radiated from his tense body.
"Do you like it, Mummy?" His voice was hoarse. I looked up. A feverish blush spread across his face; his lips were swollen. There was something oddly vulnerable and intensely seductive about him. Until now, only his physical actions had aroused me — his expression hadn't stirred much. I grabbed his face and sucked on his lower lip. His frustrated groan made me smile.
"Show it to me, Johnny," I murmured, biting his earlobe. My hands slid inside his underwear, intending to pull them down, but Smith tackled me in a sudden surge of passion.
"Oh, Mummy!" He stripped off my panties and rolled down his own. "Mummy! Let me fuck you! You'll love it, I promise!" he stuttered, moving his hips up and down against me.
"You have to help Mummy first, Johnny. Come on, lie next to me, baby." I pushed him back and guided his hand to my groin. He understood immediately and began gently stroking. He multitasked, covering my nipple with his mouth. I ran my fingers through his hair and slid my hand down, caressing his inner thighs. I liked the smoothness of his skin and the feel of his cock in my hand. As obscene as it was, I had fantasised about this often when my mind wandered at work. There was something thrilling about pleasuring a man this way.
Smith gripped my hip, pulling me closer. I was highly aroused and thought I was ready. But I felt nervous just thinking about it.
"Do you have a condom?" I asked.
He reached behind him, opened the bedside drawer, and took one out.
"Just be slow and gentle, baby," I murmured as he positioned himself on top.
He nodded, kissing my face and neck softly while easing in slowly. I told him to hold still — it felt as if my legs were paralysed with him inside me. Smith wrapped his arms around my back, whispering sweet things, soothing me. He kissed my neck and shoulders, complimenting my body, telling me how beautiful I was, how much he had craved this.
Before long he began moving his hips. I liked his body too — its warmth, its strength, the rhythm he set. Amid everything wrong, making love to this man felt like one of the few things right. It felt familiar, safe — even though, soberly considered, people would judge me for sleeping with a stranger who was also a convict. In that blissful moment, I didn't care.
Long before any of this, I had decided I would take whatever pleasure life offered. For a thirty-three-year-old immigrant woman, there wasn't much romance or excitement to seize. But right then, I wanted this Anglo-Saxon man — and knowing he wanted me just as badly was deeply satisfying.
I enjoyed it, but his full weight pressing down made breathing difficult. My favourite position was on top, sitting astride my partner on a chair or sofa. It felt more intimate, more fun — and I could control the pace. I suggested he sit with his back against the headboard. Smith eagerly complied, gripping my hips firmly as I straddled him.
I made small pelvic movements, savouring the way the tip of his penis brushed my cervix. Smith tried to stay composed, but the more I lost myself in the pleasure, the more agitated he became, begging to thrust harder so I could feel it better. I warned him it might hurt — he was already pressing against my cervix, and intense thrusting could cause damage. He slid down the pillows to lie flat and pulled me on top, adjusting so he wouldn't go so deep. I caught his tongue between my lips as we kissed and sucked gently. Smith clearly loved it; soon he was moaning and increasing the rhythm of his hips.
"Mummy! I'm about to come. I can't take it anymore!" he whimpered, breathing fast. I knew my own climax would take longer, but I gave in to his pleas.
"You can come, Johnny. But you'll give Mummy a massage afterwards."
Smith nodded fiercely, gripping my hips and focusing on his release.
"Yes, that's a good boy. Mummy's proud of you - you were so nice to her," I encouraged, matching his excitement to help him finish.
Smith cried out as he came inside me. His whole body shook; he looked on the verge of passing out. I caressed his face, waiting for his breathing to steady.
"Not yet. Let's stay like this a while," he whispered as I tried to lift off him. "That was amazing. I don't remember coming that hard in my life. Did you come, Mummy?" he asked hopefully.
"No, not yet. Mine usually takes longer," I replied absently.
"You were so good to me letting me come. Next time I'll make sure Mummy comes, too."
We kissed for a while longer, but soon I needed the bathroom. Fortunately, there was one on the same floor, so I didn't have to leave the warmth. Smith was still shaky as he sat on the bed, removing the condom. He followed me to the bathroom, wanting to shower together. We soaped each other under the hot water. Afterwards he dried me with a towel and carried me back to bed in his arms. He kept his promise and gave me a full-body massage. For the first time in years, I felt relaxed and satisfied. Smith switched off the light, got into bed, and pulled the warm blanket over us. I remember him kissing my forehead and running his fingers through my hair before I fell asleep.