Sex with a Sting: Six Erotic Fantasies with a Kink in the Tail by C.D. Foxwell Page A

naturally, but also the way the two
women complemented each other because, and this became more obvious the older
they became, they were so different and brought contrasting skills to the
table.
    Time ticked past 11pm. They had the bar
until 1am, but Claire was already considering ducking out. Paolo had been
telling her about his family back in Rome and his childhood visits to the city.
Claire loved Italy, always had. To her, it was the perfect holiday destination.
She could fly to Milan and indulge in bashing her credit card on incredible
clothes, then she could spend a week on the beach further south, or at Lake
Garda, eating fresh fish and sipping a late night Grappa in the warm Italian
air. She suddenly realised, though, that she and Paolo had been locked together
in conversation for over an hour. Her head was a little fuzzy with alcohol and
she found herself mesmerised by his lips as he spoke softly of his childhood
memories. She checked her watch again and drained her glass. She should
probably head home.
    “You have to get back to your husband?”
he smiled.
    “Well, it is getting a little late…”
    “Hey, in Italy we’re barely leaving the
house at 11pm! Stay for one more, come on. One more can’t hurt. Your husband
will be asleep by now anyway, right?”
    “Well, actually he has drinks tonight,
too.”
    “Exactly, so he’ll be late home. You’ve
got a free pass.”
    “Yes, I suppose so,” she smiled.
    “In that case, I think it’s time we had a
cocktail, don’t you?” He pointed a finger at her: “Don’t move!” Before she
could protest, he was off through the crowd, swaying between bodies with the
grace of a ballroom dancer, his hips bending and swerving, his hands
occasionally, gently, resting on a pair of hips to allow him to slip by. Every
time this happened, the woman in question would turn and grin at him. Claire
followed his progress and paid special attention to the females: almost every
single one gave him an admiring look, or at the very least checked out his
behind. Several raised their eyebrows at each other, wordlessly yet obviously
communicating their approval.
    Once he got to the bar she took out her
BlackBerry and checked her emails and texts and tapped out a couple of replies.
He was soon back, laden with two tall glasses of a deep red liquid. He handed
one over. “What’s this?” she asked.
    “A Royal Plush. Ever had one before?”
    “Can’t say I have.”
    “Ah, well, it’s the height of decadence,
really. Red Burgundy and Champagne. Perfect for a cold night like this. Very
Christmassy.”
    She took a sip and it was delicious
– warming yet fresh. “Lovely.”
    “It’s a favourite of my father’s. We
always have them around Christmas, but you don’t see it that often on a
cocktail menu. It was a nice surprise to find it here.”
     
    They chatted on, almost locked in their
own cocoon. As soon as she finished her drink, Paolo was off to get her a
refill. The room began to empty, and occasionally she or Paolo would be
required to wave a goodbye or kiss a cheek. Yet if he ever left to bid someone
farewell, he always swiftly returned to her side to continue their conversation,
asking about her university years, about how she met Zoe, about her favourite
foods and films and so on. He even made several notes on his iPhone of movies
he must watch and books he had to read on her recommendation.
    By half past twelve, and with two and a
half Royal Plushes inside her to add to the several glasses of champagne,
Claire knew she was a little more than tipsy. Not roaring drunk by any means,
but comfortably happy, totally relaxed, in a place where she did not have time
to think about her words before they tumbled out of her mouth. Paolo seemed
fascinated by everything she said. When she made him laugh he occasionally
touched her arm and, once or twice, her waist. Despite herself, Claire started
to believe that he may be hitting on her.
    She was flattered, of course. There