BUILDED ATTRACTION 6

Clare felt a strong and powerful pulse emanating from her sex. It caused her nipples to pucker. She felt cold, little chips of marble nestling in her bra. 

Getting up off the bed, she switched off the television. She usually had a bath or shower when she got home but had decided to wait until Gary had finished. She supposed she felt faintly embarrassed about being naked while he was in the house, however silly that seemed. 

Clare thought of herself as liberated and independently minded. She wasn’t too concerned with social niceties or the quibbles and taboos of conventional morality. That did not mean, unfortunately, she thought, that she had escaped the conventions of the sexual role that she had been nurtured in from an earlier age. In the mood she was in she would have loved: to be able to go downstairs, not fancifully dressed in flimsy lingerie like something from a scene in a porno film, but dressed as she was now, and ask Gary if he would like to go to bed with her. As simple as that. But it was just not possible. She couldn’t do it. Man had to proposition woman. Those were the rules. As yet female liberation had not changed much in that direction. At least, not for her. She’d seen Angela Barker take the initiative in a way she would never have had the courage to do. 

‘Mrs Markham?’ Gary’s voice interrupted her reverie. 

‘Yes?’ She stepped out of her bedroom. He was standing at the bottom of the stairs. 

‘All done. It didn’t take as long as I thought.’ He was pulling a check shirt on over his chest. 

‘Do you want that beer now?’ she asked, walking downstairs. He was looking up at her, with a serious expression on his face. 

‘Thanks,’ he said. 

She went to the fridge. The old kitchen had been demolished and the fridge stood on a wall in the dining room, covered in a film of dust. She took a beer. The glasses had been packed away but Gary usually drank straight from the bottle. She managed to find a bottle opener and peeled off the metal top. Still feeling coquettish she wondered if she was actually going to do anything other than give him a beer. 

'Aren’t you going to have one?’ he wondered, walking back into the dining room and taking the bottle from her. 

‘I’m fine,’ she said. 

‘See.’ He indicated the new wall which now formed the back of the house. ‘Plastered all that up.’ Pink plaster covered the whole of the area where the new kitchen would be. ‘I’m not in tomorrow. Got to let the chippies in to lay the floors and put in the skirting boards.’ 

‘Mr Wickes said you’d be finished next week.’ 

'Yeah, definite.’ 

‘It was quick.’ He was handsome. She loved the way his lips curled up at the edges as he talked. She loved his rugged, tanned hands, and the way his blue eyes seemed to sparkle. He had the air of a man who had discovered the meaning of life and found it permanently amusing. 

‘Got to keep the customer happy.’ 

‘Don’t you want to sit down?’ Three of her oldest straight-backed chairs had been ranged against the dining-room wall and covered with dust sheets for the use of the workmen. ‘You’ve been on your feet all day.’ 

‘Must be going,’ he said. 

‘Not another beer?’ The first had been consumed rapidly. 

‘Yeah. OK. One more. Thanks.’ 

He sat on one of the chairs as she took another beer from the fridge and opened it. She wondered what she thought she was doing. Why on earth hadn’t she just let him leave? 

‘Cheers,’ he said. 

‘Have you worked for Mr Wickes long?’ She sat down on the chair at the end of the row, leaving one between them. 

‘Five years. He’s a good man. Looks after his men.’ 

‘Is that what you always wanted to be, a builder?’ 

‘Me? No. I wanted to be an astronaut. I wanted to be the first man to walk on the far side of the moon. I’d have liked to stand there looking out into space and not be able to see the earth.’ 

Clare saw the idea create a spark in his eyes. For some reason that made her heart go out to him. ‘Why didn’t you?’ She leant forward, resting her elbows on her knees. 

‘What, with a CSE in woodwork? No chance.’ 

Clare felt confused and uncomfortable and hot. She wasn’t seriously going to try and seduce him, was she? That was just an idle daydream. She thought of Angela’s reference to ‘rough trade’. She wondered what her friend would do in this situation. 

‘Are you married?’ The question came out all wrong. It sounded too blunt and obvious. ‘I’m sorry, none of my business.’ That made it worse. She felt herself blushing. 

‘No, never have been either,’ he said, appearing not to notice her embarrassment. 

‘Involved?’ She could hardly believe she’d said that. 

‘No. Look, I'd better go.’ 

'There’s no hurry, is there?’ She smiled, a tiny rather nervous smile, and leant back in her chair trying to imagine she was Angela, cool, determined and fearless. 

‘Look, Mrs Markham ...’ 

‘Ms. I’m not married. Like you, I never have been.’ 

‘I think I should tell you something.’ 

‘And that is?’ 

He looked directly into her eyes for the first time. She felt her heart pumping faster. ‘I’ve been hanging around here a lot.’ 

‘Have you?’ 

“You know I have. It’s because you’re a fantastic looking bird.’ 

With blinding clarity, like the sun coming out from behind heavy cloud, Clare suddenly knew what she was going to do. “Does this happen a lot, then?’ she asked. 

‘What?’ 

‘Women you’re working for, throwing themselves at you.’ 

He laughed. It was a lovely open sound. ‘And here was me thinking I was doing the throwing. . . And, yeah, as it happens, it does. Practically every house I’m in some bird is all over me like a rash. It’s a wonder I get any work done.’ He said it with self-depreciating humour that Clare found irresistible. 

'You are a very attractive man.’ 

‘I'm glad you think so.’ 

‘Are you?’ 

‘If you want the truth, Ms Markham, I’ve really been lusting after you.’ 

Clare smiled. Ten minutes ago she would have been alarmed if he had said such a thing. Now it pleased her. ‘Lusting isn’t really the right word, is it?’ She was conscious that her cultivated received pronunciation sounded artificial against his earthy, South London vowels. 

'Why not?’ 

‘Because lusting implies urgency and force.’ 

He laughed that gorgeous laugh again. ‘I could have been arrested for doing what I’ve been thinking.’ 

‘And now?' Clare asked. She couldn’t remember ever having been so bold. 

‘Is this a wind-up? Are you serious?’ 

She didn’t need to think about her answer. Being so daring was turning her on. He was turning her on. ‘Perfectly,’ she said in her precise, clipped accent. 

He put the bottle down on the floor with studied concentration, then slowly got to his feet. He stood directly in front of her, looking down into her eyes, his expression quizzical. Then he stooped, put one arm around her shoulders and one under her knees and, with no apparent effort, lifted her up, cradling her like a baby. He brought his lips to hers and kissed her hard, his tongue plunging into her mouth, hot and phallus-like. 

Clare felt a pulse of desire so strong it made her whole body shudder. Suspended in his arms she felt almost weightless, and for some reason that gave her a sense of vulnerability. But the vulnerability was exciting. She couldn’t ever remember a man picking her up physically before, nor any with the strength to do so. She kissed Gary back hard, wrapping her arms around his neck and grinding her mouth against his, enjoying the huge sense of exhilaration that shot through her. It wiped away any doubts she had about what she was doing. 

‘I need a shower,’ he said, finally breaking the kiss. 

‘Upstairs,’ she said breathlessly. He smelt of sweat. At any other time she might have found the smell unpleasant. At this moment it was intoxicating. 

Without putting her down, he walked out into the hall and climbed the stairs. He knew where the bathroom was and pushed the door open with his foot.

‘Don’t put me down yet,’ she said, as she felt him stoop to release her. 

“Why not?’ 

‘I like it. You’re so strong.’ 

“I have to be,’ he said, grinning. ‘And you’re so soft. You smell like flowers.’ He kissed her again, lightly this time, using his tongue to trace the outline of her lips. He kissed her cheeks and her forehead and her nose. He kissed her eyelids, then her mouth again, but this time as forcefully as he had downstairs. 

Clare was melting with passion. Her body seemed to have turned liquid, as liquid as the juices she knew were oozing out of her sex. She had never had sex with a man she had known for such a short period of time. She had never had sex without carefully vetting the man first and considering all the consequences and repercussions. The fact that fifteen minutes ago Gary Newby was someone with whom she’d exchanged no more than casual small talk made her feel almost light-headed with arousal. Hadn’t she longed for spontaneity? 

‘Let me shower,’ he insisted, putting her down. I'm dirty. Plaster-dust all over.’ A large bulge pushed out the fly of his sawn-off jeans. He stripped off his shirt. 

‘You’re a very sexy man, aren’t you?’ Clare purred. Though her feet were back on the floor she felt as if she were floating. 

She ran her hand over the denim and unzipped his flies. ‘God, I feel so naughty.’ As if to demonstrate, she fished inside the jeans. He was wearing white boxer shorts. She fought her way inside them until her fingers closed on his hot, hard penis. ‘That’s what I want,’ she said, pulling it out. 

His cock was large, long, thick and circumcised, the diameter of the glans slightly bigger than the shaft that supported it. The ridge at the bottom of the glans was also very pronounced like a miniature ski-jump. 

Gary unbuckled his belt and pulled his jeans down with the boxer shorts. His cock was still caught in the fly of the shorts and was dragged down with them, until it suddenly sprung free, quivering and vibrant, a proud totem to his masculinity. ‘Let me shower,’ he repeated, pulling off his heavy steel-capped boots and his socks so he could strip his jeans and shorts over his ankles. 

What Clare actually wanted was for him to take her there and then. She wanted to be screwed. She wanted to be fucked. The words excited her. She was trying to think of a single reason why she couldn’t have what she wanted. 

Gary reached for the mixer taps and turned the water on. He climbed into the bath and let the water flow over him. He reached for the soap and lathered his body, then allowed the water to wash the lather away. The water ran pink with the plaster dust. It took a matter of seconds but to Clare it seemed like hours. 

‘No,’ she said as he reached for a towel, not prepared to wait any longer. ‘I want you like this.’ 

Without waiting for him to respond she grabbed the edge of the bath with both hands, bent over, straightened her back and wriggled her bottom from side to side, hoping he would take the hint. 

He did. With water still dripping from his body, he climbed out of the bath and stood behind her. ‘You can’t wait, can you,’ he said, stating the obvious. 

‘No, I can’t. I’ve had to wait too long already. For heaven’s sake, Gary...’ She looked up at him, letting him see the need in her eyes, ’.. can’t you see what you've done to me?’ As if to illustrate the point she pulled the light cotton shirt-waister she was wearing up over her hips. With a total lack of modesty she had never exhibited before, she drew the gusset of her silky white panties to one side and thrust her buttocks up towards him. She knew he would be able to see her sex. It would be glistening with wetness. 

‘Look at that,’ he breathed, momentarily hypnotised by the spectacle. 

‘Gary,’ she whined. Voyeurism was not the point of this exercise. 

‘Yeah. Right,’ he said. Gary thought of himself as experienced with women, but this woman was something new. Her cut-glass accent and the air of confidence and sophistication she exuded had attracted him to her from the start. But she wasn’t like any of the girls he dated, and he’d never imagined he’d even get to first base. Women like her, rungs above him on the social ladder, simply didn’t get involved with brickies, even brickies who did plastering too, even brickies with blonde hair and blue, come-to-bed eyes. Even the single women whose houses he’d worked on, if they were educated and posh like Clare Markham, had never displayed anything but cursory politeness. Oh, he wasn’t naive enough to believe they didn’t stare at his body and wonder. But looking wasn’t doing. Until now. 

He moved up behind Clare, gripped the top of her hips, and forced his erection into the cleft of her buttocks. He found her blatancy exciting. 

‘Yes,’ she hissed. She hadn’t had a man inside her for five months. She hadn’t realised how much tension that had caused until it was about to be released. 

He bucked his hips and guided his cock into the crease of her labia. He could feel her heat and wetness. 

‘Yes,’ she repeated. ‘I need it.’ She squirmed her buttocks from side to side, feeling his glans knocking against them. She felt his cock nestling into the opening of her vagina which seemed to purse around it, welcoming it with a kiss. 

He waited, his fingers gripping like a vice. She tried to push back at him but his hold was too tight. He was teasing her, making her wait. It only increased her arousal. At that moment she could have sworn she had never wanted a man more in her life, that she had never been so totally and absolutely consumed by lust. Nothing else mattered but the moment he chose to plunge inside her. She could feel the length of her vagina contracting, like a mouth desperate for air. The seconds stretched into hours. She actually believed she would come like this, come over the crown of his cock without further penetration, if he didn’t do something soon. 

But that proposition was not put to the test. Without any warning Gary bucked his hips and lunged his cock forward. It drove up into her, parting the soft, silky wet walls of her vagina, stretching her, filling her more completely than she had ever been filled before. He did not withdraw it again. Instead, while his hands pulled her back on him, using his considerable strength to flatten her buttocks against his iron hard navel, he pushed even deeper. It was only a matter of a fraction of an inch but it felt like he had broken through some barrier in her body, some secret barrier she had not known about, another hymen buried so deep only his size had managed to breach it. 

And that was enough. Enough to produce a surge of feeling that blossomed instantly into an orgasm, an orgasm that consumed her like the flames of a fire consumed oxygen. It affected every part of her, made her tremble uncontrollably, made every muscle contract, every sinew stretch, her body completely embroiled in it. She thought she could hear herself screaming the word ‘god’ over and over again but whether she had actually pronounced it or whether it was just echoing in her mind she could not tell. 

Eventually her body turned from total rigidity into quivering jelly. So much so that if Gary's hands hadn’t held her she would have collapsed on to the floor. But they did. His steel fingers supported her weight. He had let her orgasm run its course, but now he was beginning to move, stroking his cock in and out almost imperceptibly at first. Then the movement became more marked. He pulled out of her further, until his glans was almost at the opening of her vagina, then thrust all the way back in, slowly but powerfully.

‘Oh god, Gary, you feel so good.’ The aftermath of orgasm drained away sufficiently for her to be able to register individual feelings again. The outward stroke of his cock created a great void in her, the inner a wonderful sense of fulfilment. He filled her like no other man had. She knew what she wanted now to make her fulfilment complete. She wanted his spunk. She needed it. What made this realisation even more exhilarating was that she could feel, with every millimetre of her sex, that she was going to get precisely what she wanted and very soon. 

As he slid into her, the slick of her juices making the penetration frictionless, she used all the muscles of her sex to squeeze his phallus. She felt it react immediately, jerking against his silken grip. She waited until he was right up in her again, up beyond the secret barrier, up where she had never been touched before, then squeezed for a second time. It produced another convulsion in his cock, matched, to her surprise, by an equal shock of pleasure in her. 

She had never had sex like this. Even before the complex rituals indulged in by David, sex had been studied and artful, an exercise in self-knowledge and self-discipline, in getting men to do to her what she had discovered she liked most, then planning how to please them in return. She insisted on foreplay, on having her nipples stroked and her clitoris caressed. This was entirely different. He hadn’t touched her nipples. She hadn’t even taken off her bra. Her clitoris, though throbbing and more alive than she’d ever known it, remained neglected. It didn’t appear to matter. As surely as day follows night she was going to come again the moment he ejaculated, cause she knew she would be able to feel it ha nas graphically as she’d ever felt anything. e was hammering into her now, his own need asserting itself. Each inward thrust was so powerful it almost took her breath away, each threatening to make her lose control again. But she hung on by her metaphorical fingernails, clinging to the cliff face of consciousness, determined to feel him come. 

Suddenly he stopped, jamming his erection into the depths of her body, pulling her back on him. He looked down at her bottom, the silky white panties stretched out all askew across her buttocks, the gusset bunched up at one side of her sex, its elastic biting into the softness of her flesh. His cock twitched, kicking against the tight, wet tube that surrounded it so sensually. It twitched again and a huge spurt of semen jetted out of him, spattering into her body, followed by another and another and another. 

This time Clare was sure that she screamed. Though she had been prepared for it, though she’d felt his cock convulsing inside her, the heat and strength of his spending took her by surprise. His spunk was hot, burning inside her. She could feel every drop of it, every spot where it splattered out instantly transformed into a seething mass of raw nerves. She came as she knew she would, her second orgasm just as deep and affecting as the first, her body shuddering. She clung to the edge of the bath for support. 

‘Didn’t even take my dress off,’ she said, wanting to say something and not capable of thinking of anything else. She felt totally confused. As he pulled out of her she suffered a renewed tremor of sensation, like an orgasm in miniature. It added to her sense of bewilderment. Now that their passion was spent, its suddennness and intensity burnt out, there was a gaping emotional vacuum. She had gone so far away from anything that passed as normal behaviour for her, that it was difficult to get back into character, to re-establish the essential bearings of her life again. She sat on the edge of the bath, facing him. 

‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘I’m feeling a little shaky.’ a She was looking at his body. He did remind her of the stripper. She suddenly had a vision of that tight black bottom bucking up and down on the pretty blonde. She shuddered. 

‘I'll take that as a compliment,’ he said. He picked up a towel and began to dry his body, still wet from the shower. 

‘It is one,’ she said. 

‘Another satisfied customer. I’ll have to put in for more overtime from Wickesy.’ 

It took a moment for her to realise he was joking. 'Worth every penny,' she said weakly. 

'What now?’ 

She needed to shower. Her body felt sticky. But she was suddenly shy. He had taken her more profoundly than any man she could remember and yet she felt inhibited about taking her dress off in front of him. She scolded herself for being silly and unbuttoned the dress quickly. 

‘Turn the water on,’ she said, as she unclipped her white bra, trying not to feel self-conscious. 

'You look great,’ he observed. 

The panties were still pulled to one side. She skimmed them down her legs and stepped into the bath as he turned the water on. The lukewarm water felt good. 

‘Do you want me to go?’ He was watching the water flow over her firm, round breasts. 

‘No.’ 

‘Do you want to go and get something to eat?’ 

The water refreshed her. She thought she could feel wetness — hers or his? — leaking on to her thigh. She washed it away with the soap. 'Yes, that’s a good idea.’ But there was a better one, as far as she was concerned, a much better one, though whether he’d be able to oblige again she did not know.

She got out of the bath and towelled herself dry, then took his hand and led him through to the bedroom. 

'I can’t go anywhere posh,’ he said. ‘Not in that clobber.’ 

‘I could order take-away,’ she suggested. 

‘There’s something I'd like to fucking take away,’ he said fiercely. He grabbed her hand and pulled her into his arms with such force it nearly knocked the breath out of her. His lips mashed against hers as he squirmed against her nakedness, his chest squashing her breasts. This was a new experience. She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him to her. His body felt wonderful, every inch as hard as steel. What was more surprising was that his cock was unfurlin rapidly against her belly. By the time he broke the kiss it was as erect as it had been before. 

‘God, you’re enthusiastic,’ she said. She was having trouble believing he could recover so quickly, but there was the evidence right in front of her eyes. Not that she was complaining. 

‘That’s your fault,’ he said, glancing at his cock. 

‘You certainly make a woman feel desired.’ 

She dropped to her knees. Unsubtly, with no preliminaries, she sucked his cock into her mouth. A few minutes ago she had felt befuddled and disorientated. But she had recovered as quickly as he so evidently had. He moaned as she took him deep in her throat, cramming as much of him into her as she could. 

‘Great,’ he mumbled. 

She sucked again, feeling his cock react with a jerk. His hardness and his size made her sex throb. She began bobbing her head up and down on him, wondering if she could make him come, enamoured of the idea of feeling him come in her mouth. 

‘No ...’ he gasped after a moment or two. ‘That’s not what I want.’ 

He stooped and plucked her off the floor, gathering her in his arms, taking her bodily, and literally throwing her on the bed, the impression of where she had lain earlier still held in the quilt. Before she could register anything else, he had fallen on her, forced her legs apart, and stabbed his erection into her. There was no resistance. Her sex was wet. Soaking wet. No doubt part of her liquidity was his previous spending but she knew this frantic assault was arousing her strongly. Being wanted like this, being desired so ardently, must be the most powerful aphrodisiac in the world. 

His right hand squeezed between their bodies to grasp her breast. He pinched her nipple. This time his tactics were entirely different. He didn’t tease her. He didn’t thrust into her and hold himself there. He simply hammered into her, using all his athleticism to pound his large cock into her sex, stroking it back and forth with a speed and power that she found hard to believe anyone could sustain for long. But he did. He went on and on. 

Clare’s orgasm, she supposed, was instantaneous, the urgency of his first thrust provoking an enormous release of feelings. But, though he must have felt her sex contracting around him and her body trembling, and heard the little mewing noises she made, he did not pause. He just hammered on, as hard and as efficiently as before, each inward stroke filling her compietely, taking his cock deeper into her sex, opening her, until it felt almost as if it were splitting her. He hammered her into another orgasm that made the first pale into insignificance, then on, through that into a third, at which point she lost the last vestige of control. She wasn’t really sure what happened after that, whether she just kept coming, whether she had orgasm after orgasm, or whether her body was just so prone, so helplessly vulnerable and exposed that the sensations she was experiencing, the acute pleasures, were in fact one superabundant climax. 

In the middle of it all — or was it at the end, she could not tell — she felt him come too. But she was too far gone to respond. Where before she had felt every jet of his ejaculation, now it was reduced toa vague awareness of his cock bucking inside her, and a new flood of wetness seeping into her sex. She could not cope with anything else. Her body had raised its defences, saturation point reached. It was something she’d never felt before. 

How long it was before he stopped, before his pistoning buttocks came to rest, and he rolled off her, finally sated, she did not know. But almost as soon as he had, exhausted and overwhelmed physically and emotionally, Clare fell asleep. When she awoke he had gone.