Just a Taste

Temptation comes in many guises. Sometimes, it comes packaged in our favourite chocolate wrapper, sometimes filling a brimming pint glass – even though you know you have dinner reservations with the in-laws in half an hour and cannot be late. Other times it manifests itself as opportunity: to be eating an ice-cream as your insurance broker passes under a footbridge you happen to be standing on, or to call in sick after an unexpectedly indulgent Sunday spent with the chaps at the local watering hole. Occasionally, it rears its head as a little white lie; flicking your ball out of a patch of rough when no one is looking – it was a bloody good drive after all and deserved to be on the fairway.

For Charlie Green, temptation came knocking at his door, one fateful day, tucked snuggly into a black, lacy, double D-sized bra.

It was a lovely summer evening in London, and Charlie had just surrendered himself to the clutches of his new suede sofa and was in the midst of wrapping himself around the first gin and tonic of the evening, when his girlfriend, Valentina, padded into the room.

Charlie enjoyed watching Valentina move; she was thin and dark with sharp, angry Latino features, which belied her tendency to laugh easily. Her eyes were like two smouldering coals in her smooth tanned face, and she had moved with the easy flowing grace of a willow tree caught swaying in a gentle breeze.

“I see you’ve retired for the evening,” she said in her American accent, raising a shapely eyebrow, the corner of her mouth crooking slightly in amusement. It was the same look that she’d given him that night, six years previously, when he’d had the gall – and enough cocktails floating about inside him – to approach her in the bar. It was a look that always made his penis give a little sigh of longing.

“What’re you looking at?” she asked.

“Just you,” he said.

Her little smile widened a fraction. “Well, that’s very sweet of you, but you can forget any notion you had of getting into these panties for the time being.” She pulled the chic black slacks she was wearing down to reveal a very red, very small pair of underwear.

Charlie took a swallow of his drink so that his mouth would have something other to do then hang open like that of a cod. “Those,” he said, “are the smallest knickers I’ve ever seen.”

“You should see the back.”

“They’re the Luxembourg of knickers.”

“They don’t really have a back.”

Charlie took another swig of his drink. “Why would you be so cruel as to show me that, if you know that I can’t do anything? I never thought that you were such a she-devil.”

“It’s to show you what you get later if you’re a good boy this evening.”

“Valentina, you know that I’m a model of decorum at all times – the epitome of the English gentleman. Why you’d think I’d be any different this evening is beyond me, you hard seductress.”

“We’re entertaining tonight?”

“Oh no, are we? Who?”

“My sister.”

Charlie, sucking back the last drop from his beaker and speculating as to the chances of Valentina pouring him another so that he wouldn’t have to leave the couch, said, “Sister?”

“Yeah.”

“Your sister?”

“No, the guy at the corner shop’s sister. ’Course my sister, you jackass.”

“Sometimes, I almost forget that you’re an American, and then you go and say something like that,” Charlie said, shaking his head sorrowfully.

Valentina stuck her tongue out at him, reached down to one of the plush armchairs and threw a cushion at him.

Charlie bounded to his feet, leapt the glass coffee table and chased her into the kitchen. Val was shrieking and laughing. He caught her behind the breakfast bar and tickled her mercilessly.

“Look at me,” he said, as she writhed breathlessly in his clutches, “a byword of suavity and chivalry, and you turn me wild like this!” He stopped tickling her and pressed her against the kitchen counter. She looked up at him and flashed him that perfect white smile of hers.

“Christ, you’ve got a set of gnashers on you,” he said.

He kissed her then, and his hands slipped down the back of the light, loose trousers, cupping one tight bumcheek in each hand.

“My goodness, they really don’t have a back!” he said.

Valentina giggled into his mouth, kissing him back. Her tongue flicked out and ran teasingly across his teeth and lips.

Charlie’s fingers ran across her arse, downwards and inwards, pulling her buttocks apart. He could feel, on the tips of his fingers, the heat coming off of Valentina’s cunt.

“Ah, ah,” Val scolded him gently, wriggling away. As she backed off she held his bottom lip gently between her teeth.

Charlie groaned, enjoying the painful pleasure of it.

When Valentina released him he said, “Now, what’s all this nonsense about your sister, gorgeous?”

Val straightened her top, fixed her trousers and said, “She’s in London for a week or so and I told her to come and stay tonight. I said we’d take her out for dinner.”

Charlie had reservations about this, and he voiced them with all the tact and eloquence of a young man who’d attended some of England’s best schools. “Bugger and balls, really?”

“What?”

“Well, you know I need time to prepare, gorgeous, time to get my head in the game. I’ve never even met the woman.”

“I haven’t seen her in a few years either, Charlie.”

“Well, what do I talk to her about?”

“Talk to her about the book you’re working on.

Charlie shook his head. “I can’t do that. I’m writing one of the juicier sex scenes at the moment.”

Val grinned. “God, she’ll love that!”

“Don’t tell her, Val.”

“Why?”

“Because they’re such bloody awkward things.”

Val stepped back towards him and started to rub slowly at the front of his trousers, whilst looking at him from under half-closed lids. Charlie felt himself hardening for the second time in about two minutes.

“But they make you so much money,” she said. “They must just be words on a page to you by now.”

Charlie, trying to fight his girlfriend’s powerful allure, cleared his throat. “It’s just, when you sit down to it, when you go to articulate the actual act of sex – a blow by blow account, you might say...”

“You naughty boy.”

“Well – and excuse my vulgarity, my love – when you’re filling in your chums about a one-night stand, for instance, you might tell them you took the person home and had sex or – or –”

“They just went down on you?”

Charlie was visited by a vision of doing just that to Valentina, right there and then. To run his hands down her sides, lift her onto the breakfast bar, hook his thumbs into the waistband of those miniscule underpants and pull them down over her tanned thighs, and lower his head –

“Or if you just kissed them on the couch and then watched a crappy movie?” Val said, breaking into his musings.

Sadly, Charlie closed the door on the brilliant and inviting daydream. “Right, exactly. Quite. Or you kissed. Right. So, when you actually go to regale someone with those sort of escapades, most of the time you don’t go into that much detail. But, when you’re writing a sex scene, it’s so candid. It becomes so filthy so easily because you’re describing every detail.”

“You’re going to have to give me an example now you realise, Green” Valentina said, and she was grinning wickedly.

“I just mean, the act of sex, par example. When you’re describing it – even when you’re trying to keep it minimal and realistic – you find yourself using words that you’d never use in your day to day.”

“Like?”

Charlie thought for a second. “Thrust. Fingered.”

“You use fingered sometimes, don’t you?”

“Be sensible, when was the last time you asked me to stop fingering the jam, or whatever? The other day you didn’t remind the maid to thrust the sofa away from the wall so she could get the vacuum cleaner in there, did you? No, you said ‘push’.”

“True.”

“Then there are words that take on a whole new facet when used in an adult context.”

“Like ‘wet’.”

“Exactly, Valentina.”

“You’ve never met my sister, Charlie. She’s a little… coarser than I am. I don’t think you realise how much she’d enjoy a conversation like that.”

“Well, I wouldn’t. I can’t think of anything worse than discussing blowjobs over the oysters.”

Valentina laughed and put a hand to his face.

“Come on, baby,” she said. “We take her out, show her Charlie Green’s idea of a good time, you charm her so that she can go back to L.A and hand in a good report about me to my mom, and we get her drunk on champagne. Then we come home and you,” and Valentina took his hand and slipped it down the front of her trousers, into the warm wetness of her panties, “get your reward for being such a good boy.”

Charlie ran a finger through Val’s slippery pussy, circling her clit briefly, before pulling it out and sucking on the digit thoughtfully.

“Fine,” he said. “If I must.”

“Good boy. Now hop in the shower and get dressed, she’ll be here soon.”

#

The doorbell of Charlie’s Islington terraced house rang about half an hour later.

“Blast,” he muttered, finishing tying his cravat. He opened the bathroom door and yelled into the fragrant steam, “Val, your bloody sister’s here already!”

“Well, be a good host and let her in,” Valentina replied. “Pour her a drink and I’ll be as quick as I can.” Charlie was about to retreat when Val yanked the door open, revealing her gleaming, dripping bronze body. “And remember,” she said, as Charlie feasted his eyes, “that Sophie’s my stepsister. Her dad and my mom got together when we were both seven or so. So don’t gawk or say anything dumb when you see that we look nothing alike.”

Charlie gave her a look that was so old-fashioned it could’ve been encased in amber. “Thanks very much for that info,” he said.

The doorbell shrilled again and Val shooed him from the bathroom.

All in all, it was with something less than his usual sanguine that Charlie opened the front door. On the outside he was all bonhomie, as cool as a cucumber on ice, but he couldn’t ignore the little voice that was telling him that this Sophie creature who’d been sprung on him was about as welcome in his house this evening as a fart in a spacesuit. Fixing a gracious smile on his face, Charlie opened the door.