Connections is a series of erotic short stories with different types of pairings: Michael and Karen find a way to relieve jet lag, John and Marc try to relax after a workout, Karen and Louise have breakfast, John and Karen find that the little things matter the most.
That evening Karen had suggested to Michael he stay the night at hers instead of in a hotel. Just a stopover on the sofa in her living room, before heading North for the family holidays.
They had both taken the same flight from New York to London, booked separately and unaware of each other’s plans. Then at the airport this morning, in the business lounge - because she had splurged for once and he never travelled below - they had bumped into each other. Shortly afterwards, some friends of his had turned up and they had all shared drinks before boarding and been a bit too loud on the plane, until an airline hostess had announced the obligatory lights out in the cabin. Briefly, Michael had thought about giving Karen a kiss. Nothing spectacular, just a friendly good night kiss, probably on the cheek. But all the other people around them had made him too self-conscious and anyway, it might have been considered too forward of him. Instead, he slipped off to his designated seat, hoping to get a bit of sleep before landing. But he had only nodded off intermittently during the following hours and when it came time to strap himself in for landing he yawned like a tired lion.
Karen had found Michael in an unusually flirty mood, which flattered her and also threw her off slightly. She had never clocked an attraction on his behalf and she was quite positive he had a girlfriend, Helen-something? But when the time came to quiet down, she had the distinct feeling Michael was lingering around as if to say something more than a casual “see you in the morrow”.
Usually on the long-hauls, Karen would take a pill; some lightly anxiety-reducing, sleep-inducing tiny white pill that would sometimes leave her drowsy and unfocused the following day. This time she decided not to take one, since the wine seemed to have had the desired effect and she really disliked coming home a slurry mess. She did fall asleep, briefly, and when she did she dreamt of big, fat cocks. Not the poultry. No, she had had a truly graphical dream of porn-sized, dripping dicks; surrounding her, poking her, wanting to enter her and she herself being frustrated at not having enough hands and mouths and holes and then -
- she had woken up with a sharp intake of air. Looking around, panicking slightly that an indecent moan might have escaped her throat, she was relieved to realise that nobody around her seemed to have noticed anything out of the ordinary. Then almost immediately she had felt a pressing need to empty her bladder and soon enough the landing preparation activity had started.
Karen’s place was a surprisingly spacious flat on the first floor of a three-up-one-down in a newly posh area of northern London. A small group of friends had been waiting to greet her, when she and Michael arrived by taxi after taking the Heathrow Express to Paddington. There was home-cooked food and great beer, because apparently, Karen’s flatmate was a barista-chef-baker-whatnot and someone else she knew had a friend who did their own IPAs. Michael sank down with a bottle in a comfortable chair and watched with interest how Karen interacted with her “family” in a way he’d never seen her act before in the work-environment they had shared on the other side of the ocean. There was a man - Ben? Dan? John. - that seemed very comfortable around her. This man had kept touching her, resting his arm on her shoulders as the small group chatted and laughed together in the kitchen cum livingroom area. But then after a while, as everyone began to say their goodbyes, he had also left, so maybe he wasn’t what Michael suspected he was. Maybe they were all just very touchy-feely with each other in her circles.
At this point Michael had begun to feel a bit woozy from the beer, so Karen had offered to get some sheets and pillows for him to sleep on the couch instead of going off to that hotel he had booked somewhere close to Euston station. It was too late to cancel the reservation, but he didn’t care to go back out into the chilly night to get into a smelly taxi and sleep alone on a lumpy bed.
So they said goodnight again. No kisses this time either, because Karen’s flatmate had insisted on clearing out the plates and glasses before going to bed and the opportunity just didn’t present itself.
Michael looked at the display on his phone and slowly calculated the time difference. It must be about 10 pm back on the other side of the Atlantic. Heather would be getting ready for bed. Heather, his ‘girlfriend’, always a good laugh, no tricks. Good sex also. She would be changing into a pair of comfortable men’s boxers and an over-sized t-shirt, brushing her teeth, combing her hair. Or maybe it was the other way around? He realised he would often be lying in their bed listening to her in the bathroom, but never really paying attention to what she was doing, even when she was talking to him through the half-open door. And now, lying here in London on an unexpectedly comfortable sofa in Karen’s livingroom, he thought about the fact that he didn’t actually think about Heather very often at all when she wasn’t around. So he dismissed the idea of sending her a text message. Instead, he touched his thumb to the folder called Other stuff and clicked the third icon on the second page.
Karen realised it almost immediately as she tip-toed out of her room towards the kitchen: she couldn’t hear what was going on on Michael’s phone, but she could see the tell-tale movements of filmed erotica and most of all, she could hear his jagged breathing. She stopped dead, wondering if she should make some sort of noise out there in the hallway. But barging in on him now would make things unbearably awkward, so she decided to retrace her steps back to her room. She stopped outside it and opened the door again, with less finesse this time and cleared her throat loudly. Then she waited for a few seconds, listening to the sound of sheets hurriedly rustling to be rearranged, until she felt safe to venture out into the living room again.
“Oh, hey. You awake too?”, she said yawningly as she padded in through the doorway. “I couldn’t sleep. Want a beer?”
“Er, yeah”, Michael was half-sitting, twisting around to look up at her entering the room.
She opened the fridge and sighed: “Sorry, there’s only one left. Mind if we share?”
“No, that’s fine. Absolutely”, he replied and sat up, bunching the sheets in his lap to hide the remains of his erection. She flopped down beside him, inhaling the slightly musky scent of sex from his interrupted self-love session. She did her best to hide a smile as she opened the bottle and took a sip.
“I tried to read, but after a while I realised I was reading the same passage over and over without understanding anything”, she said.
“Yeah, that happens”, he said. “I wish there was a pill you could take and then just wake up like new.”
“You should invent it!” she laughed and handed him the bottle of beer.
“God, I hate jet lag”, he said, taking a swig from the bottle and handing it back to her.
She snorted, making him turn towards her.
“What?” he said.
“I was just thinking”, she trailed off.
“I was thinking about things that make jet lag go away. Or easier to handle. Or just more...entertaining”, she giggled to herself, the alcoholic beverage starting to take effect.
“Oh...er, well”, she met his eyes more steadily this time. “Sometimes sex helps.”
“Uh-huh”, he said looking away quickly, flustered at the thought of the possibility that he could have been caught earlier with his hands down his pants, looking at porn on his phone.
“Do you…” she didn’t finish the sentence before he said:
“No, I just. We could…” she made a vague gesture with her hand.
“I don’t think, I don’t think we should”, he shook his head.
“I didn’t mean that we should...you know…together. I meant. We could watch. Each other.”
Somehow the idea had never struck him before: watching someone else, like a girlfriend, get off. Or letting her watch him. He didn’t think Heather would like the idea, even though she wasn’t exactly a prude. It simply didn’t seem like the type of thing they’d do. But now here he was, following Karen into her bedroom, trying to hide his re-envigorated erection by pulling down his t-shirt and holding it in place in front of his underpants.
“No touching. Ok?” she said as she closed the door silently behind them.
“Yes. Ok”, he replied and stood awkwardly at the foot of the bed as she began rummaging through the bedside table.
“I’m going to use this”, she said and held up a slim silver-shimmering dildo with a bulbous knob. He nodded, relieved that she hadn’t hauled out something terrifyingly over-sized. She tilted her head inquisitively and asked: “Do you always...do you always touch yourself with your left hand?”
“Um, yes”, he said and let go of himself, then remembered why he had been holding his hand there in the first place. She smiled back at him and pulled her top off, throwing it onto a chair that stood beside the bed. Her breasts were perky, not small. There was some weight to them, but they didn’t sag. Perky was a good word and just as he thought about it an electric pulse surged through his body. He quickly averted his eyes and looked at the bed, then carefully back again to her half-naked body. She was still smiling, watching him with a bemused expression.
“I’m going to lie down”, she said, matter-of-factly. “You can sit on that side of the bed, facing me, if you like. Would that work?”
“Yes, that seems ok”, he responded, fingering the edge of his t-shirt. Oh, what the hell, he thought and pulled it off, throwing it onto the same chair she had thrown hers. She was taking off her pyjama bottoms and he caught a glimpse of her dark pubic hair as she stood up again to pull the cover off the bed.
So he too got naked and climbed onto the edge of the bed, sitting down on his heels. By now he was so turned on that pre-cum had begun to trickle down from the head of his cock. He noticed she was studying it and meeting his eyes she said: “It’s nice. It has a nice shape.”
“Thanks, I suppose”, he said and smiled, not knowing if he should comment on her genitalia also. She wasn’t shaved, like Heather, but not very hairy either. It had been some time since he had touched a vulva in such a natural state and he fleetingly remembered that ticklish feeling of hair against his glans. She was putting lube on the dildo and some on herself.
“You ok?” she asked in a low voice.
“Yes. Yes, fine”, he nodded and began stroking himself.
“Do you like watching?” she asked.
“I’ve never...I’ve never done it before, actually.”
“Really?” she stopped momentarily. “Never? That’s...unusual.”
“Is it? Do you do that often?” he asked as she returned to circling her clitoris with slow movements, while moving the head of the dildo in and out of her vagina.
“Mmm. Sometimes. I find it can be very”, she interrupted herself with a deep sigh of pleasure. “Sorry, can we not do so much talking right now.”
“Yes, of course. Sorry.”
He increased the pressure around his shaft, moving the foreskin over the head and back again. Karen seemed to have no trouble relaxing in front of someone who was essentially a stranger, albeit a close work colleague. She was pressing her fingers closely around one nipple, pulling slightly at it. Michael watched as her eyes fell close and she began moving the dildo faster in and out of her vagina. He felt an almost overwhelming urge to reach out and touch her, to lick a trail up the inside of her thighs and bury his face in her sex. Suddenly he heard her say:
“I want to take it in my mouth”. Karen had stopped touching herself and was looking at him, her eyes wide with desire. She raised herself up on her elbows. “Can I do that? Please”, she added.
“Yes. Yes”, he replied, not willing to question the previous demand of no touching.
Karen sat up, removing the dildo and laying it on the night stand. Sliding off the bed onto the floor she beckoned Michael to sit on the edge of bed instead. He quickly followed, cock in hand. Eager to let her taste it, he guided it towards her mouth. She lay a hand over his and followed his movement up and down, closing her lips around the head and swirling her tongue around the glans of his penis. Briefly letting go, she looked up at him and asked:
“Is this good? Harder or softer?”
“No, it’s good like that. Maybe…”
“No, slower. I want to...I don’t want to come just yet.”
She placed both thumbs against his frenulum and stroked upwards as she licked the length of his shaft. Oh, you’re good at this, he thought. He wanted to grab her head and fuck her eager mouth, but he didn’t have permission to do so and right now the feeling of her lips sliding over his glans was far too exquisite to be interrupted. He noticed she was smiling and looking at him, so he stroked her cheek gently and told her:
“You’re really good at this.”
She hummed a reply and repeated the slow lick along his erection, then fluttered her tongue against the head before closing her lips around it again. One hand was holding his cock, while the other cupped his balls and her fingers massaged the perineum.
“Can I taste you?” he asked.
She lifted her head away from his crotch and looked up at him:
“Yes. I’d really like to”, he said.
“I...I don’t know”, she said, unexpectedly bashful. “I was thinking, maybe, if you like, you could...fuck me?”
“Oh. Yes. Ok.”
“Do you want to do that?” she asked as she kept up a steady rhythm with her hand on his cock. “You could fuck me from behind. I have condoms.”
He nodded in reply and she reached into the bedside table to retrieve a little packet, handing it to him.
“Do you want me to put it on?” she asked.
“No, it’s fine.”
She climbed back onto the bed and stood on all fours with her back against him as he put on the condom. He turned towards her and positioned himself on his knees behind her. Then he reached between her legs and slid his fingers over her wetness, easily finding her engorged clitoris and circling it with two fingers. A quick intake of breath was her response. He moved a little closer, so that the tip of his sheathed cock pushed lightly against her vaginal opening. She arched her back and pushed back against him, until he slowly slid inside. Then they both stopped.
“I might come”, he said.
“Yes”, she said.
“Don’t move right now.”
“No”, she said.
He caressed the round curve of her buttocks pressed flush against him and reached around to touch her again. A moan escaped her mouth as he carefully circled her clit. He wanted to make her come like this, with himself deep inside her, unmoving, just feeling her orgasm squeeze around him. So he continued smoothing her juices over her vulva, listening to her breathing intensify, until she was unable to resist anymore and collapsed against the sheets as the climax rolled through her body. He held onto her, still inside her, until she lay there relaxed and calm. Then, with two-three-four quick thrusts, he came too.
They lay spooning for a short while, until he felt he had to remove the condom. He sat up and said:
“Should I go back to the sofa?”
“No”, she replied. “Stay here. Just throw that in the bin in the bathroom and come back. I’m tired now. I think the jetlag is finally catching up with me.”