The Velvet Trap

Her hand moved up down upon him, caressing strokes now without a pretense of coyness. 'You like me - you like me - Alan', the foreign beguiling tone of her voice enchanting him, she called him Al-ain pronouncing each letter, elongating his name into a hissing whisper that completed his seduction. He knew that he was within her coils. He would resist her a little longer. He did not look at her. His beer glass was almost empty. He lifted his glass and drank the remains of his beer. He looked across at the barman. To his surprise she took her hand away from him and placed it on his forearm and gave his arm a squeeze, 'No drink, no have drink; drink no  good, come with me Al-ain, come with me. I have a nice place, I give you nice time.' Her voice was almost motherly in its pleading. 'I have a nice place.' Her body leaned heavily against him. He did not order another beer. He called over the barman and paid his bill and went back with her to her nice place. With anger he thought Margaret can go and fuck herself. He could forget her for an hour if this was the way to wrestle free from the clinging memories of her that tormented him, he would seek his release in the whispered siren voice of Angelica. 'Come with me Al-ain - I give you nice time Al-ain.' He followed Angelica up the narrow stairway that spiraled upwards to the roof-tops. Looking upwards he could see her brown slim legs and her thin flowered dress that flared out to her movement so that he caught a glimpse of her thighs and an edge of her pale green knickers, 'The road to damnation - you'll burn in the fires of hell,' where had he heard those words. He welcomed them with eagerness as he felt the flame of his lust quicken. He sank into her open arms and her spread thighs with a sigh. His love making ardent, eagerly drinking from her well, hearing his voice crying, 'Margaret, Margaret,' in the frenzy of his climax in the pale light of a small attic room; his hour of paid love.