Roland took his wallet from his pants, found a condom and put it on. He joined Teresa and pushed her shoulders back until she was lying full-length on the bed, on her back. He placed his toes towards the bottom end of the bed and took her hands, pushing them back to the mattress, above her head.

She sighed contentedly and lay back, raising her thighs to offer a comfortable place to ride, between pale, plump thighs. “I said fuck me, you.” She frowned. “What was your name again?”

He bit her right nipple. Not for her pleasure, though it felt good. “Roland. And at least I have the decency to know your name’s Teresa.”

She poked her tongue out at him again.

So, his hands holding hers down on the bed, he lowered himself onto her, his body straight like a man doing press-ups, until their faces were centimetres apart. He touched her forehead with his, while they stared into each other’s eyes. She tilted her face up and kissed him. He let his body sink onto hers.

But Teresa felt a perverse urge to make his life more complicated. She’d been too easy, and he seemed to be relying on scripts that had suited him with other women in these moments. She wanted to test him again. Suddenly she put her legs together and rolled out of his way.

She saw the shock in his eyes. Up to that moment she’d been sweetly inviting. He didn’t know what he’d done wrong, but he released her hands, and was ready to back away and get off the bed. She grinned at him, the fierce kind of grin, and said, “Vampires don’t fuck mundanes. Not… without a fight, anyway.”

So, Roland learned, the word for people who don’t really care about vampires except for desiring one girl who dressed as a vampire, is mundane. He was a mundane. She hoped he’d also learn that when sex was going well Teresa liked to fight and then lose. He probably wasn’t comfortable with games like that, because his life was easier when consent was clear.

He’d be uncomfortable with clouding it. But he had to deal with the woman he was with: Teresa wasn’t going to be generic.

But the struggle was what she wanted, so long as she lost it, and it seemed to her that what her cunt wanted is more important than what the political purist  might think and say.

She beat at his chest with her fists, like the heroine in some old black-and-white movie. But she was careful not to hit his face or bollocks or anywhere else that mattered. She didn’t want to discourage him.

Teresa put her arms around his shoulders while they kissed, then dropped her hands to hold his arse. She paid him no compliments, though she felt them, but she expressed those by kissing him. He pushed the robe off her shoulder and she shrugged, to let it fall.

He put his hands below her corset, to hold her bottom. He said, “Did I mention that your arse is perfect, generous like your breasts, but muscled: exactly the right mix of firmness and softness?”

“No, not in those words. Which you put way too much thought into. But I’m glad you like my arse. Oh!” His cock pressed against her belly, constricted by jeans. She let the kiss continue, but at last she said, “You’re still dressed.”

She meant it as an accusation. He took his jacket off and tossed it onto one of her chairs, but let his shirt drop to the floor after he’d pulled it over his shoulders and off. He undid his jeans and looked at his belt, considering. Again, Teresa wondered if he’d looked at her one-handed reading matter. But he left it in its loops and dropped and stepped out of his pants.

Teresa was a goth, so she kept her corset on during sex. Roland was a civilian; he could simply be naked, and he was. His cock pointed straight at her, and she took it in her hands, holding it like a baby bird, stroking lightly.  His voice was not honeyed, like Julian the billionaire’s, though it was a little impatient when he said, “Bed, girl.”

She turned to close her curtains, allowing him to admire her bottom – she wondered if he’d noted the squash racket in one corner – then sat on the bed. She beckoned him. As though he were a pet and she had a treat. But he came closer, to stand in front of her.

He stood over her, holding her shoulders, cock pointing in the general direction of her mouth. Teresa kissed the head approvingly, and opened to take him in. He was hard, with soft skin, and she gave him a warm, wet harbour, devoted to his pleasure. His hands tightened on her shoulders.

But at last she drew her head back and released his cock. Still sitting on the bed she put her hands on his arse, pulling him forward. “Darling, I like everything about sucking cock. Really, I do. Especially your cock, I promise you that. And I’m looking forward to swallowing your come. Also seriously. But right now, if it’s ok with you, I just want you to fuck me.”

Teresa led Roland by his hand to her bedroom, but excused herself, took a robe from behind the door and went into the bathroom, leaving him, she knew, to potter about her bedroom seeking clues.

One thing he’d learn was that she wasn’t a tidy woman. There were piles of clothes, similar to the outfit she was wearing, on chairs and a dresser. He could make what he liked of the old-fashioned, framed, drawing of a witch, nearly naked, resting after riding on a broomstick, and another picture, drawn by her, of a kitten with a knife between its teeth.

Sudden thought

She was freshening up the concealer on a spot above her left eyebrow when she remembered the books on the chest of drawers by her bed: two were the kind of novels that get considered for major literary prizes and the other three were steamy romances. Masturbation aids.

If he looked at those, he’d find they were by a woman who wrote as Cerise Nates, and concerned dominant men and virginal girls, far more innocent than Teresa.

Often their sexual education began after they’d lost an important file, been rude to a client, or faked the boss’s email. If he took Amanda’s Duties, for example, and swung it gently by the front cover he’d find that the pages naturally opened on:

“No,” Alexander said, implacably. “You’ve asked for this, Amanda. Now do as you’re told.”

And… after the spanking? The anal sex!

Amanda tossed her golden locks defiantly, but she knew she would always want to obey that honeyed, impatient voice. Her pussy moistened as she turned to face his desk.

When she had bent over as he demanded, and her nose touched the leather top, she felt a thrill, a surge of pleasure in her pussy. She arched her derriere, knowing she was presenting all of herself for him.

Amanda worked for Alexander, a handsome young billionaire with an authoritative presence, and she was about to be spanked and – to her shock and then pleasure – taken anally, still with her nose touching that desktop.

All Roland had to do was pick that book up and he’d know too much about Teresa’s sexual dreams. Any one of the other two Cerise Nates books would tell him a similar story. “Shit,” said Teresa, as a girl like Amanda never would. But she took a preemptive piss, took off her clothes and put the corset back on, and the robe over that. Then she flushed the toilet and hurried back.

Amanda just can’t catch a break. But a witch can always take a break.

Roland was studying the picture of the witch when Teresa returned. Of course, he’d have heard the toilet flush. She glanced quickly, not too closely at the pile of books. Had it been disarrayed? But she met Roland’s eyes. He was gazing openly, the male gaze, letting her know he was admiring and desiring her.

He indicated the picture. “Lovely tits, that witch. But nothing like as wonderful as yours.” He stepped towards her, and pulled the robe away from her body, crouching a little to kiss each of her nipples as they balanced just above the upper edge of the corset, licking, sucking and biting them thoroughly and in turn, and only then kissing her mouth.