Taxi to Paris Read online

  Ruth Gogoll

  Taxi to Paris

  el!es Verlag

  eBookMedia.biz

  978-3-89988-171-4 PDF

  978-3-935947-03-9 PRC

  978-3-89988-167-7 ePUB

  978-3-89988-195-0 Apple

  Copyright © by el!es Verlag

  Hergestellt mit IGP:FLIP von Infogrid Pacific Pte. Ltd.

  WARNUNG!

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  Inhalt

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 1

  I like it when my women defend themselves!

  Her eyes blazed with anticipation again: of the fight, the conquest,the siege.

  I did not want to give myself to her. Even so, everything in me longed to touch her, to be touched by her.

  "Come on, tell me again that you don't want it! That you hate me!" She laughed - cynical, provocative.

  "I hate you!" I screamed. It was the truth, but that didn't stop the desire burning inside me. And I hated myself for that, for obeying her wish. That was what I wanted least of all: to please her. I could see her arousal climbing. Her eyes flashed. She came closer. Her lips parted. I saw her teeth gleaming and thrashed my head from side to side, trying to escape. She pressed me against the wall and held my wrists with a iron grip.

  "No, I don't want to! Not like this!"

  She did not let me go, but threw her head back and laughed. "Yes, defend yourself. That's how I like it best." Her voice was hoarse with excitement.

  I stiffened. She took advantage of the opportunity and, like lightning, pressed her mouth against mine. Her tongue thrust hard against my tightly-clenched teeth. She pressed me against the wall with her whole body. I had to take a breath. She penetrated me, took possession of me. The passion and excitement almost left me unconscious. At the same time, revulsion crept up my throat.

  I bit down. Her head flew back, but she still held my wrists as tightly as manacles. I had the impression she wasn't doing this for the first time. She was used to that...

  She looked at me wildly. A drop of blood hung from her lip. She ran her tongue over it to wipe it away. My eyes never escaped her stare. "You little wildcat! So I had you figured wrong all along! I thought you'd be boring and bourgeois, the type to just lie down and spread her legs."

  A shimmer of hope flashed in me - "Yes, yes, that's exactly what I am: boring and bourgeois." Maybe that would stop her.

  "No, no!" Hoarse with excitement, she laughed again. "It's too late now. I've seen through you. You want it. You want the fear, you want the pain. That turns you on, admit it!"

  Her fingers kept tightening around my wrists. It hurt, and I cried out.

  "Yes! Scream, scream as loud as you can!" Her voice was now just a hoarse, excited whisper.

  I was startled. The pain hadn't sobered me, as I'd expected. Instead, I felt it right between my legs - just like she'd said. Was this really what I wanted?

  She noticed my indecision. Her mouth fell upon mine again, and this time I didn't refuse. With brutal force, she plunged in, almost to the back of my throat. I thought I was going to vomit, but just before it went that far, she pulled her tongue back. She really was experienced at this! How many women had she already done this with? Perhaps there were more who wanted this than I would have imagined. And I? Was I one of them? Did I want it?

  She began again. I felt the need overcome me to push back, to join in, not to let myself be passively used anymore. But that was just what she wanted! I had to defend myself against that! At least, that's what my head demanded. My body betrayed me. I could no longer hold back the ever-stronger desire building in me. My knees weakened. She noticed and loosened her grip a little.

  My tongue sought hers. She pulled back for an instant, a look of astonishment on her face. Then, she sank into my mouth again, probing and demanding, almost smothering me. Suddenly, she let go of my hands and laid hers on my waist. I stiffened in anticipation of fresh pain. She tore my shirt from my pants and raced across my back. Everything tingled.

  Unhindered, she dug her fingernails into my shoulders. I moaned in exquisite pain. Slowly, she raked them across my entire back, down to my waist. It was as if my skin was being torn away, but still not quite such that I couldn't stand it. I moaned louder - out of pain or growing arousal I didn't know.

  "Yes, come on, tell me you want it," she murmured against my mouth. Her hips still held me, pressed and trapped me against the wall. I tried to arch against them, to push, to rub against her. No, this wasn't me! This was my pelvis, which had declared its independence from me. Traitor! screamed something inside me. The desire kept growing stronger.

  "You want it - say it!" she insisted, hot across my mouth.

  "No!" I threw my head to the side and tried to push myself away from her.

  She pressed against me again, leaned back a little, and tore off my shirt. I was boiling inside. I could not allow that! She threw the shirt on the floor next to me and bent over me once more. I thought she wanted to start kissing me again (kissing? Was this kissing, this thrusting, this throttling?) and threw my head to the other side. She did not follow. Her head sank down upon my shoulder. A piercing pain ran through me. I cried out again, although I'd pressed my lips together and resolved not to.

  "Yes - scream, scream!" she insisted hoarsely. Her head descended again.

  "No ... please," I implored her. She bit down. The pain ripped through me even more sharply than the first time. Now my knees could, finally, hold me no longer. She held me tightly and pressed me against the wall as before. Her hand moved over my breast. She stroked the rock-hard nipple with her palm. I moaned - this time out of lust.

  "It's quite sensitive," she said, grinning noticeably.

  Panic rose in me again. "Please, don't do that," I whispered, trembling in fear. Defensively, I lifted my hands and tried to push her away from me. She laughed, aroused again, and fought playfully with me. Her iron grip damned my hands to inactivity. Slowly, she lowered her mouth onto my breast. She ran her tongue over her lips. I stiffened, trembling even more; my whole body was a single, tightly-strung bow, arming itself against the pain. I pressed my head against the wall and closed my eyes. They were so sensitive - I couldn't bear it!

  She sucked my breast in, flicking her tongue across my nipple, over and over. All my fear could not hold down the arousal this triggered. My hips began to push up against her again, but a cold sweat broke out across my skin.

  She looked up at me and grinned. "You're afraid," she remarked, pleased.

  "Yes." There was no sense in denying it, anyway. "You're going t
o hurt me." I tried to make my voice as quiet as possible.

  Completely unexpectedly, she let go of me. While her eyes held mine, she took a small step back, grabbed my waistband, and unbuttoned my pants. Then, with one swift movement, she pulled the zipper down. I leaned against the wall as if paralyzed. She saw that I wouldn't defend myself anymore. An expression of disappointment spread across her face.

  "Come on, don't spoil the fun."

  "Fun!" I flared. "For you, maybe!" Dammit, that was the exact opposite of the truth! Her eyes blazed again with repressed excitement.

  "Yes, it's better this way." She came closer and placed one hand on either side of my head without touching me. "You little wildcat," she whispered into my ear. She nibbled on my earlobe. I expected her to bite down at any moment and stiffened again. Her lips ran down my neck and sent waves of shivering excitement mixed with fearful anticipation through my body. She laughed softly, pleased. I felt her breath moving across my skin. "Yes, it's best this way. You're afraid. But you want it anyway."

  Fury rose and made me careless. "Yes, I want it." I pushed her away with suddenly regained strength. Agilely, she moved one step back. I blazed at her furiously. "But I don't want you to force it on me. I don't want pain, I want desire, I want tenderness, passion, excitement, all of that. But no brutal force. That's..." I searched for a word for what I felt.

  She raised her eyebrows and said, smirking, "Perverse?"

  "Yes - yes! Perverse!" I screamed at her, full of rage at her and myself and this word I'd never used before. I'd always hated it when the smug bourgeoisie asserted their own "normality" and discredited others with that word. Everyone who was different was defamed indiscriminately, regardless of the reason: homosexuality, Communism, or whatever else. But my furious tension lasted only a moment. Then it gave way to a feeling of senselessness. I folded my arms behind my back and leaned against the wall. "And now, as far as I'm concerned, you can go get your whip - or whatever else you use - and beat me."

  Her eyes glided over my face. "You're beautiful when you're furious," she said softly. I wanted to protest this platitude - straight out of a bad ‘70s porn film! - but her mouth had already descended upon mine and closed it. I waited for the pushing, demanding penetration, but she just ran her tongue gently along my closed lips. The tingling grew unbearable. When I opened my mouth, she began to play lovingly with my tongue. She teased the tip of my tongue with hers until I nearly cried out with desire. Her mouth was still the only thing touching me. The air between us crackled.

  I raised my hands. No, I didn't want to touch her! My arms began to tremble. She kept kissing me. Sighing, I let my hands fall to her shoulders and pulled her to me. The buttons on her shirt were cold against my naked skin. She sighed appreciatively in my mouth and encircled me with her arms. Everything was so gentle and tender. What had transformed her so suddenly? She pushed me against the wall again, one leg between mine. Even through the cloth, that touch made me half crazy. I moaned and began to rub against her more strongly. Then I held back. That was again the point at which she'd inflict pain - I'd subjected myself to it again! I held still.

  She noticed this. She stopped kissing me and took a step back to look at me. "You're confused." She stated it without inflection. I didn't answer. What would she do now? She reached out a hand and caressed my face. I didn't stir. She let her hand sink. It glided over my shoulder to my arm and down my side to my waist. There it stayed. She consumed me with her gaze. Then she set her eyes upon mine again with hypnotic power. "I won't hurt you," she declared emphatically. Her hand slid between cloth and skin. A shudder ran through my body. "I want you. I want you like you are." She worked her way down with unbearable slowness. My whole body cried out with desire. "I want you to moan, and I want you to scream. But not from pain." Her fingers touched the beginnings of my hair and kept moving torturously, slowly downward. She never released my eyes. I tightened my shoulders and buttressed myself with the wall. She wrapped her other arm around me and held me tight. Now her hand lay motionless between my legs. I moaned and bucked wildly against it. Heat rose in me like a volcano. I felt the wetness collecting on her hand. I flung my body back and forth with arousal.

  She pulled her hand back. I let the breath I'd been holding out of my lungs and moaned. "No. You promised not to torture me. Please..."

  She laughed heartily. "I promised not to cause you pain. And I won't. This is something entirely different." She stroked the cloth between my legs. I moaned again, demandingly, and rose against her. She placed both hands on my hips. Slowly, she slid my waistband down. She took her time. Again and again, she ran her hands back and forth. It seemed like an eternity to me. When she had finally undressed me, she bent over and ran her lips along my breast. My skin was on fire wherever she touched it. She approached my nipple. I went stiff. She reacted immediately. "I promised," she murmured. Then she looked up. "I won't do anything that you don't want." I still could not relax. The fear lay too deep. She ran her lips across my breast again. Then, ever so gently, she took the nipple in and ran her tongue over it.

  The sensations washed all my reservations away. "Yes," I moaned.

  She stroked my hard, erect nipples, alternating her hands and tongue. I was crazy with desire by this time - I couldn't have stopped her from doing anything at this point, regardless what. Her face was suddenly square in front of mine. She wandered along my lips - just lightly, without hurrying. I tried to hold onto her. She smiled and pulled away. Her hand glided over my breasts, along my stomach, and between my thighs. She stroked gently with two fingers along the insides, wandering back and forth from one side to the other, then touched the center. I wound myself in her arm. Now, she began stroking more intensely between my legs, seeking out with circling motions the most sensitive place. The whole time, I felt as if I were just about to explode. She pressed harder. I felt her finger. She found my opening.

  "No!" I tore myself away from her mouth.

  She stopped immediately. She pulled me to her. "What's wrong?"

  "I... I don't like that." I swallowed hard. "You promised..."

  She laughed good-naturedly. "I haven't forgotten. You don't have to keep reminding me."

  "I'm sorry. I'm a little sensitive ... in that area."

  "You certainly are sensitive, I've noticed that." It seemed like she wanted to brush me off, but then her tone became concerned. "Does it hurt you?"

  Now I had to answer. "Actually ... no, not really. I ... I don't really quite know."

  "You don't know?"

  I looked at the floor behind her. "No," I declared defiantly.

  She stepped back and held me at arm's length. The way my face was burning, it must've been beet red. She laid a finger under my chin and lifted it up. "But I'm not the first woman you've slept with."

  "No..."

  She looked at me attentively. Obviously, she expected that to get me talking faster than direct questioning.

  "I mean, I've been with lots of women ... but not like that." With defiant emphasis I added, "I just can't!" I spun around to face the wall.

  "And that's the only reason?"

  The wall protected me, at least, from her direct gaze. Nonetheless, I had the feeling that her eyes were boring into my back. "What else? Isn't that enough?"

  "You've never been with a man...?"

  I didn't let her finish. "No, I haven't!" I spun back around to face her. "Should I be ashamed of that?"

  She still watched me vigilantly. "No, of course not! What were you thinking? But I also meant not against your..." She broke off.

  "Against my...? Oh -" I understood. "No, I haven't been raped." She sighed, relieved. Now I was really furious. How could she be so concerned all of a sudden? "And until this evening, no one had tried, either," I hissed angrily.

  She turned around and took a deep breath. Then she looked at me again. Not a muscle moved in her impenetrable face. "Then everything's fine," she said.

  I thundered inside. She thought everything was fine
now?

  She sighed. "Earlier that was..." she paused to consider, "... a misunderstanding." As if that had settled everything, she sauntered back over to me, smiling. Attempted rape a misunderstanding? She couldn't think I was that stupid. She didn't, either. Attentively, she'd followed the emotions playing across my face. She sighed again. This time, she sounded resigned. "Yes, I know what you're thinking." Explaining, she continued, "But most women want it that way. That's why they choose me." She looked sadly at me. "You obviously didn't know. And I thought..." She let out a bitter laugh. "Like I said: a misunderstanding."

  By this time, I was more than confused. "What - didn't know?" Somewhere in this chaos, there had to be some key I could find to untangle this mess!

  She turned to face me fully and stood with one hand on her hip. "I'm a whore, sweetheart!" I was shocked. That was definitely one of the effects she was going for. But the other - that I should feel repulsed - she didn't get.

  She stood a few steps away from me and looked out the window at a neon sign as it blinked on and off. She spoke into the empty darkness, "You can go quietly now. I won't hold you back." Her back was straight as a board.

  I took a step toward my clothes. But then I stopped. I didn't want to leave; that was perfectly clear to me. But what else did I want here? She was a hooker; she had expected me to pay for a "service" I had no idea I was getting. She conformed to my wishes when she saw that I wanted something different - as any good service is performed to suit the wishes of the client. The client?! I suddenly saw myself in a very unfamiliar light.

  She turned around. She glared coldly at me. "Should I leave?" Her voice was icy.

  I suddenly became aware of my nakedness. Embarrassed, I grabbed my shirt and threw it on. "No, that would be ludicrous."

  She shrugged. "Most women want to be left alone afterwards. It's all the same to me." This icy voice somehow had a heart-softening quality. A contradiction in itself, but it seemed that way to me.