Jorge, a young Spanish jogger, paced himself to the song. ‘Lady P, Lady P, Lady P, Lady P…’ he hummed in his mind, listening to McCartney’s song on his iPod. He had learnt that it was in fact ‘Let it be’ since his English had improved, but he rather preferred his own version with a mysterious Lady P, so still mouthed it as he had when he had first heard the song, some years ago.
The park was dark and he enjoyed the solitary act every evening. It was a ritual of his, a cleansing of his soul after a hard day’s trading in the financial markets. All things considered, he was happy to have a job in a cushy office with high pay in a country that was stable politically and had a low unemployment rate. His salary supported not only him, but also his parents back in Spain and his sister who was still studying. He had every reason to be pleased. He had for the first time met his new neighbor, a strikingly beautiful Russian girl, Ivanka, who had just moved into the flat opposite his own.
They had begun by nodding at each other across the balcony. Then they had bumped into each other in the lift. Ivanka had greeted him in heavily accented English, assuming that the lingua franca of the modern world would serve its purpose. They had progressed far enough to have a few Sunday brunches at the local tea room. He was of course hoping that it might evolve further, and his fantasies about her often helped him to sleep at night, by providing solitary release in the depths of his large but empty double bed. He had moved from Spain to follow a girlfriend, who had recompensed by dumping him one month into his new job. Perhaps, after all, it had been a good thing. The future looked hopeful.
As he ran he reviewed his day, then planned out the morrow. His deals had been successful for the past few weeks and as the year drew to a close he could expect a hefty bonus. He would give half to his parents, but he would keep half to spend on some luxury for himself. Perhaps a weekend in a five star hotel in Gstaad with his neighbour. He would offer her champagne and caviar, and they would spend the weekend drinking and fucking. It seemed like a pretty good plan.
As he ran he noticed out of the corner of his eye a movement in the trees. The autumn was closing and the grey November skies augured several months of a grey lid over the city, till the snow fell and the wind swept through. For the moment, it was chilly, but still bearable. Wearing black clothes to be invisible in the dark as he ran round the park, he made no noise, a lone shadow in the dark. He circled round quietly and went to see what had caught his eye. He stopped short and only just prevented himself from exclaiming out loud.
Ivanka, wearing a thick fur coat, was tied to a tree. Her legs were splayed and her ankles were chained to the tree. A rope was wound twice around her neck and tied to the branches behind her. Her arms were pinned to her sides by a man, whose posterior Jorge could see with startling clarity: a sagging bottom, with a patch of ginger hair just above the bottom crack. The man was stark naked. Clearly rather heavy, he half turned and picked up a scarf from a pile of clothes at Ivanka’s feet. He stuffed the scarf into her mouth with one hand, keeping her pinioned with the other. Then he slowly unbuttoned her fur coat, revealing a startlingly white naked body and decked with only a string of diamonds at her neck.
Jorge wondered what to do. Normally he would have intervened, but the particular attire of Ivanka suggested that she had been prepared and that this was not a random attack. He decided to wait and watch.
Ivanka remained glacially immobile. Her fur coat kept her arms and back warm and prevented the tree bark from chafing her skin. Ivanka spat out the scarf and moved her head sideways. The man slapped her. She did not react. He picked up the scarf again and this time tied it over her mouth. As Ivanka’s arms were free, she reached down to the man’s sex and started pumping it. The man hissed, ‘slower, slower’. She slowed down. Jorge changed position, feeling his own sex rising. He could see that the man was well hung: an enormous pink penis swollen and engorged profiled itself in the dark. Ivanka murmured ‘I can’t lick you, you have tied me up too tight. Let me go, let me go.’
The man grunted and moved forward to Ivanka. He put his hand over her pubis, then slid two fat fingers into her sex. ‘Take this bitch!’ She arched her back as he explored her innards, and then began to stroke her clitoris with more force. Her strokes on his penis became more rapid.
‘No no, slow down. I want to fuck you first’ and simultaneously he pulled his fingers out, swept her hands away and lunged forward and up, thrusting his penis into her. Jorge heard her intake of breath as the large member slid in.
‘Feel me?’ Ivanka didn’t react. ‘Do you feel me bitch?’ She stayed silent and immobile. He got more frenzied, stabbing at her ferociously, using the tree’s strength to make his jabs more forceful. Jorge could see his buttocks clenching and unclenching and the swing of the ginger-haired testicles as he thrust and danced in front of his ice queen. ‘Tighten up you bitch. Your cunt is too loose. Grip me. Tighter.’
Jorge didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Should he intervene or should he pass on by? Ivanka did not look as if she were suffering, nor did she look as if she were enjoying it. If he intervened the other man might get violent. He decided to wait and see. The man was accelerating his movements. Ivanka managed to free one of her arms and pushed him back violently. She twisted against the tree, baring her behind. The man assaulted her posterior, punching her stomach as he dipped into her from behind. ‘Take this, and this. You are a bitch. You will kiss my feet afterwards. I’ll fuck you. I’ll fuck your mother and your grandmother.’
The language was coarse and the man was getting more and more het up. Jorge could not see his face, but could see that the man was more and more excited by the fact that his scrotum was getting tighter and higher. Ivanka gave a violent counterthrust of her gracious hips and the man fell back, his glistening sex retreating from her cunt with a sucking sound. Jorge made a note to himself that she was wet, so perhaps she was enjoying it after all. The man threw himself at her, pulling on the rope that held her neck. ‘I’ll kill you for that.’
He yanked her head up and, as he did so, penetrated her with a groan. He slumped forward, convulsing as he came.
Jorge fingered his own sex. He was hard and throbbing. He had never seen anything like this. He pulled his penis out of his shorts and started stroking himself. His penis felt really sensitive, almost as if the violence Ivanka had experienced had been transferred into his own dick. He stroked himself softly, pressing on the thick central vein, cupping his balls with his other hand. The Beatles were singing Strawberry Fields in his earphones. He felt the orgasm coming just as the man pulled himself up and untied Ivanka, forcing her onto her knees, her fur coat draped around her. She swore at him. A stream of filthy words came out of her sexy mouth and, to Jorge’s amazement, he could see the man’s sex rising again. She flipped up the back of her coat, crouching on all fours. The man mounted her from behind. She moved into him and they lurched together drunkenly till they climaxed, this time together.
Jorge looked around, suddenly realizing that he was not alone in the observation. Several other men were dotted around the bushed, each one with a hand deep in their own trousers. Suddenly he felt ashamed, caught in a voyeuristic pose that others had shared, each taking solitary pleasure from a coitus that was not theirs. He padded off, feeling disgruntled and dirty. Ivanka could go to hell. He would have no further truck with her.
The next day he was coming in from work when Ivanka stepped into the lift with him. He blushed furiously and mumbled a greeting. She looked him straight in the eyes and said hello. She was wearing a scarf round her neck and there was no sign of her fur coat or any jewelry. ‘Would you like to come to my place for a drink now?’ she asked.
‘No, thanks, I’m… well no I can’t really.’
‘Oh,’ she sounded disappointed. ‘Another day?’
‘We’ll see.’ He stumbled out of the lift in front of her, turning his back on her while he unlocked his door. He could feel her puzzling after him. Normally he was the one who suggested they met, had a drink, chatted. He had been fumbling and inadequate, but perhaps she would just put it down to a hard day’s work. He hoped so.
A little while later, the doorbell rang. He went to open the door and found Ivanka dressed in her fur coat standing in front of the door.
‘Care to join me?’ she asked.
He blushed again. Perhaps she had seen him after all. He stammered ‘To do what?’
‘I am going for a walk in the park. I know you jog at night, so perhaps you can jog with me. I don’t feel safe.’ She put on her most winning smile. His heart missed a beat. Perhaps she would do those things to him. ‘Wait a second, I will just put on my jogging gear.’ He dashed back into his room and quickly changed, joining her once again on the doorstep. They sauntered down to the park, chatting amiably about their respective days and how the weather was getting worse – banalities that enabled Jorge to overcome his unease. Once they got onto the path in the park, she urged him to jog ahead, saying that he could catch her up on his second run around. He slipped on his earphones and the Beatles’s voices occupied his eardrums. He got his pace right and ran round the park. As he got to the tree, he saw Ivanka standing against the tree with her fur coat open. He slowed down and ran to the tree, stopping in front of her.
‘Ivanka, what are you doing?’ he asked.
‘Let’s have sex here’ she replied.
‘For the fun of it.’ He stepped closer. He could see blue bruises where the other man had punched her.
‘What happened?’ he asked, as if he didn’t know.
‘Oh nothing special. Come, let’s have some sex.’
Jorge could not believe what he was hearing. It was such a turn off. This woman who had caused him wet dreams, been the object of his idle fantasies, and who he had built into an ice goddess was some vulgar little tramp who needed to satisfy her own insatiable appetite.
‘I…. I don’t think so,’ he stuttered, backing away.
‘How do you think I earn my living you stupid boy?’
‘No, I .. I mean I never thought about it… I…’ Jorge stumbled away, tears in his eyes. He heard her laughing behind him. He gathered up speed and turned the volume of his iPod up. He would have to change his jogging patterns now, to avoid the park entirely. Lady P was so much more elegant and infinitely more faithful, she would follow him wherever he went.