“Look at her, the fat cow.”
Alison paused with a cherry tomato halfway to her mouth. She blinked and lowered her fork, replying with: “Who? Which fat cow?”
Simone’s chin jutted. “Her … Over by the bar. Jake’s wife.”
After a quick yet appraising glance, Alison shrugged. “You’re just jealous.” She waved her fork in the air, the tomato still impaled on its tines. “That woman isn’t fat … she’s bloody fit. The fact she’s married to Jake gives you the arse.”
Simone humphed and crossed her arms, her own salad abandoned. “You’re supposed to be my friend.”
Alison sighed and rolled her eyes when she saw the petulant pout. She kept quiet for a few seconds and chewed on the tomato, swallowing before she answered. “I am your friend. God knows why, you’re such a mardy bitch, but it’s because I’m your friend that I can be honest and tell you you’re only pissed off with Jake’s wife because she’s got Jake.”
Having said her piece Alison leaned forward in her seat and reached for her rum and coke. She sipped and then gestured at the scene around her with a wide sweep of her arm, a scene that encompassed a couple of hundred well-dressed – smart but casual – people enjoying a sumptuous buffet beneath the huge and pristine canopy of a very expensive marquee.
“It’s the social event of the summer,” added Alison. “Everyone from the company’s here. There must be at least one, attractive, single man that you fancy. Why do you always have to go for the married ones?”
“All the single men are too young,” a sullen-faced Simone responded. “The ones my age are usually dragging so much baggage around – divorces, kids at the weekends…” She gave a vehement shake of her head. “No thank you. None of that crap for me. Besides it’s the ones with the power that really get to me. And those men are always older.”
Simone offered her friend a hungry, lupine grin, adding, “The ones with the power are always so confident in bed. I love an experienced man. Not to mention a man with a couple of kinks.”
“And a couple of quid in the bank,” quipped Alison. “You’re attracted to the money, too. Wealthy men with houses and cars and money.” Alison rolled her eyes again.
Simone chuckled and looked at her friend askance. She smirked and said, “Well, yeah, there is that, too. But Jake’s more than that. I dunno, I look at him and get a sense that he’d be really, really dirty.”
Simone shivered with the thrill of it and then paused, casting a quick glance at Jake. She saw him, casually debonair, standing in a group as he smiled at some anecdote imparted by the Financial Director of the company.
“You should see him in action, Ali.” Simone continued. She mimed a swoon before fanning herself with her fingers. “He’s so … so dynamic in meetings. God, I love watching him work. His brain is so quick. He listens to all the advice and takes it all in. He just seems to be able to see right into the heart of a problem. Then he gives out the orders – bang-bang-bang – and all those other men, the pompous arseholes around him now, they scuttle off and do as he says. I swear, Ali, I don’t know how I manage to keep from ripping his trousers off and climbing onto his cock right there in the boardroom.”
“Simone…” Alison cautioned as she threw a nervous look around her. “Someone might hear you.”
Simone responded with a sigh and shook her head. “I can’t help it, Ali. That’s how he makes me feel. I get all wild and reckless. I just can’t help it. Jake turns me on so much I could scream.”
Alison placed the fork onto her plate and pushed the food away. She moved closer to her friend, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. “You’ve got to give this up, Simone.” Her eyes beseeched her friend to listen to reason. “He’s your boss. He’s married. He isn’t interested in you. Do yourself a favour and pick up some good-looking hunk and fuck his brains out. Forget about Jake Morris.”
Simone brushed away her friend’s good advice with an airy wave. “I’ve given him a lot of encouragement,” she said, her expression wistful as she stared at Jake. “I couldn’t make it any more obvious without dropping my knickers right in front of him.”
Exasperated at Simone’s single-mindedness, Alison responded with a sigh. “Why don’t you just leave your knickers on his desk?” she muttered. She rose to her feet, resigned to the fact that Simone was obsessed. There was obviously nothing she could do to alter the woman’s point-of-view. “I need another drink.”
“My knickers on his desk?” Simone mused. “You know, I might just do that.” She blinked and looked around, coming out of her brief reverie. Seeing Alison moving away, weaving through the throng towards the bar, Simone stood up and followed, a plan forming in her head.
It was a huge risk.
Simone was in the grip of madness, a crazed desire. There was no stopping the beast. If it got Simone what she wanted, the risk was worth it.
Risk assessment is about quantifying likelihood against severity, the potential for the wheels to fall off the wagon against the outcome of them doing so. Simone had assessed the risk of this little operation. As the personal assistant to the Boss Man she knew his movements down to the last detail, and it was this knowledge of Jake’s diary that gave her the wherewithal to assess the chances of being caught in his office, sitting in his chair no less, high heels up on his desk, skirt around her waist while she slotted two fingers into her cunt and finger-fucked herself to orgasm.
Of course there was always the possibility that Jake Morris might, on a whim or some quirk of fate, return to his office. The outcome, if he caught her rubbing her oily pussy, could be catastrophic. Another possibility, albeit unlikely, could be a director calling in on the off-chance Jake might be around. But since Simone made sure Jake’s electronic diary was up-to-date she had assessed the likelihood as low.
Besides, the element of risk just made the whole thing just that bit more delicious. Simone’s yearning knew no bounds, and whatever the outcome she was determined to gamble.
What was life without a little risk?
So there she was on the Wednesday morning, feet on Jake’s desk, legs wide, delicate undies yanked askew, her pussy pouting.
“You should come in now, Jake,” the woman mumbled as she chewed on her bottom lip and cast heavy-lidded looks towards the heavy door. “Come in and catch me rubbing my cunt.”
Simone gasped, a forefinger bumping over her clitoris while the fantasy took shape.
“Would you stand there and watch me?” she breathed. Simone gasped, her thighs closing on her wrist when a finger slid into her opening. “Would you stand and watch me. Would your cock get all big and stiff?” She envisioned Jake standing at the door, surprise melting from his expression, replaced by a slow smile. “Come here, Jake,” Simone mumbled.
She pictured him moving towards her, the bulge in his suit trousers obvious.
“Take it out and wank it. Let me touch you and suck you. Fuck my mouth…”
Simone’s fingers curled around an imaginary penis as she turned her head to one side to take the big plum of the cock-head between her lips.
“Fuck,” the woman grunted, two stiff fingers fucking into her opening. “Go on, Jake. Fuck my mouth. Use me. I’m yours. You can do anything you want to me … Anything.”
Unable to restrain herself, her mind filled with Jake’s face, his smile, his eyes sparkling with pleasure at what he’d discovered, Simone fumbled at the buttons on her blouse and, after much cursing at their recalcitrance, managed to undo them all.
She hauled her breasts from the cups of her bra, fingertips sliding over the taut and elongated teats.
“Suck my tits,” the woman gasped to the empty office. “Let me suck your big dick, Jake. Let me taste you before we fuck.”
The heels of Simone’s shoes skittered across the desk, scattering files and papers and knocking the computer keyboard to the floor while, mindless to the devastation, Simone simultaneously curled the two digits inside her opening and rubbed at her clit. She moaned and gasped and grunted, her buttocks squeaking against expensive leather as she sank lower in her boss’s chair.
Simone pushed against the desk with her feet, sending the chair rolling backwards before, crazed by her own need to orgasm, she stood up and settled her buttocks onto the cool laminate of the desk top. With her heels now digging into the soft seat of the chair, her pussy sluicing, she rubbed her pussy and mauled her breasts.
Desire trickled through the crease of Simone’s buttocks and pooled on the desk. “I’m going to come, Jake,” she mewled. Her teeth clenched, cords in her throat stark as blades. “Oh, fuck … I’m going to come. Please, please, Jake. Won’t you fuck me? Won’t you let me show you how good I am? I’d let you do anything to me … You can have me any time you want, Jake. I’ll suck you; you can fuck my arse; I’ll be anyone you want me to be.”
Simone came, her body juddering, her thighs shivering while her hips moved with short, jerky spasms, her buttocks sliding through her own outpouring of desire.
“Oh, God,” Simone eventually gasped. “Fuck … Look at the fucking mess. Oh fuck. Oh shit.”
Breathless and appalled, Simone gaped at the carnage she had wrought.
Eventually, on trembling legs, unsteady after her devastating climax, Simone slid off the desk and stood. She recalled Alison’s words and, although she knew her friend had only blurted the suggestion in her exasperation, never intending to be taken seriously, Simone yanked her underwear down her legs and wiped herself with the near insignificant scrap. She dabbed at the puddle on the desk, before sniffing her musk on the damp cloth. Then Simone draped her underwear across the computer monitor, confident that Jake Morris couldn’t fail to see them when he sat at his desk.
Calmer by that point, Simone then rescued the keyboard from the floor and, after reinstating it to its place, tidied the mess of papers and rearranged the files. After a few more repairs she smoothed her skirt down over her hips, arranged her breasts in her bra and buttoned her blouse.
“There you go, Jake,” Simone muttered with a smirk. “My wet knickers on your computer. I can’t make it any plainer than that.”
Ten minutes later, after mopping the puddle from Jake’s desk properly, and with him not due back at his office for another hour, Simone hip-swayed out of the building.
It was a thrill going commando as she walked among the office drones and workmen. If only they knew!
The madness of her actions didn’t sink in until Simone was at the collection counter in Starbucks. Suddenly, while awaiting her order, she began to doubt the wisdom of leaving her underwear – sodden and redolent with her cunt – on Jake’s computer monitor.
Leaving the latte uncollected, with a brick of apprehension lying in her stomach, Simone, outwardly calm as ever, strolled through the foyer of company headquarters. She was ten minutes early returning from lunch, desperate to reach Jake’s office and retrieve her underwear.
“You mad cow,” she admonished herself, muttering under her breath. Simone winced at her stupidity – how could she have even imagined Jake Morris would take her knickers draped over his computer monitor for what it was? There was no way a cool, sophisticated exec like him would take that bait.
Anxious yet hopeful Jake would still be minutes away from the building Simone rode the lift to the executive floor. The acceleration yawed at her guts, adding weight to the leaden mass already sitting there. She supressed a belch, praying Jake wouldn’t be back and that it would be a simple matter of waltzing into his office, grabbing her nicks – with maybe a quick scan around to ensure she’d left no clues behind – before being ready behind her desk to greet him – The crisp, indispensable PA, ready for her boss when he returned.
“Oh, shit,” Simone gasped when she saw Jake Morris had beaten her to it. “Oh, fuck…”
The rest of the day was agony, with the uncertainty of Jake Morris’s reaction squeezing Simone’s guts. Would he call her in to his office and dismiss her on the spot? Every time she pictured the scenario Simone closed her eyes and groaned with chagrin, her face burning with shame.
But, the woman reasoned, there was always a chance Simone could talk her way out of it. She could, would, she decided, if it came to it, simply offer it to him right in his office. After all she had it all going on. Simone knew men fancied her, hours in the gym and a strict diet kept her in shape. She knew for a copper-bottomed fact she was regarded as hot and sexy.
In the unisex bathroom she smirked at reflection in the mirror. “I’ve got the looks,” Simone muttered. “I’ve got the boobs and the legs.” She winked at the well-presented and, now she had a plan, confident woman grinning back at her. “I reckon, Simone, if Jake calls you in for a one-on-one chat you should just show him your wet pussy. Just lift up your skirt and let the dog see the rabbit. There aren’t many men who’d turn down a slice of that hot little pie if they saw it.”
But no sooner than she’d left the unisex Simone’s confidence evaporated. Again her insides twisted, the blade of uncertainty cutting deep, slicing through her self-assurance.
And so it went, for the rest of the day, all through that afternoon. Jake called her into his office several times, and each time Simone’s stomach lurched, a bubble of anxiety the size of a space-hopper ballooning in her chest.
But, to Simone’s astonishment Jake was his usual self: brisk and efficient, yet friendly; the same as he’d always been. Not a flicker, no sign that he’d been moved by the lascivious offering.
Once, when the tension became almost unbearable, Simone had come close to yelling into Jake’s handsome face, convinced the bastard was playing with her, keeping her dangling, tormenting her for some twisted pleasure of his own.
But wasn’t that part of what drew her to Jake Morris in the first place? Hadn’t she said as much to Alison at the company do? Didn’t she want a man with a couple of kinks?
Maybe this was a quirk of Jake’s? Perhaps he knew exactly what he was doing? He had to realise Simone wanted him, and now he was drawing out the tension for his own perverse pleasure. He probably enjoyed making her sweat.
“You fucking bastard,” Simone breathed when her boss, apparently oblivious (although Simone would bet a month’s salary that he was rock hard for her), dismissed her for the day.
“Thanks, Simone,” Jake smiled. “I’ve got a few things to do. As usual,” he added with a chuckle and a roll of his eyes. “You might as well get away a couple of minutes early.”
Standing in front of Jake’s desk, Simone tilted her head, expression filled with meaning. She threw out a hot-eyed challenge that Jake couldn’t fail to miss, replying with, “I don’t mind staying, Jake.” Simone paused and added with a purr, “Not if there’s something I could … uhm … help you with.”
Jake cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. “Uh … Well … I’d hate to keep you late, Simone. You … you could be meeting a friend for a drink. I’d hate to keep you from your social life.”
Simone digested Jake’s words and decided he was probing, sussing her out. Jake wanted to know if any move he made would come back to bite him on the arse. Would some hairy-arsed boyfriend cause him any embarrassment? After all, a man in Jake Morris’s position didn’t need any hint of scandal making things uncomfortable for him. No, it would be up to Simone to reassure him that the last thing she wanted was to cause any drama in Jake’s well-ordered life. She was only after a bit of fun, some good, old-fashioned sex – perviness would be a bonus. But, in the course of their affair, if Jake decided, of his own accord, to throw over the current Mrs Morris for the younger, hotter future Mrs Morris, well … Simone was up for that, too.
“Oh, no worry there, Jake,” Simone breathed. “There’s no man waiting for me out there. I’m quite happy to stay behind and help you with anything you have in mind.”
Jake Morris blinked and then stared at Simone with an intensity that sent a frisson of desire through her. “Uh … Oh … I see,” he stammered. “But there’s nothing, Simone. I can handle everything myself.” He cleared his throat again and glanced away. “Thanks … Uhm … I won’t be too long myself. I’m meeting my wife in an hour. Tickets to some show in the West End…”
He was meeting the fat cow? That was a surprise to Simone. Jake’s home was in Shropshire – what was his wife doing in London mid-week?
Still, at least that explained Jake’s reticence; he could hardly sit through some play reeking of Simone’s pussy.
But he could have made some overture, at least acknowledged Simone’s little gift. It wouldn’t have hurt to let her know he was interested.
“You fucking bastard,” she repeated after closing Jake’s office door behind her. She strode across the ante-office – her domain as guardian of the inner sanctum. She sat at her desk, her mind a whirl of impressions.
Then it came to her as she packed up her belongings – mobile phone, hairbrush and notebook. Jake had been surprised, shocked might be closer to the mark, by his discovery. He needed a little time to recover. There was also the issue of his wife. With the fat bitch in town Jake would be unlikely to make a move. That was why he mentioned her, it was obvious. His response wasn’t rejection, merely a subtle hint from Jake that it wasn’t quite the right time for them.
Okay, if Jake Morris wanted to play it cool, she could go along with that. Simone would play by his rules. For a while at least. Simone left the office confident that, when Jake next climbed aboard that whale of a wife, he would be thinking about her instead.
Jake’s aloof manner continued for the rest of the week. During the time Jake spent in Simone’s company he gave away nothing. He went about business as usual.
For Simone it was almost unbearable. Her moods swung wildly. One moment she would be riding high, confident that Jake Morris wanted her and was just playing a game. He wanted her hot and bothered and confused – so much better when, eventually, they got together. At other times she was wracked with doubt. Jake didn’t want her. He’d found her underwear and was too embarrassed to broach the subject, preferring instead to ignore the whole thing.
During the times of doubt Simone would rail internally, her mortification and frustration almost too much to bear.
“He’s worried about his reputation,” Simone murmured as she sat behind her desk. She’d taken to talking to herself, mumbling through her anxieties or voicing her lewd fantasies dependent upon which level of the rollercoaster she was on at the time. “The fat bitch would probably wipe him out if she caught him in an affair. That’s all it is … He does want me. I’m sure he does … But he’s too worried about her to do anything.”
And then, late on Friday afternoon, with the hideous prospect of a weekend in the vacuum of internal wrangling looming, the first email arrived.
5 July. 16:10 From:
I think you know who this is.
I have a question for you.
Did you leave me a little gift on Wednesday? Something delicate?
If so, please respond to this email at your convenience. I would like to discuss this matter further and in greater detail, but not by the usual means available to us. Please, if you would, subscribe to a savernet.com email address. That way we can maintain the absolute discretion such a sensitive issue demands.
I look forward to hearing from you and learning about your requirements if we are to progress.
Simone’s insides flipped when she read through the brief message the first time, her jaw slackening with each line during the subsequent, inevitable second read.
“Oh. My. God…” she breathed, eyes fixed on the screen.
So there it was in black and white! Jake had finally broken cover. Okay, he was using a blind email identity, but she could understand that, after all, Jake was right to be cautious.
Too bad Jake had already left the building – heading up to Shropshire for the weekend with that dollop. If he’d still been ensconced in his office Simone would have simply thrown over the email suggestion and boldly walked in and offered herself. Wife or no wife, she would have made her move on Jake Morris, TheMainMan@savernet.com himself.
Instead, since the physical option wasn’t workable, Simone, appreciating Jake’s requirement for discretion, carefully noted the email address before deleting the message from her inbox.
From then on she’d use her personal laptop and a savernet.com address as suggested by Jake.
But what could she call herself? She needed an identity that conveyed her desires. Nothing too slutty, but something dirty enough to fire up Jake’s imagination. She wanted Jake Morris to experience a surge of excitement when he logged into the email provider’s site and saw her reply in his inbox.
Her first response had to be something that made him crazy with desire for her. Simone needed to compose a message which would make TheMainMan desperate. She wanted him sitting at home, with the smug-faced fat cow downstairs, fisting his dick and wishing he was with Simone.
Simone packed her bag. She would think something up during the train journey home.
5 July. 20:37 From:
Subject: Your Gift email.
So, you got your gift? Sorry to be so forward, but I’ve been trying for weeks to give you the hint.
*pout* - I thought you’d never notice me!
Please let me know what you have in mind. You can be as open as you want. You won’t shock me!
But you can try!
Simone dithered. It hand taken much longer than she could have anticipated to first come up with an identity and then to compose a reply.
Even then, with her finger poised over the mouse, the message a click away from being sent, Simone wasn’t entirely happy.
CommandoGrrl? Really? Was that handle the best she could come up with?
And what about the body of the text itself? Should she include some smut in amongst it?
“For fuck’s sake,” Simone snarled eventually. Her own prevarication was growing tedious. “It is what it fucking is … Who gives a fuck about the name? Who gives a shit about the message? If he wants to reply, he will … If not–”
And then it was too late. As though it were an independent entity with a mind of its own, Simone’s index finger tapped the mouse. The screen hung for a blink before Message Sent flashed up.
“Oh shit…” Simone muttered. “I need a drink.”
“You fucking bastard,” Simone growled. “You arsehole. You wanker.”
With a snort of derision she brought the side of her fist down against the table, her face a twisted and ugly mask of frustration.
It was Sunday and there was still no response from Jake-fucking-Morris. Not a cunting word!
“BASTARD!” Simone bellowed, uncaring that the man in the flat below might hear.
Fuck the world. The bloke in the downstairs flat could fuck off, too. And fuck Jake Morris most of all.
“You fucking shithouse,” the woman hissed, teeth bared while she vented her frustrations. “That’s it. I’m not playing this game. Who the fuck do you think you are to keep me hanging around like this?” Simone stalked through the flat, moving towards the kitchen and the vodka bottle nestled in the freezer. “A weekend wasted,” she raged. “Jesus Christ! What a fucking mug!”
Two fingers of harsh spirit in a tumbler disappeared in a single swallow. Simone coughed, eyes watering. “Fucking hell,” she spluttered. “That fucking stings.”
Another generous measure glugged into the glass before, slightly calmer but still fizzing, Simone returned to the living room.
The laptop, evidence of her idiocy, mocked her.
Simone glanced at the clock on the DVD player. “I’ll give you until two o’clock, Jake. Then, that’s it. If I haven’t heard by then I’ll be sending a message telling you to fuck off.”
At ten minutes to two, a fourth tumbler of vodka on the table, an ashtray containing two half-smoked cigarettes lay alongside – crushed victims of Simone’s ire – she sat down in front of her laptop.
“Fuck off,” slurred Simone when the machine chirruped cheerfully to life. She was resigned to the fact that there would be no response from Jake, already composing the hate mail she would send.
“Oh, Jesus,” she muttered and reached for her cigarettes. It was the emergency packet she’d forgotten all about during her giving up period. She lit up, sucking deep, the harsh smoke stale and ugly before she cursed and crushed the vile-tasting thing into the ashtray. Simone didn’t need the nicotine anyway; she got enough of a buzz from seeing that little envelope blinking away.
The cursor moved across the screen and Simone clicked the mouse once.
7 July. 13:10 From:
To: < CommandoGrrl@savernet.com>
Subject: Re. Your Gift email.
Weeks, eh? You naughty grrl – BTW, are you going to be commando from now on? After all, I have your underwear … and the thought of you all bare under your skirt is such a turn on.
Although, before I continue, please, for the sake of professionalism – and in order to ensure we don’t get caught in some sordid, deeply embarrassing and potentially career-breaking compromising position – I would prefer if we kept this, and what may develop in the future, completely separate from our working relationship.
There MUST be nothing between us at all when we’re together. No looks, smiles, veiled comments or private jokes. Nothing. If we allowed ourselves to indulge, someone would notice. Rest assured, Simone, somebody would spot something.
And then it would be over. Before it even started.
I don’t want it to be over, Simone. I want to have fun … a LOT of fun, with you.
Besides, I think that doing things that way makes it so much hotter! The denial will only serve to inflame us both. Don’t you think?
So, I hope you can agree. Nothing between us when we’re together. Not even if it’s the two of us alone. Not a thing.
You said I couldn’t shock you? I’ll tell you what – It’ll be a thrill to try!
You’ll have to give me a clue about what you enjoy, but to start us off I’ll share something with you.
What I’ve been thinking of this weekend is the two of us at a very expensive, very exclusive hotel. I want you dressed in lingerie, Simone, something that shows off your legs and breasts. I’m a sucker for a hot, sexy woman in heels and stockings. I’ll bet you’d be irresistible dressed as my little whore.
I hope I don’t offend you by saying that. I don’t think you’re a whore, but I’d love you to role-play that part if you would.
Anyway, I’d better not go too far, not this time. I’ll wait and see what your response is to my suggestion. And feel free to let me know of anything nasty and dirty you’d like to do.
I can’t shock you, you say? See if you can shock me, Simone. Give it your best and we can compare notes.
7 July. 14:42 From:
Subject: Re. Re. Your Gift email.
God, I’m so horny for you right now!
OK. I get it about our not giving away any clues. It’ll be difficult – I just want to suck your dick and have you fuck me whenever I see you – but what you said about it being so much hotter this way…
Fuck, the thought of it is making me so wet.
If you want me to be your whore, I’d love it. I’ll do anything you want me to. You can have me anywhere you want at any time. You can use my mouth, my pussy … even my arse. Would you like to fuck my dirty hole?
I could pretend to be a call-girl if you like. At the hotel, I could knock on your door and you could let me in. You can even pay me to fuck (I’ll give you the money back, of course. Afterwards. But for the sake of the role-play, you could hand over a big wad of cash).
I’m going to sit here now and rub my pussy. I’m hot and wet and desperate for you. I’m so fucking horny that I can’t stop myself from playing with myself.
Think about that. Think about me sitting here at home, my fingers curled inside my cunt while I get myself to a huge orgasm. I’ll be thinking about you fucking my mouth while I masturbate. I wish it was your cock fucking me instead of my fingers.
Please, don’t make me wait too long before we can play out our little games for real. I don’t know how much I can take before I’ll just jump you!
Simone left the laptop active, too impatient to close the machine down after sending her latest message through the ether. She stumbled into her bedroom, panting with desire, cursing when she tripped over her own leggings. Simone was in such indecent haste to get at her body she was hauling down the elastic leg-wear as she went.
“Yes!” she grunted, falling onto her bed. Her legs fell open and as Simone slid a finger through the gooey folds of her sex. “Oh, you horny bitch,” she grunted. “Wet … so fucking wet.”
Simone slid a hand beneath her tee-shirt and mauled at her breasts, the fingers of her other hand describing frantic circles around her clitoris.
“Jake,” she hissed, all clenched teeth and tensed muscles. “Dammit, Jake, if I don’t get fucked by you soon I’ll go stark, raving fucking mad.”
Simone grunted and yanked up her tee-shirt, stretching the hem in her anxious desperation to haul her breasts from her bra.
“You want me to be your whore, Jake?” Simone whined, the sensations pulsing from her core almost too exquisite to bear. “I’ll dress for you, you dirty bastard. I’ll put on a show for you; I’ll have you choking to fuck me. You wait and see…”
Simone groaned, her back arching, hips rising while she forced her body onto her probing fingers. Her sex sluiced around her digits, squelching obscenely, lust dribbling out of her body and sliding along the cleft of her buttocks, a stain widening beneath her.
“I’ll be the dirtiest whore ever. I’ll make your eyes pop out of your skull. You’ll be so fucking hot for me, Jake that … that … Oh, fuck, you’ll be so hot you’ll come in your trousers…”
In her mind’s eye Simone saw Jake Morris all hot-eyed with desire. She watched him unbutton his suit trousers and haul forth an erection of staggering proportions. The fantasy-cock was thick and gnarled, a terrible thing to behold, a magnificent example of its kind, a cock that would feel so good pushing into Simone’s body, opening her and filling her with living, pulsing gristle.
“Lick my cunt, first,” the woman mewled to the empty room. She had three fingers slotted inside her opening. “Suck my clit. Get me all worked up before I let you stick that thing inside me. Come on, Jake, eat my pussy.”
The lewd images and undiluted indecency of her own imaginings took Simone there. Her fingers worked at her sex, probing, curling inside to rub at the special place therein, her other hand sliding over her torso, pawing at breast flesh and pinching tender nipples.
Simone revelled at the texture of her skin beneath her palm as she stroked her thighs, relishing the difference between taut, pliant muscle on her upper leg and the silky smooth of her inner thigh.
She rubbed her clit hard, two fingers working at the nub before she gasped and softened her approach.
“Please,” she whined, a forefinger barely skimming the slippery nub. “Please, let me come. I’ve got to come…”
A few seconds more of softly-softly before Simone cranked up her engine. She worked at her sex, probing inside one second, two stiff fingers fucking her opening while she splayed the meaty flaps of her labia and diddled her clit before she then swirled a hand in its entirety around and around her mushy flesh.
“I’ll be so much better than that dollop you call a wife, Jake.”
Simone pictured herself squatting over Jake Morris’s face, her gaping cunt hovering there just beyond his reach.
“I’ll be so dirty you won’t fucking believe it,” she gasped. “I’ll be such a filthy whore you’ll do anything for me. Lick my cunt, Jake. Taste me. That’s what a woman tastes of…”
And with that vision in mind, Simone grinding herself against her lover’s face, her pussy dripping onto his skin, she grunted a huge cry of absolute pleasure and climaxed heavily.
The orgasm rolled on and on, with Simone on her side, thighs clamped tight around her forearm, insides clenching on her fingers.
“Oh, shit,” she eventually gasped and rolled onto her back. Simone lay there with a forearm draped across her forehead, limbs sprawled and useless. Her chest heaved, breasts rolling while she fought for breath, her mind numb.
“When it happens, Jake,” she finally managed to mumble. “It’ll be so fucking good.”
Simone lay there for a few indulgent minutes, her mind drifting into a fantasy where the current Mrs Morris had been rejected, thrown aside for the hotter, fitter substitute.
No more working – imagine that! What a life, money to burn and with the added bonus of having Jake’s cock on a whim.
A new plan began to form, one that not only concerned fucking her boss but also included Simone usurping her rival in Jake’s affections.
Simone decided she wanted it all.
On Monday morning Simone didn’t mind the crowded train in the slightest. Nothing could spoil her mood. She was ebullient that morning, buoyed by the email waiting for her when she checked her inbox shortly after waking.
It would be a good week, she knew it. In fact, if anything, after reading the message Jake had sent her late the night before, it would be a great week. The best.
As the train rattled towards King’s Cross, with the skeletal finger of Alexandra Palace tower ignored by Simone, unable to resist another read, pulled the folded sheet of A4 from her laptop case. After a quick check to ensure the man sitting next to her had no interest in the document, her eyes devoured the words again.
7 July. 23:17 From:
Subject: Re. Re. Re. Your Gift email.
A call-girl would be excellent. How much would you charge for your services? Is it by-the-hour or a flat fee for all night? Are there add-ons for extra services?
I like the idea of you masturbating, and I especially enjoyed your use of the word ‘cunt’. I think when used sparingly and in the right circumstances that word is so powerful and stimulating.
I think I’d enjoy hearing you being a gutter-mouthed slut.
Would you be that woman for me? Would you masturbate for me and use filthy language?
I hope so. I really do hope you will.
In fact, I have an idea. I think we should make plans to spend the night together very soon. I think we should make it happen this week.
Would Thursday night suit you? I’ll book a room and give you the details. You could arrive ‘in character’. I want you in an elegant dress. We’ll keep it simple. Black stockings – hold-ups, no bra and (since you’re CommandoGrrl) no knickers. Basically, beneath the dress, with the exception of the stockings, all I want you to wear is perfume.
I expect my whore to wear the highest heels she can possibly walk in.
I would love to watch you strut around, naked less shoes and stockings.
How does that sound? Do you think you could enjoy that? Would putting on a show for me get you going?
An idea has just occurred to me. You can expect a gift by courier this week. It probably won’t be tomorrow, but possibly – probably – Tuesday. When you receive the gift email me and I’ll tell you what I want you to do with it.
So, there are things to look forward to. I hope your knickerless today, my little whore.
Remember, discretion is all.
It was so difficult when Simone saw Jake that morning. He arrived just after eleven, looking cool and crisp and professional after his own commute from Shropshire, and it was only Jake’s detached demeanour that reminded Simone that he’d insisted on no outward indication of their burgeoning affair.
“Morning, Jake,” Simone replied when, dropping his own, “Good morning, Simone. Good weekend?” Jake strode past her desk.
Simone couldn’t help smirking. “I enjoyed myself yesterday,” she said.
Jake paused and then turned to face Simone. “Oh yes?”
Simone felt the heat rise in her face under Jake’s scrutiny. Why had she said that? What had possessed her to comment on the weekend? Now he was looking at her and she wasn’t sure if he was testing her. Was Jake checking to see if she could keep her word about discretion? After all, this was their first day, the first bloody second almost. Simone cursed internally; she’d stumbled at the first hurdle.
“C-compared to Saturday,” Simone stammered. “Saturday was so boring. I … uh … I managed to get out and about on Sunday.” Her eyes slid away from Jake’s appraisal.
God, she wanted to kiss him!
“Good. Excellent. As long as you had a good time, Simone.” Following the bland response Jake checked his watch. “Right, well, I better get on with it. Got a lot to do this week as you know.”
Simone admonished herself as soon as the door to Jake’s office clicked shut. “Shit,” she muttered. “Shit and arseholes. Get a fucking grip of yourself, woman.” Her nails dug into the palms of her hands.
A few moments later, settling at her desk, Simone decided to compose an email immediately.
8 July. 13:32 From:
Oh my God! I’m such an idiot. Sorry for being so indiscreet. I didn’t think it would be so difficult! But I promise – cross my heart – to do better.
Thursday night? I can’t wait! Just thinking about being together and me playing the whore makes me shiver with delight. My pussy gets so wet when I think about how you want me. I’d love to strut around in heels and watch your face. I hope you’ll be hungry for me. I want a bloody good seeing-to. I need fucking so much.
A gift? This week? I’m intrigued and I look forward to it.
Okay, I’d better get on with my work. My boss is such a demanding bastard! *grin*.
I don’t know how I’m going to manage it but I’ll do my best to leave my pussy alone. I’d really love to play with her right now, but…
I await your next email with eager anticipation. (Make it dirty. Tell me how bad you want me to be on Thursday night).
He told her how bad he wanted her to be. The email was so filthy, so depraved, and despite Simone’s assurances she wouldn’t be shocked – she was. Nevertheless, regardless of the obscenities described in that email, or perhaps because of them, Simone found herself staggering, weak-kneed and desperate, into the unisex.
Her heels pecked at the tiles as she gave a little dance, hips wriggling while yanking her skirt up past her hips. She held the garment ruched at her waist and sat down on the cold ring of the toilet seat, thighs parting.
“Fuck,” she mumbled, chewing on her bottom lip in an effort to stifle the moans bubbling out of her. “Oh … Fuck…”
Simone’s pussy was sodden beneath her fingers, desire sluicing from her opening. She rubbed her clit between the tips of a forefinger and thumb, rolling the flesh and wishing she could wank it like a cock. Looking down at herself, labia heavy and pouting, her core swollen, and with lust bubbling at the opening, hot and scarlet and yearning, Simone moaned.
If a mere week ago, Simone had read the filthy things Jake pictured in his mind she would have been outraged, deeply offended. The things he’d described would have been unthinkable. But, somehow, coming from him the idea actually had some appeal. It was all very sordid, despicable in fact, yet not without dark, licentious attraction.
The question was – if Jake was serious – could she do it? Simone assumed, the whole scene described in Jake’s email was pure fantasy – it had to be fantasy, he couldn’t really expect her to do it … But what if he did?
Simone couldn’t supress the images. In her mind she saw herself doing everything Jake described – All of it. Every last nasty, depraved detail.
When she sat at her desk, her personal laptop alive, she had taken a good, long look at the closed door, the single barrier between her and the filthy-minded man beyond. She wanted to go to him, was so fucking desperate Simone felt she could take Jake Morris in the boardroom with the entire board sitting there. All of them, females included, slack-jawed and looking on.
Hell, she could take every fucking one of them on, including the women. She would have Jake in her cunt while she sucked cock or licked pussy. It wouldn’t matter whose dick she had in her mouth or whose cunt was pressed to her face, she would slurp and slobber and moan, licking man-meat and cunt until, one-by-one, the men came on her. Just like Jake described.
By an immense effort of will, not quite believing herself capable of resisting the powerful urge to charge into her boss’s office, Simone staggered to the unisex and locked herself in a cubicle.
She then rubbed her pussy, fingering herself to a quick, intense orgasm; all the while imagining scenes of multiple men, faceless, anonymous bastards who used her body – every hole available – for their own ends.
Simone came with a palm wedged against her teeth to smother her cries as she pictured herself spattered with semen, Jake’s ejaculate sliding from her cunt.
Minutes later, when she’d calmed enough to think again, Simone repaired the damage wrought to her hair and make-up. She stood in front of the sink and regarded her reflection, wondering if she actually knew the mind of the woman she saw in the mirror.
Another thought occurred to her. What if it wasn’t just a fantasy? What if, on Thursday evening, Jake Morris actually expected her to fuck strange men?
Jake was away from the office from Monday afternoon. Meetings in Plymouth and Southampton meant he would be gone for the rest of the week, with a diary entry for a quick stop at the headquarters building scheduled for Friday.
Simone sent an email to TheMainMan shortly after Jake’s departure. In it she described how incredibly turned on she’d been by the suggestion she allow herself to be used by Jake and several other men. She told of her underlying disgust, but then went on to say the depravity only served to heighten her ardour, ending that section of the communique with a question about Jake’s seriousness. Did he mean it or was it merely fantasy?
She then asked about details for Thursday – which hotel, timings, practicalities – before ending.
The reply she received was succinct; dismissive, even hostile in tone:
8 July. 17:10 From:
Subject: Re. Did you mean it?
Does it matter? I’m paying you so you’ll do whatever I want – Yes? If you won’t do it I can easily find myself another whore who will. There are hundreds and thousands of pretty women out there who’d do what I ask.
Be ready – dressed as discussed. On Thursday evening you can expect a call on your mobile somewhere around seven-thirty. Be in character.
Your gift is due to arrive tomorrow. Inform me when it arrives and I’ll send instructions on what to do.
Simone read the message twice, staggered at the audacity, the domineering attitude. She sank back in the soft embrace of her chair, jaw hanging slack.
No way, there was no way she was taking that shit from him. Not a chance. Who did he think he was? A little role-play was one thing, but to dismiss her like that … and calling her a whore into the bargain. It was too much, way too much, Mister Big-fucking-Ego Morris.
“You say there are women out there who’d act out your nasty little scenario, you pervy bastard? Good, you can fucking well find one and fucking well pay her.”
Simone’s anger fed on itself, flaring when she read the opening line of the email yet again.
“Your gift is due to arrive tomorrow,” she parodied in the style of a South Park character. “Inform me when it arrives and I’ll send instructions on what to do … You cunt. As if,” Simone scoffed.
For the rest of the day she went about her business, the occasional mutter moving her lips. Even at home, into the evening, Simone maintained her indignation. She wound herself up, knowing the best thing to do would be to simply dismiss Jake Morris, TheMainMan, and CommandoGrrl, completely, but she couldn’t manage to do it.
It did occur to Simone to blow the whistle on Jake. She had his wife’s email address on file, how simple it wold be to lump all the correspondence into a file and, with a single mouse-click, send it winging to Jake’s spouse.
However, she considered after indulging herself in the delicious fantasy of Jake Morris brought low for a few minutes, those emails were a double-edged sword. If she sent them her role would also come to light. Simone would be out of a job, and she needed her salary just to keep afloat. She had a mortgage and credit cards maxed out, payments on the smart Mini she’d bought on impulse. No, she had too much to lose.
But the knowledge she could go nuclear was some comfort, went some way to assuaging her bruised feelings. Besides, maybe, depending on how things panned out, if she didn’t manage to grab the main prize – Jake and his assets – there still might be some room for manoeuvre at the negotiating table. If she used her noggin, Simone could, at the very least, come out of this affair with a substantial monetary reward.
The thought was enough to convince Simone to continue with Jake’s game. She could see it out until Thursday night. It might all just be pretend after all. Jake might be getting off on the thought of it, just as she had in the unisex. And if it turned out he was serious and expected her to fuck other men as well as him, well, she could just turn on one spiked heel and leave.
Simone switched on the laptop.
“Okay, Jake. Let’s crank this up. You want dirty…?”
8 July. 23:32 From:
Subject: A whore.
Black hold-ups and heels. That’s all I’m wearing under the dress. I want you – and the others – to sit and watch. I’ll tease you all by slipping the bootlace straps of the dress over my shoulders. I know you boys are eager to see my tits, but you’ll have to wait.
I’ll turn my back to you and let the dress slip lower. You can see my back, the track of my spine right down to the crease of my arse. I’ll hold the dress there for a few seconds to let you boys get a good eyeful of my back, waist and hips. Enjoy the curves, boys.
Does the sight of my bare skin excite you?
I’ll let the dress drop lower so you can all see my bottom. Look at that arse. That’s a beautiful sight if I say so myself. Keeping those cheeks so taut takes a lot of effort. I hope you all appreciate that. You’re paying for all my hard work.
I’ll drop the dress and stand there while you gasp at the sight of my legs – the heels and stockings look good, eh? Are you hard? I bet you are; I bet you boys want to touch your dicks.
In fact, I want to watch you pull your cocks. Show me how fucking hard you are for me.
When I turn I can feel eyes lasering all over me. My pussy, which is almost pissing juice, is all smooth for you, and I can feel the heat of your stares on my tits.
See how stiff my nipples are?
I remember what you said about strutting around the room, so I do exactly that. I’ll pose and let you boys stare at me a little bit longer, and then I’ll tell you all to get your cocks out. I want to see you all yanking away.
I’ll come to you and stare into your eyes, leaning over you as you sit there, my tits swinging. You and I will kiss – just the two of us, no kissing for the others.
While we kiss you feel how wet I am, and I’ll stroke your cock and make you moan.
I’ll climb onto you and we’ll fuck. Let the others watch while I ride that big dick.
In the end I want your semen in my cunt, as much as I want their cum all over me.
Do I fuck any of them? Do I let them use me? Shall I let them have my pussy, my mouth and my tight arsehole?
I’ll be your whore. You tell me what I should do.
Simone sent the email and turned off the laptop. She went to bed, shredding clothes as she walked into her bedroom, the imagery involved in the writing process, imagining herself doing the things she’d described too much to bear. Her body clamoured for release, and yet again she fingered her sticky slot. Again Simone fantasised about multiple men, wondering what it would be like to give herself up completely and simply allow them to have her. She found she was actually curious to know how it would feel to accept more than a single man into her body simultaneously.
And how would she feel afterwards? In the days that followed – would she feel like a whore then, knowing she’d been fucked and had sucked cock and taken their semen on her face and breasts?
“Jake’s seed in my pussy,” she mumbled. But would she really let the other ones come all over her?
Simone was beginning to think she just might.
The package arrived at quarter past eleven the following morning. Anticipation laced with ire churned inside Simone. There had been no response to her lewd email. But unable to sustain her indignation, she sent a brief message to announce the arrival of her gift.
His response was almost immediate.
9 July. 11:28 From:
Subject: Re. It’s arrived!
I’m pleased you like the gift. I’ll get to what I want you do soon. In the meantime I thank you for the email you sent last night. The scene you described was very vivid. That’s exactly what I’d love to see on Thursday night. I was especially … moved by your question about what to let them do. My little whore, you’ll take them everywhere. I especially look forward to seeing you drenched in semen.
So, to the gift…
Simone’s mouth fell open when she read through the details of what Jake expected her to do.
“You dirty fucker,” she breathed, appalled yet aroused to a fever pitch. “You filthy, fucking bastard.”
Simone followed the instructions, and then, weak and shaky, relieved she hadn’t been disturbed – caught in the act – sent the images Jake had demanded as an attachment to her next email.
Again, the response was almost immediate.
9 July. 12:19 From:
Subject: Re. Pictures.
Oh my, you’re a bad girl, aren’t you?
Do I like the photos? Of course I do. They’re perfect. I’m looking at them now.
Don’t you look beautiful sitting at the desk with that dildo stuffed into your cunt! I can tell by looking at your face that you love every second of it. Did the fear of discovery make it better? Was your pleasure enhanced by the risk?
Amazing quality pictures from the tiny camera in your laptop, too.
How did it feel while you fucked yourself with that thing? How worried were you about someone seeing you? Would you have let someone watch? Does that get you hot, Simone?
I’m beginning to get a sense of your inner slut. The things you described in last night’s email and the expression on your face in the pictures tell me the risk of being discovered only makes it more thrilling for you.
Tell me, if someone had walked in and caught you masturbating like you were, would you offer them your body as a bribe for silence? Would you fuck one of the directors if your job depended on it?
I wonder how far you’d go. I wonder how far I could push you!
We’ll see on Thursday night. That’s when we’ll see how bad you can be.
Take the dildo home with you, it’s yours to keep. There will be no more emails. The next time you hear will be by phone on Thursday.
Wen Simone’s alarm sounded on Thursday morning she was an emotional wreck. She hadn’t needed the alarm at all, having tossed and turned for most of the dark hours, mind boiling.
She wasn’t going to go through with it. No way. There was no power on the planet that could induce Simone to make a visit to some unknown hotel and strip off in front of a room full of men. Not a chance.
But, Simone considered, in all likelihood there wouldn’t be anyone else there. It would just be Jake. Surely he wouldn’t take such a risk himself? Not a man in his position. Not until he and Simone had established a proper relationship. I had to be a game.
“Think about it,” Simone said to her reflection as she masked the ravages of sleepless nights with make-up. “I mean, really? Jake Morris and a group of his friends gang-banging the fuck out of me? That sort of thing just does not happen.” She pulled a face and rolled her eyes. “Okay, yes, it happens. There are sluts who get gang-fucked, of course there are, but Jake Morris wouldn’t actually be involved in stuff like that … Not for real.”
Simone completed the remainder of her morning routine, all the time convincing herself there would be no orgy. She wouldn’t be plastered with spunk tonight. What was going to happen was she would play a role; she would go along with Jake’s sordid game and, if she were honest with herself, would get a huge thrill out of playing the whore.
Simone could just let herself go and enjoy the game.
She had a plan: Jake as the complete package with her entrenching her position as the future Mrs Morris, or a financial reward.
When she left home Simone pulled a small carry-on suitcase behind her, all she needed to prepare and dress for her role.
As the day went on, Simone constantly vacillated. She constantly veered between going through with it and balking. Her mind was in turmoil, her guts alternately spiked in spasm or threatening a liquid loosening. Work was a joke – how could she concentrate while she felt that way? She hadn’t been this nervous since, of all things, her driving test.
By the time the workday ended, Simone was frazzled. She waited in her office for the building to clear, pacing and agonising, unable to sit still for more than a few moments as time moved slowly. Eventually, unable to wait a moment longer, she wheeled her case to the bathroom. Simone showered and took her time preparing, her stomach a constant gripe.
The same old questions kept turning in her mind: When would Jake call? Would there be a group of men waiting for her? If so, could she do it, could she fuck them?
Inevitably Simone was all dressed up with no place to go. What could she do to kill time? God, she wished she still smoked; she needed a cigarette like never before. She checked her phone constantly – was the battery charged? Was it still switched on? Did she have a signal? Was the fucking thing working?
In a pub close to the office Simone ordered a double vodka and lemonade, taking it down in two swallows.
She stood at the bar, preferring to stand because sitting on the high stool would only cause the hem of her dress to ride up and reveal far more thigh than she felt confident showing. Simone felt so conspicuous, as though she had a sign around her neck, written in scarlet lipstick and whose lurid inscription read: I’M A WHORE. MAKE ME AN OFFER
She felt so self-conscious, ultra-aware of looks being cast her way. It would only be a matter of time before someone – some sleazy bastard buoyed up by drink – made a move.
The odd thing was, as awkward and uncomfortable as she felt, Simone also experienced an undercurrent of excitement swelling beneath her nervousness. She looked around the bar and saw people enjoying themselves, apparently without a care in the world. There were a couple of tourists soaking up the experience of being in a real English pub in London. A handful of office workers were, some in groups, some solitary, grabbing a quick pint before heading home to domestic bliss. The barman hovered, probably getting a cheap thrill from the expanse of décolletage and the crease of Simone’s cleavage. Of course she was being eyed up by several men, in itself a turn-on – their hungry stares prickled her skin and flooded her with heat between her legs.
Simone sipped her vodka and calmed, the large measure she’d already gulped down doing its work. She imagined the reaction from her fellow patrons if they knew there was a possibility that she was about to be used as a sexual plaything for a group of randy men. What would they say, how would they look if she told them that, in a few short hours, she might be lying on a hotel bed, every orifice stuffed with cock, her stockings ruined, make-up ruined, bare skin spattered with jizm?
“You’re off your head,” Simone muttered. “What the hell has happened to you?” She downed the remainder of her drink and signalled for a third.
The barman had just completed Simone’s request when, even though she’d been anxiously expectant of just such an event, she gave a start and stared at her ringing phone sitting on the bar.
Simone looked at her mobile for several long seconds, not believing this could be it.
She reached for the instrument and checked the screen.
Simone swallowed heavily and, with fingers numbed with shock–
It’s happening … Oh shit, it’s happening!
–held the handset to her ear.
“Simone?” a male voice asked.
“I’m expecting a call,” Simone snapped. “If you’re selling something you can jog on. Don’t bother calling again.”
All she needed, a cold-caller!
“Jake’s running late. He asked me to make the call. He wants to know if you’re game?”
Simone hesitated, taken aback by a stranger calling on Jake’s behalf. She sucked in a deep breath and vaguely wished for a cigarette. This was it. Make-your-mind-up-time.
The pause lengthened, myriad scenarios flowing through Simone’s mind.
She dithered, unable to make a sound until, after a stuttered false start, the words bubbled out of her. “I’m game.” Simone heard her voice, thick and clotted with emotion. She couldn’t begin to analyse how she felt at that moment. It was as though someone else was talking on her behalf. “Where do I need to go?”
She heard a chuckle, and then: “Don’t you want to name a price first, Simone?”
Simone closed her eyes. She gulped in reaction to her body’s response.
“Oh, God … I don’t know. Ask Jake. Let him decide.”
“Okay, we’ll leave that for now. Just take a cab to the Charing Cross Hotel,” the man gave a room number. “Come up and knock, Simone.”
The cab ride passed in a blur. She was torn with indecision. There was going to be at least one other man there. It wouldn’t just be Jake. Again, as had been the constant pattern throughout, Simone considered leaving well alone.
What was she getting into? Who had she become? And, if she went through with it, who would she be in the morning?
Finally, with no decision made, simply allowing herself to be pulled along by forces she herself had set in motion, when the taxi arrived outside the façade of the hotel, Simone paid the cabbie and alighted. She walked through the foyer and made her way to the room the man had indicated.
Feeling dazed, edgy and unable to concentrate, Simone’s limbs trembled when, after another pause and a deep breath, she watched her fingers curl into a fist.
“Oh God,” she groaned when her knuckles rapped at the door.
The man who answered the door smiled, his eyes moving along the length of Simone’s body.
At least he was good-looking, she recognised with some distant part of her brain.
“Simone,” the man grinned, stepping back to invite her inside with a sweep of an arm. “Wow,” he added.
Timorous, Simone asked, “Where’s Jake?” She peered beyond the stranger into the room. “Is he here yet?”
“No, he’s not.” The man stepped back. “Please, come in. I’m not going to do anything to you.”
Simone took a tentative step inside, her eyes searching as she moved beyond the threshold.
“Are you by yourself?”
The man nodded. “Yes, and I’m only staying until Jake gets here.”
It was all a game! It would be just her and Jake after all!
Relief flooded through her. “Then why are you here now?” Simone asked. The man’s revelation had restored Simone’s equilibrium. She experienced a surge of confidence, her usual aggression asserting itself.
“Jake asked me to get you settled in,” the man replied. He closed the door and moved past Simone, leading her deeper into the suite. “He mentioned he was late and asked if could I meet a friend of his here. Make sure she was all right.” He gave Simone’s body the once over again. “And is there anything I can do for you, Simone? Before Jake arrives, that is.”
“What have you got in mind?” Simone replied, her voice light and flirty. Amazing how quickly she could adapt to her situation. “Although Jake’s paying,” she breathed, settling right in to her role. “Do I ask you for money too or would I just put it on his account?”
The man laughed. “On Jake’s account.” He threw Simone a wink.
Simone, deciding she liked the man, walked into the room and looked around. She deliberately allowed the hem of the tight dress to ride up her thighs and exaggerated the swing of her hips before she eased her body on to a soft, two-seater sofa Simone crossed her legs, revelling at the man’s appreciative stare.
He stared at Simone, his gaze heavy-lidded. She looked up and studied him quickly, assessing his age at close to Jake’s – late-forties to mid-fifties. Tall, lean in an athletic way, his frame complimented by a dark suit. Simone briefly wondered about the body beneath, envisioning a broad chest layered with taut pectorals, no sign relaxed muscle in his middle. She found him handsome in a slightly bland way – good-looking enough yet not striking.
It occurred to Simone that she might use the man for practice. She could perhaps flirt a little, wind him up a bit, hone her seduction technique in readiness for Jake.
Maybe she could have a little fun before Jake arrived? Just to settle into her role as the whore.
“What service would you require?” Simone breathed, tossing her head as she flicked her long hair over her shoulder. She reclined against the sofa’s cushions and allowed the slide of the dress to go unchecked.
“Would you…” The man gulped in a voice that was a dry, dusty croak. “Would you take the dress off? I’d love to see you naked.”
“Jake wanted me in shoes and stockings,” Simone pouted, amazed at her own audacity and the speed in which she’d regained her composure. “Would that do for you?”
Simone rose to her feet and, keeping her stare locked on the anonymous man’s hot-eyed gaze, eased the bootlace straps over her shoulders.
Her body thrummed; senses alive. Part of her was staggered at how easy she was, appalled and exhilarated in equal measure.
Then, remembering the scene she’d described, Simone turned and allowed the dress to fall to her waist.
“Bloody hell,” she heard the man mutter, his sigh causing an arterial burst of wanton abandon to burst inside her.
“Look at me,” Simone breathed. Her pussy oiled and her clitoris pulsed. It was so fucking dirty … Stripping in front of a man she didn’t even know! “Do you like what you’re seeing?”
“Yes. Fuck, yes…”
The croak of lust spurred her, and Simone allowed the dress to pool around her feet. She held her pose, cocking one hip while the sound of heavy breathing came from behind her.
Simone turned and found herself staring at the man cranking away at a full-blooded erection.
“You naughty boy!” she yelped.
“I can’t help it. Look at you. Fuck, what a body.”
“But Jake will be here soon. You … You shouldn’t do that. We can’t do anything…”
Simone found she couldn’t drag her eyes away from the man’s fist as it worked up and down the length of his cock. It was so fucking horny to see.
“Please,” the man begged as he took a step towards Simone. “Can’t I fuck you? I’ll wear a jonny. You’ve got a condom, right?”
The truth was, no, Simone didn’t have a condom. She’d brought nothing but a small clutch bag containing her phone, purse and some cosmetics for a quick touch up. Her work clothes for tomorrow and her wheeled case were in her office. Bad planning since she had considered the possibility of having to do the walk-of-shame in the morning.
Simone shook her head.
The man stepped closer, his fist working hard, squelching along his length while the eye of his cock seeped pre-cum.
“Suck me, then? Wank me off onto those tits?” He loomed over Simone, his eyes bulging, face twisted into a tight mask of lust. “Let me fuck those big jugs!”
“I … I can’t,” Simone squealed. “No! Jake will be here soon. This is all for him. I can’t do that.”
The man was breathing hard by then, his eyes crazed, his whole demeanour desperate.
“Come on,” he begged. “Look at the state of me.” His hard-on waggled in his fist. “I’ve got to come. If we can’t fuck…” He stared at Simone and licked his lips, obviously struggling with the desire to launch himself at Simone and simply force his cock into her body. “I’ve got to do something. I can’t leave it like this.”
“Just wank,” Simone barked. She shook her head and huffed before sitting on the sofa again. “Look at me and pull it.”
Deciding the best course of action, one that would bring the unexpected yet not wholly unpleasant scene to a conclusion, would be to give the bloke a good look at her body, Simone shifted her buttocks against the leather beneath, shunting her hips forward. She opened her legs and splayed the sticky folds, exposing her core to his gaze.
“Oh, fuck,” the man groaned. “You’re showing me your pussy. God, just look at that.” He blew out his cheeks and grinned. “What I wouldn’t give to lick that. I’d pay you to let me stick my cock into you.”
“Another time, maybe?” Simone mumbled. She was getting worked up herself. The look on the man’s face and the desire Simone saw there excited her. “If you leave your name and phone number … Who knows, maybe we could hook up another time. Some other time, if you’re willing and can show me how generous you can be…” Simone winced and gasped, a finger sliding over her clitoris. “…Well, if you’re willing to pay for it, you can have it,” she breathed.
“Yes,” the man grunted. His fist jacked at his length, rapid and urgent as he mumbled profane compliments, his eyes locked on Simone’s circling hand. “Fucking you … Yeah … I’d love it. I’d love to feel you tight and wet around my cock.”
He took a step towards Simone, a lurch that brought him right up close. Concerned that he might just lunge at her, Simone sprang upright.
“Careful,” she blurted. “Don’t fall on me.”
“I’m there,” the man grunted. “Oh … Fuck…”
Before Simone could react, just as she brought a hand up, fingers spread to ward off the man’s unsteady advance, he let out another guttural grunt, his body tensing.
“What…!” Simone managed before a gob of semen flicked into hair.
More of the stuff squirted from him, spunk splashing, hot and viscous, across Simone’s forehead before another dollop spattered onto her cheek.
Then all hell broke loose.
“Fuck,” the man blurted. “Oh … fuck…”
“Oh!” Simone yelped when she realised she had jizm strung in her hair, more of the stuff beginning a slow dribble down her face. “What the fucking hell…!” She lifted a hand to her cheek, boggling at the sight of her fingers gooey with ejaculate. “You’ve come on me! You fucking arsehole. My face … You pig, you’ve come on my face.”
And while this tirade poured out of Simone, instead of reacting and crawling along the sofa to get away from the deluge, another gout of semen plopped onto her leg, the blob sitting there glistening.
Finally Simone pushed him away, a hand on his belly to send the man staggering backwards.
“I don’t fucking believe this. This is not happening!” She rose to her feet, eyes flashing, her cheek spattered. “You came on me!”
She advanced on the slack-jawed man, apparently intent on doing him a physical injury.
Just as Simone’s hand rose, fingers clawed as she prepared to slash her painted nails across the man’s cheek, the door to the room clicked open.
Simone’s head turned and she froze, fingers poised at the apex of her hand’s ascent.
She refused to believe what she saw. It didn’t make any sense.
Simone blinked, suddenly very aware of how she must look.
“You?” she gasped. “What the…? What are you doing–?”
“For the camera, Simone,” Jake’s wife trilled. She lifted a small digital camera and took several snaps. “This is even better than I hoped for. Perfect. Just perfect.”
Mrs Morris smiled at the man. “Put that away,” James,” she said, eyebrows arched. “Put your cock away and get out. I’ll see you later.”
The man, blinking and shaking his head, replied with, “I didn’t mean to go so far.” His head jerked towards Simone. “But you kept telling me what to do … Mrs Morris, I…”
“You did splendidly, James,” the woman interrupted. “Stop babbling. You didn’t go too far. You got it exactly right.” Mrs Morris turned a contemptuous countenance towards Simone. “Far better than I hoped. I didn’t think the slut would actually…” Mrs Morris smirked and shook her head. “Go on, James,” she continued. “Get out. I’ll see you later. It’s all right.”
“What?” Simone gulped, still reeling from the woman’s entrance. She watched James make his exit and slowly shook her head, mind reeling. She scissored at the waist and plucked her dress from the carpet. Covering herself by clutching the bunched dress to her torso. “What the hell is this?”
Mrs Morris tutted and shook her head. “Aw, poor Simone. Haven’t you worked it out? You poor girl.” And then the woman’s tone changed completely, her face twisting when she snapped, ““It was me all along, you filthy bitch. Jake told me you were practically throwing your legs open for him. I watched you at the barbecue last week. I saw it in your face, you husband-thieving trollop. I could read you like a book.”
Mrs Morris advanced and, thinking the woman was about to slap her face or claw at her eyes, Simone backed away, sitting heavily on the sofa when bumped against it.
“As luck would have it I walked into Jake’s office after he and I had lunch last Wednesday. Jake was delayed, caught by someone en route. But I continued ahead and found your sordid little gift. Me, Simone…” She jabbed a forefinger at he own chest and then clicked her tongue, rolling her eyes in derision. “I walked in and saw your nasty gift. How original … leaving your dirty knickers for him.
“It was pure chance Jake and I had lunch that day. Fate, if you like.” Mrs Morris chuckled – it wasn’t a pleasant sound to Simone. Not pleasant at all. “Blind luck you chose that day to leave your underwear behind.” Her eyes narrowed to slits. “Unless you’ve done it before and Jake was too appalled to tell me.”
A long pause while Mrs Morris considered the new idea and Simone, speechless, merely boggled.
“Anyway, no matter,” Mrs Morris continued. Her hand waved in the air as if the issue was of no consequence; which of course it wasn’t, the outcome remained the same: Simone was caught.
“I sent the emails. I orchestrated this little meeting. James is an actor; he was wearing an earpiece – marvellous technology. So tiny. Almost invisible! – and was following my instructions while I listened. I didn’t think you’d take your dress off for him Simone. Truly I didn’t. But I had to try, I hoped for at least one more compromising picture. But you went way beyond my expectations.” The woman eyed Simone with heavy disdain. Her lip curled. “Look at you,” she spat. “Dressed for sex … Sex with MY HUSBAND!”
Again, Simone flinched, certain that Mrs Morris was about to launch an assault.
With apparently great effort, Mrs Morris calmed and continued: “You’re dressed for fucking and you’re covered in semen.” She raised the camera. “And I’ve got it here. Not to mention the pictures of you at Jake’s desk with that dildo shoved into your disgusting hole.”
“Oh God…” moaned Simone. Those pictures too! “Please … Mrs Morris … Please … I…”
Mrs Morris moved towards the door. She opened it and paused.
“I think you can consider yourself sacked, Simone. Masturbating at your boss’s desk during work time…?” Mrs Morris gave a little chuckle. “When a few selected board members see the pictures of you fucking yourself at Jake’s desk, well, I think you get the picture, Simone – no pun intended, of course!” The woman held up the camera. “These are simply a souvenir, something to remind me of a dirty little scrubber who thought she could take my husband.”
Mrs Morris sighed and eyed Simone with something close to pity.
“I read you quite well, Simone. I knew you’d be a whore if I played you correctly. And what a whore you turned out to be.” Mrs Morris turned and blurted a laugh, fingers waggling she left the room, Simone gaping at the closing door.