Ladies Night

by Claudia Rose

  “I never wanted a prize, and the most useful thing you can do is mind your own…” Her voice tailed off to a stutter as her eyes dropped of their own accord from his face to below the table. She could see right between his legs. He was wearing tight briefs that barely contained the bulge of his genitals.

  “Mind my own what?”

  His thighs fell open a couple of inches. The outline of the head of his cock was visible through the sheer fabric covering it.

  “Mind your own fucking business,” she snarled, jumping up and getting her coffee before the whole scene got too ridiculous for words. He chuckled and went back to reading.

  She sat down, picked up the other news cube and began reading too. She couldn’t concentrate. De Vos’s silent presence dominated the other side of the table. He was so solid he seemed to her like a physical weight, tilting the room towards him. If she stood up she might stumble in his direction.

  “I’m working here today,” she volunteered.

  He looked at her briefly and went back to the morning’s news.

  “It’s Friday and I’ve a lot to do before the weekend, but I don’t intend to take you into my office, particularly in the light of what you did last time you were there.”

  Her voice was deliberately flat, but he chuckled at her allusion to the way he’d decorated the Chief Sociologist’s office with parts of his anatomy.

  “So I’ll be working virtually. You can do whatever you like as long as you keep out of my way and don’t make too much noise.”

  “Your command is my wish, Dr. Jewel. Shall I clean up the kitchen?” He sounded perfectly polite, but she still felt as if he were mocking her.

  “Do whatever you like,” she repeated curtly, standing and carrying her coffee through to the virtual study.

  Brandt’s expression altered the moment Helena turned away. With haunted eyes he followed her out of the room. Then, like a blind man, he raised one shaky hand and rubbed his chin reflectively. For a long time he sat there, lost in memories.

  * * * * *

  Helena spent the morning attending her work meetings via hologram. Brandt spent most of his day in the lounging area, reading and listening to music as far as she could tell. For a time she forgot he was there, and became involved in a detailed discussion with her personal assistant.

  “We need to find out where this new gambling craze originated, Shirley. Put undercover division onto…” She stopped in mid sentence.

  Brandt walked past her open door wearing nothing but his briefs. Involuntarily her eyes followed him as he headed into the lounge area. He began doing a series of complicated martial arts exercises, balancing on one foot at a time while weaving intricate patterns with his arms. His muscles rippled as he moved fluidly from pose to pose.

  “Dr. Jewel. Dr. Jewel! Is everything okay?”

  “What? Oh I am sorry Shirley, just a small distraction. Let’s terminate the connection while I think about this a little more. Call me back in twenty minutes.”

  “Certainly Dr. Jewel.”

  Helena pulled up a document on screen and made as if to read it. Out of the corner of her eye she observed De Vos. His routine had become a lot faster and more physical. A fine film of sweat caused his body to shine. He looked magnificent.

  Helena didn’t want to desire him; he was such a smug bastard. Surreptitiously she inched her hand down to her crotch and pressed against her pussy. She was uncomfortably wet. Her mind wandered into a fantasy about undressing, spreading her legs, and touching herself while the huge semi-naked man posed for her.

  Bastard! He was deliberately teasing and tormenting her. She looked away in frustration; the rubbing had caused her panties to slide between the lips of her wet pussy. She still hadn’t got comfortable when Shirley’s hologram reappeared across the desk from her to resume their meeting.

  * * * * *

  At the conclusion of her morning’s work Helena got up, stretched, and went in search of food. De Vos was busy in the kitchen.

  “I’ve made us some lunch.”

  “I don’t recall asking you to.”

  “You told me to do whatever I like. I like cooking.”

  Nigel had never prepared a meal for her in all the time she’d known him.

  “What is it?” she asked, looking suspiciously at her plate.

  “Fresh green salad, young salmon and hybrid brown rice, blended with a light balsamic-based dressing. Washed down with a Te Kairanga Sauvignon Blanc from Aotearoa New Zealand.”

  Helena took a suspicious sip. The wine was very young and she grimaced slightly at some initial bitterness. But first impressions didn’t last. The overall taste was of zesty herbaceousness. The wine also had an unusual finish. It was cool and flinty—appropriate to the illustration on the label of craggy mountain-sides and a braided riverbed.

  The food was as good as the wine—light enough for lunch, but with a complex and satisfying mix of flavors.

  Brandt watched her sample the meal. When he was sure she approved, he smiled, and began eating too. Helena smiled back. Much to her surprise, she was having a good time.

  “I had no idea the city’s convicts were such gourmets,” she remarked. “Or are you fattening a second Chief Sociologist for slaughter?”

  She felt quite pleased she could joke with such equanimity about their bizarre history, and even more pleased when Brandt chuckled, a melodious laugh that showed his even teeth. His laughter made her feel pleasantly warm at first. Then an image from the murder scene flashed into her mind. She couldn’t reconcile this man and this meal with the awful death Schtum had suffered. Her smile faltered. Brandt, who was looking down at his plate, didn’t notice.

  “I’ll have to feed you for longer than a week to get the amount of flesh on you Schtum carried. But he’d been bloating on graft and corruption for years. I’d do you a favor and slaughter you in a second if I thought you were likely to turn out like him.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Nothing. Forget it. Slip of the tongue.”

  “No! You can’t just put something out there like that and then say ‘forget it’.”

  “Watch me.”

  “Typical. You’re all talk. Every convict’s innocent.”

  “Don’t talk to me about innocence. I’m happy to admit what I did. That’s the difference between us.”

  “You arrogant shit. I’m not the one scheduled for execution. I don’t have anything to admit.”

  “You don’t? What about admitting your office encourages cage-fighting, and any one of a hundred other entertainments where some poor human or animal gets sacrificed on the altar of riot prevention?”

  “You have no idea what I encourage, and I don’t think you’re in any position to judge me.”

  “Oh aren’t I? I’d say the fact you spied on me gives me some right to infer things about you.”

  “Now what are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about the little hovercam in the shower Dr. Jewel. The one on the counter that kept moving and focusing on my cock. My apologies for not ejaculating by the way.”

  “I…I don’t know what you mean.”

  “You don’t? I doubt you’d pass a polygraph at this second. Don’t worry though, I’m your prize, so you’re free to check me out any time you want.”

  “Oh fuck you!”

  Helena rose angrily from the table, her meal unfinished, and stormed angrily back to her virtual study. De Vos admired the way her gorgeous rear swayed as she stamped angrily off. He couldn’t resist a parting shot at it.

  “You’re allowed to do that, too, if you want, Doctor.”

  Helena fingered the bracelet on her wrist. She could hear him chuckling behind her. It was all she could do not to press the button and zap the facetious shit from here to kingdom come.

  * * * * *

  Thank God work was over! Helena was so horny and frustrated she couldn’t think straight. With a sigh she called it quits.

  “It’s Friday Shirley. Le
t’s finish early and pick up with this on Monday. Have a good weekend.”

  “Thank you Dr. Jewel. You and Professor Snively have a good weekend too.”

  “What? Oh, yes…I’m sure we will.”

  Shirley disappeared, and Helena sat back in her chair and stretched, feeling miserable.

  Shit. Now she had to make it through an evening with De Vos. His arrogance was really getting on her nerves. In the time since he’d been foisted on her he’d shown no respect. It meant nothing to him that she was the Chief Sociologist, or that he was a convict who’d been won as a prize.

  Impelled by a flare of anger, Helena stalked out of her office and into the lounge room where Brandt was enjoying a d-vid of classical music. She walked right through the hologram of some foreign pianist playing Beethoven’s “Pathetique” Sonata to confront him, hands on hips.

  He raised one eyebrow at her, but said nothing.

  Helena’s breath quickened. He was disarmingly handsome with his golden skin, sandy hair and green eyes. She tried to capture his eyes with her own and dominate him. In response to her efforts, he looked her up and down insolently, taking in her elegant body with apparent disinterest.

  Helena’s frustration fed her anger. No bottom-dwelling convict was going to look at her as if she were a piece of furniture, not when she had a figure like this. His indifference became a challenge she couldn’t walk away from. By the goddess she was going to let this man know who was boss. She couldn’t stop herself, even though a small voice in her mind was screaming at her to walk away. She had to dominate this scum and teach him to respect her. After all, she was the Chief Sociologist.

  “Show me your cock!” she ordered.

  Brandt’s raised eyebrow quirked with amusement. He got smoothly to his feet and peeled off his shirt and shorts in two fluid movements. He parted his legs slightly so his genitals hung in full view. His cock was limp. Helena swallowed.

  “Make it hard.”

  Casually he grasped his prick with his right hand, while with his left hand he lightly brushed his balls with the tips of his fingers to excite himself. He showed no embarrassment as his manual stimulation caused blood to pump swiftly into his penis.

  Helena’s chest tightened as the man’s cock inflated before her eyes. It was even larger in the flesh than it had seemed on camera.

  Her nipples were making small peaks in her blouse. It was a struggle to control her breathing. She could feel a pulse in her neck fluttering like a trapped bird.

  Brandt lifted his cock upright, flat against his stomach. His balls were clearly outlined in his scrotum as oval bulges, the size of small eggs. He lowered his cock and rubbed. His foreskin pulled back to reveal a rich red tip. A drop of moisture welled like a tiny liquid diamond from the small opening.

  Helena’s mouth went dry, the things she imagined doing to that cock made her dizzy. Brandt spoke, his voice seeming to come from somewhere far away.

  “Would you like me to turn, bend, and spread ‘em, Dr. Jewel?”

  “What…what are you talking about?” Helena’s voice was a harsh caw in her ears. She cleared her throat.

  “I’m talking about a cavity search, Dr. Jewel. That’s what normally happens when I’m ordered to strip. It’s not much fun, and usually the guards wear unlubricated rubber gloves. Your slender fingers will be better—much more tolerable.”

  Before she could stop him, Brandt turned around, parted his legs even further, and bent over. As she knew from spying on him in the shower, his butt was firm and finely muscled. His balls swayed heavily between his legs. He reached his hands back to part his buttocks.

  “Wait! Stop! I didn’t tell you to do that.”

  “Oh I’m sorry. My apologies. Force of habit, I’m afraid. Once a convict always a convict.”

  The bastard was laughing at her again. Helena seethed. God she hated him! How dare he treat her like this? Suddenly all she wanted was one chance to dominate him. If he wanted to bend over and wave his balls around like a stud bull, then that’s how she’d use him.

  “Come through to my bedroom,” she snarled.

  De Vos followed her obediently, his erect cock pointing at the small of her back. Furious with herself, and burning with humiliation she’d stooped this low, Helena changed her mind and decided to stop before things got worse. As she slowed and turned to tell him to forget it, he bumped into her. Panicking, she took a hasty step backwards and, acting more by reflex than conscious intent, aimed a kick at his groin with her right foot—a kick so vicious it would surely have crippled him had it connected.

  He had anticipated her. As she kicked out he turned sideways so her foot met his left hip instead of his scrotum. Immediately his left hand flashed down to clamp her ankle against his thigh.

  “You like it rough. I guessed as much.”

  He seemed amused rather than angry. His free right hand came round to stroke her pinioned leg while Helena hopped awkwardly on one foot, speechless with anger, but also fearful of the likely consequences of what she’d just done. For some reason it didn’t occur to her to reach for the bracelet.

  “Why do you like it rough, I wonder?” mused Brandt. “Is it because pain gives you pleasure? Does it make you feel alive?” His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “Or does it make you wet?”

  As he asked this question he pulled Helena’s trapped ankle round behind his back, forcing her to hop towards him, until she was close enough for his free hand to find its way easily between the folds of her skirt. Slowly he slid his fingers up the inside of her thigh until he reached her pussy. He smiled as he began feeling her.

  “Indeed, you are very wet! Isn’t it interesting that ordering a convict around gives our Chief Sociologist a dripping pussy.”

  She glared at him, furious at the helplessness and humiliation of her predicament.

  “This stops now!”

  Brandt said nothing, but his fingers continued probing her. They dipped inside her, first one finger, then two, then three—it was almost too tight—before withdrawing to trace the moist folds of her labia and rub firmly around her clit.

  Helena felt her fear and anger transmuting into an incredible arousal. Brandt’s expression never changed, but his fingers kept probing and exploring, now hard, now gentle, while they stood in a frozen tableau, chest to chest, looking into each other’s eyes.

  “Yes, you like this, don’t you?” he whispered, through perfect white teeth. “Pain makes you feel alive, doesn’t it? Being helpless appeals to someone who spends her life giving orders. You are helpless, you know. I can use you however I wish. Let me show you.”

  His fingers inside her were slick with her own juices. Now they moved beyond her pussy and began probing firmly between her buttocks. Helena stiffened and began to cry out. Brandt stifled her shout by clamping onto her lips with a forceful kiss. The pressure was so firm against her teeth she thought they might bleed. His lips forced hers apart and he invaded her mouth with the slender tip of his tongue. At the same moment one slick finger slid up her back passage, and his wrist ground firmly against her clitoris.

  Helena moaned with pleasure and desire, the invasion of her asshole felt so good. She crushed her lips harder against his. It hurt, and she could taste a tiny trickle of blood. He was partly right. She needed the pain. Only pain assured her she was still herself because pain was the one constant linking her old self, the person she’d once been, with the new body she now inhabited. In the long weeks of surgery and recuperation, pain had meant life, and life had meant pain.

  In a perverse way, what Brandt was doing was exactly what she needed. For a brief moment she felt her mind to be in sync with her body. Clamping her thighs firmly together around his hand, she bore down with her weight, causing the pressure between her legs to intensify. Understanding exactly what she wanted, he responded by rubbing and probing strongly in and around her ass and pussy to the extent the vice-like pressure of her upper-thighs would allow. Within seconds, shuddering waves of orgasm arrived,
one after the other, turning to pleasure every last vestige of discomfort. Helena gasped and moaned into Brandt’s mouth while a kaleidoscope of images revolved in her mind, most centering on the delectable body and big cock of the handsome man kissing her.

  In minutes it was all over. Helena’s climax faded, and with it the intolerable pressure of desire that had built up in her.

  She could think clearly now, and she began to feel angry at what she had done, because again she’d given him the upper hand.

  “Will there be anything else Dr. Jewel?” Brandt asked, with as much passion as if he’d just poured her a cup of coffee.

  Bastard. He was laughing at her again. She wouldn’t be baited.

  “Yes,” she replied. “Put your clothes on and make dinner. I’m going to take a shower.” She pushed past him and walked through to the bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind her.

  Brandt watched her leave, then looked down at his hand. Was it only one minute ago his fingers had been intimately exploring one of the most enigmatic and beautiful women he’d ever met? “Lucky you,” he whispered.

  His fingers were still moist from Helena’s pussy. He transferred the wetness onto his cock and began to rub himself. Abruptly he stopped. “What am I doing?” Angrily he dressed and stalked through to the kitchen.

  He’d survived these last hellish months by not allowing himself to feel. Rediscovering his humanity this close to being executed was a recipe for grief. Making it through these final few days would be much easier if he made sure Helena disliked him.

  Chapter Eleven

  Helena woke, angry and unrested. Her sleep had been full of dreams of Brandt De Vos, naked, but passively aggressive. Every time it seemed they were about to become proper lovers, he’d make some wisecrack or humiliate her.

  Now she had an entire weekend to get through with the infuriating man. Perhaps she should just tell him to stay in his room on pain of being stunned if he ventured out. She knew in her heart of hearts she couldn’t do that. It wasn’t fair to a man with only a few days left to live, and besides, to be truthful she wanted him around.

  So she pulled on her robe and ventured out for breakfast, determined to make the best of things. Her resolve lasted as long as it took him to jump to his feet and stand loosely at attention the moment she entered the kitchen.