Online

by Madeleine Taylor

  3

  “Thank you, that will be all.” I close my laptop and gather my paperwork from the enormous oval table in the boardroom. My staff is leaving for lunch after our monthly briefing and I’m headed for the mail room. During our meeting, a message from the mail room supervisor came in, letting me know there was a parcel for me. It was hard to concentrate on my presentation—knowing it might be Syd’s package—and the two hours felt like they would never end.

  Walking toward the elevators, I give a polite nod to a couple of co-workers and smile at the janitor I often talk to at night, when we’re the last ones left in the office. Our enormous office building is spacious and decorated in neutral colors, the sleek and modern design making it feel like a clinic at times. I don’t mind that; I like no-nonsense and dress accordingly. My pantsuits that are custom-made for my petite, but curvy body are like a uniform to me. I wear them to work every single day; a fitted black blazer that accentuates my slim waist, black palazzo pants, high heels and a black sleeveless turtleneck. It’s always a little on the chilly side here, in summer as well as in winter, and being uncomfortable is a waste of time.

  A text message from my friend Ellen comes in, asking me if I want to go for dinner tonight. For a moment, the idea seems great, but then I remember last night’s exchange, and I change my mind, replying that I’m busy. I still need to send Syd my Messenger details, but I want to see what’s in the parcel first.

  “What have you got for me, Pete?” I ask the mail room supervisor. Normally, I’d send my assistant to pick it up, but I’m a little apprehensive about what the packaging will look like and I don’t want her to make assumptions or ask questions. I’m relieved when Pete presents me with a neutral black box, laced with a pink ribbon that is tied into a perfect bow on the top. Thankfully, there’s no card and no logo on the box.

  “It was hand-delivered this morning,” Pete says. “By a pretty lady in a pink delivery truck. I don’t remember the name of the company. Naughty something…” He frowns, digging through his memory, and I cringe.

  “Right, thank you. It’s probably just some marketing material addressed to the wrong department. I’ll make sure it gets to the right person.” My cheeks burn with heat, and I rush out of the mail room and into the nearest restrooms, where I sit down on a toilet seat and take a deep breath. After staring at the box for a moment, I pull at the ribbon, releasing it, then open the lid. Black satin fabric surrounds a small, pink device, along with a card that says: ‘Don’t use this until I tell you to.’

  It’s a vibrator, and from the looks of it, it’s an expensive one. I take it out of the box and study the streamlined silicone toy. Even though I don’t have any experience with vibrators—in fact I don’t think I’ve ever seen one up close—I appreciate the design. It appears clever and uncomplicated, but above all, it looks intriguing. The bent oval shape fits perfectly in my hand and when I press the single ridged circle on the top, it starts buzzing. The feeling of it makes me quiver and the temptation to try it right now is strong, but looking down at the card again, I switch it off and put it back in the box. Tonight, I tell myself. Right now, I need to hide this box and grab a coffee before my next meeting starts.

  I’m not taking much in from the planning meeting with the wearables marketing manager who is pitching his estimated budgets to me. There are another handful of people in the room but they’re really just here as a formality as, ultimately, it’s my decision how much he’s allocated for the coming year. I should pay close attention as this is important but just before we started, I emailed Syd my Messenger details and now my phone is buzzing. Moving my phone to my lap under the table, I open the message.

  ‘Did you get my present?’

  I reply. ‘Yes. It’s a little much and a little soon, don’t you think?’

  ‘Don’t fool yourself, I know what you want. We’ve been discussing erotica books for months and I know you’re into this. You also seemed to be into me last night. So… do you like it?’

  ‘Yes, I do. Thank you.’ I realize then that she does in fact know what I want. Admitting I like a certain book is basically the same as revealing my fantasies. The second book I read by Sadie London springs to mind. It was about the owner of a sex store who tried out various toys on her clients. Clearly recalling telling the other members of the club it was my favorite book, and that I’m working my way through all of the author’s books now, I think she’s drawing from it, and knowing she remembers that makes me smile. The marketing manager smiles too, hopeful that my silly grin means I’m on board with his proposition. I try to relax my face and pretend to listen while shooting another quick glance at my phone when it vibrates again.

  ‘Is your pussy shaven?’ I gasp at the question, and suddenly, six pairs of eyes are focused on me. I shouldn’t be doing this here. My company is paying me a small fortune to make big decisions and I’m sexting in the middle of a meeting. Breaking into a coughing fit, I pretend to have a sore throat. It seems to do the trick, as everyone waits for me to finish clearing my throat, before turning back to the presenter, who is only on slide seven of which I know to be a forty-slide pitch. Despite my fleeting lapse in concentration, I don’t panic. I’ve read the presentation through beforehand, so at least I won’t be entirely clueless by the end of this. The pull to continue the exchange with Syd is strong, and now that I’ve had some time to get used to the idea—that I’m indecently messaging a woman—I can’t seem to make myself stop.

  My fingers move silently under the table. ‘Trimmed,’ I lie, knowing I haven’t bothered with too much personal grooming since I last stopped sleeping with my ex-husband three years ago. Now I regret that I didn’t because who knows what will happen tonight?

  ‘Hmm…’ A couple of seconds pass before another message comes in. ‘I want you to shave yourself first. All of it. It will be much more intense if you do. Trust me.’ There’s another pause before she writes: ‘Have to go, talk to you later.’ She closes the message with her usual wink emoji, then leaves the chat.

  I’m so turned on by her request that I have to push my chair back and cross my legs in an attempt to sooth the agonizing tingle between my thighs. Scrolling through my phone, I look up the number for the beauty parlor I always book when I have a last-minute business trip. If I’m doing this I might as well do it right and I’ve decided I’m going to get myself waxed.

  4

  I settle down on the couch after subjecting myself to what can only be described as the worst pain in my life. I won’t claim it has anything on childbirth, because I don’t have children, but it was still pretty intolerable. I don’t regret it though, as the drive home was sensational. It felt like everything down there was ultra-sensitive, and even just shifting in the leather driver’s seat aroused me. When I came home, I undressed and studied myself in the mirror, noting it was strange and shockingly confrontational to see myself like that. Naked, but really, really naked. Now that I’m sitting back after a long shower, I can’t seem to stop touching myself. My pussy is so soft, and my fingers alone feel divine on my silky skin as I stroke myself.

  Syd’s present is next to me on the coffee table, still in the box. My assistant had my favorite robe dry-cleaned today and I’m wearing it again, the faint traces of red wine barely visible anymore. I’m naked underneath the robe, prepared for anything, and for the first time in years, I’m feeling desirable. I want to contact her, but this whole woman thing is new to me and, although I’ve been unable to think of anything else all day, I’m a little apprehensive. Gathering my courage over an impressive measure of scotch, I send her a message. ‘I’m home. What are you doing?’

  ‘Waiting for you to get home,’ she answers immediately.

  ‘Not working?’ I ask, as she told me her tattoo parlor is open at random times, to suit both herself and her customers.

  ‘Not today. Today is for inspiration.’

  ‘Right…’ I send, then add: ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘Means I’m talking to
you. You inspire me.’

  A grin spreads across my face because, as sad as it sounds, it’s one of the nicest things someone has ever said to me—even if she does have ulterior motives that by now, I don’t mind in the slightest. Her profile picture is a different one on Messenger, another headshot with a wide smile and again, those amazing pale blue eyes staring right at me as if she’s seducing me to look at her. ‘I’m glad I inspire you. Now, where’s my picture?’

  The picture she sends me shortly after appears to have been taken in her bedroom, but I can’t be too sure as I can only see the top part of her body, from her waist up. It’s enough to make me squirm, though. She’s lying down, looking up at the camera with a mischievous grin on her face. Her white shirt is open and, for my viewing pleasure, she’s wearing nothing underneath. I zoom in on her small breasts with erect nipples, and I want to touch them so badly, I groan to myself. The urge to touch a woman is not something I’m familiar with, but the agonizing ache in my core tells me I might die if I don’t.

  ‘You’re beautiful,’ I find myself typing.

  ‘Thank you. Whatever you’re wearing, take it off and send me a picture. I’ve been waiting to see you all day.’

  I open my robe and this time, without hesitation, take a picture from the waist up. Whatever leverage she’s got on me, I have it on her too, now.

  ‘I love your breasts, can’t stop fantasizing about them. So full and perky. Where’s the rest?’

  ‘Are you serious?’ I ask.

  ‘Yes. I want to see what my present will be pressed against.’

  Fuck. I should have expected this after her audacious request this afternoon. With a trembling hand, I take another picture, the camera pointing down my body. One leg is bent, the other stretched out in front of me. The photo is subtle, yet it’s clear what I’ve been doing today. ‘Like this?’

  ‘Fuck, yes. You’re turning me on, Valerie.’

  ‘It hurt,’ I reply with a crying emoji.

  ‘And now?’

  ‘Now it feels great. So sensitive…’

  ‘I like that.’ Then she writes: ‘Pick up my present. You haven’t tried it yet, have you?’

  ‘No, I haven’t. You told me not to.’ I take out the vibrator and take a picture of it in my hand. I’m so wet and swollen and the all-consuming urge to push it between my legs is almost killing me. Still, I don’t act on this impulse. I want her to tell me when.

  ‘Good. Now spread your legs and place the tip against your clit. Turn it on. The harder you press down, the harder it will vibrate.’

  I do as she says, gasping when I switch it on. Jesus. It feels so incredibly good, and when I push it tighter against me, the force increases, almost launching me off the couch. Why have I never tried this before? It’s hard to type with the currents of pleasure pulsing through me. ‘It feels so incredibly good…’ I buck my hips, seeking the release I know will come very soon. ‘I’m going to come.’

  ‘No!’ She immediately replies. ‘Remove it. Now.’

  ‘Why?’ My frustration and need to climax almost make me ignore her, but I do as she commands.

  ‘Trust me. You’ll thank me in a little while. I’m going to make you come harder than you ever have, and I’m not even going to be there. Now wait one minute.’

  My chest is heaving up and down, my heartrate through the roof. I’m so aroused that I can’t even move my legs, knowing any sudden movement will make me explode. My robe is open, one leg draped over the backrest of the couch, my louche pose a far cry from the powerful woman I was portraying in the boardroom this afternoon. Now she’s the one giving out orders and it seems like I’m more than happy to follow them. This woman is driving me insane and I’m shocked at how submissive I’ve become. She’s been on my mind all day and even messaging with her now doesn’t nearly seem enough to tamp down my desires.

  ‘Now,’ she orders me, and I place the vibrator back against my throbbing clit.

  “Fuck!” I cry out, trying to type, but failing.

  ‘Stop.’

  Letting out a sigh of frustration as I balance on the edge, I reluctantly remove the vibrator again and lie so still that I don’t even blink my eyes. Anything I do now will make me burst.

  ‘I can’t tke this anyore.’ I’m unable to spell, my brain blurred by arousal of an alarming level.

  ‘I know. Just wait, one more time.’

  I stare at my screen, waiting for her to give me permission. I could cheat, of course, but it wouldn’t be the same and, deep down, I like her to be in control.

  ‘Come,’ she finally types, and as I push the device hard against where I need it most, I cry out, losing myself in wave after wave of euphoric bliss. A sensation of intense pleasure keeps coming as white light flashes before my eyes, and my body explodes with such ferocity that I have trouble breathing. In shock by the fierceness of my orgasm, I’m a shaking mass of completion as I slump back against the pillows. Pulses continue to rip through me, and I almost forget she’s there.

  ‘Fuck.’

  ‘Was it good?’

  ‘Yes.’ I laugh out loud as I type my response. ‘Mind-blowing. Thank you. Best present ever.’

  ‘You’re welcome . Send me a picture of your face.’

  I take a picture and glance at the image before I send it. A satisfied grin is spread across my face and my eyes are hazy. My hair is tousled, like I’ve only just woken up, and the open robe has slipped off one shoulder, baring my collarbone. For the first time, I realize I look sexy.

  ‘You look amazing. So hot, like you’ve just been fucked.’ A beat passes, and then: ‘I have to go now, talk tomorrow?’

  Before I get the chance to protest, she’s offline. I sigh as I sit up and pull my legs underneath me, wishing she wouldn’t just disappear like this. Is it her way of trying to keep me interested? Because if that’s her strategy, there’s no need for her to bother, as my interest is growing by the second, and tomorrow can’t come soon enough. Blissfully relaxed, I close my robe and tell Alexa to play O mio babbino caro by Puccini while I finish my scotch.

  5

  “You did what?!” My friend Ellen almost falls off her chair, laughing. We’re having lunch at one of the latest hotspots downtown, sharing a bottle of wine over superfood salads. I’ve taken the afternoon off as I was unable to concentrate at work, memories of last night distracting me to the point where I couldn’t even follow a simple conversation. Thankfully, I have Ellen to confide in because I really needed to tell someone about my online adventures.

  Being a lady of leisure, Ellen is chilled, good fun and always available. We met through our husbands years ago but didn’t really start bonding until we both got divorced. She’s a funny, forty-five-year-old, voluptuous redhead who is now serial-dating much younger men, and she’s been telling me how great it is, encouraging me to do the same.

  “So let me get this straight,” she continues, chuckling. “You joined a lesbian erotica book club, and you’ve been reading that stuff for months without telling me. Then, you correspond with this fellow reader online, and now she’s sent you a vibrator resulting in you getting yourself waxed before having Messenger sex with her yesterday? Who are you and what have you done with my straight, divorced BFF Valerie?”

  I feel myself blush and laugh too, because it sounds crazy when she says it like that. “I’ve been asking myself the same question. You know, you can’t tell anyone about this,” I add, giving her a warning look. I know she won’t. Besides the fact that I trust her, we have no friends in common and in general, Ellen prefers to talk about Ellen.

  “And? Was it good?” She narrows her eyes at me and shoots me a grin.

  “Yes. Very.” I poke into a piece of beetroot, then put my fork down. My appetite has vanished ever since Syd and I started whatever it is we’re doing. “But it’s also messing me up, big time. I can’t eat or sleep or even think… I’m all over the place, Ellen.”

  Ellen rubs my hand over the table. “Hey, chill out, sweetheart, it’s
just a crush. Happens to me all the time these days.” She hesitates. “So, are you into women now? I mean, you’ve been reading lesbian erotica and you seem blown away by this woman. You should see your face when you talk about her.”

  “I don’t know,” I say honestly. “But I know one thing: it was the best sex I’ve ever had, and she didn’t even touch me. I can’t begin to imagine what it would be like if we met.” I shiver at that thought, imagining her hands on me, and I force myself to concentrate on Ellen in fear of spontaneously climaxing at the table.

  “Oh my God, Valerie.” Ellen fans her face with her hand. “You have it bad. And you’re right; if it was that good without actual physical contact, I can see why you’re going crazy here. So, what now?”

  “No idea. We’re talking again tonight.”

  “Talking, huh? That’s what you call it?”

  I take a sip of my wine and roll my eyes. “I have no idea what to call it. It’s all so new to me. I do know I want more, though, and seeing her naked is all I can think of now.”

  “Is she on social media?” Ellen nods toward my phone. “Can I see her profile?”

  “It’s all set to private,” I say with regret. The number of hours I’ve wasted at work attempting to find out more about her is shameful, but it didn’t stop me trying. “I found out where her tattoo studio is, though. Do you think I should send her a present back?”

  Ellen considers the question for a moment, then shakes her head. “No. She’s clearly more experienced in this regard than you are. Let her take the lead and just do as she says. Isn’t that what you’re into—submission?”

  “I guess so.” Again, I feel myself blush. Maybe I overshared a little, but I had to get it off my chest and if it gives Ellen ammunition to tease me at a later date, then so be it. The thought of tonight makes me wet and I shift in my chair in an attempt to release some of the building tension in my throbbing clit. My body has been on fire all morning.