The girl leaning on the other side must have felt the window move, because she spread her arms out against the glass and said something. The others looked at her and there was a brief conversation, then the guy with the ring came up to the glass on our right and tried to peer into the store. Suzie and I both froze in place, I buried to the hilt in her, she with her tits and the side of her face mashed against the glass. Holding our breaths, we both turned to watch as he cupped his hands around his eyes. Our only hope was that he wouldn’t be able to see us right behind the girl. He seemed to stare for a long time, but then he turned back to his friends. We saw him shrug and say something to the others.
We let out our breaths and I pulled Suzie back from the window. I brought my hands up to cup her wonderful soft breasts. She twisted her head to kiss me.
“That was the best ever,” she murmured against my mouth. I could only agree.
TAKING CONTROL
Chris Westlake
It was four in the morning. The bar had been closed for three hours. Familiar hustle and noise had been replaced by a stagnant, unsettling silence; the aftermath of a party. A woman sat alone at the bar, glass in hand, eyes darting nervously. A voice sounded in her ear. The woman shuddered involuntarily. Words were spoken slowly, deliberately. The breath was hot, masculine. She had not noticed anybody else in the room, had not observed the careful steps that had moved towards her. “You will do everything I tell you to. Everything.”
The alarm sounded at five thirty every morning. Melissa Hall immediately rose to her feet, stretching out her long legs and arms. At least four times a week her day started with exercise. Forty-five minutes of extreme sweat and intense pain. Ten minutes in the shower, thirty minutes dressing and applying make-up. Breakfast was porridge, wholemeal toast and orange juice. She was always ready to leave her flat at precisely 7.05.
Unusually, she’d been a bit miffed at having been woken by the alarm. She’d been having a rather pleasant dream.
She had been circling the floor in six-inch high heels, a black leather corset straining to constrain her ample curves. A man was handcuffed to a chair. She had leaned in close to him, her smile all sweetness and innocence, then thrashed down hard against his thigh with a whip. He was exactly where she had wanted him: ready to use and abuse, show him who was boss. She had just reached out to pinch his nipples with her fingers when her attention had been disturbed by a ringing in her ears. It had continued until she could ignore it no longer. She hadn’t even got to the good part yet, but she woke with the sheets wet, and her body aching to be satisfied . . .
Melissa did not need to deal with the indignity of the Tube or the inconvenience of finding a parking space. She accepted the extra expense to ensure that a taxi was waiting for her. She always arrived before everybody else. She was a director of a large firm of solicitors, and at just thirty-three years of age, she was the most senior member of staff on the tenth floor. It required extreme commitment to stay ahead of the game.
She watched from the comfort of her reclining leather seat, parked in the middle of her expansive office, as her colleagues casually trickled in after eight o’clock. Gareth, her PA, was hanging his coat up on the stand when Melissa called him into her office.
“I have a meeting at three, so I need those reports on my desk by eleven. I need to do some preparation work and need my lunch brought up to me by one sharp. Today I want the chicken salad with a bottle of water and a decaffeinated coffee to follow twenty minutes later.” She swiveled her chair around to face her monitor. It was her indication that he could leave.
Gareth returned to his desk, looking slightly downbeat. He was immaculate in his matching blue shirt and tie. Melissa smiled. She always had him looking disheveled by the end of a hard day in the office. She enjoyed ordering him about. It reminded her of the power she had gained through years of hard graft. He was only twenty-two, and he had a lot to learn. The guy showed potential, though. He worked hard, and he never complained. Melissa liked to find out just how far she could push him.
The day went fast, as it always did when Melissa was busy. Gareth delivered her lunch at precisely one o’clock. Twenty minutes later, the handsome guy from the cafeteria – his name tag said Doug – arrived with her coffee. Melissa allowed a cursory glance over her large designer spectacles, and a strained smile.
The meeting went like clockwork. The external partners searched desperately for something to complain about, before reluctantly accepting defeat. At five, Melissa settled down with another coffee and tidied up her paperwork. She could not bear it when there were loose ends. Her colleagues left one by one, until she was alone in the office.
At five past seven, Melissa received an email. It was from an external source. She did not recognize the address.
You looked good today.
Melissa finished her work and switched off the lights, bringing another day to a close. She was far too busy to concern herself with any silliness. There was no point even speculating who had sent the email. The list of possible suspects was a long one. Melissa stood almost six feet tall (in her designer high heels) and her straight natural blonde hair fell all the way to her slim hips. There were plenty of guys who probably thought that she looked good. Her only vague curiosity related to who would have dared send her an anonymous email.
Melissa followed her usual routine the next morning, and arrived to an empty office at the usual time. She pulled up her pinstripe skirt and sank into her leather chair. There was a Post-it note on her monitor. Melissa never used Post-its. They were unreliable; they could go missing. This had been added by somebody else. And this somebody had been in her office after she had left the night before. The words were written immaculately in black ink.
At 12.05 precisely look inside room six on the twelfth floor.
This time, Melissa definitely was interested. How dare they enter her office? How dare they give her orders? She tore the note into little pieces and then took a deep gulp of her freshly brewed camomile tea. Her pale cheeks flushed with anger. “You’re a professional, Melissa – ignore it,” she told herself out loud – like a mantra – until her anger subsided. She managed to busy herself, and the morning passed quickly. I am the queen of this castle, she reminded herself, as she looked out at all her subordinates.
Melissa checked her watch. It was a minute past twelve, and she had completed her work for the morning. She considered the note. 12.05 precisely, it said. She could not deny her curiosity. Who would have the balls to give her such an instruction? She rolled out her chair and left her office for the first time that day.
It was a rush. The twelfth floor was the top floor. All her colleagues wanted to go downstairs, ready for their lunch. The twelfth floor was used for conferences and events. Now it was deserted. Her heels clicked on the wooden floor. She checked her watch: 12.05. The blinds inside the room were pulled down, but there was a tiny gap, allowing restricted access. Melissa crouched down, bending at her knees – straining the fabric of her skirt – and then peered inside.
She turned sharply, filled with horror, ready to walk away. But her heels seemed stuck to the floor, an almost a magnetic force luring her back. She just had to look. She felt like a naughty schoolgirl, not the director of a large company. This shouldn’t be happening here, not in work time, she thought. But then she also knew the fact that it was so wrong was also what made it so goddamn exciting.
A large table filled the center of the room. On the table lay a woman, on her back, her knees raised and her thighs parted. She wore blue high heels, a conservative business skirt and jacket. Only, her skirt was hitched up high over her hips, her cream blouse was unbuttoned to her midriff. She had dark hair cut to her ears, and designer spectacles perched on the tip of her nose. But it was the expression on her face that fascinated Melissa. Her eyes were pressed tight shut, her mouth was wide open. It was the expression of absolute and uncontrolled ecstasy.
All she could make of the man giving the woman so much pleasure w
as a thick mane of dark hair and broad sloping shoulders. He knelt on the floor, his face level with the table. His arms were outstretched, reaching out and slipping underneath the unbuttoned blouse. His fingers pinched little toffee-colored nipples. Melissa watched as the long thighs gripped around the muscled shoulders. Hands pulled on the thick dark hair. The table shook. Paperwork fell to the floor. The lady released a loud, dramatic moan.
Only now did Melissa turn and walk. She strode quickly across the floor, to the lift, back to her desk. Usually calm and in control, she felt fazed and on edge. She sat down, taking a moment to slow her breathing. She turned on her computer. There was another email. Without pausing, she opened it.
You liked that, didn’t you?
Melissa knew that, for the first time in as long as she could remember, she was not calling the shots. She was not barking the orders. She was being led by somebody else. But who? And why? She considered her options. And then, her fingers urgently pressed down on the keyboard.
Who are you?
She kept glancing back at her emails all afternoon, hoping – willing – a response. She was not focused on her work. Melissa watched her colleagues and wondered who, if any, were playing with her. She needed to regain some sense of command. Melissa left her desk and fired furious instructions at her colleagues. All of the men meekly obeyed her every demand without even a hint of questioning. It felt good to regain a sense of control. It felt strange and unfamiliar, however, to require the need to seek some form of reassurance.
At four thirty-five, a new email appeared on her screen. Melissa attempted to appear uninterested. Yet she quickly clicked on the mail.
Who I am will be revealed in time. At seven o’clock tonight the phone will ring in room six on the twelfth floor. It is up to you whether you answer it.
Her mind started racing. There were so many unknowns. The whole office could be playing a sordid trick on her. There was danger. There was a lack of control.
The phone rang promptly at seven o’clock. Melissa was there to answer it. She had been in the room for ten minutes, crossing and uncrossing her long legs, checking her watch every thirty seconds.
“Hello, Melissa.” The voice was deep, calm and controlled. It was not, however, one that she recognized.
“Who are you?” Melissa demanded. She was shocked to observe that her own voice was quivering.
“I could be anyone.” The words were steady, spoken without any emotion. He was stating the obvious.
Melissa paused for a moment, struggling to find an appropriate response. “Exactly!” she finally bleated. “That’s exactly why I need to know who you are.”
“All in good time, Melissa. You need to remember that I am in control here, and not you. So I will reveal who I am when I think that the time is right, not when you demand to know. Is that understood?”
There was no venom in the voice, no element of threat. The man was making Melissa know exactly where she stood, in no uncertain terms. Melissa was not used to being told what to do. She considered putting down the phone, telling him to forget it. Yet she had come this far. She knew that she needed to give the situation a chance.
“Yes, I understand.”
“Good. Now, you have a choice, Melissa. You can put the phone down at any time. Likewise, if you do not cooperate, then I will put the phone down.”
There was another hesitation. “OK.”
“Now, make yourself comfortable. Stretch out those famous long legs of yours. The legs that all of the men in the office talk about behind your back.”
Melissa listened and obeyed. She slipped off her high-heeled shoes and slouched down lower in her chair. She made a conscious effort to breathe more slowly, more regularly.
“Melissa, tell me – did you enjoy your little peep show this afternoon? You know the one. When you hid behind the blind and watched a woman being licked out?”
Melissa could feel her cheeks reddening. The words were so crude, so disrespectful, so to the point. “Yes,” she replied, her voice a little uneasy. She knew that she was speaking the truth. “Who was she?” she asked.
“That is for me to know. You know what I think, Melissa? I think you wanted to be that woman. You wanted to be on that table, with your legs spread, your pants down.”
Melissa closed her eyes and released a long, involuntary sigh. It was the first outward sign that she had given to suggest she was enjoying what the man was saying. That she was prepared to play game. And she knew that she did so want to be that woman.
“It is now up to you whether you remove your panties.” It was not an instruction, just a statement. She was free to do what she wanted.
Her mind was confused, uncertain. But her body absolutely craved to be touched. Melissa raised her buttocks and pulled at her white cotton panties. She was amazed by the powerful heat that penetrated from between her legs.
“Melissa, I think that you liked the unprofessionalism of it all. The idea of not being little miss perfect for a change. Yes” – the man paused, as if considering his words – “you liked the thought of acting like a common little whore – in the office, right in the middle of the day.”
Melissa purred down the receiver. Heat burned the surface of her cheeks, drawing a red flush to her normally pale skin. She undid the top button of her blouse. She desperately wanted to pull her pants to one side, to part her swollen lips with her fingers, but she was still afraid to lose all control.
The strong masculine voice continued undeterred, the wicked words making it more and more difficult for Melissa to keep her composure. “Yes, that woman was doing exactly what you wanted to be doing. You act all prim and proper, completely void of all emotion, Melissa, and yet really you want it just as badly as that lady did. You know – the one you were watching – like a peeping Tom – from behind the blinds. Spying on her, Melissa. With her legs spread wide. Inviting a hot hungry tongue inside. You wanted that tongue to be working between your legs, didn’t you? Making you moan like a little hussy . . .”
“Oh yes, I did. I so wanted that tongue.” Melissa was brazen now. Her breathing was fast, uncontrolled. She knew that her hot sticky juices were running freely down her buttocks, probably staining the seat. There was a musky scent of sex filling the room. And yet she was still determined to show some form of restraint. She gripped her hands to the plastic armrests, her knuckles white and drained of life.
The man sensed her challenge, her resistance. “You are still trying to keep control, aren’t you, Melissa?” His tone was teasing, almost mocking. “You so want to touch yourself, don’t you, Melissa? You want to pull one of your perky little breasts out of your bra, to pinch it, play with it – make the nipple hard and erect?”
Melissa groaned down the phone, tightened her grip on the chair. “Ye-yes, I do,” she admitted, biting into her lip.
The man laughed. It was a wicked laugh, it was cruel. “Now Melissa, I am going to put the phone down. Another instruction will follow when I decide to send it. It is completely up to you whether you decide to give in to temptation and continue without me.”
The phone went dead.
Melissa dropped the receiver to the floor. Every inch of her body craved to be satisfied. She clasped her hands together, but her fingernails dug into the skin, causing intense pain. All resistance had been drained. She was desperate now. There was no choice in the matter. Melissa stretched out and pressed her feet against the edge of the table. Her left hand finally slipped inside her flimsy bra and pinched a pink bud. Her nipple was already stiff, sore from the need for attention. Melissa released a long wanton gasp as she squeezed it between her forefinger and thumb.
She was now defeated. No longer was she the perfect professional that all of her colleagues knew and feared. Now she was a sensual, sexual Melissa, in touch with her extensive feminine needs. Her spare hand pulled the cotton fabric of her pants to one side. Her fingers delved urgently inside. The lips felt fuller, plumper than usual. The fingers traced the outline of her sex
and then entered inside. She was absolutely drenched. In one motion, Melissa pulled the fingers out of her cunt and slipped them inside her open mouth. She just adored the taste of her own juices.
Her cunt needed attention, right now, and so her fingers quickly returned to her centre. Two, three and then four fingers slivered inside her hole. The urgency and pressure increased. Melissa allowed her mind to drift. She remembered the wicked words, playing with her. Making her feel like a whore. She knew she had liked it. She imagined a tongue between her thighs, the same tongue that she had witnessed in action earlier. Now the tongue was expertly flicking her erect clit with its expert tip. The fingers were not her own, they belonged to the man with the dark hair and muscled shoulders. Penetrating deep inside her, deeper and deeper and . . .
And then her knees shook, her body convulsed and Melissa released a loud moan, just as the woman on the table had only hours before.
The next couple of days passed slowly for Melissa. Work was no longer her only focus. She had other, more pressing distractions. She had a desperate need to find out who was toying with her. Thursday, Melissa had her weekly meeting on the fourth floor with the other company directors. They were all men; they were all dour individuals in grey suits. Melissa was usually the focal point of the meetings. She was always alert and enthusiastic, forever contributing and coming up with new ideas, innovative suggestions. Today, however, she was distracted.
She heard their dull voices in the background, but they were just noises droning on and on endlessly. Melissa scribbled on her pad from the other side of the long pine table. She tried to work out who was gradually taking control of her life. It was apparent that there were many suspects. The obvious candidate was her PA, Gareth. He had a score to settle. She had made his life one long struggle in the office. And yet, it was not him. It was not his voice that she had heard on the phone. The thick mane of hair that she had watched on the twelfth floor did not belong to him. There were many other young athletic men in the office, but there was nothing that put one ahead of the other . . .
The Mammoth Book of Erotic Stories Page 34
