Paul moaned.
Moving with deliberate slowness, intending to make it maddening for the boy, Amanda caressed him from his fine black pubic hair to the very tip of his shaft, ending with a gloss of her slippery palm over its head.
Paul was rigid and quivering, drooling around the heel he held between his lips.
One-handed, Amanda squeezed more lube on to her free hand’s sheathed index finger. Paul had tight hard buns. It had to be all the deep knee-bends his work demanded. She worked her hand edgewise between his cheeks and found the clenched knot of his bottom with her finger’s tip.
Paul shuddered and made a questioning sound, which Amanda ignored. She ringed his anus, spreading lube, and then squeezed more on to the rubber-shielded tip of her shoe’s spiked heel.
‘There, there. This won’t hurt, not much anyway. Be brave. Just relax. Amanda will make it nice for you, Paul.’
With infinite care, Amanda pressed the covered spike against the pinhole pucker of his anus. A fraction of an inch at a time, the invader sank into his flesh. ‘Tell me if it’s terrible,’ she said.
Paul went stiff and held his breath. As Amanda slowly impaled him, she stroked his manhood with an increasingly firm grip, picking up the pace each time. The muscles in his back twitched. His neck knotted. He had to be in emotional turmoil. Did he love or hate being buggered by the heel of one of the shoes he doted on? Likely, both.
‘Breathe,’ she commanded.
He did as he was told, his breath a ragged panting sound that further charged the air between them. If he was tortured by what the hand holding the shoe was doing to him, it was obvious he loved what the other hand was up to.
When two or so inches of the spike were embedded in Paul’s bum, Amanda relented and tugged it gradually back out, until only its tip was still inside him, and then pushed it back in again.
It wasn’t easy, maintaining one rhythm with the hand that was jerking him off and another with the one that was buggering him but Amanda didn’t have to keep it up for long. It was so much fun, kicking off a night of passion by showing her new lover just how expertly she could bring him off, knowing there’d be umpteen more orgasms for him, and plenty for her, before the night was through. This wastefulness was positively decadent, and she loved it.
Paul arched, dropped the shoe from his mouth, gurgled and climaxed. She just managed to catch his ejaculate in a wet-wipe and spare her couch.
Amanda slipped the slim heel free of his body, and gave him a count of ten to recover. ‘Sit on the edge of the couch. Spread your legs and lie back. Put your hands behind your neck and keep them there.’
Warily, but without protest, Paul did as he was told. Amanda had to grin. His face was crimson and he was doing his best to avoid her eyes but, at the same time, his gaze was avid on her naked and voluptuous figure. Maybe he’d seen the bare bodies of a girl or two of his own age, but, just as young bodies possess a certain quality that they lose as they mature, so do mature bodies gain different earthier attributes that are equally or even more sexually attractive. Or so Amanda’s philosophy decreed.
Amanda knelt between his thighs. His balls, like Rupert’s, were tight and close to his body, two almost hairless perfect gemstones encased in a sac of the thinnest, smoothest leather. She handled them with care, arranging his scrotum to hang nicely over the edge of the couch. The rest of his lovely young package lay limp on his thigh. She blew on its head. It twitched and rose a fraction. Her left hand took its base and lifted it. Even that slight attention engorged his flesh. Her right hand cupped his balls, with its index finger’s tip lower, in gently palpitating contact with his anus’s ring.
Amanda dipped her head. As her lips stretched over Paul’s knob, he gasped. She didn’t take him deep. It was her lips and tongue, slobbering and deliberately making wet noises, that brought him to full straining erection. She rose swiftly and knelt on the sofa astride Paul’s thighs. Still holding his shaft, she lowered herself until its dome was snuggled between her pussy’s bare lips.
Paul’s eyes clouded with lust. Holding his gaze, she sank, teasing herself and savouring each throbbing inch as it sank into her. When she was sitting on him, her lips stretched around his base, she ground down, gaining an extra inch, and rotated, stirring her own insides on the stiff rod that impaled her.
‘I’m going to fuck you,’ she growled. ‘I’m going to get myself off on your hard young cock and it doesn’t matter to me whether you come or not. This is for me. You understand?’
He nodded.
Amanda took a fistful of his hair in her left hand and twisted it. Paul winced but said nothing. Forcing herself down, Amanda bumped and twitched and squirmed until her clit was trapped between her pubic bone and his. She slow humped, masturbating herself on his captive flesh. The thumb and forefinger of her still latexed right hand clamped on his left nipple and firmly rotated it. Paul winced.
Now that she had two hand-grips, Amanda cut loose, twisting her hips and riding him, hard and fast. It must have been good for him, too good, because he groaned, humped up and collapsed.
‘Don’t you dare go soft on me,’ she ordered, and gave his nipple a cruel wrench.
Perhaps it was the sudden pain, for the flesh that she’d felt start to soften inside her recovered its rigidity. Incredible! She was truly using him just as she’d use a sex toy, pushing his buttons to make him perform exactly as she required. Inspired by her newfound power, Amanda rode Paul harder, faster, pounding her pubic mound down on him, exulting in every sensation. He kept the pace, thrusting up to meet her, matching her wildness with his own. Sweat dripped from her forehead on to his cheek. His tongue instantly stretched to capture the droplet. He closed his eyes, as if to savour the flavour. And it was this, this gentle unexpected wordless declaration of adoration in the midst of their ferocious coupling, that tipped her into a climax so deep, so complete, it made her howl.
An hour later, while she sat with her legs splayed open, Paul’s head between her thighs with her pussy’s lips spread over his face and his tongue straining to penetrate her succulent depths, Amanda languidly asked, ‘What if Forsythe’s somehow got rid of ninety per cent of its current inventory, or more? Got any ideas how it could be restocked, quickly, with good styles?’
He nodded, which felt quite nice.
‘In that case, tomorrow, you will give two weeks’ notice to Spikes. You’re back with Forsythe Footwear, in Dumphries’s old position, but better paid. Does that make you happy?’
He turned his head to answer her, speaking into the crease between her hip and her torso. ‘That’s wonderful, but what about Sophie Sharpe?’
‘Leave her to me.’ She wriggled free of his glistening face. ‘Now we’re going to try it with me kneeling on the footstool, with my hands on the floor, and you fucking my pussy from behind. You’ll like that,’ she promised
And he did.
9
‘THAT’S RIGHT,’ AMANDA said into the phone, ‘as quickly as you can, put everything on sale, half off. The worst styles and everything from last year, make that seventy-five per cent. I want you down to bare shelves by the end of next month.’ Amanda ticked off the nineteenth shop on her list and started to dial again.
A tall handsome ebony-haired woman who looked to be in her well-preserved late forties crashed into Amanda’s office. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’
Amanda looked up with as mild an expression on her face as she could manage. ‘You must be Sophie Sharpe. How was your holiday?’
‘You fired my entire staff, and now you’re selling our inventory off at a loss? What are you up to?’
‘Running my company, that’s what I’m up to.’
‘I’m VP of Purchasing.’
‘For now.’
‘Bitch!’
‘Yes, that’s true. And?’
‘And – it isn’t your company.’
‘No? I inherited fifty-five per cent. That’s close enough.’
‘No you didn’t.
Check your stock certificates. Roger sold a block to me shortly before he died. You own forty-five per cent. I own ten per cent. The shareholders are fed up with us losing money. Next shareholders’ meeting, you’ll be forced out. I’ll be appointed CEO.’
Amanda swallowed the lump that had formed in her suddenly dry throat. ‘Regardless, until the shareholders’ meeting, I’m in charge. You may leave my office.’
‘If you weren’t a recent widow …’ Sophie took a deep breath. ‘Mrs Garland, I’m off right now for a series of meetings with some of our most important out-of-town suppliers. We’ll continue this the day after tomorrow.’
Amanda started to say, ‘No we won’t,’ but Sophie Sharpe had already stormed out.
When Amanda checked Roger’s safety deposit box, there were certificates for only forty-five per cent of the company’s stock in it. Roger must have sold the other ten per cent in order to keep Forsythe’s running. Damn!
Amanda squared her shoulders. What choice did she have? All she could do was continue with her risky plan and hope that it somehow worked well enough to save her. She had four weeks and a few days in which to perform a retail miracle.
10
A MOVEMENT BEYOND the plate-glass wall of her office made Amanda look up. A straw-haired, fresh-faced youngster was setting a couple of books that were secured in a leather strap on top of a battered backpack that he’d put on the bench seat outside. Amanda licked her lips. He had the sort of willowy physique that reminded her of private schoolboys in cricket whites, the clicks of bats on balls and triumphant cries of ‘Zat!’ He was dressed in grey flannels and a blue blazer, supporting her guess. Unless she was sorely mistaken, he was of legal age, but not by very much.
What on earth was he doing in her company’s offices?
She went closer to the window. His books had their spines towards her. Despite the leather strap, she was able to read the titles: they were copies of The Complete Dramatic Works of Christopher Marlowe, and Tea and Sympathy by Robert Anderson. Heady fare for such a pretty young man, mused Amanda. He couldn’t be one of her employees, so who was he, besides eye-candy for Amanda?
The lad had gone up to the reception desk and seemed to be waiting for Nola to finish a phone call. Amanda hurried out to intercept him before the yummy treat disappeared. She’d never find a younger boy to seduce and she wasn’t about to let this one escape.
She got to Nola’s desk and raised a questioning eyebrow.
Nola explained, ‘Ms Garland, this is Tom Sharpe, Sophie Sharpe’s son. He got back from a school – sorry, college – trip early and was hoping his mother would give him a ride home. I told him that Ms Sharpe was off on a business trip.’
Amanda took a deep breath, in case Tom hadn’t noticed that her bolero jacket gaped wide and that, although her tailored linen blouse was opaque, it was stretched taut over her braless breasts. The direction of his eyes told her that he had noticed.
‘Poor Tom,’ she cooed. ‘We can’t leave you stranded now, can we?’ She glanced at her new platinum Cartier watch. ‘It’s a bit too early for lunch, but there’s a nice buffet brunch just around the corner. I’ll bet you’re hungry. Why don’t I treat you to something to eat and then drive you home?’
The boy blushed and stammered, ‘Thank you, Ms Garland. That’d be way cool.’
Amanda told Nola, ‘I’ll be gone for the rest of the day, if anyone wants me.’
Nola looked at Tom, then at Amanda, and back to Tom. In a perfectly even voice, she said, ‘I know you’ll take good care of Sophie’s little boy, Ms Garland. He’ll be in good hands with you.’
Tom blurted an angry, ‘Little boy!’
‘Everything’s relative, Tom,’ Nola said. ‘No offence, sweetie.’
Amanda gave the girl a look that promised repercussions later and hurried Tom out of the reception area. ‘I see that you’re reading Marlowe. Fascinating. Tell me all …’
At the Big Bite Buffet, Amanda picked at a salad and half-listened to Tom’s ‘scholarly’ conclusions about Christopher Marlowe having faked his own death in a tavern brawl – he was a theatrical, after all – and changing his name to William Shakespeare. Mainly, she ate him with her eyes. His skin was glowing and clear, with no trace of acne or of facial hair. He had big soft-brown eyes, not much of a nose, and the rosebud mouth of a petulant little girl.
Sex with him, she decided, would be halfway to a Sapphic experience. And that wasn’t at all an unpleasant thought.
While Amanda toyed with a chef’s salad and some bite-sized pieces of assorted seafood, he consumed a heaping plateful of scrambled eggs, sausages, rashers of bacon, slices of rare roast beef and a pile of toast and then went back for more. His only dietary concession to his androgynous looks was a wedge of spinach quiche.
When his discourse on Marlowe finally dried up, Amanda said, ‘I see that you are also reading Tea and Sympathy. Is that in your course?’
Amanda had dabbled in acting before she’d met Roger; afterwards, she’d participated in community theatre until, somewhere along the way, she’d given it up. But she’d had enough experience exploring character to learn how to interpret facial expressions. Tom glanced at Amanda’s chest, then his eyes quickly turned up and to his left, while his lips pursed and his brow creased. He might as well have said, ‘I see the goodies that I want and now I’m plotting exactly how I’m going to get my greedy little hands on them.’
His face cleared. With his eyes on his plate, he murmured, ‘I’m reading it for my own interest, Ms Garland.’
To make it easier for him, Amanda prompted, ‘Your college – are there girls there?’
He shook his head.
‘That must be difficult, and confusing. It’s only natural that in an all-male environment there’d be some boys you might admire and others you’d feel protective towards. Add that to – um – the physical changes a young man goes through, and it’s amazing you don’t all worry about your masculinity.’
Tom blurted, ‘Oh, I don’t have any doubts.’
Amanda waited patiently for him to catch on to the game she was offering to play with him. ‘None at all?’ She let a little disappointment creep into her voice.
‘Well …’ His face brightened – too much to be a natural reaction. ‘So you think it’s OK to have doubts?’
‘Entirely natural. Girls go through exactly the same, at all-girl schools. I know because I went to one.’ This was true, although, in fact, while other girls might have had doubts, Amanda had been totally boy-crazy all through her school years.
It took Tom a minute to absorb the implications of what she was saying. His eyes narrowed. ‘They do?’ he asked. He glanced down at his copy of Tea and Sympathy, as if waiting for it to prompt him. Slyly, he asked, ‘You seem like a very wise woman, Ms Garland. What advice would you give to a young man who might have some of those sorts of doubts?’
Amanda grinned. She patted his hand and leant in close, to whisper, ‘Get laid, Tom. Try some pussy. See if you like it.’
‘G-get laid?’ he squeaked. ‘Pussy?’
Amanda nodded. ‘Find a hot girl and fuck her senseless, Tom. That’s the way to tell.’
Her bluntness really threw him! For a moment Amanda wondered if she’d overplayed her hand. He glanced around wildly, as if trying to locate the exit. But he stayed put. Still, it took Tom a long minute to respond. ‘But that’s not so easy, Ms Garland. And I don’t think I’d know how, not to do it right, I mean. In sex-ed we were taught about … doing it, but just the basics – putting it in and condoms and so on. There has to be a lot more to it than that. I’ve never even kissed a girl, not properly, you know …’
‘Tongues?’ Amanda raised an eyebrow.
Tom was really laying on the ‘innocent’ a bit thick, but that was OK. They were heading in the right direction.
‘Right – tongues. I don’t know how to do that.’
‘A good-looking man like you? Amazing.’ She stood up and put some money into the folder their bill ha
d arrived in. ‘Come on. This isn’t very private. I’ll drive you to your home and we can talk some more, if you like.’
‘You’re very kind – very sympathetic.’ He glanced down at his book again.
He was so damned obvious that Amanda almost groaned.
On the drive, she made sure that the slit in her skirt was parted to just above her stocking top. She exaggerated the movements of her legs, flexing the muscles in her thighs and calves far more than she needed to. Tom had to adjust himself in his grey flannel pants, twice. Oh yes! He had as many doubts about his sexuality as a mink in heat does!
When she parked in Sophie Sharpe’s driveway, Tom asked her, ‘Are you sure my mother is away and won’t be back?’
‘Not until quite late tomorrow, at the very earliest. Of course, if you don’t want to ask me in …’
‘I do, I do!’ He took a deep breath. ‘Come on in, then.’
Tom dumped his backpack in the hallway.
Amanda unhooked her jacket’s frogs and asked, ‘Aren’t you going to be a gentleman and take my wrap for me?’
‘Oh – right.’ His fingers trembled as he slid it off her shoulders.
Amanda turned, keeping very close to him. The tent of his erection brushed her high on her hip, almost at her waist. ‘You’re tall, aren’t you,’ she said. ‘Big for your age?’
‘Um …’
‘Take your jacket off, then, Tom. Let’s get comfortable, shall we?’
‘I – er – I’ve been travelling all day.’
And he wanted to be very clean, in case things went as he hoped?
Amanda played along. ‘Why don’t you go and take a nice hot shower, Tom. I’ll be fine. I don’t mind waiting.’
‘Sure?’
‘Sure.’
He took the stairs two at a time. Amanda considered. She could snoop around Sophie Sharpe’s home, just a bit, while he showered, but he might not take very long. In any case, the thought of plucking the lad’s cherry had her too horny to concentrate on spying. She kicked her shoes off and followed him upstairs. The sound of the shower led her through a chintzy pink bedroom that had to belong to his mother and to an ensuite bathroom’s door. Amanda stripped quickly and went in. There was a roman tub and a separate shower stall with glass doors that were completely steamed over. All she could see through them were the movements of a vague pink shape. She took a deep breath, sucked her tummy in, opened the door and stepped inside.
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