Amanda wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘Fuck you, pal. I’m going to fuck whoever I want when I want and I’m not going to feel one bit bad about it, either.’ She punched the radio on. Rock and roll filled the car. ‘That’s right, Roger. I rock!’
The house was already close to perfect. Now that there was no messy man living in it, there was very little housework to take care of. All Amanda had to do was tidy up a bit. After that she spent an hour or so at her desk. She looked up Meg’s address on the Forsythe’s employee list and called Buds to order an exotic bouquet to be delivered the next day. She and the florist settled on a brilliant combination of Bird of Paradise and Calla lilies.
That taken care of, she summarily dismissed memories of Meg from her mind. Saturday night was fast approaching.
Dinner was going to be simple. She’d bought steaks to save defrosting any. There was beer to put in the fridge, just in case Trevor was a beer man, and wine to decant. The sideboard had plenty of spirits. That left Amanda with just herself to prepare. It was a time-honoured tradition with her. But now she was doing it for Trevor, not for Roger!
Trevor. She imagined the bulk of the man, his dark brooding craggy looks and his remarkable body. In a way, sex with him would be relatively relaxing. Now that she was responsible for Forsythe Footwear, about a hundred and fifty people relied on her for their jobs. The company’s future depended on how well she performed as its president. In her sex life, she was still in control, totally responsible for the pleasures and performances of Rupert, Paul and Nola. No wonder last night had been so fantastic, at least with Meg they’d been mutually responsible for the success of their love-making, so the pressure had been halved.
But, with Trevor, she could give up all responsibility. She could stop scheming and it was unlikely she’d feel the same tug at her heart-strings that she’d felt as she’d watched Meg sleep. All she had to do was to prepare herself for his arrival. Once he walked in her door, he’d take over. Success or failure was in his hands, not hers. She simply had to obey him. And, if anyone gazed tenderly at a sweet sleeping form tomorrow, it would be him, admiring her fragility; it would be his heart-strings that felt the tug, not hers.
Amanda took a two-hour scented and oiled soak. Since she had it in mind to be buggered, she paid special attention to her back passage. This was followed by a long slow full-body lotion treatment. Ever since she’d transformed herself into a sexual predator, she’d kept her pubes perfectly bald, so she had no need to wax again. Inspecting her privates gave her a minor thrill. What she saw, the smoothness, the plumpness, the crinkled pouty pink lips, Trevor would soon be gazing at.
And he would sodomise her, she was sure. He’d already explored her there, with his fingers, so it had to be something he liked. She was sure she could send him a signal, wiggling her rear as she served him dinner or maybe wriggling into his lap, blushing and stammering a request. ‘Please would you take my ass?’ No, not sweet or hot enough. ‘Please, Trevor, would you kindly fuck my virgin bum?’ Much better.
Amanda knelt on her bed. She sucked on her fingers to wet them and reached behind herself. One fingertip rimmed her sphincter. It felt nice! She pressed gently and willed her tight little hole to relax. There! One fingertip slid in quite easily.
It was tight inside, though, and that was just a finger. Trevor’s cock had to be at least as thick as four of her fingers together, and thicker again at its bulbous head. A lot longer, too. Her finger pumped experimentally. Hm! The sleeve of her rectum dragged, which a man would likely enjoy feeling on his cock. Still squirming that finger in her bottom, Amanda toppled forwards on to the bed. She felt between her thighs for her clit. Um, yes. The two caresses worked together beautifully. No wonder Nola had got off so hard on being taken in two different places at the same time.
That was another ‘to do’, to replace the sodomising she was certain she’d experience that night – two men or boys at once, one taking her from behind while the other buried himself to the hilt in her pussy. She imagined Trevor ploughing her rear while Rupert, or perhaps Paul, fucked her. Oops! There was another thing for her growing ‘to do’ list, three men at once! After all, she had three holes. What would it be like to have her bum, pussy and mouth all stretched over hot thrusting …
Stop!
She’d been close, very close. Of course, Amanda, unlike some old man whose name she seemed to have forgotten, was able to come many times in an evening. She could have climaxed and still been horny when Trevor arrived, but that would have spoilt her ritual. When she was preparing for a man, she allowed herself to play with herself but never to reach orgasm. That way, she was especially eager when he arrived, and it showed.
Amanda already knew what she was going to wear. That night in her office, Trevor had obviously taken great joy in her acting like a total slut. If ‘slut’ was what he liked, ‘slut’ was exactly what he was going to get, in spades, vulnerable and doubled. She had an outfit that had inspired Roger to call her a ‘super-slut’ when she wore it. The sooner another man got the benefit of what had been one of Roger’s favourites, the better!
Amanda’s fishnet stockings had seams, which meant ten minutes of pinching and tugging to get them perfectly straight, but she had lots of time, and the more painstaking her preparations, the better she felt she was serving her man. By the time she was satisfied with the straight lines that ran up the backs of her elegant legs, she’d started to sink into a submissive frame of mind. Amanda the dominatrix had disappeared. She had been replaced by an Amanda who not only was an abject sex slave, but was also immensely proud to be one.
Her thong was made of fine black mesh. She moulded it to her pouting pubes and then drew a fingernail up between her pussy’s lips, tucking the fabric between them. The transparent wisp blurred the details of the plump treat it covered without concealing a thing.
Her long-sleeved, high-necked top had come as part of the same outfit as the thong. When off her, it was just a handful of shimmery black cloth. When she’d stretched and struggled and tugged and smoothed it into place, it compressed her flesh and obscured it about as much as a deep shadow would have done. Amanda didn’t need support but the tightly clinging garment lifted and projected her lush breasts quite deliciously.
She looked absolutely stunning. Amanda wondered what her young men would think of her in this outfit. Or Meg? At the thought of her willowy playmate from the previous night, Amanda’s deliciously simple state of mind disappeared, replaced with a dozen persistent confused questions.
Damn!
Amanda had no choice. If she wanted to enjoy an evening of submitting to Trevor, and she did want to, she’d have to banish Meg from her thoughts, just as she’d banished Roger. Well, not exactly as she’d banished Roger. He was relegated to a dusty corner, slouched among the cobwebs, with a dunce cap on his head. In her imagination, Meg, on the other hand, would simply stay as she’d been when Amanda had last seen her, sleeping peacefully in a comfy bed in a deluxe hotel suite. She giggled. Paul and Rupert and Nola were no threat to her peace of mind, but she was happy to give them a room in the same fantasy hotel, with one bigger-than-king-size bed, ample room for all three of her toys, and always room for one more.
She imagined that she tucked the covers neatly up under Meg’s chin, sent the youngsters off to bed and gave the finger to a pouting Roger. Done. She had just enough time to finish getting ready before Trevor arrived. At the thought of him, excitement surged through her body, making her arms and legs tingle and igniting an ache in her groin. God, he was so big and powerful, sort of dangerous but at the same time a source of absolute security. This was going to be great!
Her skirt was very short, in glossy black satin, with slits to the tops of her thighs. Amanda chose simple black patent pumps with slender four-inch heels. She considered wearing higher ones but she was trembling all over now. Amanda couldn’t trust herself to serve a meal. Falling flat on her face while carrying plates of food wouldn’t be sexy.
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sp; Amanda loved the anticipation of a planned night of sex. She’d touched herself occasionally during her preparations, and the one time when she’d fingered her own bum she could’ve come. But she was saving it all for Trevor. Every glance, every smile of hers would be her most alluring; she’d pour admiration on him until he felt like a king bathing in a waterfall of adulation – powerful and exhilarated.
And, in return, he would approve of her. He might not say so but it would show in his gaze and his tone of voice. He’d be as overwhelmed by her regal sluttishness as Caesar had been by Cleopatra’s when she’d emerged from that rolled-up carpet – especially once Amanda had finished doing her over-the-top black kohl eyes. Using a lipstick that was so expensive it smelt good, Amanda gave her lips the colour and shine of molten maraschino cherries.
She admired the finished product in the mirror. ‘Trevor,’ she purred. In that one word, she promised her expected guest absolute and eager obedience – in all things sexual.
Seven forty. She put the steaks on and set the microwave’s timer for Trevor’s jacket-baked potato. A foil-wrapped baguette was already warming in the oven. The salad was a simple one, just iceberg lettuce, green onions, julienne orange bell peppers and paper-thin slices of cucumber, with an assortment of dressings on the side. She’d be serving fried onions, fried pea-meal-coated slices of yellow tomatoes and lightly sautéed sinfully black Portobello mushrooms with the steaks.
Seven fifty-eight. Time for one last preen and primp in front of the full-length hall mirror. She gave in to vanity and rejoiced in her curvy shape, perfect legs and adorable face. What a looker!
Would he be on time? She’d enjoyed every moment of her preparation but anticipation could so easily slip into anxiety if tested. Amanda took her position at the door with her hand on the knob of the lock. A car crunched gravel in her driveway. Yes! Amanda tweaked her nipples. The door’s chimes sounded.
Another deep breath and she opened it.
Trevor’s bulk blocked the light. His cologne might have been Lapidus but she wasn’t sure. He was in his uniform, which she’d hoped he’d be. One thing was different. Now there were handcuffs dangling from his belt. The sight of the cold bright metal made her shiver.
She said, ‘Welcome to my home!’
He looked her up and down, very slowly. Amanda kept her eyes downcast while meekly submitting to his inspection.
Trevor said, ‘Good. I approve.’
Glowing, Amanda looked up. ‘Dinner will be about five minutes, Trevor. Oh! May I call you “Trevor”, or would you prefer something else?’
‘Such as?’
‘Well – “sir”, perhaps? “Master”?’
‘Good girl for offering. “Trevor” will be fine.’
‘Thank you, Trevor. The dining room is this way.’ She was extremely aware of his bulk behind her as he followed her through the living room.
He paused at the piano. ‘You play?’ He pressed a few random keys.
‘I love to play,’ she replied, and was thrilled to bits when he laughed at her little witticism. God, this get-together was already making her giddy.
He took the chair at the head of the table.
‘May I get you something to drink?’
Trevor picked up the decanter of wine, poured an ounce into a glass, swirled it and sniffed. ‘Plum, oak, mushroom, caramel, a little earthy? A Merlot? Um.’ He sniffed again, took a sip and decided, ‘Chateaux Petrus.’ It was a statement, not a question. ‘This’ll be fine.’ He poured his glass half full.
‘Thank you.’ Amanda repaired to the kitchen. He had depths, this brawny security guard. Not only did he bear himself with the certainty of a natural dominant, he obviously knew his wines. Amanda resolved to never condescend towards him, even when they were in their public roles.
Out of deference to his size and build, she’d broiled him a 24-ounce, three-inch-thick Porterhouse. Her steak was a six-ounce Filet Mignon. She served them and went back into the kitchen for his potato, the onions, tomatoes and mushrooms.
When she returned to the table there was wine in her glass and her steak had been cut into bite-sized pieces. She put the potato on Trevor’s plate and poised with a knife above it. ‘May I?’
He nodded. Amanda halved his potato, scored it, salt and peppered it, spooned on a healthy portion of sour cream and sprinkled it with freshly chopped chives. While she did so, he helped himself to the other vegetables.
Amanda sat down kitty-corner from Trevor on his right and picked up her cutlery.
He said, ‘No.’
Amanda set them down again and looked questioningly at him. Trevor speared a morsel of steak from her plate, added a piece of mushroom and held it to her lips.
‘Thank you!’ Amanda was delighted. What fun!
Trevor ate some of his steak and potato before feeding Amanda another forkful of her own meal and lifting her glass to her lips to wash it down. His arrogant mastery was working its mojo on Amanda. She felt she should be on all fours, grovelling and wagging her tail.
As he ate and fed Amanda, Trevor talked knowledgeably about the latest films and the top TV shows. It seemed that he was a movie stuntman by choice but that was a precarious living. Working nights in security guaranteed him some income and left his days free for film gigs and the karate classes he taught. He was a black belt. ‘Never sneak up on me,’ he said to Amanda. ‘I mean it.’
Amanda nodded. Add karate skills to his size and Trevor was potentially very dangerous. To submit to such a threat was as brave a thing as she’d ever done. She was sure he wouldn’t damage her, so long as she didn’t jump on to his back out of nowhere.
Amanda cocked her head. ‘But you’ve been in the building by day, as well. You’ve been keeping that ghastly Sharpe woman off the premises.’
‘That was for you. I was off duty, officially.’
‘You worked extra unpaid shifts, for my sake?’
‘Yes.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Look at me.’
Amanda lifted her eyes to meet his intense gaze.
‘Ours might just be a casual affaire and nothing more than sexual, Amanda, but we do have a relationship. We’ve had one ever since that night I caught you playing burglar, remember?’
‘Yes, Trevor, of course I do.’
‘If I have a sexual relationship with a woman, I am responsible for her safety. Accept that. It doesn’t mean anything more than that but, for as long as we continue to fuck, no matter how casually, I will protect you to the best of my ability. Is that clear?’
Amanda lowered her eyes. ‘Yes, Trevor, thank you.’
He set his knife and fork down. ‘Clear the table and return to me.’
Amanda’s tummy did flip-flops. The time was here. When he’d done her at the office, it had all happened in a rush, totally unexpectedly. She’d had no time for doubts or anticipation. Now, however, she’d gone through her preparation ritual, gradually building up her … What was it she’d built up? It wasn’t fear, exactly. It wasn’t just desire, either. It was both of those, and more. Amanda knew that once his hands were on her she’d feel more comfortable but, until he touched her, she was like a girl on the highest platform at an Olympic pool. Eager to disappear into deep blissful oblivion but scared to make the leap.
When she returned to Trevor, he’d taken off his uniform jacket and turned his chair away from the table. He pointed to the floor in front of his feet. She moved to that spot. He signalled for her to turn her back to him. Amanda glanced at the silently threatening handcuffs that lay on her table and obeyed. Her wrists crossed behind her without his instruction. She felt the cold steel click, the grating of a ratchet on her right wrist, then on her left.
She was helpless. What did she know about this big powerful man, whose broad hands she’d put herself into? He might be a … Her mind skittered away from that line of thought. If she’d delivered herself into the hands of a maniac, it was too late to worry about it now.
His finger turned her to face him. The back of his hand smoot
hed down the satin of her tiny skirt from her navel almost to the swell of her mound.
‘You’ve been a very bad girl, Amanda.’
‘Yes, Trevor.’
‘Do you know what I’m talking about, specifically?’
Amanda shook her head.
Trevor meandered a fingertip up from her pubes to her navel and down again. ‘You know what I do for a living, don’t you?’
Amanda nodded.
‘You know that I patrol the offices at night.’
‘Yes, Trevor.’
His tantalising fingertip made circles on the satin of her skirt. ‘Four nights ago, you were in your office, late.’
Four nights …? Yikes. Nola, Rupert, the spanking and the plastic ruler, and …
‘It didn’t occur to you that I’d be making my rounds?’
‘Um. No.’ She dimly recalled that her original intention in returning to the office was to bump into him, but then she’d caught Rupert and Nola in her office and … She grimaced. Had he seen her playing. ‘You …?’ she gurgled.
‘Yes, I saw you. I watched every nasty perverted thing you did to those two young innocents, and what you forced them to do to each other. You humiliated and debauched them. You’re a corrupter, Amanda.’
‘Is that bad?’ Amanda dared to look up at him, to gauge his seriousness.
‘What do you think?’ His face was unreadable.
‘I – I guess I am a corrupter.’ She paused. ‘But I didn’t make them do anything they didn’t want to do.’
‘Noted.’ His fingertip drifted down again, over the swell of her mound, almost stroking her pink pearl. ‘Still – you should be punished. Do you agree?’
Amanda tried to think. Her quandary was clear. She could either agree with him and be punished, or disagree with him and be punished for disagreeing. She was in such a state of submission she was honestly confused until she remembered that she wanted to be punished. Then her answer came easily to her. ‘Yes,’ she pronounced.
Amanda's Young Men Page 13
