Tom shifted around to kneel by my cowed head. I looked up. He undid his belt and trouser buttons, letting them fall with a jingle of buckles to mid-thigh.
‘This’ll keep you quiet,’ he said softly, pulling his cotton boxers down over his erection. ‘Come on. Get up and thank me with your mouth.’
‘Thank you for what?’
He tutted and tapped at my cheek.
‘For what?’ he repeated, shaking his head. ‘For giving you what you deserved, of course.’
Of course.
He held my hair in one hand as I wrapped my mouth around the tip of his cock, licking an exploratory path around and downwards. With his other, he picked up the whip again and trailed it over my body as I sucked. It was a powerful incentive to give my full attention to the job, reminding me of where I stood and what might be my lot if I disappointed him. I took a valiant mouthful of his shaft as he flicked the cords against my breasts and rubbed them over my belly.
Mehra returned to her room, then I heard Jess on the stair. Her tread was light, but the creaky floorboard warned me just as I was about to make a gagging sound. I managed to hold it back, pushing Tom’s cock into the pouch of my cheek until I recovered. He tapped the whip against my still sore bottom until my whole body was working in tune with my mouth, urging him in deeper, urging my throat to open wider for him. I held his tight scrotum in my hand, and tried to cram it into my mouth along with his cock. This was what set him off. Before I knew what was happening, he was tugging my hair and thick salt cream was hitting the back of my throat.
He tried to keep quiet, expressing his orgasm in a series of heavy, hectic exhalations, but he couldn’t avoid a husky little ‘ah’ at the end of it all.
I heard Jess pause in the act of opening her bedroom door. There was a fraught second in which the world stood still, then she closed it.
Tom let go of my hair and knelt back, pulling his still hard cock from my mouth.
‘That’s it, swallow it all down,’ he whispered, lifting my chin to kiss a taste of himself from my mouth. ‘Mm. I consider your gratitude appropriately expressed.’
I was glad he was satisfied, but I couldn’t help wondering when I was going to get mine. The whipping had lit me up like Oxford Street in December, and swallowing Tom’s seed while my bottom throbbed had only made me want it worse.
‘So, shall we switch on the computer then?’ he said briskly, then he laughed at how my face must have visibly fallen. ‘Only teasing,’ he whispered. ‘Lie down for me.’
I rolled on to my back and lay in splendid negligence, while he frowned down at me as if making complex calculations in his head.
‘OK,’ he said at last. ‘You have a vibrator. I saw it in your drawer that time. Are the batteries charged?’
‘I…think so,’ I said.
He leaned over to open the drawer and retrieved it.
‘Legs nice and wide,’ he said. ‘Bend your knees, that’s it.’
With spread thighs, I watched him scoot between my bent knees, swallowing as he introduced the cold curved tip of the vibrator to my wet pussy.
‘Keep still,’ he said. ‘It’s going all the way in.’
He pushed it gently, feeding it inch by inch inside me. I was so slick I barely felt it until it was halfway up.
‘Right,’ he said. ‘And…’
He crouched down, lowering his head until it was on a level with the hand that held the end of the vibrator. All at once, he switched on the vibe and put his tongue on my clit.
The unexpected jolt of it was almost enough to make me come then and there. But I wanted more of this amazing sensation first. I wanted more of his tongue, tickling and teasing my most sensitive spot, while he eased the vibrator in and out of me, letting the waves do their worst.
‘Oh, my God,’ I spluttered. Clearly, simple oral sex or using the vibrator alone would not have been enough for Tom. He had to demonstrate his total erotic genius at all times.
‘Is that good?’ he asked with relish, keeping up the pressure from the vibrator pulse. His breath was warm on my clit.
‘Much…too…good,’ I gasped.
‘Mm.’ He dived back in, kissing and bathing my clit in his big wet tongue.
I lasted less than half a minute. As soon as the message was clear, Tom put his free hand over my mouth, preventing a noisy outburst. I bucked and thrashed, mindless with the enormity of my climax, hardly caring if I kicked Tom to a pulp with my flailing legs.
Luckily, I didn’t.
He switched off the vibrator, which slid out by itself, in its state of advanced lubrication. Kneeling up, he grinned down at me with a triumphal air.
‘Well, that was quick,’ he said, licking his lips. ‘I’d barely got started.’
‘Clever boy,’ I said with a hint of asperity.
‘Not that I lasted long myself,’ he admitted, discovering a shred of humility from somewhere deep within. He ran a hand over a shiny brow. ‘Do I look as wrecked as you do?’
‘Unlikely.’ I shut my eyes and let the last of the stars pop into darkness behind my eyelids.
He lay down beside me and kissed my forehead.
‘There’s one problem,’ he said.
I struggled to reopen my eyes, then relaxed a little when I saw that he was smiling.
‘If we can’t keep our hands off each other, how are we ever going to get our hands on Mia Culpa? Figuratively, I mean. We’ve got internet sleuthing to do, and not much time to do it in.’
‘OK,’ I said, yawning. ‘I’ll switch on the computer.’
I pulled on my dressing gown and hunkered down at my desk.
There were another twenty unread messages, but I skimmed over them and found YourPet27 again.
Hi. Thank you so much for replying to me. I’m particularly interested in meeting up with fellow local submissives, as I need somebody to show me the ropes (so to speak) before I get involved. With your experience and interests, you’d make the perfect guide – would you be interested in meeting up sometime? If you let me know your private email address, I’ll send you my mobile number. All the best, NN.
‘Great,’ said Tom. ‘Let’s hope that does the trick. She’ll want to know you’re on the level, so the mobile number is a good idea. Let her know you really are another woman rather than some fantasising creep.’
‘Ugh, do you think people do that? Pose as female subs to stalk women?’
‘All the time, I bet,’ said Tom. ‘Probably not in a seriously stalky way, but in a “tell me all your most outrageous experiences” way, so they can get off without having to pay a cam girl or phone sex operator or whatever. Nothing wrong with that if it’s mutually pleasurable, of course, but I don’t like the deceit.’
‘Why the hell did you become a journalist?’ I shook my head.
He laughed self-consciously. ‘Yeah, well, when I pose as something I’m not, it’s strictly on sword-of-justice business. Not pervy getting-rocks-off business. Big difference.’
‘Oh, I’m sure.’
‘Don’t tell me you aren’t convinced by my sword of justice?’
‘Oh, I am. Utterly convinced.’
He winked. ‘Glad to hear it. Right, so you’ll let me know if you hear from our girl? I’m going to have to get going.’
My dreamy post-coital haze dispersed, leaving me sweaty and shaky in an overheated room.
‘Oh. Another breakfast meeting?’
‘Got to tidy up some copy before morning, or I’m a dead man. You know what Ed’s like.’
The editor’s name wasn’t Ed. It was Haydon Maguire. But everyone called him Ed.
Tom kissed the top of my head and began gathering coats and other extraneous matter from the floor. He was gone before I’d pressed send on the message.
‘Was that you who went out late last night?’ asked Mehra over coffee the next morning.
‘What?’
‘I’m sure I heard the front door. About one-ish, half-one?’
I tried not to exaggerate my
look of bafflement. Hunching one’s shoulders up to one’s earlobes only conferred a guilty look.
‘No? OK then. Jess?’
Jess looked over from the toaster.
‘Not me. Out for the count as soon as my head hit the pillow.’
‘Maybe I imagined it,’ said Mehra, turning a page of the morning paper. ‘Oh, God, Ella, is that headline one of yours?’
‘Lemme see.’ I hunched over the paper, to see a story about a school production of The Snowman headed ‘All White On The Night’. ‘No, that was one of Miles’s.’
‘Miles,’ said Jess, just as the toast popped up. ‘He likes you.’
Not this again.
‘Does he?’ I said neutrally, retreating into my mug.
‘Yeah. I was talking to him in the canteen yesterday and he was asking about you. About whether you had a boyfriend.’
‘He could always ask me himself,’ I said. ‘Seeing as he sits next to me all day.’
‘Aw, I think he’s a bit shy. Don’t be fooled by that larging-it lad act.’
‘I’m not fooled by anything. I’m just not really interested.’
‘Oh, well, OK,’ said Jess after a pause. ‘Do you mind if I ask him out then?’
‘Go for it,’ I said, brightening enough to come out from behind the mug. ‘Tell him I sent you.’
‘But then you’ll be the only single woman of the house,’ said Mehra. ‘Wouldn’t that bother you?’
I knew I was blushing, but there was nothing else to do but bluster through.
‘Why would it bother me? I’m fine. Honestly.’
And I’m seeing Tom Crowley anyway.
I itched to say it. But the itch couldn’t be scratched.
On the bus to work, I took out my tablet and checked for messages.
YourPet27 had replied!
Hi, NN! I can’t help wondering what your real name is – mine’s Katie.
It was great to hear from you again – and thanks for offering to give me your mobile number. We’ll have to have a good old chat before we meet up. Send your number to PetKatie @ gmail dot com and I’ll text you as soon as I can. Xxx.
The excitement buoyed me up and made me forget about my tired, ravaged body all the way into work.
There was always a little bit of delirium in the air on Fridays, with nights out and after-works drinks and weekend plans being flung between the cubicles. It was usual for most of the non-journo staff to head to the bar on the corner straight after work for an hour or two, before dispersing into our various favoured fleshpots.
Tilda had free tickets for a burlesque show, and she was keen for Miles and me to accompany her, along with another friend who’d already said yes.
‘Burlesque, isn’t that like stripping?’ said Miles.
‘It’s not the same,’ said Tilda.
‘What’s the difference?’
‘Burlesque is more like cabaret. It’s more sophisticated.’
‘Arty stripping then? OK. I’m up for that.’
‘Miles,’ said Tilda disapprovingly. ‘Tell him, Ella.’
‘Tell him what?’
Tilda sighed. ‘To be honest, I haven’t decided whether I’m OK with it myself yet. So I’m going there with an open mind, to see if I’ll be convinced that it’s not ragingly anti-feminist.’
‘It’s not, though, is it?’ I said. ‘I mean, it’s more like performance art, not just women getting their kit off.’
‘Yeah, that’s what I said,’ said Tilda. ‘Performance art.’ But she didn’t seem convinced.
We spent much of the day discussing the borderline between art and sleaze, a conversation which seemed to embarrass Miles way beyond the bounds of reason. I was enjoying this until Tom appeared from nowhere and strode straight to Ed’s office.
It took me a while to realise that I’d stopped talking in mid-sentence. Miles waited for me to continue, but Tilda rolled her eyes.
‘Struck dumb,’ she said acidly. ‘I see you’re really over him.’
‘What? Sorry, just…’
He hadn’t looked at me, just whizzed into the office and banged the door behind him.
‘My sources tell me,’ said Tilda, lowering her voice, ‘that Ed wants to spike a story of his.’
‘Your sources? Jodie?’ I named Ed’s secretary, with whom Tilda was on very friendly terms. In fact, she was the other burlesque ticket holder.
‘Yes. We had coffee together first thing and she reckons Tom’s sailing a bit close to the winds of libel with one of his stories.’
‘What’s the story?’ I asked.
Tilda shrugged. ‘She couldn’t say, but it’s potentially very damaging to somebody high up.’
Corruption in the council. It was on the tip of my tongue, but I managed to bite it back.
‘High up?’ I nudged.
Tilda shook her head. ‘No names. But Jodie says it’s pretty awkward for Ed because he’s personally friendly with the person or people involved.’
‘Oh, my God, do you think he’d try to cover it up?’
‘I hope not,’ said Tilda. ‘But Tom needs to make sure all his ducks are in a row if he wants to go public. A few bits of circumstantial evidence aren’t going to cut it.’
It was enough to make me want to rush into the meeting and implore Tom to be careful. Since when was I so invested in his career? It was ridiculous. But the idea of Tom getting into serious legal trouble gave me palpitations.
I tried my best to read through and fact-check an article about the history of a local stately home, but all I could think of was Tom, closeted mere feet away from me.
When he came out, his face was dark but determined and he failed once again to look for me before banging through the doors to the lift.
I was distracted for the rest of the day, and my distraction carried on to the pub and then the burlesque-show bar.
I took the very first opportunity I could find – whilst waiting for Miles to bring the drinks over, with Tilda lending a hand – to question Jodie about the whole affair.
‘How’s Ed today?’ I asked casually. A compere, in the biggest false eyelashes I had ever seen, was performing some faintly rude magic tricks on the stage, finding all kinds of interesting stuff in her spangled bra. Jodie seemed interested in the act, but I was determined.
‘How’s…oh, OK,’ she said, clapping as the compere bent over and blew smoke rings through her thighs. ‘Well, not OK really. He’s been a nightmare all afternoon.’
‘Oh, no, why?’
‘Let’s just say I need this drink.’ She looked over to the bar, but Miles was still waiting to be served. ‘He’s been all tense and sweaty since he had a meeting with Tom Crowley. Something’s really rattled him.’
‘Really? What do you think it is?’
But Jodie could tell me no more than Tilda had been party to, and I had to turn my attention to the compere, who whipped off her spangled bra to reveal giant rosettes blooming from her nipples. I wondered if a move like that would impress Tom in the bedroom. Then I wondered where Tom was tonight.
During an act in which two women basically made out with each other, I was interrupted in my hot-and-bothered squirming by the buzz of my phone in my pocket.
Maybe it was him!
I grabbed it in shaky hands and read the message. It wasn’t from Tom. It was from Pet Katie, to whom I had emailed my number earlier in the day.
Hey there, Ellie, hope ur havin a gd evenin.
(I had made the slight adjustment to my name on ‘just in case’ grounds.)
There’s a munch on at The Plough 2moro pm, thought u might like to meet there as is both public & safe & a ‘scene’ event – u might find it interesting! Starts at 3 if u want 2 come. I can meet you b4 if u like and we can go 2gether? Let me no. K xxx.
Oh, God. This was actually on. But what the heck was a munch? Somehow it didn’t sound like the kind of thing one could do in public – but it must be.
I needed to talk to Tom.
‘I’m just
going for a wee,’ I told Tilda, nudging her aside.
‘What?’
Tilda, who was blushing furiously, looked as if she didn’t recognise me.
‘Now?’ she added, turning her eyes back to the stage.
It did seem as if the act was approaching its climax, in more than one sense. One performer was on all fours, burying her face in the crotch of the other, who sat on a chair with her legs akimbo, feeling up her breasts. The action was clearly choreographed, and yet even in this stylised form – perhaps especially so – it was sensationally hot.
I forgot myself for a moment, transfixed, then remembered my mission.
‘Sorry, nature calls,’ I said, shuffling past.
‘Nature’s a bitch,’ muttered Tilda.
She might have been right.
The toilets were empty, so I rushed into the nearest stall and dialled Tom.
I was expecting to have to leave a voicemail, but he picked up after half a dozen rings.
‘Ella?’ he bellowed down the phone. Obviously he was somewhere noisy.
‘Yes. Can you talk for a minute?’
‘What?’
I repeated myself.
‘Hang on. I’ll go somewhere quieter.’ There was a pause, and the kerfuffle behind his voice receded somewhat. ‘Hello again.’
‘Where are you?’
‘Finnegans. Don’t ask. You?’
‘I’m watching some gorgeous creatures in corsets pleasure each other, actually.’
‘You’re what? Can you get me a ticket?’
I laughed. ‘It’s a burlesque show. Tilda got free tickets from Ruth in Ad Sales.’
‘Oh, you’re with Tilda.’
He sounded deflated, which had the opposite effect on me.
‘I am, and Jodie and Miles.’
‘Miles, eh? Watch that one.’
‘I don’t know why you all think he’s interested. He hasn’t made a glimmer of a move on me, and he probably never will. Which is fine with me. Anyway, I wanted to tell you something. The eagle has landed.’
‘The eagle?’
‘Our friend Pet Katie. She’s invited me to meet up with her tomorrow afternoon.’
‘Seriously? When? Where?’
‘Apparently there’s some kind of event on at the Plough.’
Fast and Loose Page 9
