Five Minute Fantasies 2

by Cathryn Cooper

  As she spoke she worked down the zip, slid her hand inside and wriggled her fingers until they touched bare flesh. She played with my cock for a few moments and then gently tugged it out.

  ‘Very nice,’ she said. ‘Now, I’ve got just the place for that.’

  She hiked up her short skirt, lifted herself and moved forward until I felt the silky touch of her panties. She put her hand down between her thighs and eased the barrier to one side. Pubic hair tickled and I let out a long sigh of pleasure as she lowered herself, and my cock was sheathed in what felt like hot, damp velvet.

  She wriggled her body to get comfortable and I gasped as her movements sent tingles of electricity through my body.

  ‘Okay, John,’ she said. ‘Lie back and enjoy. I’ll do the work.’

  Her cunt muscles squeezed hard, she began to ride my cock and I did as I was told, letting the pleasure build up and up…

  ‘Where have you gone?’

  I started back into the present as Sheila settled on my knees, and found myself looking into the same blue eyes I had watched glaze over as we had climaxed together that night over seventeen years before.

  ‘Wherever it was, it’s given you one hell of a hard-on. You wouldn’t have been thinking about a certain party, by any chance?’

  She squeezed my rigid cock through my pants and I groaned.

  She chuckled.

  ‘Shall we let him out?’

  ‘The kids…’

  ‘The kids dumped the horse-blanket in the front of the van while you were day-dreaming. They’ve gone off for a walk.’

  Her fingers were busy as she spoke and my cock jumped free of my pants.

  ‘Hello,’ she whispered, and played with it gently.

  ‘I love you, John,’ she said. ‘And I’m in love with your cock.’

  She took it between her lips and sucked it hard. I smoothed her red hair with my hand.

  ‘Come on,’ she said, standing up abruptly. ‘I want you.’

  She lay down on her back on the mattress, pulled up her skirt and spread her legs apart.

  ‘Right here, sweetheart.’

  I knelt down in front of her and she raised her knees.

  ‘Take my panties off.’

  I pulled them away, buried my face in the mass of red curly hair and went to work with lips and tongue until she shuddered and moaned.

  She grabbed my hair and looked at me with wild eyes.

  ‘Come inside me. Quickly!’

  Her legs locked high around my back as I rammed into her and we slapped against each other in a mad frenzy of fucking until we together came in a gasping, moaning climax.

  We lay stickily together, panting for breath, as my cock slowly softened and slid out.

  ‘Christ, that was good.’

  Her voice was husky and I smiled down at her.

  ‘As good as the first time?’

  ‘I think you’ve improved with age.’

  I sat up and straddled her waist.

  ‘Not so much about the age!’

  I tickled her ribs and she squirmed and squealed.

  I was unbuttoning her blouse when I heard the faint sound of voices.

  ‘Christ, the kids!’

  I leapt up, pulled her to her feet and stuffed my cock away. Sheila smoothed her skirt and ran her fingers through her hair. I’d just got my zipper closed when Katie stuck her head through the back door of the van.

  ‘It started to rain so we came back…’

  Her voice tailed off at the sight of her mother’s flushed cheeks and her eyes flickered down to the bright blue panties lying in the middle of the mattress.

  A broad grin spread across her face.

  ‘Been doing a bit of snogging, have we?’ she asked innocently, and ducked out of sight.

  So here we are, me with my Guinness and Sheila with her gin, on the balcony of the Hotel Europe in Killarney.

  I telephoned Mr O’Callaghan and we left Titus and the caravan with a farmer friend of his.

  ‘But no refund for the rest of the week, mind,’ Mr O’Callaghan said, sounding apologetic.

  As if I cared.

  ‘Titus is it?’ the farmer said. ‘He doesn’t always get this far.’

  Katie was upset but wisely didn’t argue with her mother and brightened up when she found the hotel had a heated swimming pool. She bought a tiny bikini and on the second day she was holding court with three male admirers on the edge of the pool.

  The hotel laundry sorted out the Donegal Tweed.

  I’ll just sup another Guinness before I have my talk with Steven. There’s nothing like communing with nature to give a man a thirst.

  Working Conditions

  By Elizabeth Coldwell

  When Leo took me to one side and told me the word on the grapevine was that I was being recommended for the vacant position at Wallace and Barker, I could barely believe it. Indeed, if it had been anyone other than Leo, I wouldn’t have believed it. But we had been good friends, as well as work colleagues, for the best part of six years, and if he said the most prestigious law firm in the city were interested in me, they were interested in me.

  ‘Of course,’ he added, ‘you’ll want to think about it very carefully before you accept, Alison. You know the job has conditions attached.’

  Of course I knew. Everyone knew about the conditions Wallace and Barker laid down when they offered a job to a female member of staff. It was just that no one knew exactly what those conditions actually were. It was not enough that even to be considered you had to possess an exceptional intellect and aptitude; you also had to possess certain qualities which were never openly defined, but were the subject of much speculation. And those women who worked – or had worked – for Wallace and Barker never offered the merest hint as to what was expected of them, or why such a large percentage of those who had attended the interview turned down the job outright.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I told him. ‘It would take a lot to put me off.’

  And so I continued to think, until the moment I found myself sitting in the oak-panelled boardroom, confronted by the firm’s two senior partners, Mr Wallace and Mr Barker. I didn’t learn their first names – not then, not for a long time afterwards. Mr Wallace was in his fifties, grey-haired and with the manner, I thought, of a rather remote and uninterested public school headmaster. Mr Barker was possibly ten years his junior, conspicuously overweight in his Savile Row suit, and with a cold intelligence glittering in his eyes. They made me feel uncomfortable, as though I was under-dressed and under-prepared for the interview, even though I had taken longer than usual with my hair and make-up that morning and had presented them with what was, even by their high, exacting standards, an impeccable CV.

  I answered their questions as best I could, and gave careful thoughts to the tricky little points of law with which they tried to trip me up. Finally, Mr Walker cleared his throat and said, ‘Well, Miss Mills, I have to say you really are everything we hoped. We would be delighted to accept you as a member of the firm. We are sure you will find the salary we are offering more than acceptable –’ and he named an amount of money which was very nearly double what I was presently earning. Then, while I was still letting all that sink in, he continued, ‘I’m sure you know that we expect certain standards of behaviour from our female members of staff. Firstly, Mr Barker and I must always be addressed as “sir”.’

  Not a problem, I thought to myself. Why all the fuss if that’s what they want?

  ‘Secondly,’ he continued, ‘your marital status. You describe yourself as “single”. This is such an ambiguous term these days. Are you, in fact, co-habiting, or do you have a boyfriend?’

  I hesitated for a moment, sure that this line of questioning had been outlawed by discrimination laws, along with enquiries as to whether I planned on becoming pregnant in the near future. Then, sensing that both men were waiting impatiently for an answer, I said, ‘No – I mean, no, sir, I’m not seeing anyone at the moment.’

  Mr Barker sm
iled. I noticed his teeth were sharp and pointed, like those of a wild animal. ‘Good. Because throughout the time you are employed here, that is expected to be the case.’

  That seemed like a little more of an imposition. I had never been one of those girls who considers herself incomplete without a man in her life, but I hoped they weren’t demanding I should be entirely celibate for however long I worked for them.

  ‘Thirdly,’ said Mr Wallace, ‘dress code. You are always to wear a skirt, never trousers. As you have particularly good legs, these skirts will be of mid-thigh length. You will wear stockings and suspenders with them, not tights. And the only knickers you are permitted to wear must be plain white cotton. No lace, no frills and definitely no thongs.’

  I tried to keep my expression neutral. Was I sitting in front of two dirty old men, rather than the two most respected lawyers in the city? Was it turning them on to think of me in short skirts and stockings? And why the emphasis on white cotton panties? Still, for the money they were offering, I would have turned up in a bikini if they had requested it of me.

  ‘Finally – and you will not be surprised to learn that this is the hurdle at which most of our applicants fall, even if, like you, Miss Mills, they have not uttered a word of objection so far – on the last working day of each month, you must submit to be beaten by Mr Barker or myself in front of all the male members of staff who are on the premises at the time.’

  I looked at the two of them, trying to find any hint in their expressions to indicate that they were joking. I had never heard anything so outrageous. What did they mean, ‘beaten’?

  ‘You see now why we request that our female employees remain single, Miss Mills,’ Mr Barker said. ‘We never used to insist, but we lost a couple of highly valued employees because they had a husband or boyfriend who could not cope with seeing the nature and position of the marks these women returned home with once a month.’

  ‘So what do you say, Miss Mills?’ asked Mr Wallace. ‘Are you prepared to work for us under those conditions?’

  Part of me wanted to say no, to get up and go back to my secure, orthodox job, working alongside Leo and an office full of men who didn’t want to watch me being beaten and marked in some unspecified fashion. But another part of me – a part which was no longer thinking about how far I might be prepared to go even for the ridiculous sum of money they were offering someone of my age and experience – was ready to rise to the challenge. And I was sure this was why these two self-satisfied lechers had hunted me out.

  ‘Yes,’ I said, meeting their greedy gaze. ‘Yes, I accept – sir.’

  And so I bid farewell to Leo and my other friends, and joined Wallace and Barker. At my leaving drink they all, as I had expected them to do, tried to worm the legendary ‘special conditions’ out of me, but I mumbled something about a ‘confidentiality clause’ and left it at that. If I had told them the truth, I expect they would have thought I was having them on – after all, it sounded ludicrous even to my ears, and I was the one who had agreed to it.

  Life at Wallace and Barker proved to be as challenging and exciting as I had hoped. The firm was preparing the prosecution case in a complicated fraud trial and I was set to work as part of that team. I quickly realised I was working with people of a much higher calibre than at my old firm – and that very few of them were female. In fact, apart from myself, there were only three women in the whole firm – Chloe, who was the PA for both Mr Wallace and Mr Barker, Suzanne, who doubled as the firm’s receptionist and general secretary, and Catherine, who was a fairly senior lawyer within the hierarchy. For the first couple of weeks I was there, my path very rarely crossed with any of theirs, expect to speak to Suzanne briefly when I entered and left the building, and to pick up any messages from her. I suspected this was deliberate, to prevent me from asking any of them about what would happen on the last day of the month.

  Of course, I found out soon enough. From the moment I walked into the end-of-terrace Regency building which housed the offices of Wallace and Barker on that Friday morning, I was aware of a completely different atmosphere in the place. I can only describe it as one of expectancy. When Suzanne pushed a couple of pieces of post across the desk to me, there was no cheery greeting. Chloe, who was quiet and nervy at the best of times, with her jet-black bobbed hair and small, wire-framed glasses, looked frankly terrified, even though I knew she must be a veteran of these occasions. Catherine was in court, but I was assured by one of my colleagues that she would be in the office by the end of the afternoon, even if it meant asking the judge for an adjournment.

  I found it almost impossible to concentrate on my work. It was not so much the thought of what might be done to me, but the not knowing when or how. As usual, I slipped out to the café round the corner for lunch, but I left my sandwich after only a couple of bites, unable to eat for the sick, churning feeling in my stomach.

  And then, at precisely half-past three, as if by some unspoken signal, all the men in the office stopped what they were doing. They closed and put away their files, logged off their PCs and trooped away from their desks. I waited a couple of moments, then I crept out to reception. As I suspected, Suzanne was nowhere to be seen. Wallace and Barker were nothing if not traditional in their concept of rank and superiority, and Suzanne was very much at the bottom of this particular food chain.

  Left alone with Chloe, I tried to catch her eye, to find some indication that she sympathised with me in my imminent predicament. I was sure that however this nasty little game worked, she was next, and I wanted some reassurance before she disappeared that it wasn’t going to be so bad. I didn’t get it. She stubbornly refused to even acknowledge my presence and when, twenty minutes later, she took a hurried phone call and rushed out of the office, I could not even begin to imagine what might be about to happen to her – or to me.

  For the next twenty-five minutes, I sat in a frenzy of such anticipation I thought about penning a resignation note, and then I decided against it. Whatever was going to be done to me, I was not about to run away once it was over. I had waited long enough for the opportunity to join Wallace and Barker; I was not going to jeopardise my career by being a wimp who buckled under their bizarre demands.

  The phone rang, breaking the unnatural silence of the empty office. I answered it, only to hear Mr Barker’s voice say, ‘We’re ready for you in the boardroom, Miss Mills.’

  I stood up on legs which no longer felt like my own, and tottered out into the corridor. As I climbed the stairs to the boardroom, I met Chloe coming the other way. She was clutching a number of files to her chest protectively, her normally neat bob was dishevelled and she looked as though she had been crying. All she said was, ‘I’ll see you on Monday, Alison,’ in a voice which was little more than a squeak.

  And that was it. No wishing me good luck, no kind words to help stem the anxiety which was tying my insides in knots, just a muttered farewell and she was gone.

  I stood in front of the boardroom door, telling myself that, if I really wanted to, I still had time to turn and run. But if timid, mousy Chloe could take whatever punishment had been handed out to her, then so could I. I smoothed my skirt and hair, knocked on the door and entered.

  Nine pairs of eyes burned into me as I walked into the room. Mr Wallace and Mr Barker were sitting at the big mahogany boardroom table, and all the other men in the building that Friday were seated in a semi-circle which started and ended at the edge of the table. I recognised them all, spotting Michael and Neil, who were compiling material on the fraud case, and Scott from the post room, who couldn’t have been more than eighteen. But though, outwardly, they were the same men I had been chatting with and working alongside until an hour or so ago, something within every one of them had changed.

  As had been requested at my interview, I had complied with the dress code. That day, I was wearing a slate grey suit with a short skirt which, as Mr Wallace had suggested it would, made the most of my long legs, and a white blouse. My underwear also fitted
their requirements precisely, even though I still found it hard to get used to the functionality of my plain cotton knickers when contrasted with the innate sexiness of my stockings and suspenders. As I stood there, however, I felt naked before all of them. I could feel them mentally stripping me with their gaze, could sense them imagining what it would be like to rip the blouse from my back so their hands could maul my breasts, or pull down my knickers and ram their hard cocks into me without ceremony. To be the focus of so much raw, feral lust frightened me – though I could not deny that a small, deeply hidden part of me found it strangely arousing.

  But they did not fall on me as a pack and ravage me. That would have been too quick, too easy. This was no wild, undisciplined orgy; it was a ritual, something which followed a set pattern. Everyone in the room understood it and so, instinctively, did I. Without really being sure of why I was doing it, I went to stand close to the boardroom table, within the ring of seated men. I clasped my hands behind my back, and waited.

  ‘Welcome, Miss Mills,’ Mr Barker began, baring his pointed little teeth again. I thought again of small woodland creatures who dispatch their prey with a single bite. ‘I must admit, we did think you might not keep this appointment. You would not be the first, after all.’

  ‘I was informed of the usual working conditions when I joined the firm, sir,’ I said, trying to sound more self-assured than I felt. ‘And I would not wish to be in breach of my contract.’

  ‘Very good, Miss Mills, very good,’ Mr Wallace said. ‘It’s so nice to see you are fully aware of your responsibilities. So, shall we begin?’ He paused for a moment, then continued, ‘Remove your skirt, please, Miss Mills, and bend over the edge of the table.’ His tone made it clear that I was expected to comply without question or hesitation.

  A sick, primitive thrill ran through me as I reached for the zip of my neat little grey skirt and pulled it down. I could sense the expectations of the watching men as I stepped out of my skirt. They had seen whatever Suzanne and Chloe had to offer on many previous occasions; this was new flesh, being bared to them for the first time.