t had started -- properly started -- three months ago.
It had been Valentine's Day. For once all the kids were home. Rachel, just turned eighteen. Amy, her older sister, nearly twenty now. And her darling boy Blake, so good looking at twenty-two. He must be driving the college girls crazy, she'd thought, watching him in his tight t-shirt as he got himself a drink from the fridge.
Was it her imagination, or had he been checking out his sisters discreetly that night? They'd certainly been wearing eye-catching outfits, Rachel in a tight green dress that was low cut and pushed her breasts upwards and outwards; Amy, always a little more diffident, was wearing jeans and a loose top that kept falling open around the neck and arms. Maybe he was. Or maybe it was just the way she seemed to think about everything now. Every room she was in, every person she saw, it was if she had to consider every sexual possibility and combination.
The girls were beautiful, no question. She'd certainly been complimented on them all more than once. Friends of her husband had been checking out Rachel and Amy for years, and she'd never minded that. For that matter, she'd had more than a few discreet overtures from those same men as well. One of them had tiresomely insisted on turning up at inconvenient times for a few weeks to "borrow some tools", knowing full well that Lewis wouldn't be home. But she'd simply smiled and said to help himself from the shed and then shut the door firmly on his hopeful face.
Lewis always made a special effort on Valentine's Day, and she'd always kissed him and hugged him and her eyes would well up at the elaborate, thoughtful message he'd write in the card for her. He always made a special effort, and she always hated it. He was so goddamned... reverent about her. Praising her, telling her how lucky he was to have her, that she made him the happiest man in the world. It made her want to scream sometimes.
That night, after the kids had gone their separate ways to various friends' houses and parties and mysterious assignations known only as "going out", she and Lewis had made love. In the early years of their marriage, like most young couples, they'd screwed pretty much all the time. She'd gotten pregnant early with Blake when she was aged just twenty, and she was glad now they'd had their kids young. For forty-two she thought she still looked pretty damned good. After twenty plus years of marriage, she still made Lewis hard, that was for sure. But they only fucked occasionally now. Perhaps a few times a month, if that.
She'd lain there underneath him, staring at the ceiling and occasionally remembering to stir and make a noise and act enthused. She wasn't completely indifferent, having a cock in you was always a good thing, right? But she was restless. It was like she was watching herself, lying there, the years passing, the same old routine, forever and ever... it made her want to cry out with fury.
Lewis was getting close now, she could feel it, and she sighed and murmured encouragingly. From her vantage point under her straining husband she could just see the flowers he'd bought sitting on the bedroom table. As she watched a petal fell from one of them and settled onto the floor. Dying already, she thought. They're damn well dying already.
Just a few more moments and Lewis would be done. She wasn't close herself, but perhaps there was still time. Unlikely though. The only way she could get herself off now was if she reached right back into the darkest corners of her mind, that place she only dared to go sometimes. Memories of when she was the same age that Rachel was now. Coming home and curling up on the couch... but not alone. His hands snaking around her. The pressure of him against her ass. Her nipples hardening... and then everything that followed...
God, it was such a good, dirty memory, one she'd never told anybody... she was always appalled but it always worked for her. She could feel herself starting to tingle and tighten. Hell yes. Maybe not such a bad Valentine's Day fuck after all.
Then Lewis came heavily inside her, crying out, the same noises he always made, and she could have shouted in frustration. Already she could feel the prospects of her own orgasm scuttling away, taunting her as they retreated. All that was left was that wet, slippery, aching emptiness as Lewis pulled himself out of her, kissing her softly and thanking her.
Don't fucking thank me, she wanted to snap at him. Don't you fucking dare thank me.
Then he was padding off to the bathroom to clean himself up. He would return with some wet sponges and would clean her gently. He always did, it was part of their ritual. He thought she liked it. He had no idea she wanted to tell him to just leave his cum there, leave it dribbling out of her and drying on the inside of her thighs. Treat me like a fucking slut, she wanted to tell him. Just once. I want to be a dirty whore who sleeps with dried cum on her legs. But she knew she'd never say that.
As she listened to Lewis in the bathroom she glanced over again at the flowers. Half a dozen more petals were on the floor.
**
On the train to work the following morning she thought about the day ahead. Particularly the project meeting at 11, when Steven would be there. She'd made a special effort that day, an extra low-cut top that was right on the borderline for what was considered acceptable at work but she didn't care. Let them look at my tits, she thought. Even now, I have the best tits in my family. Rachel's might be the firm, perky C cups that the luckiest teens were blessed with, and poor Amy didn't yet know that the smaller, boyish A/B cups that she hated so much were actually just what lots of men preferred -- but Alison's own, classic, full, heavy D sized beauties-- she wouldn't swap those with anybody.
I want Steven to look at my tits today, she thought. As much as he wants. I hope he goes home and jerks off about them.
The idea pleased her. She and Steven had been flirting for a while now, very discreet, always careful that nobody else could overhear. He was a gentleman, very smart, so smart she could sense he held the rest of them in a quietly amused contempt. But she liked that. Occasionally she would catch him looking at her appraisingly. He would never take his eyes away hurriedly and nervously, as so many other men did. He would hold her gaze for a few moments, smile that enigmatic smile of his, then turn his attention elsewhere. And she'd find she'd been holding her breath that whole time.
He was older than her, by about ten years. He wasn't classically handsome, but he was in good shape for a man of that age and he carried himself with a confidence that made everybody on the team defer to him. She'd lost count of the number of times that they'd had long, drawn-out rambling discussions as to whether the best way to resolve a problem was to do A, B or C, and then Steven would quietly interrupt, clearly state which option was the best and why, and it would all somehow magically be agreed. Even the younger, brasher men on the team, normally those who might be difficult, would fall in line once Steven had passed judgement.
The project team met once a week, usually finishing just before lunch. Several months previously Steven had somehow appeared beside her as she'd gathered up her things and asked her if she was free for lunch. She hadn't been, as it happened, and said so, and he smiled and said of course.
"Perhaps another time?" she'd stammered. God, it was just lunch. Why did she feel herself blushing?
"Perhaps," he'd agreed. "I do think lunch with you would be... very enjoyable."
God, how did anybody manage to get so much subtext into the word "lunch"?
But perhaps that was just her fevered imagination. It probably was just lunch. People who worked together had lunch all the time. No big deal.
But....
"I do think lunch with you would be very enjoyable."
That was what his mouth was saying.
"I do think fucking you would be very enjoyable."
That's what his eyes were saying. She was sure of it.
No harm in a bit of office flirting, she told herself as the train approached the station. It makes us all feel alive. It's not like I'm actually going to do anything about it.
The next week she'd waited for him to ask her again, and had been strangely crushed when he'd just sauntered out without a backward glance at her. Well, he was probably busy.
The week after that he'd ignored her as well, which annoyed her.
The week after that she'd manoeuvred herself beside him on the way out.
"We never did have that lunch, did we?" she'd said brightly.
He'd paused, looked at her. "No. We never did." He waited for a few moments for a few straggling colleagues to pass them, leaving them alone.
"Lunch is a big commitment, Alison. You have to be sure about it."
Then he'd smiled, and walked off.
God, he was so ARROGANT, she'd thought angrily. There was no question what he was talking about now. Fuck him and his fucking "lunch".
But that night, finding herself with half an hour alone, she'd taken a long shower and brought herself to orgasm. Thinking about the way he looked at her when he'd said that. Thinking about being on her knees, looking up at him, as he ordered her to take his cock in her mouth.
**
The meeting was cancelled. Some of the project team had gone away on a client visit and some bad weather had delayed their return journey. So, no project meeting. No opportunities to resume their flirting. Or whatever it was. She stared at her computer screen, going through the motions of work but feeling desolate.
"Ready Alison?"
She looked up, startled. Steven was standing by her desk.
"No meeting today," she said. "It was cancelled."
"I know. But we should meet," he said. "Just us. I'm sure it would be beneficial."
"Oh... yes, OK."
"I've booked a room."
For a moment she thought he meant a hotel room, and her heart jolted. Yes, she thought. Take me to a hotel and fuck me.
"Let's go."
She realised he meant a meeting room, and was surprised by how disappointed she felt. She trailed after him, feeling rather pathetic in her short skirt and her ridiculous top.
The meeting room was of one the smaller ones, a simple round table with four seats at the corner of the building. There was a noisy meeting going on next door, separated from them by glass which was frosted in the centre but clear at the top and bottom, something Alison had never understood. Who wanted to see people's feet and the tops of their heads from the next room?
Steven went in ahead of her -- some men would have held the door for her and let her go in first, but it felt entirely right that she should follow behind him. She trailed in, and shut the door.
Steven took a seat on the far side of the room and she pulled out the chair opposite him.
"No," he said. "Stay standing please."
His voice was firm and authoritative. She hesitated, looking at him. He looked back at her coolly, the faint trace of a smile on his lips.
"You want me to stand?"
"Yes."
"Er.... Why?"
"So I can look at you, Alison. You're looking particularly pretty today, thank you, and since you made an effort for me it's only right I should get some time to appreciate you, don't you think?"
She thought about protesting, of course she hadn't made an effort for him. But she knew she had, and somehow he knew that, and he knew she knew that he knew... it made her head spin. God, was she really that transparent?
"Stand up straighter, please."
Damn it, surely that was going a bit too far, giving her orders like that? But she found herself straightening herself up.
"Yes, that pushes out your lovely breasts. You do have nice, big firm breasts, Alison."
Jesus H Christ! She could get him fired for that. Nobody should say things like that, not at work. This wasn't the 1960s. That was outrageous. It might be his word against hers but she could turn around right now, walk out the door, go up to HR, issue a complaint. He'd be gone by the end of the day.
"I can see your nipples are getting harder. Shall I turn the air con off, Alison?" He pretended to be puzzled. "Oh... the air con is off already. And it feels quite warm in here, doesn't it?"
She nodded, still unable to speak.
"I haven't been able to make up my mind about you, Alison." His face was thoughtful.
"You're absolutely lovely, no question. And... so much about you seems exactly what I'm looking for."
His praise pleased her. Part of her was still screaming to get the hell out, this was so wrong, this blatant appraising of her, like she was a piece of meat in a butcher's shop. But what did he mean, he couldn't make his mind up? What was wrong with her?
"But if we do this... I shall expect total obedience."
That made her gasp out loud, so loud she was sure the people in the next room must hear her. She expected to see quizzical faces peering over the frosted panels. Surely they'd see something was wrong, one of them would come in, ask if everything was ok, and then this would all be over...
But nobody seemed to have heard. The meeting next door carried on. She could hear somebody faintly talking about projected sales growth for the next quarter.
"Are you capable of total obedience, Alison?"
She looked at him, stricken. Of course, she couldn't give him total obedience, what modern woman would agree to that? It wasn't the Middle Ages...
"Good."
What? Had she... somehow... just nodded at him?
"I will just need you to prove that for me now, please. Show me your breasts. Just for a second, but show them to me now. If we're quick, nobody will see."
She couldn't do that. Not here. Not at work. Not in a meeting room with a dozen people next door, the other side of some glass...
She reached up and pulled her top down. Her breasts, still encased in a lacy black bra, popped out. Surely that was enough?
"No. Your breasts. Not your bra." He sounded irritable, and that tone of voice made her quail. She hurriedly scooped out the fleshy globes so they hung down, exposed to the air. Her nipples felt painfully hard.
"Lovely." He rose and came around the table towards her. He took a breast in each hand and slowly squeezed each nipple between his fingers. The pain was subtle and excruciating and wonderful. She almost sobbed when he stopped.
"I will text you the hotel and room number in the next half hour. I will expect to see you there within fifteen minutes of my message. If you're late, this is all over. Do you understand?"
Again, she nodded dumbly. No sign of her vocal cords ever working again, it seemed.
And then he was gone, striding off down the corridor leaving the door open behind him. For a few moments she just stood there, dazed. Then she looked down at herself. Her breasts hung free, their tops covered in the freckles that Lewis always said he loved so much. She mechanically reinserted them into her bra and adjusted her top. Then she made her way back to her desk, sure that everyone must be looking at her and knowing exactly what had just happened. But no... nobody seemed to know about her humiliation. How appallingly she'd just been treated. She wanted to cry.
Back at her desk she slumped and stared at her locked computer screen. Something was wrong with her chair. Had somebody spilt something on it?
No. She realised she was just soaking wet. It must be soaking through her skirt. Thank god it was black, it might not to be too noticeable.
What had just happened? She couldn't quite believe it -- it felt like a dream. Or a nightmare. She wasn't sure. No way she going to the hotel though. This had gone quite far enough already.
She stared at her phone. Was he really going to text her the room number and expect her to just trot over there and let him fuck her?
She remembered his last words.
If you're late, this is all over. Do you understand?
She knew he meant this completely. Well, tough luck buster, she thought. It IS all over. And count yourself lucky I don't report you and get your ass thrown out of the building and possibly into jail.
Her phone lay silent on her desk.
Of course, he wasn't going to text her. This was just some weird power game he liked to play. OK, part of her had obviously liked it -- her sodden underwear was a testament to that -- but it ended right now. If she wanted to go home later and maybe fantasise a little about what might have been, well that was just fine. Lots of women had fantasy lives. Maybe she could persuade Lewis to be a bit more dominant, treat her more like a slut, just sometimes. Sometimes women just want to be told what to do, she thought. Lewis could do that, if she asked him. Just fuck me and use me, Lewis.
But she could picture his puzzlement and embarrassment. Such behaviour was completely alien to him. It would never work. He was a flowers and chocolates guy to the core.
Her phone still lay there, taunting her. Perhaps even now he was tipping the bellboy, reaching into his pocket, taking out his phone, scrolling through his contacts, finding her name, tapping out the hotel name, the room number...
Her phone buzzed.
517. The Western.
**
The hotel was one that was close to the office, too close really, there was a risk that some work colleague would see her racing in there and would wonder just what was so urgent.
Close to work, but still she found herself hurrying. Fifteen minutes wasn't long at all, the wait for the lift down had been excruciating and then in the lobby somebody she knew had tried to engage her in conversation and she'd had to cut them short, pleading a family emergency. Family emergency, she thought. I need to go and get fucked by my co-worker, that's the emergency.
Almost running her way towards the hotel, zig zagging through the infuriating pedestrians and tourists. Into the hotel and towards the lifts. She checked her phone. The message had arrived at 12.27. It was 12.39 now.
Surely there'd be an elevator ready to go? Dammit! What kind of fucking useless hotel was this? Would the stairs be quicker? No, their room - "their" room... Jesus... already she was thinking of it as "their room" - was on the fifth floor. She was in good shape but she wasn't an athlete.
Finally an elevator pinged its doors open. She dived in, hammered the button for the fifth floor. The doors started to close, then opened again as an elderly couple ambled apologetically into the lift, towing some suitcases on wheels behind them.
"What floor?" asked Alison tightly.
"What floor is it, dear?"
The man fumbled in his pocket. "Let me just check..."
They only told you your room A MINUTE AGO YOU USELESS OLD FUCK. HOW CAN YOU NOT FUCKING REMEMBER?
"Eight," said the man finally, holding the card out at arm's length.
Alison stared at him in fury. "There's only seven floors here!"
They both looked taken aback at her naked hostility. The man peered again. "Sorry... that's a three, I think."
Fine. They were going to three. She pressed the button as hard as she could and the doors began to close again.
I swear if anybody else tries to get in here now I'm going to fucking...
Nobody did. At the third floor the couple gave her a doubtful smile and wandered off in search of their room.
She checked the time again. Oh fuck... 12.45. She was late. She could explain it to him. Surely he'd forgive her, just this once.
On the fifth floor she ran out of the elevator and down the corridor, frantically staring at the room directions. Where was 517? Down there... that way... so close now.
He was coming out of the door just as she turned into the last stretch of corridor, his face expressionless as he walked past her.
"God I'm so sorry... I was as fast as I could be... there was this couple... please... god please!"
He stopped, turned to face her. Her spirits lifted slightly. He had to forgive her. He had too!
"I have very firm rules, Alison."
"I know you do... I'm so sorry... I really am... I'll never do it again..."
"Why should I break my rules for you?"
"Please... just give me a chance... please."
He looked at her. She was close to tears, breathless.
"Are you worth it, Alison?"
"God yes, I promise you, I am."
"Tell me."
She stared at his face, hoping desperately for a clue. What did he want to hear?
"I'll suck your cock better than anybody ever has. I'll be your slut. I'll do anything you want."
"Anything? Think very carefully about what that means. I will expect that to mean... anything."
She didn't hesitate. She knew she couldn't. "God yes... anything at all."
"Do you promise me that?"
"Yes... I promise."
He thought for a moment. It felt like the longest moment of Alison's life.
Then he took the card key from his pocket, and gave it to her.
"Open the door, Alison."
**
The room was one of the more expensive ones, with a view over the park. There was a small separate dining area off to one side, and a large, luxurious en-suite bathroom with a shower large enough for two people to shower together.
The first thing she saw were the flowers on the table. It was a large, elaborate arrangement, and it made her think of the much more modest offering her husband had given her the night before. But those flowers belonged to a different person, living a different life. All that mattered was the person who was here now, who she was with, and what they were about to do.
He was taking off his jacket and hanging it carefully on a hangar in the wardrobe. Beneath his suit he was wearing a waistcoat. It took confidence to wear a waistcoat, she thought. Certainly Steven didn't lack that. Look how easily she'd come running when he'd clicked his fingers. How had he known that she would? How had he known she was ready?
He settled himself down into one of the armchairs and gestured to her.
"Get undressed, Alison."
He watched silently as she rather nervously slipped off her clothes. First her blouse, then her skirt, until she was standing there in just her underwear.
"Turn around. Slowly."
She did as he told her, rotating herself slowly so that he could see all of her. God, she'd always hated people staring at her ass. What if he was repelled by it, decided he could get some younger woman whose ass was still tight and taut and perfect? Her stomach felt empty at the prospect.
"Very nice. Really very nice indeed."
His praise was like rain sweeping into a desert, and she had to stifle a sob. God, how had he reduced her to this?
"Now take off everything else."
That was the work of just a few seconds. Now she stood naked in front of him. She could feel her nipples were rock hard, like small pebbles. And she knew if she touched herself, she would be soaking wet. But she wouldn't, of course. Not until he told her she could. Somehow she knew some of the rules already, though she was certain there would be more. Many rules. But it would be worth it.
"Kneel on the bed for me, Alison."
She did as he instructed, feeling very exposed and ever so slightly silly as she positioned herself on the end of the bed, facing the pillows with her legs a little apart. She heard him walk up behind her. Then she gasped as she felt a single finger run down one of her buttock cheeks, from the bottom of her back down to the top of her leg.
"You are a fuckable little bitch, aren't you?"
She wasn't sure he wanted her to answer, so she just nodded. She could hear the sounds of him slipping off his shoes and then removing his clothes. It seemed to take forever. It sounded like each item was being carefully folded and put away. He's really making me wait, she thought. Jesus, if he doesn't touch me properly soon I think I'm going to scream...
She gasped again as suddenly she felt both of his hands on her, one on each side of her, holding her hips. And almost at the same instant she felt something graze against her slit. Something hard and masculine. She whimpered.
"Do you want me to fuck you, Alison?"
She nodded again, but he tutted.
"No, tell me."
"Please fuck me. God, please Steven, please fuck me."
"But you're married. Wouldn't that be wrong?"
Oh, he was an evil bastard, reminding her of that. It made her even wetter.
"I don't care... please fuck me. Hurry! I can't stand it."
She jolted as he pushed himself roughly into her, stretching her out deliciously. God, he felt big. She moaned with pleasure.
His hands moved from her hips to her shoulders, pulling her back towards him as he began to thrust more energetically into her. She couldn't remember the last time... fuck no, she couldn't remember ever having been penetrated without at least a little foreplay first. Some kissing. Maybe a little oral to get everything nice and wet and ready. Whereas this... this was impersonal and ruthless and she knew, already, she was going to come harder than she ever had before.
She heard him breathing more heavily as he fucked her harder. She longed to be able to turn around and feel him on top of her, pushing down deep into her, being able to put her arms around him and kiss him as he used her so selfishly. Just that would be enough for me, she thought. Perhaps next time.
God -- she suddenly thought with horror that there might not be a next time. Perhaps he only fucked his women once and then moved on. Surely not. But somebody like Steven... they seemed to have their own rules. Perhaps that was one of his. One thing she knew for sure, this was not the first time he'd done something like this. He was just too confident, too knowing. She felt a pang of jealousy that she was probably just the latest in a string of conquests. Not the first, and she wouldn't be the last.
Never mind. For now, in this moment, he was hers.
She realised she was close to orgasm. He'd moved a hand to one of her breasts that had been swaying beneath her, tweaking and teasing her nipple which had triggered what felt like an electric current running from her chest to her groin.
"Shall we call your husband?"
"What... what do you mean?" A shiver of delicious fear ran through her.
"We could call him now, couldn't we?" He was only slightly out of breath, though he'd been pounding her quite relentlessly for several minutes now. He's a machine, she thought, he's some kind of fucking robot.
"No... I couldn't...."
"You could tell him you're being fucked, that you're in a hotel and your pussy is soaking wet and you have another man's cock deep inside you and you're being fucked hard and you're about to come..."
"No... please..."
Part of her was horrified at the idea. Most of her. But a smaller part of her... God, could she really do that? She knew, deep down, not only that she could, but that she wanted to. Flouting all the conventions, being an absolute slut and a terrible wife and a terrible mother... that was part of what was making her so turned on now.
"Fuck," she said. "Fuck... I'm going to come."
"No," he said. "Not yet."
Oh fuck. Could she hold it back? She knew she had to. Another one of the rules of the game that she somehow understood. She came when he told her she could.
She bit her lip, trying to use the pain to distract herself. But god, she was so close. It was like pushing back against a wave on a beach.
She felt her muscles tighten around his cock, and he grunted. He began to fuck her a little faster. Please god, she thought, please let him come now. If he comes then I can come and if I don't come soon I think I'm going to die from trying to hold it back.
She felt one of his hands reach up and take a handful of her hair, pulling on it gently but firmly so her head was raised up and she was forced to look straight ahead. She saw the pillows on the bed, one slipping down so as to be slightly askew. She could just see out of the window to one side of the bed, could see all the office buildings and brightly lit windows.
The whole world is going on like normal, she thought. Going on like normal; boring lives doing boring things... and I'm here on my knees being fucked so beautifully by this wonderful, terrible man. She felt like crying with gratitude.
He started to come inside her then, pulling more viciously on her hair as his body bucked and he began to shoot his seed deep inside her. The two sensations -- the pain from her hair and, more crucially, the feeling of his warm juices exploding inside her -- pushed her over the edge and she surrendered gratefully, letting her orgasm finally race free and consume her. It was like a white blinding heat and she heard herself crying out at the intensity of it.
A few minutes later she found she was lying on her back on the bed, though she had no recollection of changing position. She felt an emptiness between her legs where Steven had been. He was now lying beside her, looking at her intently. He was stroking her cheek, and this small, thoughtful act of kindness made her feel a little tearful.
"Well," he said. "Welcome back."
She smiled at him. She reached up and wrapped her hand around his, dragging it from her cheek to her mouth so she could kiss his fingers
"Oh god," she said. "That was... amazing. I wish... I wish I'd met you years ago."
He shook his hand. "No. You wouldn't have been ready."
She thought about this, and knew he was right. Of course he was.
"They'll be wondering where we are. Back at the office, I mean."
"Yes. They will." He seemed unconcerned. She wondered again how many times he'd done this. From now on she thought she'd look at every woman in the office differently, wondering if they'd succumbed to his charms as easily as she had. He could have any woman he wanted, she thought. If he decided to have a woman, there'd be nothing she could do about it. The thought pleased her. He had chosen her, and she was with him now. That was enough. More than enough.
"Can we... meet again tomorrow?" She was already starting to feel vaguely panicky that this was a one-time only arrangement.
"No," he said, and paused. Her heart sank. Here it comes, she thought. This is where he discards me like an old tissue.
"We'll meet this evening. I'm going to stay here. I have my laptop, and I'll work here. You can come back here when you finish for the day."
Even as her heart soared her mind worked overtime. She shouldn't, she couldn't...
"This evening? But I have to go home... I have to make dinner.... they're expecting me."
He shrugged. "Tell them you have to work late. But be here. No later than six. Tell them you'll be home by... nine-thirty or so. I'm sure they can order out."
God! That would mean two, nearly three hours together. Her mind reeled at the idea of it. All that time with him. And all the while her husband would be watching television while he ate his delivery pizza. Watching television and eating pizza while she was a shameless slut in this room. God knows what he'd make her do. Suck him, certainly. She ached to have him in her mouth. Perhaps anal? She'd only done that a few times and had never much liked it, but if Steven wanted it that would be fine with her. More than fine.
"Yes," she said. "I'll sort something out."
He nodded absent-mindedly, as if his mind had already moved on.
"I'll get dressed," she said.
"Just before you do, I need to take some photographs."
"Photographs... of me?"
"Yes."
She felt her face going red.
"What for?"
"For my collection. And... you never know when they might be fun to look at."
"Would they just be... for us?"
God, that sounded so presumptuous. "Us"! As if there was an "us" yet, she thought.
He looked at her steadily. "They'll be mine, to use as I see fit."
He got up and went over to the table where he'd left his phone. For the next few minutes he photographed her, getting her to go back on her knees as she had been at the start, then on her back with her legs spread wide. Then one against the window, still naked, her ass pressed up against the cool panes of glass, one hand touching herself between her legs. She thought of people on the street below, looking up, seeing her masturbating five storeys above them.
"Very good," he said finally. "You can get dressed now."
When she left he was on the phone, ordering some room service for a late lunch. She realised she was ravenous herself. On the way back she stopped at a sandwich shop and got herself a chicken and avocado sandwich. Normally she tried to avoid white bread, but today she decided to treat herself. I've earned it, she thought.
She entered her office building and stood waiting for the lift. She checked her watch. Was it really only ninety minutes ago that she'd stood in the hotel waiting impatiently for that other lift? And now her whole life was different.
"You look very pleased with yourself, Alison."
It was Ruth, a secretary who worked on her floor who she occasionally chatted to.
"Yes," said Alison. "Sometimes you just have a nice day, you know?"
Ruth gave her a knowing glance. "I think somebody had themselves a pretty good Valentine's Day! Maybe some flowers, bottle of wine..." She giggled, and left it hanging as to what else Alison might have enjoyed.
"Yes," Alison said. "Something like that."
**
That evening she'd returned home feeling utterly drained and more than a little tender. She had never known a man with as much self-control as Steven. He had fucked her almost continuously for an hour and a half in that same hotel room, keeping her on the edge of orgasm for the first hour before relenting, and then triggering a whole sequence of orgasms that hd almost made her cry with their intensity. Then, when she had been lying gasping for breath at the end of that, he had made her take him in her mouth and stroke him to his climax. This she had done willingly and enthusiastically, sucking him with a fervour and abandon that she'd not experienced in years.
He's unlocked my inner slut, she thought to herself. How the fuck did he know it was there?
Afterwards he had quietly told her that she should shower before going home, but she was not to brush her teeth. She understood. He wanted the taste of him to stay in her mouth. That was fine by her. She wanted to keep it for as long as possible.
Lewis was sitting at the counter in the kitchen, staring at some work papers. He smiled at her when she came in and she smiled back.
"Tough day?"
"Not too bad. Just a lot to get through. We're so busy at the moment."
"There's some pizza left. A veggie one for you."
"Thanks," she said, and kissed him lightly on the cheek.
My lover's cum is still my mouth, she thought, and I've just kissed my husband. I'm a terrible, terrible person.
She resolved then that this was something that Lewis would never know about. That would be too cruel, like kicking a puppy. What she had with Steven was something that existed for another version of her, the person that only existed and came alive when she was outside of these walls.
Yes, that seemed like a good compromise. As long as she kept her family together and safe and completely unaware, then she would be free to indulge herself as she liked whenever she left the house. That would have to do. Because to give up either of those two selves would be unthinkable. She loved her family. She had worked hard to build this home. But now she had discovered this other self she knew that she could never deny that part of her either. She would have to zig zag carefully between good Alison and evil Alison... no, not evil, that was the wrong word... liberated Alison.
The choice of word amused her. What was 'liberated' about eagerly begging a man to give her his cum to drink? Following the commands of a man who'd asked her to expose herself in her own office to him? Even the memory of that made her nipples stiffen, as if remembering the cool air on them as he'd stared at her.
She remembered something she'd read in an article years ago. It had been an interview with an escort who'd specialised in S&M. She'd said her regular customers were all senior, successful men who paid her to treat them like shit. They'd crawl around on the floor, on leashes sometimes, content to be told what to do by her, grateful for any attention she'd give them, even if it was just scorn and abuse. She'd said that it was almost as if they needed to go to the opposite extreme -- from total control to a total lack of it. She'd been shocked by the article, but now it started to make a little sense. What she had with Steven wasn't exactly like that, but there were echoes. To surrender completely to him, to leave all the decision making to him, to be utterly under his control... it was wonderfully and strangely relaxing.
She'd spent years being the rock of the family. Always the sensible one, the one who drove the kids from A to B and back again while still preparing the meals and making sure the clothes were clean and ironed. Lewis worked hard but he seemed to regard that as the end of his contribution. She was always the one to make sure everything held together. And with Steven, she could be completely free of all of that. It was almost like a kind of therapy, she told herself.
She looked at herself in the mirror of the bathroom. Or maybe you're just a slut who likes lots of rough sex, she thought. And what's wrong with that?
She washed her face, but she didn't brush her teeth.
**
And now, lying on the bed in the hotel room, she could hardly believe it had only been three months since it had all started. Her life before she'd met him seemed alien and distant, like something glimpsed in an old photograph album but increasingly hard to remember.
They met at least two or three times a week. Usually the same hotel. Lewis had become used to her "working late" at least once a week. If he suspected anything he hid it well, though she doubted he did. He'd said a few times that he was concerned that she was working too hard, and that she'd lost a bit of weight. She'd reassured him she felt fine and he shouldn't worry. She omitted to mention that at least part of her weight loss was down to marathon sex sessions with her lover several times a week.
She checked her watch. It was a few minutes after six. He was a little late, but of course she wouldn't complain when he arrived. She'd just be glad to see him. Even now, she could feel her dampness through her underwear.
She heard soft footsteps in the corridor outside and her breathing quickened. In just a few moments he'll be here, she thought. And if I'm lucky, in ten minutes his cock will be deep inside me.
Then she heard voices as well, one of them definitely low and soft and female, and her spirits sank. It wasn't him. But the footsteps stopped outside the door of the room, and she heard the scrape of the entry card in the lock. The door opened, and there was Steven. And behind him, smiling in a friendly way, was a very elegant young blonde woman, probably in her mid to late twenties.
"Alison," said Steven, ushering the woman forward. "I'd like you to meet Yvonne."
She just stared at them, her eyes going back and forth between the two of them. She felt almost physically sick, as if someone had punched her in the stomach. Who was this woman? Was she... her replacement? No. She couldn't allow that. She needed Steven. Life without him was impossible to conceive of.
Steven didn't seem to notice her concern, just strode over to the other side of the room and took off his jacket, placing it carefully on a hanger before putting it away inside the wardrobe. He was always so neat and methodical.
Yvonne looked at her. "Don't worry," she said. "It'll all be fine." Her voice was reassuring and she was smiling kindly as she said it.
"I don't understand," Alison finally managed to say. Her voice sounded like it belonged to somebody else. "Who... are you?"
"Yvonne will be joining us from time to time," said Steven. His tone was matter of fact, a tone she recognised as one he often used in business meetings when he wanted to close down a conversation and move on.
"Oh," she said. "Why?"
This sounded rather rude, but she couldn't think how else to say it. Yvonne didn't seem to mind though.
"Don't worry. It'll be fun. I promise."
Yvonne began to undress, and Alison watched her, still not quite believing what was happening. Her blouse came off to reveal a lacy red bra. Then the skirt, showing very small matching panties. She was gorgeous, Alison could see that. The kind of figure most women would love to have, long legs and firm full breasts. Yvonne let her hair down and shook it, her blonde tresses reaching her shoulders.
Alison looked over at Steven. He'd settled into a chair, and was looking at the two of them expectantly.
"Steven tells me you've never been with a woman."
"No... no I haven't. I mean, I remember kissing a girlfriend once, as a dare... but nothing else."
"Mmm," said Yvonne. "And did you like it?"
"It was... I don't know, it was OK, I guess. But I'm not really into girls, sorry." She looked at Steven helplessly, hoping he would somehow intervene and say it was all right, it was all a mistake, Yvonne should go and it would just be the two of them. But she knew that wouldn't happen.
"Steven says he thinks you're probably bisexual. You've just never had the opportunity to explore that side of yourself." Yvonne was sitting on the bed now, and she patted the space beside her. Alison sat down, feeling a little weak at the knees. How could Steven get something so wrong about her? She almost felt angry with him. Certainly she felt disappointed. It was just a male fantasy he was projecting onto her -- he wanted to sit there and watch two women get it on. Well, even if she did go through with this -- and she supposed she could, she'd do anything for him, even now -- she was going to have to tell him firmly afterwards that it was just a one-off. When it came to turning her on, there was only him now. His body. His words. His cock.
"You're very beautiful," said Yvonne, looking closely at her. It didn't feel like flattery. She was examining Alison closely, almost clinically.
"Thank you."
"Could I see your body? I'd love to see what you look like under that." She playfully tweaked a button on Alison's blouse.
Alison unbuttoned her blouse slowly, surprised that her fingers weren't shaking. But she felt strangely calm now. This was something she was going to do for Steven's benefit and enjoyment, that was all. She cast her blouse aside and then stood up to slide off her skirt. She stood there in just her underwear, wondering if she should continue or wait for further instructions.
"So lovely," said Yvonne. She stood up as well, and gently turned Alison around to face Steven. Then she moved behind her, deftly unclipping Alison's bra and then peeling it away from her breasts.
"I can't believe you've never let another woman touch these. I wish mine were as big and lovely as yours." Yvonne's fingers gently stroked the sides of her breasts, and she felt her nipples tightening.
"Thank you," she said again. Yvonne's fingers did feel very pleasant as they teased her skin. She began to relax slightly. Think of it more like a massage - a kind of very intimate beauty treatment, she thought.
She looked over and saw that Steven had removed his trousers and was sitting there in just his shirt, his cock erect and proud as he watched them. He's really turned on, she realised. He really does want to see me with another woman. She was touched. She resolved she would do more than just passively tolerate what was about to happen -- she would put on a show for him. He deserved that.
She turned around to face Yvonne properly for the first time. The younger woman smiled at her. Alison reached up and stroked her face and Yvonne twisted her head slightly to lick one of her fingers.
That's really very erotic, Alison thought. Her tongue is so soft.
It was her turn now to remove Yvonne's bra. She was embarrassed to find the clip defeated her for a few moments, but Yvonne just waited patiently and then sighed with relief as it finally came away.
"Always a great feeling," she murmured. "Isn't it?"
Yvonne's breasts were smaller but undeniably perkier than her own. Her skin was browner and devoid of any tan lines. Most startling though were her nipples, which were surprisingly large, almost covering the entirety of the peaks of her breasts. Without thinking Alison reached out with her other hand and stroked first one breast, and then the other, caressing them curiously. Other than bathing her daughters when they were much younger, she couldn't remember ever touching another female so intimately.
"You have great hands," said Yvonne. "That feels wonderful. Don't stop."
She was pleased by the praise. Encouraged, she now used both her hands to lightly massage the other woman's breasts. She saw Yvonne's nipples begin to change and harden, contracting under her touch.
I wonder what they would taste like, she wondered. Then she realised that there was no reason not to find out. Indeed, that was probably what Steven and Yvonne would expect her to do. Except... she couldn't do it standing up. Yvonne was a little shorter than her, and to bend down to suckle her breasts would be inelegant and clumsy -- not at all the kind of erotic show she wanted to put on for her lover.
"Can we lie down?"
Yvonne smiled. "Of course. Anything you want, Alison."
Yvonne moved to the bed and lay down, propping herself up one arm so she could watch Alison. Both women were just in their panties now. Alison thought about perhaps sliding her own off, and then Yvonne's. Maybe with my teeth, she thought, and then had to stifle a laugh. No, that would look ridiculous. They can come off later, if they have too. For now, I'm just going to play with her breasts and she can play with mine and then maybe Steven will join us on the bed and then I can get what I really need.
She looked at Yvonne's body again. Perhaps Steven will just want to fuck her, she thought. I will have to watch while he fucks her. That would be the kind of thing he'd do to torment me just a little more. But if it gives him pleasure, I can survive that too. Perhaps afterwards he will let me suck him clean. Suck the remains of his cum from his cock that will still be wet from Yvonne.
The thought shocked her, but to her surprise it didn't repel her. Her inhibitions really were crumbling away, she thought. When I'm in this room -- any room -- with Steven, all that matters is what he wants and how to give him pleasure. And that is what gives me pleasure.
She moved onto the bed and found herself looking down at Yvonne's smooth, toned stomach. She did envy her that -- but then let's see how it looks after you've squeezed out three kids, she thought. Still, it was hard to remain unmoved by its perfection. She lowered her face and lightly kissed it, and was pleased to hear Yvonne gasp. She did it again, more of a lingering kiss this time, letting her tongue trail upwards towards her breasts.
"Mmm," said Yvonne. "That feels so good."
She slowly dragged her mouth and tongue up the girl's body -- for some reason she definitely thought of her as a girl, not a woman. She was pleased with herself. I'm putting on a good show for him, she thought. This is definitely not as strange and unpleasant as I thought it might be.
Finally she reached the slopes of Yvonne's breasts with their enchanting nipples. She was curious to taste them. She had never quite understood the fascination men had with breasts, with seeing them, touching them, sucking them. Now, her head just a few inches above Yvonne's chest, she could hardly wait to take one of them in her mouth. They had darkened as they'd contracted, she noticed, changing from a light brown to a much darker one. From milk chocolate to dark chocolate, she thought. Yummy.
Yvonne mistook her studious examination of her breasts for teasing.
"God... please don't make me wait."
Alison smiled at her. It was nice to feel in charge, even if just for a few moments. This was still Steven's playground, of course, but to have some control over this beautiful young woman was undeniably pleasurable.
Then she bowed her head and took a nipple in her mouth. It was surprisingly pleasant, tasting faintly of vanilla. What really pleased her though was Yvonne's obviously sincere moan of pleasure.
"Oh fuck... that feels wonderful."
She switched to the other breast, bringing up a hand to tease and tweak the wet nipple she had abandoned. Yvonne squirmed beneath her, grinding her crotch against Alison's leg.
You, missy, are a randy little bitch, she thought with satisfaction.
"Kiss her." Steven's voice, firm and clear as always. She felt a tiny flare of irritation at his interjection -- she thought she was doing pretty well for a beginner without his guidance, thank you very much -- but she didn't object to the idea at all. She could squash her own breasts against Yvonne's while they kissed, and she knew already that would feel... well, naughty and delicious.
Yvonne was a good kisser. Her hand went around the back of Alison's head and she kissed with a fierce hunger that was hard not to respond to. She thought the touch of another woman's tongue would disgust her but it felt perfectly natural to feel it exploring her mouth. She heard another moan of pleasure and realised that this time it came from her.
They stayed like that for several minutes, just kissing and caressing each other. She had thought that this would be enough to stoke Steven's appetite and that this would be when he joined them, but he showed no signs of doing so. He wants us to go even further, she thought. He wants to see me with my head between Yvonne's legs, licking her pretty pussy, making her come with my tongue and fingers, and then see us swap around, Yvonne's turn now, this wonderful tongue of hers swirling around my clit...
She broke the embrace suddenly and stared down at Yvonne. The other woman nodded and rolled out from under her, pushing Alison down to take her place lying flat on the bed with her head on the pillows. She felt her panties being peeled down her legs and the cool air of the room on the soaking wet gap between them.
Then she cried out as she felt Yvonne's tongue on her. She'd always enjoyed oral sex, though Lewis was more enthusiastic than skilled in that department. He was always gentler than she wanted, not realising that sometimes she wanted her pussy to be used, not caressed. Steven was very good, of course. But Yvonne... already in the first few seconds she knew Yvonne was in a different league altogether. How could anybody know so perfectly how to probe and tease, always picking out exactly the right spot, the right speed, the right pressure... it was as if she was a mind reader, knowing exactly what Alison needed at each precise moment.
There was no question she was going to climax, and very soon. For a moment she pictured how somebody coming into the room would see them all: Steven in the chair, his hand around his lovely, perfect cock. Yvonne, lapping away between her legs. And herself, spread-eagled on this bed, her hand on the back of the other woman's head, grinding herself on her lips and tongue. So depraved, she thought faintly. So wonderfully depraved...
She heard Steven get up from his chair and move towards them. Oh god, she thought desperately, not now. I'm not sure I can take any more, my love. Or perhaps he was just going to move behind Yvonne, slide her panties down, rub the tip of his cock up and down her soaking slit, and push himself into her and fuck her hard, as he had done with her, so many times now.
But no. Instead he came around to where she was lying with her head on the pillow. He looked down at her and gently placed his hand over her mouth.
"I think this could be a loud one," he said. "We don't want to scare all the other guests, do we?"
He looked down at Yvonne. "Make her come now," he said. "She's ready."
It was though Yvonne immediately shifted gears. Her tongue had been exquisite torture before, now it suddenly became unbearable. Even when she'd touched herself, indulged in her dirtiest fantasies, relived all her old memories, including that one that she hardly allowed herself to even name -- even then she'd never felt quite like this.
She screamed into his hand as the orgasm swept through her, a dazzling, unstoppable wave of pleasure that seemed to radiate out from her groin to every extremity of her body in the space of a moment. She'd had no idea her body was capable of creating such pleasure.
For several minutes she could do nothing but whimper softly, treasuring the softer waves of secondary climaxes as they shuddered through her. She felt Steven remove his hand and she greedily breathed through her mouth, welcoming the extra oxygen. Between her legs she felt Yvonne withdraw slightly and her body tensed. She felt so unbelievably tender down there that she knew the slightest touch would be agony.
"It's OK," murmured Yvonne. "Just relax. I'm going to let you be... for a little while, anyway."
Eventually she opened her eyes and the room swam back into focus. She felt some life seeping gradually back into her, though she still felt no inclination to move. If this is what hard drugs are like, she thought, no wonder people get addicted.
Yvonne made space on the bed and Steven lay down in the middle, with Alison on his right and Yvonne on his left.
"Would you like me to fuck you now?" Steven was looking at her.
"I... I don't think I can." She was so tender still. Much as she loved his cock being inside her, at that precise moment the idea of anything sliding inside her made her wince.
"Then I will fuck Yvonne."
She felt relief. Yes! He could fuck Yvonne and she could just lie there and recover a while longer. That would be fine. Just fine.
"I will need you to help us, please, Alison."
"What... what do you need me to do?" Her voice was faint and almost unrecognisable. A stranger's voice.
"Make my cock nice and wet for her with your mouth."
Somehow she was able to lift herself up and slide down the bed. Even that movement made her gasp a little. Her whole body felt inflamed. She took him in her mouth and sucked him, slobbering greedily as she did so, not caring about finesse or technique. She felt her salvia trickling down his cock.
"Thank you," said Yvonne softly. "That's just perfect."
Alison took her mouth away and lay back down to watch. Yvonne straddled Steven and impaled herself upon him, gasping as the full length of him disappeared inside her. Then Steven pulled her down to his chest so her head was over his shoulder and began to fuck her ruthlessly, his arms wrapped tight around her back. Alison had been fucked like that by him many times, and despite her relief at being spared now she couldn't help feeling a little jealous. She could imagine exactly what the other woman was feeling. That lovely friction of his wonderful cock. The sense of his fingers on her back. That feeling of being full and used.
It was all over quite quickly. Within a few minutes Steven twitched and then gasped, that sound she also knew so well. For her part Yvonne threw back her head, broke free of his arms, and ground herself down on his cock even deeper, as if to ensure his seed reached the deepest, most distant parts of her.
They stayed like that for a minute, their bodies still locked together. Then Yvonne sighed and bent her head to kiss him.
"Always so wonderful," she whispered dreamily. "Always so wonderful."
She manoeuvred herself off him and sat on the edge of the bed. She reached for a tissue from the complimentary box on the night stand but Steven reached over and took her hand and pulled it away.
"Alison will do that for you," he said. "Won't you, Alison?"
She could only nod her assent, though she wasn't quite sure what he meant. Then, as Yvonne smiled that lovely smile of hers... as Steven made room on the bed... as Yvonne moved into the centre and spread her legs wide to welcome her... as she saw the glistening droplets of cum leaking from her... she understood. She moved between Yvonne's legs, bowed her head, and began.
**
The following week Steven stopped by her desk in the office. He spoke in his usual voice, very casual and matter of fact.
"I'm away this week and most of the next. Until next Friday."
"Oh," she said, dismayed. That seemed like an eternity.
"But you can see Yvonne. Here's her number. She'll be expecting your call." He passed her one of his business cards with a mobile number written on the back.
She took it from him. Just her and Yvonne, without Steven there?
"OK," she said. "I'll call her. Perhaps... we can meet for a coffee. Or something."
He just looked at her, as if he was looking straight through her. He knew what she knew. He knew she would call her. She would meet her in a hotel. She would let her go down on her. She would want that same amazing feeling as before. And yes, she would go down on Yvonne too. Taste that sweetness again.
He strode off down the corridor. Then he tutted, annoyed with himself, and came back to her desk.
"I almost forgot. When I come back, we need to talk about your daughters."
"My daughters? Why?"
"I want to meet them. Send me some pictures of them please. That will help me decide which one I'd like to meet first. Though from what you've said, I'm pretty sure it will be Amy. Yvonne can help us decide -- she's very good at that sort of thing."
And with that he was gone, leaving her staring at the card in her hand.