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Mother Superior by Marie Claire
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Chapter 1
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Blake dropped the buff folder down on his desk and eased into the chair. It was official; the case was his. He didn’t open the folder but sat and stared at it for a time, his thoughts drifting off somewhere beyond his partitioned surroundings. The plain appearance of the file said little bout its contents except for the neatly printed label on the front: Manrose - Confidential. Casually, slowly, he reached out towards the file. He had raised the cover only a little when a shadow fell across the desk, causing him to glance up. 'Oh, Dyana, hi.’
The girl stood with her hand resting on the partition, gazing at him with dark-eyed intensity. Her face was framed and fringed by dark bronzed hair which was cut very short, iridescent in a low October sun that slanted light through the thickly carpeted, traditionally furnished offices of Loeb, Gillin and Gotsegan, solicitors.
'Hello, Blake,' she said with a hint of irony, 'working late today, are we?'
As she spoke, her gaze fell on the file. It was too late to hide it as she must already have seen the name on the front. Had he known she was going to look in on him, he would have placed it out of sight straight after the meeting with Mr. Gotsegan. Now he had to behave as though it didn't matter. He had to appear innocent, as indeed he was, at least in regard to the Manrose case. His fingers remained where they were, tapping lightly on the buff cover.
'No,' he answered, 'I've got a phone call to make and then I'm off to a meeting.'
Dyana folded her arms and leaned against the partition, a slight though contrived smile on her lips as she regarded his fair-haired, blue-eyed attempt to maintain an expression of normality. For long moments he studied her figure, almost a silhouette — slim and curvaceous. At twenty four, Dyana was some four years younger than him. Hers was a body he knew well. There was little of it with which he had not become familiar in the most intimate manner. Above all he knew how sensual, how easily aroused she was - but not yet how vindictive.
Today she wore a white, long-sleeved blouse through which could just be made out the shape of her brief, lace bra. Her brown suede skirt ended just above the knee; not out of an inclination to modesty but because anything shorter would have been frowned upon at Loeb, Gillin and Gotsegan. Mr. Gotsegan would have adjusted his spectacles. Miss Goodnight would have dabbed her nose with a white lace handkerchief. Mutterings would have passed between them.
The smile remained but Blake looked at her eyes and perceived a different message altogether. It said she knew he wasn't going to make a phone call and knew he wasn't going to a meeting unless it was a meeting with Sue Ann, who had some time ago left the office. Her look told him he had no right to have accepted the Manrose case when everyone knew it was the project she wanted so much to work on. It told him he was without any doubt a bastard.
Blake shifted in the seat. Perhaps it wasn't fair. He had only worked at Loeb, Gillin and Gotsegan for a little over two months. Dyana had been there over a year; since she had graduated from college.
'I'll let you get on with your call then,' she remarked almost absent-mindedly, avoiding further eye contact with him as she turned and walked off to disappear from view beyond the partition.
Yes, he could see that, from Dyana's point of view, it wasn’t fair that he had been handed the case, though he wondered why she seemed so put out in this particular instance. It was almost as if Dyana had more of an interest in the affair than a purely professional one. Anyway, it wasn't his fault. It seemed that old Mr. Gotsegan - pallid, brittle and bald as an eggshell - had not considered it appropriate that a female employee should be come involved in the Manrose case, bearing in mind the nature of the client's business. Mr. Gotsegan seemed unconcerned, however, by the fact that the client was female Blake could understand his reasoning, sort of, but times had changed since Mr. Gotsegan's day, whatever epoch that might have been. As for the other two, Loeb and Gillin, they, with their predecessors, existed only as varnish-cracked old portraits - tombstone faces peering down from various places about the offices and the small reception where Miss Goodnight presided.
Regarded by some as a part of the furniture, Miss Goodnight sat in tight, thin-lipped correctness behind the reception desk, light glinting from rimless spectacles. God, thought Blake, if she'd ever returned to the premises after hours when he and Dyana were there! The mere thought of it made him press his knuckles against his lower lip and gaze upwards into space. Fortunately, she never had - not that it mattered. Not any more. Nevertheless, he recalled what had happened between him and Dyana during that first month in the rarefied, please-keep-your-voice-down atmosphere of those musty, French-polished offices. It was Dyana who had attracted his attention before any of the other girls. Dyana had smiled at him first.
Smiled several times, in fact, Dyana had offered him a cup of coffee on that first day, before anyone else had thought or had the chance to do so. It was not that Sue Ann had been offhand. No - hazel-eyed, dream-figured Sue Ann, long blonde hair cascading over her shoulders, had been friendly in a correct kind of way. Yes, with those bright, alert eyes, her manner had remained correct even when she smiled. In office hours it still did.
You could, he thought, never describe Dyana as correct. Warm and approachable had been Blake's first impression. Very warm and very approachable; without a doubt. During that first week at Loeb, Gillin and Gotsegan, they had taken lunch and a glass of Syrah or two at a small, trendy wine bar where they would be unnoticed. The sort of place senior members of staff seemed not to care about since there were more traditional bars and pubs in the area. By the end of the second week, it had become a habit. Blake, thinking the time was ripe to get her on her own, somewhere private, was frustrated to discover that Dyana still lived with her parents. His own situation, an apartment share twenty-minutes from the office, was hardly more convenient. The end of the second week also witnessed their first evening meal together at that same café. The rest, he mused as the scene replayed in vivid detail, had been inevitable.
'Look, why don't I buy a bottle of wine. We can it take back to the office and have a chat? It's too crowded in here, don't you think?'
She looked into his eyes with a none-too-subtle smile.
'Yes, why not? I suppose it's all right, as long as one of us has a key, that is. I've never needed to use mine. Miss Goodnight's always there when I arrive.'
'Oh, I have my key and I doubt if anyone will be around at this time. It's gone nine o' clock. Did you ever hear of a lawyer’s office being open that late?'
'I never heard of ours being open after five, unless the juniors were still hard at it.'
Earlier that evening she had hurried back home to change. Her choice of attire was no longer dictated by the rules of the office and her appearance played no small part in his desire that they should be somewhere private. Her short brown leather jacket hung across the back of her chair. Her deep red, stretch-lycra dress was sleeveless and low cut enough to confirm that her firm breasts were not, nor did they need to be, supported by a brassiere. The dress fitted to the curves of her lithe body like a glove and was considerably shorter than anything he had seen her wearing before - except in his secret thoughts. The sheerest of black stockings and patent red high heels showed her legs off to perfection.
Blake had fantasized about her on innumerable occasions, her and Sue Ann. Dyana was easier to fantasize about at first. Often in his mind she had been naked and spread wide before his eyes, waiting. And more, there were darker thoughts he dared not impart to her - not so misplaced as it turned out, for Dyana was a sexual animal. But even then, even before he had spent more than five minutes in conversation with Sue Ann, it was she who stalked the deeper levels of his thoughts.
Right now, those green eyes were upon him and Dyana was waiting to see his glass drained, as hers already was. For his part, Blake had one immediate and overwhelming desire, and that was to be alone with her, to feel the warmth of her thighs against his cheeks, to taste her passion and drive her wild. It had taken his mind off the wine. Had the wine bar been empty, he might have been tempted to express his urges there and then.
'Well,' she asked, are we going to make a move or have you changed your mind?'
'Changed my mind?' he responded, shocked out of the reverie and downing the remaining contents of his glass. 'Oh, no, I haven't changed my mind - let's move.'
The offices were but five minutes away and as they walked by the lighted shop windows, he held her hand and listened to the click, click, and click of stiletto heels on cold flagstones. At the heavy, wood-paneled door, by the polished brass plate on the marble-faced wall, they stopped and looked about. Both feared someone might recognize them even at this late hour as she waited for him to produce the key.
'I feel a bit guilty,' said Blake, delving into different pockets. He said it because he actually did and because he thought that she might feel guilty, too. Dyana evidently did not, for she reached into her shoulder bag and produced her own key which she now inserted into the lock. 'I wouldn't worry if I were you. We're probably doing them a favor the way things are.' The door clicked and swung inwards. 'I mean, they're less likely to get burgled if we're around to keep an eye on the place.'
Blake reached by her to push buttons and cancel the insistent beeping from the intruder alarm panel. The sound stopped and the door thumped shut against the outside world.
Only a pale glow from the fanlight above the main door illuminated the short hallway as they moved along with unaccustomed caution. The hallway should have been perfectly familiar. It wasn't. On their right opened out the reception area, now in darkness except for a series of slanted, pallid stripes cast across the back wall where a street lamp shone through the Venetian blind. Below it, in the gloom, was an irregular dark shadow reaching down below the level of the desk.
'Jesus Christ,' breathed Blake, 'I thought it was her sitting there for a moment.'
'You're kidding,' said Dyana, Vera will be parked in front of the telly with a cup of weak tea and a plate of dry cookies. And guess what we forgot?'
'Oh, damn!' responded Blake, 'the wine.'
'Never mind,' said Dyana, pulling off the leather jacket and dropping it across the reception desk, 'we can always go for another drink later if you fancy.'
'Right - later,' he answered, slipping an arm about her waist, feeling her warmth and breathing her perfume. For a moment, they stood and sensed the utter quiet and heavy stillness of the place. Then Dyana slipped her arms about his neck and kissed him, her lips soft, her breath a furnace of desire.
The metal -zip shimmering between her shoulder blades fell easily into his fingers. It whirred down softly as their lips met again and the dress pulled apart in a narrow V to the base of her spine. No time was lost before his hands were inside, running up the naked flesh of her back and pulling the dress away to free her full, firm breasts. The dress slipped part way down and Dyana hastened its progress by easing it quickly over her thighs. As it fell about her ankles, to be snatched up by her and tossed over the small, heavily upholstered leather two-seater, Blake had already removed his jacket. With eyes adjusted to the dark and fixed upon her lean, curvaceous form, he tugged off his shirt, seeing that she wore not tights, as he had expected, but stockings held up by slim lace garters tensed about the tops of her thighs. A tiny black thong, sheer as the stockings stretched over her flesh like a fine skin as she turned back towards him.
Moments later Blake, the white cotton straining at the front of his arousal, stood facing her. Without his shoes, he was the same height as she was in high heels. Dyana reached out to touch his face and kissed him. As though by instinct, Blake's hands and mouth fell to her breasts, fingers cupping soft heat, lips closing in turn about each of the florid, swollen nipples. Hesitating in his play to press kisses upon her face and neck, he felt Dyana shiver as his hand slipped down her spine and under the elastic of her thong to stroke part way down the hot cleft of her behind. Again she shivered as fingers slipped down the front to caress the smooth flesh just above the vulva. She was shaved. That both surprised and excited him greatly. Her sigh breathed into his ear as the invading hand pushed further and the flimsy material stretched, gaping at the sides to accommodate it. Dyana sighed again, a longer sigh, as his finger passed the swollen lips to find her hot and moist.
They disengaged for only as long as it took each to divest themselves of their remaining clothes. Seeing his cock spring free, Dyana at once reached out with cool fingers to caress and close about the generously proportioned shaft. Now it was Blake's turn to gasp and shiver as her hand began voluptuous manipulation. When she dropped suddenly to her knees he already effervesced in mind and body, in anticipation of the act. His groan rose into the dark shadows as her hand slipped under his testicles and burning lips slid over to enclose the cock-head. For a time he was paralyzed in a grip of ecstasy. Her tongue coiled and twirled about the twitching organ with a practiced artistry that made him groan aloud. When she stopped and looked up at him, her fingers lightly stroking the wet shaft, he had all but forgotten where they were.
Now Blake took the initiative. Pulling her to her feet, he maneuvered the laughing Dyana towards the two-seater and eased her down onto it. No sooner was she seated than he was kneeling before her, hands under her knees, lifting and spreading wide her thighs until the goal of his lusts was displayed before his eyes in the gloom. At first he teased, nibbling at the flesh just above her sex, feeling her tense repeatedly in anticipation. This tormented her, he knew, but it was all a part of the game. Then he moved in, his tongue spreading the sex-lips, tasting her passion and caressing with exquisite touch the pearl of carnal pleasures.
For a time she moaned softly and he continued with the play, but when her moans became hoarse and irregular, he knew the time was close, very close, when she would altogether lose control. And his own need, his own impatience, was becoming too much to bear. He was on his feet before Dyana knew what was happening, legs wide and back arched, lifting her legs over his shoulders and leaning forwards to support himself with hands gripping the back of the two-seater either side of her head. As Dyana crossed her feet behind his neck, her shoes squeaking together, she felt the penis-head butt against her sex and ease inside a little, ready for the final strike. Blake lunged, driving in to the root, sheathing the lance deep within ecstatic heat.
Had Mr. Gotsegan appeared, moon-faced from his office, had Miss Goodnight risen specter-like from the shadows behind the reception desk, it could not have stopped them. Nothing in those following moments mattered. Quickening breath echoed about the gloom, about the small switchboard, about Miss Goodnight’s untouchably tidy desk, about the boxed envelopes and writing paper, the serried ranks of gold-blocked legal volumes and dry old files. Blake and Dyana were locked together in writhing passion, frenzied gasps becoming louder by the moment. When the climax seized, they shook as though racked by convulsions, Dyana’s cries rising to a long wail, Blake’s groans chasing hard after them through the still air.
Blake was back in the world of now, flushed from the very recollection of that first evening with Dyana. Opening the briefcase at the side of his desk, he lifted up the buff folder and placed it inside, then, realizing he would not have time to look at it until tomorrow he slipped it instead into his desk drawer.
Yes, that first evening had been a memorable one. However, the following morning, he recalled, had been a time of trepidation. He could not help but worry that some evidence of their nocturnal visit had been overlooked and left behind. Dyana's diminutive thong, perhaps, or stains on the leather couch. Miss Goodnight, in early as she often was, her ferret face staring at him from behind the rimless spectacles as he entered, started the day off badly. It came as a huge relief when she croaked, 'Good morning Mr. Horton,' in her usual, mechanically formal manner. Had there been anything amiss, she would have said not a word and no doubt the lace handkerchief would already have been on display as a danger sign. Even so, it had not been possible for him to walk past the two-seater without an anxious glance. That mark! Had it been there the previous day? He imagined that if Miss Goodnight had been aware of what had happened, she might have suffered an apoplexy.
With Mr. Gotsegan, it would have induced a spasm of coughing followed by a heart attack.
Dyana had glanced at him knowingly once or twice during that day but said nothing. And in spite of, or perhaps because of the risk they felt they were taking, it had happened again. It had happened several times, in fact.
He clearly remembered the third occasion when they had barely crossed the reception and Dyana said, 'Let's do it in there. Let's fuck in the old man's office!'
So they had; on the Indian rug in front of the empty, black-lacquered fake Victorian fireplace. Dyana had rested on all fours while Blake entered her from behind, one arm wrapped around her with fingers teasing the clitoris from beneath. She had been uneasy, adjusting her weight, looking over her shoulder at him and seeming as if she was about to speak but not quite knowing how to express herself. He had worked slowly, rhythmically, thinking this position might not be to her taste and that she might wish to turn over. At last she had spoken: 'Blake, have you ever tried it up the other way? I mean have you - you know?'
He had hesitated but said nothing, then withdrawn his cock, flushed and glistening, from her.
'Try it, Blake, it's not difficult,' she had breathed. 'I'll relax. Try it - go on.'
He did try it, pushing the well-lubricated head against her anus, gently at first as he listened to her sigh, then harder. Dyana had spread her legs further and pressed her face against the carpet. 'That's it, Blake. That's it!'
Holding apart the cheeks of her behind, he had entered slowly, firmly, pushing up her like a ramrod. Pushing hard into her rectum Dyana writhed and thrust back against him to gain deeper penetration, all the time calling out, Blake! Oh! Blake!'
She had cried out louder, her hands gripping the rug and pulling it into ridges. Squirming hard, her face a mask of ecstasy, her cries had becoming screams. He had worked quickly to bring about his own release, for hers had approached like a whirlwind and she had wailed aloud, her voice carrying into the furthest, darkest corners. Blake had withdrawn to the sound of her sighs, looking about anxiously at portraits that hung in obscurity. The two had spent their lust in semi-darkness, under the granite gaze of old Loebs, Gillins and Gotsagens who never flinched at the sight of it from within their gilded, overwrought frames.
Then there was the sixth and last time, that last time. Blake snapped shut the small locks on the briefcase and squirmed uneasily in the chair. It had been the one night-time visit too many.
Often, he had thought about it and tried to see it through her eyes; the eyes of the one he was shortly to meet. Her memories of the occasion must be at least as vivid as and probably less confused than his. Blake glanced at his watch, took hold of the briefcase and, not thinking to lock the drawer as he should have done but rarely did, left the office.
Sue Ann, sharp-eyed, high-cheek boned, with looks just as sensual as Dyana's but managed with more discretion, had arrived earlier than planned at the wine bar. It was only a quarter past six but Blake was not due until around six thirty. This had never been a favorite spot of hers because of loud, intrusive rap music pounding from the wall speakers. But it was a great enough distance from the office for her to be confident that none of the other members of the firm would spot her there. The place was moderately busy, mainly with people left over from office meetings, but Sue Ann had found a table by the window. There she could watch the anonymous forms coming and going on their way from nowhere to nowhere in the twilight of Bell canyon.
Blake took her very seriously; she knew that. Knew she was perceived by him as well as others as less approachable than Dyana. To Sue Ann, Dyana seemed much younger than either of them, even though Sue Ann herself, at twenty-six, was only two years Dyana's senior. Certainly, Sue Ann was more astute, more observant, more worldly-wise than Dyana and, in spite of her looks and figure, and in spite of her many admirers; she had formed no close attachments to any male.
Oddly, though, she liked Blake and secretly always had. He was good-looking and well-meaning if a little naive, and she had begun to harbor the notion that he might be a good lover. The events of that evening some weeks back had done nothing to dispel her feelings, though for a while it had made things awkward, mainly for Blake. She felt sorry for him because he was afraid she might disclose what she had witnessed. But she did not feel animosity towards him. He was only human after all. As was Dyana, as was she. Now it was Sue Ann who had power over both of them and that felt good.
She peered through the window at the brightly-lit buses passing the end of the street. Blake might be on one of them, unless he brought his car to the office and walked from there. Smiling to herself, Sue Ann recalled vividly the events of that evening.
Pushing the main door shut as she entered the hallway, she raised her hand to the light switch. Silence! Why had the burglar alarm panel not activated? Whoever was last out should have made sure it was set. She moved her hand away from the switch, waited and listened. The reception was quiet and empty, as she expected it would be. This was not the first time Sue Ann had returned to the offices of Loeb, Gillin and Gotsegan after hours, for she sometimes liked to go over her notes undisturbed by the presence of others or by chirping telephones.
Something was different. There were currents in the air, a hint of perfume - surely not the aftermath of Miss Goodnight. If there was anything of her lingering in the place, it would more likely be mothballs. No, there ought only to have been the dry paper smells of the office and those old books. Then a noise - voices. Sue Ann moved cautiously towards the main area. Again sounds - this time laughter. A girl's laughter, Dyana's laughter!
What was Dyana doing here? She never worked late; not when she could be out enjoying herself. There was no other voice to be heard. Could she really be alone? Sue Ann had a choice. She could retreat in silence to the door by which she had entered or she could go on. But why should she leave? There were things to do and her work was important. Also, there was no way she could reach her desk without passing through the main office.
No way could she avoid being observed. The laughter changed to moaning, as though Dyana was too much under the influence of drink. Maybe that's what it was. Everyone knew Dyana was fond of her drink. As the fluorescent tubes of the main room flooded the whole area in stark illumination, she saw them.
Except for Dyana's stockings and shoes, both were naked, their clothes draped carelessly, on nearby desks and chairs. Blake lay upon the carpet with Dyana crouched astride; her behind over his face, her thighs gripped by his hands and spread wide so that he had full access to her pussy with mouth and tongue. Dyana leaned forwards, eyes closed tight in lustful abandon, one arm stretched out in support of herself while her free hand worked the engorged cock rapidly and her red lips formed a circle about its head.
It was Dyana who realized they were discovered. Her eyes started wide in horror and she at once released her quivering charge. Blake, so voluptuously occupied, was quite oblivious to the light or to Sue Ann's intrusion, but for him it was too late. His pelvis had begun to jerk even as her hand left him and his muffled groans arose to break the momentary silence. Dyana cried out and attempted to rise as he ejaculated, spurting the juice of his passions wildly about her breasts and stomach. Dyana wailed in despair, gazed in disbelief first at Sue Ann, then at the semen oozing translucent white against her flesh and seeping inexorably downwards. From a still prostrate Blake, at last aware of the bright lights and the presence of another, there came a long groan of anguish. When he saw it was Sue Ann, he looked as though he might faint.
Yes, for some time afterwards things had been very uneasy, to the point where others began to make comment. Even a casual 'good morning' became difficult for Blake. Dyana hardly spoke to her at all unless absolutely necessary and even then could not look her in the eye.
It was Sue Ann who, before a week had gone by, broke the impasse with Blake. She had spotted him working alone at his desk during a lunch break, walked over and said, 'Come on, Blake, you-can treat me to a glass of wine.'
It had done the trick. More than that, for their lunchtime meetings were now as regular as had been his with Dyana. Dyana was aware of this, as they knew she must be, but it made no difference to her attitude towards Sue Ann since they had never been on particularly friendly terms. Nevertheless, Blake and Sue Ann had agreed to meet less frequently at lunchtimes for the sake of diplomacy and to use a different bar - the one where she presently waited.
The Fox Fire Saloon was just a convenient staging post. Tonight, they would for the first time return to Sue Ann's flat near the Hollywood Bowl.
'Hi, I'm here,' his voice came from by her side. 'I brought my car.'
Sue Ann disengaged from her thoughts and smiled.
'Oh - hi!'
'Glass of wine?' he asked, standing in jeans and jacket by the chair opposite.
'I don't think so,' she answered, 'this place is too noisy.'
He watched her ease back the chair, rise and pull on her shoulder bag. Unlike Blake, she lived some distance away, had not returned home to change and still wore the dark blue, close-fitting suit with skirt ending just above the knee. He had never seen her in anything less formal, though the suit did little to conceal the fact that her figure was as lithe and shapely as that of any woman he had studied. Curiosity beset him as they passed through the swing doors and out into the darkening street. Glancing at her legs and the curve of her behind, he knew she would want to change into something more casual once she was at home. He wondered what and continued to ponder the possibilities as they headed toward the office car park.
Sue Ann knew they would have sex together once they were alone and in private, and she knew Blake would be anticipating it, too. He might well be thinking he was - what was the phrase? - 'onto a winner'. Yes, that was it. Well, was he? Not if he thought he was going to have things all his own way. That was not Sue Ann's intention at all. In Blake she sensed, as with so many men, a latent need to be sexually manipulated and wondered, too, about his darkest desires. Still, she concluded as they entered the coldly lit, concrete cavern of the car park, she wanted male company this evening, and for Blake it ought to be a means of assuaging his guilt.
If Blake harbored any doubt regarding Sue Ann's intentions, it vanished when she stopped and said, 'you’re not wanting to get your car, are you, Blake.' It was not a question, rather a statement, and she added, 'I can bring us both back in the morning.'
'Oh,' he responded, 'then you don't mind me staying the night.'
'Your choice, dear,' she said, knowing that in the unlikely event of his declining, she could afford to lose some ground psychologically.
'Sound like a great idea to me.' He smiled and, reaching for her hand, squeezed it. It was the first time he had ever touched her.
Sue Ann lived in a quiet, tree-lined side street of three-storey plaster-fronted Spanish style houses with narrow front gardens. Her apartment was on the top floor, reached by narrow, winding stairs and, as Blake discovered when she switched on the wall lamps, was surprisingly modern and well furnished in pine and brightly colored fabrics. Without the main light on, it was cozy and intimate. Soon, soft music was playing.
Once divested of jacket and shoes, and seated in the small sofa before the low coffee table, Blake found himself alone for a few moments. Sue Ann appeared from the kitchen with a bottle of claret, a corkscrew and two wine-glasses. 'You'll have to excuse me, love; I have to shower and change, OK? You can open the wine while I'm gone.'
Her absence gave him further time to think. She had discovered him in a situation with Dyana for which the word embarrassing was totally inadequate. Now she had alleviated his lingering discomfort and invited him around to her home. Did she want him to do with her what he had been doing with Dyana? Did Sue Ann enjoy oral sex? Would he feel the soft heat of her lips about that part of him that already stirred in anticipation? Would his searching tongue find her as inflamed and willing as Dyana? The thought aroused him greatly and he found it necessary to adjust himself in the chair because of the discomfort it was causing as he turned his attention to the wine bottle. He inserted the corkscrew and twisted it with care and, pushing down the chrome levers, watched the cork withdraw slowly from the tight neck, swelling, damp and glistening.
If that was what she wanted, then he would give her everything - tongue her and suck her until she screamed, pin her down, mount and ride her like a wild pony or, better still, vent his passion hot down her throat. Then, when she walked by him at the office in her blue suit, detached and businesslike, he would think of her naked before him, her lips and cheeks glistening with his semen. That really would even things up.
The cork withdrew suddenly to give a loud plop.
In another part of the city, Dyana sat naked on the edge of the bed, regarding herself in the dressing table mirror.
The mirror was tilted down so that all of the bed, illuminated by a small lamp at the side, was in view. The outside world had ceased to exist for her. The heavy curtains were closed and the room was utterly silent. During those slowly passing minutes, Dyana remained deep in thought.
At last she reached out to pull open a lower drawer of the dressing table. From it she lifted the object that had occupied her thoughts since before she had begun to undress. Her fingers caressed its pink latex form, touched lightly along the generously proportioned shaft and ran lovingly over the bulbous head.
When she twisted the switch at its base, the object hummed to life in her fingers like a tuning fork. Spreading wide her legs, she lowered the head to touch her pussy lips and currents of voluptuous pleasure flowed from it into her belly and limbs. Dyana fell back on the bed and drew up her legs. In the mirror was framed the sanctum of her lusts and at its portal, awaiting her will, the means of satisfying her carnal desire. Her desire grew more urgent by the second as the head entered to caress the clitoris like a sensual flame.
With fingers drawing back the labia, she watched the shaft ease inside, throbbing with life, pushing deeper until she had taken the full length and it had become a part of her. Then Dyana closed her eyes, sighed, beginning to writhe slowly and to moan, at the same time gripping the voluptuous intruder hard with her vaginal muscles. Soon she grew agitated. Soon her head rocked from side to side and her moaning disturbed the still the air of the small room. Her moans became louder, rising as wails of agony. Dyana shook as if convulsed, her hands wrenched at the bedding and the golden whirlpool of orgasm spun her, helpless in its power.
It was over and she lay motionless for a time before withdrawing the rubber phallus, leaving the bed and stepping into the bathroom.
When she returned to her bed, it was to sleep, for in one way at least she was fulfilled. And satisfaction of another kind might not be so far away if she remained patient. She reached out for the switch on the bedside lamp and a smile touched her lips. Beneath her fingers lay several sheets of paper, all of them photocopies taken at the office after everyone else had left. On the top copy was printed: 'Manrose - Confidential.'
The wine was opened, waiting and he was attempting to relax when Sue Ann appeared at the bedroom door. Blake blinked and freeze-framed her image. Yes, there was no doubt it was Sue Ann - but looking like the Sue Ann of his fantasies rather than the Sue Ann of the office.
Soft light caught the sheen of gossamer-black stockings and gleamed on patent leather open-toe sandals poised upon spike heels of intimidating height. The flared miniskirt, in shimmering black vinyl, swayed about her thighs as she walked those few heartbeat steps towards the table. 'Well, Blake,' she purred, 'are you going to pour the wine?'
The black, long-sleeved blouse clung to her firm large breasts, the translucent material shimmering in the light as she sat down beside him, oozing warmth and the delicate, alluring aroma of an exotic perfume. At her ears glittered small, gold pendant earrings in the form of sun discs. Blake leaned forward to take up the wine bottle, turning to fill the two glasses with trembling hand. As he did so she crossed her legs, slowly and deliberately. The sensual swish of sheerest nylon touched his ear like a whispered promise and stirred more than just his blood.
'I hope you like my choice of wine, Blake,' she breathed as they lifted their glasses.
'Oh, er, yes. Cheers,' he muttered glancing intently at her legs before taking what was meant to be a sip but ended as a gulp.
Sue Ann leaned back and drank demurely from her glass. Blake was unusually nervous, no doubt about it. He glanced at her raised leg, watched her foot sway gently from side to side and drank again. Sue Ann recrossed her legs. This time even more slowly. This time even more deliberately. Her sensual heat, so close, the perfume that conspired to close about him like a seductive cloud - the situation was becoming more that he could bear. He asked himself repeatedly why he should feel so intimidated. If this had been Dyana - if this had been anyone else - it would all have been so easy! But it wasn't someone else. Nevertheless...
Blake placed his near-empty glass on the table and slipped an arm about her shoulders. Leaning forwards to place her glass next to his, Sue Ann turned and brought her lips close to his ear, breathing carnal heat that spread through every nerve and stoked fires that already burned bright within his loins. 'Well, Blake,' she whispered, running electric fingers down his fevered cheek, 'shall we begin?'
The question had barely sparked through his mind before her fingers were undoing his shirt buttons. Instinctively, Blake's hand fell upon her breast, ran down to her thigh and pushed underneath to the cleft between her legs, touching the garter tops of her stockings.
'Behave yourself,' her voice rasped as the button just above his waist was tugged open. Though only a whisper it carried a tone of authority that obliged him to falter even in the fervor of that moment. All right, he thought, what if she did want to do things her way? What did it matter in the end? He removed his hand.
'Stand up,' ordered Sue Ann.
Hesitating for a moment, Blake heaved himself out of the seat.
'That's it,' she continued, 'in front of me, that's it.'
Her hands fell upon the buckle of his belt and tugged it loose. Blake quickly pulled off the shirt and let it drop over the arm of the couch as the zipper at his trouser front descended and her hand pushed against the hardness of his penis, trapped and straining like a coiled spring. In a moment, he stood before her in blue cotton briefs, his arousal very evident. Sue Ann, seeming to ignore it, stood up and quickly undid her blouse. She didn't speak when Blake reached out eagerly to assist, but stopped for a moment to fix her eyes upon him. Her expression said, 'No!'
Remaining still, Blake watched her slip off her blouse, skirt and nylon thong until, apart from stockings and shoes, Sue Ann stood naked so that his eyes could feast upon her captivating form. Larger in size, her breasts were firm and well shaped the teats red and prominent. And her figure, though slim, was well enough fleshed where it mattered. Closer they moved until his arms slipped about her waist and hers about his neck, the firm flesh above her sex warm against his trapped and straining organ. Their minds seemed to join as surely as had their lips, for they thought and acted as one, moving slowly a short step at a time towards the nearest chair. Sue Ann felt the seat push against the back of her legs and at once lowered herself down into it.
As though having rehearsed the act, as indeed with Dyana he had, Blake dropped to his knees on the carpet before her. There was no need for Sue Ann to ponder over what he might do. No sooner had she slipped further down into the chair, pushing forwards and spreading her legs, than he was upon her. There was no teasing, no hesitating and no need for him to lift her legs. As he fastened upon her pussy like a limpet, Sue Ann drew back her knees to allow him greatest access to the focus of his desires. If his enthusiasm for Dyana had been great, for Sue Ann it was overwhelming. Stockinged legs slid cool and smooth as glass about his back and his tongue was a master performer upon the stage of her lusts. And so it continued until she quivered in appreciation and began to writhe in turmoil of ecstasy. Her arms thrown back were griping the edges of the chair at either side of her swaying head.
Even as her moans reached his ears, even as she flexed and tensed, Blake wrenched down his briefs to free the aching erection in readiness for the final strike. Sue Ann was close to orgasm. So close that he would have risen to his feet, seized her legs and thrust into her at once. But that was not what she intended. Tightening her thighs about his back, she brought down her hands to clasp his head. He did not attempt to rise but continued with undiminished ardor, his tongue paying homage now to her clitoris, now to her anus. Sue Ann sat rigid as crystal as the orgasm gripped, her cries rising about the room like a wail of anguish.
With a long sigh, with her passion spent, Sue Ann relaxed. Now, he thought, struggling to rid himself altogether of the briefs. Now, as the flushed and eager penis swaggered proudly before her. But Sue Ann was quick to regain her senses and was, to his consternation, rising from the chair with gaze fixed hard upon him. In a moment she was standing in front and Blake caught his breath as her fingers closed coolly about the engorged cock. 'Now your turn,' she whispered. 'Sit in the chair.'
Releasing him, she stood aside so that he might occupy the seat that held her warmth. Blake sat, the erect penis twitching with his heartbeat as Sue Ann moved astride him, spreading her legs either side of the chair. Again her hand closed about the waiting organ, working the soft skin with exquisite delicacy and holding the head but a hand's breadth away from her jsex. For long seconds she continued thus, seeing him tense with anticipation, knowing how desperate he was to complete the game they had begun. Slowly, she eased down until the glistening head touched the moist heat of her pussy. In frustration he pushed upwards to enter her but Sue Ann's grip upon the lance tightened, for she would remain in charge regardless of his wishes. A smile crossed her face as she observed his open mouth quiver in silent expectation.
At last, her hand left its charge as she reached up to the chair back and allowed the impatient guest admittance, sheathing him to the hilt within the voluptuous haven of her sublime body. At once he attempted a rhythmic thrusting. Tightly his hands grasped her waist while his head fell back, eyes shut tight in lustful bliss.
Still, Sue Ann remained in control, riding the ample cock in slow measure - a measure that would not allow the precipitation of his climax until hers was generated anew. His hands fell to her behind, pulling apart the soft cheeks while his pelvis arched up in order to penetrate her more deeply. Only when her movements quickened, only when she felt the flames, begin to rise again, only then did his groans reach her ears. More vigorously she moved, more animated she became and each breathed the gasping, furnace breath of the other. More vigorously she rose and fell, working the shaft like a piston, feeling him tense beneath as each of them lost control to be swept crying aloud through the maelstrom of pleasure.
The sound of traffic outside, a glimmer of light at the curtain edge - both told him it was morning. Blake had slept so soundly he at first imagined what had happened the previous evening was only a dream. Then he realized he was in her bed and recalled what had led to their spending the night together. Even so, the memories seemed too good to be true and quite irrationally he wanted reassurance. Reaching out to touch her, he found only emptiness. A sound whirred from beyond the bedroom. Something was whirring – rumbling- a washing machine. The bathroom door swung open in and silhouetted against the bright light stood Sue Ann. 'Oh, awake at last, are we?'
'God, what time is it?' he asked, squeezing fingers over his eyes.
'Just gone quarter to eight,' she replied, stepping across to the window.
'Quarter to eight!' he exclaimed, throwing back the bedding. 'Christ! I've got to get back to my place and change, and ...' He blinked as the curtains opened and the roller blind rattled up, and then gazed about the room. 'Where's my gear? I've got to get back in time for the interview!'
'There's no need to panic,' said Sue Ann, adjusting the belt on her red satin housecoat. 'By the time you're shaved and showered I'll have breakfast ready. We'll be in the office before nine-thirty.'
'A fat lot of use that is!' he objected, still peering about the bedroom.
'Your socks and underwear are in the washing machine with my things,' Sue Ann smiled. 'I'm sure I have something tucked away in my bottom drawer you can borrow.'
Blake stared at her in disbelief.
'Well,' she went on, 'I can't see any problems. The shirt you put on for last night is hardly worn and I know you keep a spare suit and tie at the office. I have a pair of grey hiking socks you can use and as for other things - well, we'll manage there, too.' With that, she left the bedroom. Blake sprang from the bed and would have followed her into the main room but for his lack of clothes. After a moment's thought he looked about again, shrugged and walked over to the bathroom.
She was true to her word. His pale blue shirt was carefully laid out on the newly made bed and next to it, the grey socks. Next to the socks, however ... Blake started forwards. 'Christ! She doesn't expect me to wear -' He reached down to the bed and picked up the briefs, an all but weightless froth of elasticized black nylon.
The washing machine seemed to have finished and from beyond the closed door he could hear her moving about, humming to herself. On the air drifted a strong smell of coffee and the bedside clock insisted it was already well past eight. With his shirt on, Blake tugged up the briefs. They were never intended to conceal and hardly did contain, but gaped at the sides and might have proved uncomfortable had the shadow-sheer material not stretched a little. Fascinated by his reflection in the wardrobe mirror, he felt the gossamer strip of nylon cup him like a small, cool hand. He could not dismiss from his thoughts the fact that the experience was oddly arousing and so remained before the mirror long moments before hearing her call him.
On the drive back to Century City, Sue Ann noticed how, on occasion, he adjusted himself uneasily in the seat but she avoided the temptation to comment. With the distractions of the traffic and the sound of the radio, they spoke very little until they were only some five minutes from the office. Then Sue Ann said, 'You're on the Manrose case today, aren't you?'
'Yes,' he answered, 'I'm supposed to be there by half ten. ‘Sounds quite interesting.'
'Yes, doesn't it. I've heard little snippets here and there. I know you were given the case because Mrs. Manrose has some sort of dubious club down a back street in Hollywood. Poor old Gotsie wasn't sure about going along to meet her himself - not quite his cup of tea - but she's fairly loaded and he won't let scruples stand in his way when it comes to money.'
'It's one of those fetish clubs, as it happens,' replied Blake. 'And I dare say as far as the firm is concerned her money is as good as anyone else's.'
'Oh, one of those fetish clubs,' smiled Sue Ann with a hint of irony in her voice. 'Has it got a name? I imagine most of them have.'
'Yes,' he answered, twisting again in the seat, 'it's called Le Chateau.’
Copyright 2005-2006 Animated Communications / Silver Moon Books Ltd
End of Chapter One
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