by S. E. Law
Then I do some last-minute adjustments to my hair and clothes. I didn’t bring my makeup with me because I knew if I had, I would get concerned and redo my makeup, which would put me back by an hour. Instead, I finished my makeup at home, opting for a soft, natural look. Enough to keep the lights from washing me out, but nothing too drastic.
I feel ready to start recording, so I press the little button under the table. It’s connected to the camera pointing toward me, and I see the little red light blink a few times before going solid.
I take a deep breath and whisper to myself, “Okay, Tammy, you can do this.” Then I look directly into the camera, putting on my biggest, brightest smile.
And…action!
“Hi! My name is Tammy Thompson, and I’m applying to be a contestant on Fantastic Florists!” I pause; I didn’t like that intro. I’d sounded too peppy. I want them to see me as enthusiastic, but not too eager. That’s ok, though. I can just redo the intro. It’s really not that hard. Editing out the parts I don’t like will be easy-peasy. Resetting myself both physically and mentally, I start again.
Just keep it light and breezy.
“Hi! I’m Tammy Thompson, a florist from Merryton, NY. Today, I’m going to do an original floral arrangement.” I’d thought a lot about what I wanted to do for my audition tape. The theme of the competition is Expressions of Love. I kept wondering what I should do and ended up landing on the promises of a brand-new love.
“The prompt for this competition said love, but there are many different expressions of love. After sitting with my thoughts for a while, I thought it might be exciting to go with the theme of a novel romance. I’m going to start with variegated pittosporum as the foundation for the arrangement. It sounds fancy, but it’s really just a simple plant.” I place the shrub on the table, already in the appropriate receptacle for the arrangement. Pittosporum is one of my favorite foundations for an arrangement. It doesn’t take away from the main attraction, the fragrant and gorgeous flowers.
I have five flowers for this arrangement: purple lilac (beginning of love), white camellias (thinking someone is adorable), red chrysanthemums (a literal ‘I love you’), red ginger (fiery passion), and a single alstroemeria (the promise of wanting love to prosper based on an already strong bond). I also have lily grass to add some toned-down accents. I already know these flowers will look good together. Like I said, I’ve made this arrangement numerous times in preparation for this moment. Now, I just have to make it a final time for the camera.
I’ve kept my flower choices under the table because I want to reveal them one by one while explaining their significance and why they were chosen. The lilacs are next, and I pull them from under the table, explaining my choice while expertly arranging them. The white camellias come third, and then I move on to the red chrysanthemums.
“Fiery passion.”
Holding one of the flowers by the stem, I twirl it back and forth. I haven’t felt fiery passion in a long while. My last boyfriend was over two years ago, and I’m not going to lie – I’m a little sex-starved.
Bending slightly forward, I rest my elbows on the table and hold the flower right in front of my face. It’s such a beautiful red. I can see how people who saw this flower had wanton thoughts come to their mind. The delicate petals start off closed but open up until they are fully presenting themselves at the edges. The red becomes more defined on the edges as well. It’s a truly pretty plant.
The hot lights are making me feel warm. I run my hand down my neck, letting the tips of my fingers rest on the base of the bulb for a few seconds. All of this ambience gets me to thinking about how I wouldn’t totally mind stripping in front of the camera. Maybe it’s a crazy thought, but I’m feeling kind of frisky, and it’s not like anyone is going to see except for me.
I can’t even begin to figure out what has gotten into me. I’ve always been a good girl. Kept to myself, and never got into any trouble. I’ve never been one for dates and partying. In fact, the boyfriend from two years ago is the only guy I’ve ever dated, and we were together for years. The sex was good, but it was also pretty tame. I’ve never done anything crazy or unexpected. I’m really just a bookworm who everyone thinks is a big old square. Probably because I keep my life pretty square. The sauciest action I see comes from the romance novels I have on my bookshelf.
“Well, maybe a little change isn’t so bad,” I whisper to myself as I put the chrysanthemum back down on the table. But I’m going to need a little bit of space on the table if this is really about to happen, so I carefully slide everything I arranged on the table to the side. That should give me enough room to sit on the table.
I turn back to the camera, my full body now in view. Maybe what I’m about to do is ridiculous, but it seems like it will be fun. I’ve never done anything like this before, and this may be the only time I have the privacy I need, as well as such good equipment.
I push the straps of my dress off my shoulders and let them hang down. Then I pull my arms through and catch my dress, holding the front of it to my breasts before letting it fall to the floor. The fabric pools at my feet. I step out from the deformed circle it’s made and kick it to the side. I’m not sure how far away it flies, but I can get it later.
I’m in my bra and panties now. I do a little twirl for the camera, making sure it catches me from all angles. Dear God, this is so naughty! I’ve never done anything remotely like this before. I really am the most vanilla person on the planet.
But this strip tease for the camera is giving me a perverse sort of thrill, and I don’t want to stop.
I undo my bra next, letting it slide down my arms before throwing it in the same direction as my dress. My panties are the last clothing item to go. My back faces the camera as I bend over, pulling the white cotton down my legs and dropping it on the floor.
Turning back around, my eyes glance around the table for sexual inspiration. Fortunately for me, I brought a glass vase with a long, narrow opening that’s about two inches in diameter. It’s perfect.
“I’m really about to do this,” I mumble to myself. “This is happening, Tammy.”
Taking a final deep breath, I climb onto the table. Deciding I should probably lubricate the glass a little bit, just to make this whole process easier, I spit on the thin opening and spread the lubricant around the rim.
I hang one leg over the side and bend the other one so that the bottom of my foot is planted squarely on the table's surface. Not wanting to waste any more time, I place the top of the vase at my opening and push it inside of me. I grunt a little bit as my walls part. The smooth glass glides against my insides as it goes as deep as possible. My head falls back as my walls clench around the long cylinder.
“Fuck,” I sigh. I continue to move the vase inside my pussy, pushing and pulling it in and out of my body. The arm holding me up feels weak, and I fall back onto the table, keeping my legs open wide. My eyes flutter closed as my entire body ignites with passion. I feel the neck of the vase get slick with my juices, allowing the long cylinder to move within me with more ease.
While fucking myself with the vase, I use my now free hand to play with my clit. I rub little circles over my sensitive bud, sending shots of pleasure up my spine and through my entire body.
The overhead lights are like a warm blanket seeping into my already burning skin. It’s like the warm summer sun on a nearly perfect day. My own moans reach my ears and egg me on even further. I’m here, turning myself on. Everything feels so good, so perfect. My insides twist and turn, and I press harder on my clit as my body climbs closer and closer to release.
“Jesus Christ,” I sigh, along with other expletives that fall from my lips. I’ve touched myself before, but this is more intense. I feel electric. It’s like lightning is rushing through my body. My back arches, my body reaching for the ceiling. Maybe it’s because of the setting or the circumstances. I don’t know, but tonight, something is different.
“Come on, come on,” I breathe. Biting dow
n on my bottom lip, my eyes open. I’m actually performing for the camera because I want to watch the tape later. Everything is going great when there’s a slight scratching sound from the corner. Odd.
Dismissing it as my imagination, I keep going. It’s much too late for anyone else to be here, and I’m so close. I don’t want to lose this momentum, this feeling. My muscles are clamping down. My breathing picks up, and soon, orgasm tears through me. Pleasure ripples throughout my entire being. My fingers grip onto the neck of the vase, needing something, anything, to stabilize myself as I cry out with pleasure.
Suddenly, another noise permeates the fog in my brain, and my eyes instinctively dart in its direction.
“Tammy?”
What? Who said that? This time, I know the sound is definitely not in my head. It’s too clear, and the person is saying my name.
Suddenly, my eyes land on a huge shadow in the corner and my mouth goes dry.
Oh shit! It’s Brick Barrister, my dad’s boss! What the hell is he doing here?
My mouth is already wide open in mid-orgasmic bliss, and his gorgeous face sends another wave of sparks to my pussy. To my absolute horror, my body keeps coming. I’ve let go of the glass by this time, and I hear it hit the ground. Taking my hands from my clit, I hold on to the table, gripping the sides. My shoulders scrunch up as I try to ride out this wave as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, moans of ecstasy rise out from my throat before I’m able to stifle them.
One small silver lining: it doesn’t take me too long to finish coming and once I’m done, I shoot up from the table, back straight and eyes wide.
“Brick,” I breathe. He really is such a beautiful man, and in any other circumstance, I would welcome such a nice view to brighten up my day. But when I’m naked, fucking myself with a vase after breaking into his company? I’m not sure this situation could be any worse.
“Tammy,” he says again. I can’t tell what he’s feeling. Probably anger. I mean, he’s just found me in a compromising position in his studio. Oh God, my dad is going to get fired! We’re going to be penniless! Not only that, but Brick is going to tell everyone what happened. Why wouldn’t he? What I’ve done is absolutely crazy.
Oh my God! I’m going to jail! I’m in so much fucking trouble. I had two jobs tonight: film my audition and don’t get caught breaking and entering. I didn’t accomplish either of those.
I’m so fucking screwed!
What in the hell is he doing here anyway? It’s the middle of the night, so no one’s supposed to be here. I’d scoped out the place for a few days, and everyone was always gone well before now. Who comes to work this late? Oh, dear God, what have I done?
To be continued …
Blackmailed By My Dad’s Boss is now LIVE! Pick up your copy here.
Sneak Peek: Blackmailing My Dad’s Best Friend
Renee
My dad’s best friend has something that I want, and I’m not above a little blackmail to get it!
My brown eyes stare at the clock on the wall, watching it tick slowly. The small hand struggles to make it to 2:45, and I tap my pen impatiently, wanting the school day to be over already. I peek down at the doodle I created on my notebook as Mrs. Miller drones on about yet another war. That’s all history class is—talking about wars, politics, and the downside of humankind. How depressing.
My teacher’s monotonous voice causes an involuntary groan to slip from my lips, making the entire class turn around and stare at me.
“Am I boring you, Miss Linwood?”
Mrs. Miller says “Miss” with a lisp, probably due to her huge overbite.
“Um sorry, no?”
My response comes out more as a question than a statement. Snickers are heard around the room, and my best friend, Chastity, smacks my arm in warning.
Mrs. Miller is not amused as she places her hands on her hips. I knew I should have skipped her class today. The bell rings, and everyone jumps out of their seats, thankfully blocking Mrs. Miller’s view of me and saving me from the laser beams that are about to shoot from her eyes.
“Renee, you really should start paying attention,” Chastity shakes her head at me as I gather my books and throw them in my backpack.
“Whatever,” I roll my eyes and follow behind her.
But just as I’m about to stroll out of the classroom, I hear my name being called.
“Miss Linwood, can I have a minute?”
“I’ll wait for you by the flagpole,” Chastity whispers, shooting me a sympathetic look. “Good luck.”
I plod over to Mrs. Miller’s desk reluctantly. Glaring up at me, she leans back in her chair and places her hands under her sagging breasts. This woman needs to be introduced to a push-up bra and a dentist.
“Yes, Mrs. Miller?” I ask, wanting to get the lecture over with.
“Do you know that I can probably count on one hand how many times you’ve actually been to class this semester?”
“Oh really?” I try to appear vague and confused.
“Renee,” she huffs. “You’re a senior. Do you want to fail my class and not graduate?”
I want to tell her that I don’t really care about school or about graduating, but my father pops into my mind. Daddy would be devastated if I dropped out of school and didn’t get my diploma. He’s already picked out a handful of colleges for me to look at, and I hate to disappoint him.
I sigh heavily.
“What can I do?” is my defeated question.
Mrs. Miller’s eyes gleam brightly.
“Write a one-thousand-word essay on the Prohibition era to start with. Due by the end of the month,” she announces.
Oh god, I don’t want to do this. I’m already so busy, but slowly I nod my head.
“Okay,” I say. Mrs. Miller nods with a satisfied smile on her face.
“You need to get your head out of the clouds, Miss Linwood. Creating doodles on notebook paper isn’t going to get you through life.”
Mrs. Miller’s unsolicited advice angers me to no end. I duck my head and mumble something that’s incomprehensible before hurrying out of the classroom and down the hallway, which is now empty. Good. Hopefully I got out of there before she realized how little I think of her, and of school in general.
After all, the only passion I have in life is art, and it seems the world I live in doesn’t support any kind of future that’s artistic. All my teachers want to cram down my throat is numbers, facts about the past, and other useless information the Board of Education forces us to learn. But art classes are optional and you can only take one class per semester because of all the other required courses. Blegh.
Last year, I couldn’t even take an art elective because I was forced to take an SAT prep course instead. I had been unbelievably pissed, to say the least. The only class I look forward to each semester was taken away from me, all to prepare for a stupid test to help me get into college. But the problem is, I don’t even really want to go to college, much less apply.
I quickly march toward the staircase, my fringe boots clicking on the tiled floor as I hurry down the stairs like I’m trying to escape a fire that’s filling my high school. Sometimes, I wish a fire would consume this hell hole I hate so much.
After all, when I’m in this place, an overwhelming sense of suffocation consumes me. The walls confine me, the teachers want to control me, and my peers annoy me with their immaturity and pettiness.
As soon as I push the door open, fresh air fills my lungs and sunshine warms my face. A sense of freedom relieves me of the burden I’d felt when I was inside the building. I jog toward the flagpole, where Chastity is waiting for me with her long, beautiful blonde hair blowing in the wind as if she’s in a Pantene commercial.
“How badly did Mrs. Miller lay into you?” she asks sympathetically.
I sigh. “She gave me an extra assignment to make up for all of the work I’m missing.”
“Oh gosh, I’m sorry to hear that,” says my friend, shooting me a sideways look. “That blows.
It’s so close to graduation too.”
I just shrug.
“Hey, at least I’m still graduating,” is my return smile.
With that, we start walking toward the front gate that leads to the parking lot. I tug my skirt down when we walk past a boy who is staring at me. I can feel his eyes on my butt as we pass. I shoot him a glare over my shoulder, and he quickly pretends to look up at the sky. Idiot.
“I honestly don’t know why your other teachers aren’t giving you a harder time,” Chastity laughs, shaking her head, oblivious to my interaction with the hormonal boy.
“It’s not even two months into the school year, Chas,” I sigh. “Mrs. Miller’s being a bitch. Why is she like this already?”
“I have no idea. Mrs. Miller is going to be the death of me too this year,” Chastity moans.
I nod, appreciating my friend’s empathy. Chastity Cooper gets me because she and I have been best friends since second grade, and as long as I’ve known her, she’s been a goody two-shoes who tends to panic when she’s stressed out. We couldn’t be more different from one another, but I think that’s why we make great friends.
While I’m fiery with a bee in my bonnet sometimes, Chastity lives up to her name. She’s sweet and innocent and as pure as they come. Sometimes I worry about people taking advantage of her naïveté, and that’s why I keep my eyes open for the both of us.
“Ugh, don’t worry,” I tell her, brushing it all off with a wave of my hand. “It’s our senior year. Most teachers will go easy on us as the school year progresses. They don’t want us back here next year, trust me,” I laugh.
That comment even draws a giggle out of anxious Chastity.
As we walk through the parking lot, I spot my boyfriend, Billy Borg, sitting on his car and smoking pot with his friends. I roll my eyes and nod toward him, nudging Chastity. She gasps.