by Ann Summers
Jenna booked her flight, went shopping for a new wardrobe and found an English friend of Kristin’s whose flat she could crash in for a couple of days. On the flight from Sydney to the UK, she could barely contain her excitement. London – and its well-bred, well-spoken, powerful, rich and deviant men – weren’t going to know what had hit them.
CHAPTER THREE
KRISTIN’S FRIEND JACQUELINE had appointed herself tour guide and chauffeur as well as hostess for the first few days of Jenna’s trip. A small, tidy-figured redhead in casual clothes and with artfully tousled hair, she met Jenna off her flight and drove her straight back to her East London flat, where Jenna collapsed on the futon and stayed asleep for ten hours. When she woke up, dozy and confused at nine in the evening, Jenna found Jacqueline dressed for a night out. It was quite a transformation – only the red hair convinced Jenna that this was the same dishevelled urchin who had picked her up from the airport earlier that day. With her hair set in pin curls, and the jaunty little pillbox hat on her head, a pencil skirt and high-heel combo that looked impossible to walk in, and a crisp white shirt underneath a dramatic red corset, Jacqueline looked every inch the burlesque scene queen.
‘Wanna come out and play?’ said Jacqueline. Her broad Cockney accent was very different to the clipped vowels of the Englishmen Jenna had met in Sydney, but equally charming. Jenna had to fight hard the temptation to say yes: she only had around 12 hours before her interview. For once her ambition overrode her desire to go out and play.
‘Just this once, I’m going to have to say no,’ she said. ‘I really can’t afford not to get this job tomorrow, and I just know that if I go clubbing, I’ll get myself into all sorts of messy, dirty adventures and I won’t want to go home until six o’clock in the morning.’
Jacqueline laughed, a pretty little gurgle that Jenna found surprisingly arousing. The dainty little woman was not Jenna’s usual type at all. Jenna briefly closed her eyes, and allowed herself a mental vision of Jacqueline bound at the wrists and ankles, her slender young body lightly branded with the leathery lashes of Jenna’s favourite whip. It quickened her pulse. Perhaps London would broaden her tastes in more ways than one.
When Jenna opened her eyes and snapped out of her reverie, she was greeted by the sight of Jacqueline, skirt hitched up, arranging her stockings, adjusting the sheer material so that the seam crawled up the back of her calf and thigh in a perfectly straight line.
‘Vintage nylons,’ said Jacqueline, proudly. ‘Not easy to find, but I won’t cut corners with my clubbing clothes.’ Jenna caught a glimpse of creamy thigh at the crease where it met her ass, and as Jacqueline bent over she was treated to a flash of fully shaved pussy lips. Jenna was suddenly wide awake and horny, and had to fight the physical urge to leap up at Jacqueline, force her legs apart and suck her pussy until she tasted the juices of her orgasm. Jacqueline’s voice interrupted her thoughts.
‘Such a shame you can’t come out. You’re already famous here and no-one’s even met you yet,’ she said.
‘How come?’ replied Jenna, intrigued.
‘A good dom will find that her reputation goes before her … right around the world,’ replied Jacqueline. Jenna was fascinated by the way she could talk and apply pillarbox red lipstick to her mouth without either mumbling or smearing her makeup.
‘You should be flattered.’
‘Oh, I am,’ said Jenna, trying to imagine those full, scarlet lips begging for mercy. And then she summoned up the courage to ask the question that was on her own lips:
‘What’s your thing, Jacqueline? Top or bottom?’ And man or woman?, she also thought, but didn’t say out loud. She had to know whether Jacqueline was a fuckable entity; whether to consign her adventures to fantasy or get excited that this could be something real.
‘Well,’ said Jacqueline, reaching for a faux-fur coat and putting her keys into her clutch bag, ‘if I told you that, I’d ruin the surprise for when you do come out next week, wouldn’t I? Listen, help yourself to anything you want. I’ll probably stay out till at least eight, so if I don’t see you beforehand, good luck with the interview tomorrow.’ Jacqueline bent down and gave Jenna a good luck kiss on the forehead, leaving a waxy imprint of her lips between her eyebrows and affording Jenna a close-up view of the surprisingly round breasts which spilled over the top of Jacqueline’s corset.
‘Thanks, Jacqueline,’ she managed to say, hoping her husky voice didn’t betray what was going through her mind. ‘For everything. Letting me crash here, I mean. I really appreciate it.’
Jacqueline blew a kiss in reply, closed the door behind her and was gone.
Jenna leapt to the window, and looked down at the grey shiny street until she saw Jacqueline leave through the front door and hail a cab. When she was sure the coast was clear, she began a frantic hunt for the one thing she knew would put out the fire of excitement that raged between her legs. One hand stroking her nipples through her top, the other rifled through Jacqueline’s bedside drawer, blindly fumbling through a soft tangle of lacy lingerie until her fingers closed on the thing she had been looking for. As she grasped the shaft of the vibrator, wrapped in a silk scarf, she smiled to herself.
A pink Rampant Rabbit. She held it aloft like a trophy. An expert flick of the wrist turned it on. Good: the batteries were brand new. Jenna slid out of her pyjama trousers so that she was naked from the waist down. God, she was already soaking. The tip of the dildo parted her pussy lips as smoothly as any dick could, and filled her up just as satisfyingly. Once she was happy with the weight and girth of the dildo inside her cunt, she positioned the rabbit ears either side of her clit and pressed the tiny button that set them going. At once, the intense sensations flooded her body, and the thought of Jacqueline’s body underneath hers, pinning the smaller woman’s wrists to the floor with her own strength … Jenna came in seconds. The vibe had hardly had time to warm up before she pulled it from her throbbing cunt, already over-sensitive but satisfied. She had time to wash the toy and wrap it back in the scarf that had housed it before the relief of tension triggered a fresh wave of exhaustion. Her post-orgasmic state, coupled with jet lag, sent a warm fuzzy feeling throughout her body and mind, like a glass of red wine on a winter’s evening.
Jenna stayed awake for the time it took to shower, enjoying lathering herself with Jacqueline’s feminine, floral products, hang up her suit for the next morning on the back of the wardrobe, and lay down on the bed to watch a bit of Sunday night TV. The next thing she knew it was 7.30 in the morning, the sun was streaming through the window onto her face, and Jacqueline stood in the doorway. She was gloriously dishevelled, her tight pin curls beginning to drop and frizz, and her eye-makeup smudged. Red lipstick was smeared on her neck and seemed to paint a trail beneath her corset. Jenna wondered whose lips had kissed her and where.
‘Good morning, sleeping beauty,’ said Jacqueline. ‘It’s lucky I came back! I’m your human alarm clock!’
Jenna had only time to leap out of bed, shower, apply minimal makeup, sweep her hair into a chignon and slip into her navy Prada suit before dashing out of the door to hail a taxi. As she left the tiny studio, she saw Jacqueline shrug off her clothes from the night before and walk into the bathroom. A frisson of excitement ran through Jenna as she noticed the tell-tale red welts on Jacqueline’s ass and thighs that showed her a woman who had enjoyed a good lashing the night before. Well, that answers my first question – she’s a bottom, thought Jenna. But is she into boys or girls? Or, if I’m very lucky, both?
Outside the flat, Jenna switched into career mode. A cab drew up alongside her as though he’d known she’d be waiting for him, and Jenna hopped in gratefully. She pored over her CV and application letter and the notes she’d made on the department she’d applied to work for as the cab crawled through the streets. She was so engrossed that she didn’t see the Houses of Parliament and Big Ben rising through the sky, only noticing when the chimes sang out for 8.45 am.
To her disappointment, she d
idn’t enter the Houses of Parliament through their imposing main entrance, but via a small annexe which was accessed by a nondescript door in a back street. She told herself that everybody had to start somewhere as she waited in a shabby ante-room with the other hopefuls. She cast a judgemental eye over them: she was confident that none of the others looked the part like she did, shabby student types who had no idea about how to present themselves. Image was everything. If the way you looked was an indicator of your level of ambition, none of these losers here could want the job more than she did. She waited for an agonising hour while the others went through and were assessed. Then it was her turn.
A secretary led her down a corridor and into the main house. Things immediately got more promising: men and women in suits strutted on red carpets down oak-panelled corridors, oozing power and influence that Jenna could almost smell. Crisp and groomed in her suit, she knew that she belonged here. If only she could talk a good interview, this job was hers.
The man behind the desk introduced himself as Simon and when they made eye contact, Jenna’s heart sank. Not because she didn’t think they’d get on, but because she knew they’d get on too well in different circumstances. Simon was in early middle age, a well-preserved 40-year-old, his dark brown hair thick and luxuriant, and cut into that blunt, winged hairstyle Jenna had noticed a lot of men of his class and age went for. A curtain of hair fell into his eyes whenever he looked down at his messy desk, which was frequently. Jenna wanted to push that lock of hair out of his eyes and tell him to smarten up. They stood on opposite sides of the desk for a while, a dom and her sub recognising each other by sight and smell alone. I could have you now, she thought: with the right words, I could get you hard and I could have your cock between my lips and have you begging for fucking mercy while I suck every drop of spunk out of your upper-class prick and I know it and you know it.
Damn! Jenna tried to override the throbbing that grew ever more urgent between her legs. I won’t let this happen, she thought. I came here to get this job because this is what I want to do with my life, and I’m going to do it. Using all the willpower she had, and ignoring the fact that her pulse was racing, her nipples were getting harder by the second and her pussy was beginning to moisten, and certainly ignoring the fact that Simon was ineptly hiding a burgeoning erection behind that sturdy oak desk, Jenna concentrated hard and gave the interview of her lifetime.
She fired back answers to all Simon’s questions with a directness and precision that obviously impressed him, and it didn’t take long for her to lose herself in the conversation. When Jenna glanced at the clock, expecting to see that ten minutes had passed, she was astonished to find that she and Simon had been talking for half an hour.
‘Well, Jenna,’ he said, in a tone of voice that implied he was winding things up, ‘I think you’ve proved that you know what you’re talking about, you’re clearly very ambitious and intelligent, and we need more straight-talking people like you in the department.’ Jenna dug her nails into her hands, willing him to hire her. ‘There will of course be formalities to go through, but I’d very much like to offer you the job. It is unusual to get a decision on the spot, but there really has been no competition,’ continued Simon. ‘You have been far and away our best candidate. I’m sure the MP and his team will enjoy working with you very much.’
Jenna was confused for a second.
‘You mean I won’t be working with you?’ she said.
‘You’ll see me around the building, but no, we won’t be working directly together,’ replied Simon. ‘I’m chief of the selection committee for interns and researchers. I hire people, that’s all.’
‘We won’t be working together,’ Jenna repeated, as if to herself.
‘No,’ confirmed Simon.
‘In that case,’ said Jenna, ‘you can take off that ridiculous suit. I’m not fucking you while you’re dressed like that.’
Simon said nothing but blinked. For one awful minute, Jenna wondered if she had misread the situation. Then his lips parted and he traced his tongue slowly across his upper lip. With that one involuntary action on his part, the balance of power shifted across to the other side of the desk. Jenna finally relaxed, allowed the sensations which had been brewing inside her to spill over, to feel the twitching in her clit and acknowledge her moistening cunt.
Jenna pushed back her chair, walked over to the door and closed it behind her, locking it and showing Simon the key before placing it on top of a filing cabinet.
‘Of course, I’ll take off my clothes, too,’ she said, undoing one button of her blouse to show she meant it, and then raising her voice to a shout. ‘But only if you hurry the fuck up.’
Simon tore at his own clothes like a caveman tearing the meat from a bone, ripping his suit off, frantically. Nice tailoring, thought Jenna, watching the expensive Savile Row shirt become a worthless rag as he tore it off. His shoes were kicked off across the room, silk socks discarded, and finally his trousers he slid over his hips and unleashed a satisfyingly fat erection. Now he was naked but for his tie, which he went to unknot.
‘Don’t bother,’ said Jenna, inspiration striking. ‘We can make use of that. Now, I want you to take your cock in your hand and stroke it, making it as hard as it can be, while I take my clothes off.’
Simon nodded, a well-manicured hand cupping itself around the stalk of his prick, smoothing his own skin with fast, vigorous strokes.
‘Not so fast, you greedy asshole,’ said Jenna, who was now down to her bra and trousers. ‘Pull your balls, slow yourself down.’ Simon gave a feeble tug on the generous balls that swung low beneath his hard-on. Jenna took a step towards him. ‘Like this,’ she said, and yanked a lot harder. He winced, but it had done the trick. He was too turned on; he’d have come all over his own stomach before she’d even had a chance to get ready.
Jenna turned her back to Simon. ‘You’d better be keeping those balls low,’ she said. ‘You can’t come until I say so, is that understood?’
‘Yes,’ he gasped. ‘Oh, yes.’
Footsteps echoed on the parquet floor just outside the office before being muffled by deep carpet. The thought of all the powerful people inches away from the scenario she had created made Jenna’s pussy contract in a pre-orgasmic spasm.
Carefully Jenna pulled off her wide-legged trousers without removing her shoes. She hung the silk pants on the back of the chair: unlike Simon, she couldn’t afford to replace quality tailoring. Yet. She turned back to face him, triumphant as his face changed and his dick twitched as he viewed her in all her naked, Amazonian glory. Her long, lean limbs and flat stomach were impressive, but it was her tits that always got them: large, round, lightly tanned, and with a swollen, rose-gold nipple perched at the centre of each firm breast.
‘Kneel down,’ she said, taking a step towards him. He sank to his knees immediately with unquestioning obedience. She stepped closer. ‘Keep playing with your cock, but don’t you dare to come,’ she said. ‘Really touch it, don’t just pretend to stroke yourself. I’ll know if you’re cheating.’ He nodded, helpless with lust and anticipation.
Jenna grabbed the tie that hung like a noose around Simon’s neck. With one deft pull, the expensive length of silk became a leash. She pulled gently to the right, then to the left, watching as Simon’s body swayed under her direction, like a horse on a bridle. She had the perfect tension: tight enough so that he had to move, not so tight that he was in any real discomfort or had trouble breathing. He was going to need all the breath he could muster for the task ahead.
Jenna parted her legs a little, feeling like the queen of the world as she towered above the powerful man twice her age, three times as rich, but utterly under her power.
‘Kiss it,’ she said, using her right hand to part her pussy lips so that he could see her clitoris, swollen and scarlet and waiting for his tongue. She didn’t need to pull on his lead – he was in there before she had a chance to issue a further command. His nose nuzzled her clit while his tongue
thrust in and out of her cunt. She could tell by the muffled murmurs he made that he couldn’t get enough of the taste of her. Squatting a little, Jenna pushed down onto his face, smothering him, noticing with interest that the more she engulfed his face with her pussy, the harder he got. His absolute obedience was so sexual to her that she let rip and came, feeling the gush and laughing with delight as she ejaculated over his face. He looked up at her, his face glazed with her juice, his eyelashes bunched with it.
‘OK,’ said Jenna, regaining her composure even though her lips were still so swollen it was all she could do to maintain her ice-queen stance. She kept her legs apart, ostensibly so that Simon could see the trickle of leftover ejaculate as it slithered down the inside of her leg, but it was also because her orgasm had been so intense there was no way she could have closed them. ‘OK,’ she repeated. ‘You’re doing well so far. But now I’m raising the bar. Get up.’ Simon leapt to his feet as eagerly as he had sunk to his knees. Jenna cast her eye around the room, looking for a suitable surface, and decided on the desk. ‘Stand on the desk,’ she commanded. For the first time, Simon looked uncomprehending. ‘Do it!’ said Jenna, flicking him in the face with the end of his tie. He did it quick enough then, wincing as his erect prick, now slick with pre-cum, hindered his ability to climb up onto the antique piece of furniture.
Standing on the desk, Simon’s hips were level with her tits. Jenna took her nipple and rolled it between her thumb and forefinger, hardening the bud. She gave her own erect flesh an admiring glance before placing the tip of her nipple directly onto the sensitive tip of his penis, so that the bead of pre-cum transferred from his body to hers. She rubbed it in as though it were precious body oil. Christ, this must be torture for him. She bent down and placed the tip of her tongue against the tip of his penis, tasting a salty droplet and enjoying the tension in his face as she did so. She would let him come soon, but he didn’t know that yet.