by Jean Maxwell
Her flesh felt slick as a fresh gush of moisture escaped from her pussy. Thatcher rubbed his primed and ready cock back and forth through her channel, liberally coating it with her cream, before placing the head against the soft tissues surrounding her vagina. She felt the gentle pressure of his entrance, then a gradual penetration farther, farther, until he was all the way in.
God, he felt so fucking good.
Carlin spread her legs a little wider, as much as her pants around her knees would allow. He picked up the rhythm, each stroke more intense than the last. Her ass cheeks took a spanking as his naked thighs slapped against her, faster and faster.
Pens and paper clips fell to the floor, the shelf unit rocking as Carlin held onto it for dear life. She relished every inch of his thick penis moving inside her. It felt like heaven. She could hear him breathing harder, and knew he must be close to coming. As he pounded into her from behind, he reached around and set his fingers to work on her clit again.
This, added to his blinding thrusts, sent her over the edge.
Ecstasy coursed over her in tidal waves, sending tremors of pleasure vibrating through her center and flowing out through every limb.
She’d never come so hard in all her life.
Chapter Five
“Good girl, baby…” Thatcher’s voice whispered through her hair, and his lips pressed to the back of her head. He held one hand on her hip, while the other glided gently up and down her back as if stroking a beloved pet. “You are marvelous.”
“Not so bad yourself,” Carlin purred. “We’d better get out of here.” She pulled her underpants back on and straightened her shirt.
Thatcher turned her to face him. “True. People might be wondering about us.” He kissed her again, his mouth warm, wet, and full of tongue. Carlin responded in kind, her tongue dancing with his. “I believe we’re expected at dinner,” he said when their lips parted.
Carlin smiled. “That’s right, five-thirty. Where are we going, do you know?” She finished hitching up her slacks and belt, watching him do the same. She’d been right…his now wet, reddened cock looked as magnificent as she’d imagined, and it had felt even better. Her crotch buzzed with wanting it again. He tucked it away quietly and closed his jean zipper.
“Not a clue. Raymond’s choice.” He did a quarter turn and held out his elbow. “Shall we?”
Carlin made a face. “Are you mad? We can’t walk out of here together.” Her hands went to her hair, smoothing it out as she recalled her vision of earlier. “I’ll go first.” She listened at the door for a moment, silently unlocking the deadbolt. She pulled it open a crack, and with the coast clear, exited the supply room without looking back.
She reached her office unnoticed, closed the door, and leaned with her back against it. Holy shit. She’d never done anything so crazy, so, so…naughty! In the middle of her workplace! Her panties felt thoroughly soaked. She’d need a new pair before going to dinner. Damn, if she knew what restaurant, she could slip out, grab some undies at the mall, and meet them there. Shoot! She couldn’t just walk up to Ray and ask with a giant wet spot on her ass! She’d need to get to the bathroom quick and check herself out. Her watch read four thirty-seven. Jeez, they’d been at it for thirty minutes in there. Surely someone noticed? She paused, opened the door, and turning a quick left, crashed smack into her boss.
Raymond caught her arm as they rebounded off each other. “Hey, Maniac, look before you leap.”
Carlin used the momentum to keep moving away from him. “Sorry, Ray,” she said, her voice shaky. He let go, and she scurried to the ladies’ room.
“Hey, we’re going to Fireside Grill,” Raymond called after her. Breathless, she rushed to the mirror. Please God don’t let me look as guilty as I feel. Her reflection showed no smeared makeup, and her hair didn’t resemble a haystack as she’d feared. She did a three-sixty spin to check her clothing. Thankfully, nothing showed. She ducked into a bathroom stall.
Unraveling a fistful of tissue from the roll, she dabbed up the milky fluid from between her legs, some of it having run down her inner thigh. She inhaled the heady, starchy fragrance of his cum on the tissue. She loved that smell...this made it real. A giddy giggle left her lips. She really had fucked Thatcher Banks.
* * * *
At five-thirty, dusk had not quite descended, but the cloud cover and wind had increased since midday. Miniature dust storms swirled in the parking lot of the Fireside Grill as Carlin pulled up and made her way to the entrance. The outdoor temperature had dropped considerably.
“Reservation for Cox?” she asked. The hostess nodded and led her to the dining area where Ray and several others were already seated.
Raymond waved. She smiled and approached the table. An open seat beckoned next to Ray, but her eyes focused on the opposite side of the table. Thatcher sat across from her boss, already flanked by two other office personnel. She stared openly at the entourage… The executive assistant Marcia, and the office manager Angela, occupied the seats on either side of Thatcher. He returned her gaze, and with a slight tilt of his red-blond head, telegraphed his position of helplessness in the matter.
Snooze you lose, Carlin thought. Served her right for taking too long in the lingerie department. Really. Couldn’t he have at least held a chair open for her? Something didn’t seem right, and her stomach did a backflip. She didn’t even feel hungry now. She took the seat next to Raymond, and the server appeared at her elbow. “I’ll have a Scotch, neat.”
Ordering a Chicken Caesar salad, she watched as Thatcher gave his request to the server, in turn with Marcia and Angela, their delight at sitting next to the star performer undisguised. She downed the last of her scotch; she’d never hated two women more than she did right now. Carlin dove into her salad when it arrived, purposely keeping her focus on her plate.
Office banter ensued down the length of the table, but it floated into her left ear and out her right with equal ease. Instead, she periodically stole glances at Banks. Each time, his sweet brown eyes met hers with a knowing look, though he said not a word. As the dinner plates cleared, Thatcher made a casual but deliberate noise with his silverware. Carlin looked up.
Locking eyes with her for a moment, he switched his gaze to Raymond. “A fine dinner, Ray. Thanks so much for hosting it.”
“My pleasure. Anyone for dessert?”
“Not for me, thanks.” Thatcher replied. “Excuse me.” As he rose, he shot Carlin a serious stare, his irises darting sideways for a split second, in the direction of the washrooms.
Though resentment sizzled beneath every square inch of her skin, she tipped her chin in acknowledgment. Waiting a moment after his departure, she folded her napkin atop her plate.
“I’ll pass on dessert, thanks. Great dinner, Ray.”
She pushed her chair away and exited the group. Oh, what she’d say to the flavor-of-the-day man when she cornered him by the washrooms! She spotted him leaning against the wall next to the men's room, apparently anticipating her arrival.
“I’m terribly sorry, Carlin. They rather swooped in on me, and it would have looked suspicious holding a seat for you. You look wonderful, by the way.”
Carlin moved in close to him, keeping her voice low. “Flattery will get you nowhere. How do you think that makes me feel, watching those two bimbos batting their eyes at you? After what we just did?”
Thatcher’s shark-white smile crept across his handsome face. “Why, Miss Cates, are you jealous? There’s no call for that.” He pulled her even closer, so that her tits brushed against him. “You’re the one who turns me on.”
Carlin felt a familiar blush start in her face and burn its way downward. You turn me on, too. “So what are we going to do about that?” she asked.
Wordlessly, Thatcher pressed her hand against his cock, where it strained beneath his jeans once again. She gave it a squeeze. His eyebrows quirked upward in a villainous gesture, then he maneuvered them both into the men’s room.
Carlin giggled,
her eyes sweeping the room for other occupants while he twirled her into the nearest stall. Slipping the latch closed, he braced her against the door and reached for the buttons on her blouse. “Here’s my dessert. I’ve been dying to suck on these all day,” he whispered, twisting the buttons open one by one.
She breathed hard as he pushed her bra aside and released her throbbing breasts from their bounds. He bent his head down and took one nipple into his mouth while pinching the other. Carlin leaned her head back in ecstasy as his lips explored her breast, alternately licking, sucking, and biting with those too-perfect teeth. He made a tiny smacking noise, reminiscent of a kiss, as he released one breast and moved to the other.
Cool air on wet flesh turned her nipple to stone and she shuddered with arousal. She found herself moaning in surrender to his manipulations. When both breasts had been thoroughly sucked, Thatcher raised his head and tipped her face down to eye level. “Now, how about your dessert? Do you have room?”
Carlin’s blue eyes met his golden brown ones. “I think I could do with some now,” she answered. She slid to her knees as Thatcher undid his belt buckle and fly. He pulled out his stiffened cock, then laid his hands flat against the door, waiting for Carlin to do whatever came naturally.
Just as in her fantasy of earlier that morning, her lips encircled his cock and sucked it against the roof of her mouth in strong, rhythmic pulses. She swirled her tongue around the head and licked the tangy, thick droplets of pre-cum from his slit before going down on him full bore. She fucked him with her mouth, glazing the hardening sides of his shaft with saliva as she moved up and down its length.
“Aah, Miss Cates, you do perform excellent work,” she heard him gasp, a hint of laughter in his voice.
She continued her ministrations until a shrill ringtone sounded from Thatcher’s pocket. Startled, she pulled her lips away.
Exhaling sharply, Thatcher reached for his cell phone and silenced the alert. His expression looked troubled as he read the screen.
“My God,” he said. “I am so sorry, Carlin. I have to leave. Now.”
Chapter Six
“Did you see Thatcher, Carlin?” asked Raymond as she returned to the table.
Carlin trained her glazed eyes on him. “In the ladies’ room, Ray? I should hope not,” she replied.
Several of the group had already departed the restaurant. Angela and Marcia seemed to be lingering, casting furtive glances around the room. Bitches!
Raymond shrugged and retrieved his credit card from the server after taking care of the tab.
“Well, have a good night, everyone,” Ray said, heading for the exit. The ladies followed, Carlin lagging behind, watching them leave. She exhaled a mighty breath. I need another drink. She bailed to the right and entered the adjoining cocktail lounge, parking herself on a stool at the bar. Nothing more pathetic than sitting single at a table.
“Scotch, neat,” she told the bartender as she looked down at her fingers knotted together in a double fist on the bar surface. In her mind, she kept seeing Thatcher’s stony expression as he’d pulled himself together and left her in the men’s room. Without further explanation, he’d whispered his apologies and disappeared, leaving Carlin bereft and confused. How could this man do these things to her so casually? Had he no character, after all? Had she misread his intentions, his propositions, however direct, all this time?
She shook her head miserably as her scotch arrived under her nose. “I’m sorry miss, would you prefer another brand?” the bartender asked. She looked at him, knowing tears were welling in her eyes.
“It’s fine.”
Flurries had begun as Carlin left the Fireside Grill. Getting home might be tricky, Martha being without winter tires and her driver two or three scotches deep. While not unheard of, snowfall in September ranked as unusual. No wonder the skies had seemed in turmoil all day; they knew a storm approached, in a way that even the best meteorologist could not predict.
* * * *
The next morning, Carlin awoke with her eyes puffy and moist from crying. She groaned as she recalled the events of the day before, cursing herself on one hand for her stupidity, yet realizing she wouldn’t have felt that exquisite rush of passion, excitement, and sexual satisfaction if she’d refused Thatcher’s advances on the other. A catch-22 at its finest. She’d taken the risk and knew it. Suck it up, Princess. But still, how fine would it be to roll over in her bed and find him there next to her? God. He turned her on like no one else ever had.
She reached for her cell phone on the nightstand. Thumbing the screen, she saw no new messages. With nothing to lose, Carlin’s fingers moved to the keypad.
Hello? Hope u r alright. Expln, pls? Not fair leaving like that. Take care.
She waited, and a text did arrive near five o’clock. From Ray.
We were awarded the bid. Congrats everyone.
A week passed, the early winter announcing itself with authority each day. Thatcher had not returned her texts, nor made contact of any kind. Ray hadn’t made any comment on his disappearance either. Carlin tried to ignore the silence, keep her head down and work hard, but it kept eating away at her. He’d not replied to her at all…how could he do that?
She occupied herself monitoring her newsfeed, noting an entry about FRIAR airlifting injured workers from a remote mine site following the freak storm that struck the week before. Woop-de-do. Their donation dollars hard at work.
Thanksgiving approached, and to her surprise and relief, Raymond sent an email announcing that she and the rest of the team could leave early on Friday. Carlin needed a break from all the tension and took the opportunity to book a getaway for the long weekend.
“Got big plans, Maniac?” Raymond asked as they bumped into each other shortly after lunch.
“Mmm, I rented a cabin for the weekend. You?”
“Oh, the wife and I will be hosting dinner. Have relatives visiting, that’s about it. Whereabouts is your cabin?”
Carlin shrugged a shoulder. “Toward the mountains…near Hazelwood. Never been there before, thought I’d check it out. Peace and quiet, you know.”
Ray turned his head and cast her a sideways glance. “Hazelwood…they had a lot of snow up there recently. Be careful on the roads…should be pretty, though. Have a great time.”
“Thanks,” Carlin said. “You have a good weekend, too.”
To get an early start, Carlin had already packed her belongings in Martha’s trunk. At three o’clock, everyone waved their goodbyes. Climbing into the driver’s seat, Carlin pulled out of the office parking lot and headed for the highway. She had a good three hours of daylight yet to make the trip.
She rifled through her CDs and loaded some twentieth century classical music. Shostakovich. It seemed to suit her mood and the scenery scrolling past her window as Martha accelerated. Old school, yes, but considering Martha’s age, an MP3 input seemed an insult. Carlin freed her mind as Symphony No. 5 filled the car’s cabin and open asphalt beckoned ahead.
After two hours on the road, she reached the turnoff to Hazelwood, which consisted of a gas station, mini-mart, and a rundown motor inn called the Mountainview. Aptly named, Carlin could see the rocky peaks revealing themselves on the gray horizon beyond. Brooding cloud cover had notably darkened the vista, and she could sense more snow in the air. Another two hours should see her safely at the cabin, so she made the turn without stopping for gas. The sooner she got there, the better.
The grade steepened as she continued north. Darkness sucked in around the landscape, leaving a claustrophobic effect. Wind whipped the trees, their boughs thrashing in a wild, erratic dance. Droplets struck the windshield, Martha’s wipers sweeping them aside even as they turned to icy sleet, collecting on the perimeter of the glass.
Road signs indicated Hazelwood lay another 105 kilometers ahead. Carlin licked her lips, hoping the weather conditions would clear, or at least not worsen, for the remainder of the trip. Her pace had slowed to around 90km, making the destination more t
han another hour away.
The sleet turned to snow just before Hazelwood, making Carlin anxious to see the comforting lights of civilization as soon as possible. When the dotted flecks of city streetlights appeared, she breathed a sigh of relief. She would make it to the cabin okay. Just a quick stop to refuel and grab some supplies before the final leg of the journey.
Pulling into a service station near the edge of town, Carlin stepped out of the Mustang for the first time in several hours. The frigid air caught her by surprise. She dug into the back seat to pull a winter coat from her luggage and don it quickly before reaching for the pump nozzle. The skin of her hand nearly froze to the metal handle as she plunged the nozzle into the gas intake.
Filling the tank seemed to take forever. With no valve lock on the out-of-date pump nozzle, Carlin alternated hands to ward off the numbness setting in. Finally, the gauge clicked off as the tank neared full. Not caring to top up to an even dollar figure, she returned the nozzle to its holster and hurried into the store. Along with the gas, she bought potato chips, milk, Coke, popcorn, and cereal.
By the time she returned to Martha, a layer of ice had formed on the windshield. With a snowbrush and scraper that she kept in the car year-round, she cleared away the stubborn, frozen chunks from the glass and windshield wipers. Shit. It was only October!
Settling behind the wheel, Carlin steeled herself and pulled out onto the main road leading back to the highway and her final destination.
According to the map, the cabin would be another 50 kilometers. Devoid of any lighting, the secondary highway she and Martha now traveled on seemed very black and unwelcoming. She gazed into the curtain of shooting snow pellets as they struck the headlights. The road became narrower and steeper as they pressed on, Martha’s speed now down to 70km at best. Jesus, this cabin had better be worth it. To her dismay, warning signs indicated winding road ahead. As if the dark and snow wasn’t bad enough.