by Kerri Sharpe
Closing the door, he pulled out the mobile and pressed ‘End Call.’ He turned back to the door which he opened fractionally. He heard Eva’s soft voice but could not make out the words. Blake nodded and she lifted her skirt.
He saw Blake put his hands on her, pulling her towards him and touching the butterfly while reaching round to fondle her bottom.
Sebastian came up behind her and lifted her top to bare her breasts.
Lowry watched as the two pairs of hands felt her. Heat pulsed through his veins. His erection felt huge inside his trousers but he would wait. His staying power was tremendous.
Sebastian crouched and parted her buttocks, touching and tasting the delights that had lain hidden there. Lowry clenched his jaws.
They pushed her back to sit on the table. Sebastian pulled off her knickers and threw them onto the floor. She lay back. They blocked his view momentarily. Then he could see Blake feeling between her thighs and sliding a finger between her legs. There was a sharp intake of breath. Lowry imagined the warm smoothness.
Eva wriggled against the groping finger, which soon became two. Her legs were lifted and held open. The butterfly fluttered enticingly as she moved against the thrusting fingers. Sebastian pressed his mouth to the butterfly and his tongue slid downwards. The fingers were withdrawn and they parted the lips for his greedy tongue.
Lowry’s face was expressionless as he looked from beneath lowered lids. The men were hungry for the sight of her pink, spanked bottom. They lifted her from the table and bent her over.
Blake pulled her legs further apart to look at her. Sebastian stroked the pinkness as he undid his zip with his other hand and began to fondle himself. He glanced to the table and dipped his fingers into the butter, which was by now softened. Slowly, he spread some onto her bottom and began to rub it in, his hand smoothing firmly across the plumpness. Then he spread some on his own erection. His fingers slipped between her buttocks and slid easily into her.
The ice cream would have been cooler, thought Lowry, remembering the heat of her flesh as he had spanked her.
With trousers now undone, Blake stood, sliding her from the table and pulling her head towards him. He slipped his penis between her lips.
Her breasts hung free, swinging as they used her body.
Sebastian began to rub the tip of his penis across the slippery skin of her bottom. No direct penetration, thought Lowry. Don’t come inside her. That’s for me. He would wait and take her alone.
He closed his eyes. He closed the door, resting his forehead against the frame.
Some time later, in the dimness, supple leather shoes trod carefully on the wooden flooring towards Eva’s bedroom door.
Lowry listened but could hear nothing. He pushed gently and went in.
A flickering candle added a delicate perfume to the warm air. The room was awash with muted light from a solitary lamp, which threw a spread of soft-hued radiance across the body of the woman on the bed and enhanced the creamy richness of her skin. She lay on her front with her face turned away from him, the duvet kicked down to below her feet. She was naked apart from the strawberry-red knickers, which rested mid-thigh and accentuated the flushed skin above. She was relaxed, although not asleep, Lowry knew. Her hips were raised slightly on a pillow.
He leaned over her to touch the anklet, then traced a finger along the fading pink marks on her bottom. She trembled slightly and spread her knees wider, tilting her hips to meet his stroking finger. He caressed downwards in inexorable slowness, tantalising, until he slid his finger into her vagina and felt the welcoming warm smoothness that gripped him delightfully. He imagined the butterfly, hidden from view, in readiness to take flight.
He sat on the edge of the bed and dipped into the dish that he held. Placing the flat of his hand on her bottom, he began to smear her skin with butter, now almost as fluid as oil. After a few strokes, she began to writhe in response. He bent his head so he could lick the marked flesh. She will have to shower later, he thought. Maybe I can help. Her hips rocked gently and she lifted her hands to squash the pillow beneath her head, snuggling her face into its depths.
He carried on, rhythmically massaging her plumpness. He held the dish above the candle to melt it further, then raised his fingers to drip warm oiliness along her spine. She moved against his hands as they moved downwards, unable to hold on to stillness. He smiled. Shifting, he knelt to straddle her body and proceeded to massage her back and shoulders. She reached down to place her hands on her bottom and held herself open for him. He dribbled the oil at the base of her spine in spattered droplets, waiting until they joined together and trickled tentatively between her buttocks. As the trickle reached her anus, she started to pant and lifted her hips, thrusting up in obvious demand. He ran a finger along the crevice and circled the anus before pushing deeply inside. She groaned into the pillow.
He could wait no longer. He wanted to force his penis into her.
He removed his finger and stood, already undoing the buttons of his shirt. He quickly stripped below the waist, allowing his penis to spring free at last. She was pulling down her knickers. He yanked them off her feet and knelt between her legs, which she opened wide for him. Lowering himself to her, he pressed his skin against hers, his penis pushing towards her raised hips and thrusting into her. There was a small cry.
They both lay still, feeling the moment.
Then he began to move slowly, burying his face in her hair and nibbling her neck. She turned her cheek towards him.
He had to know, even though it was like a punishment. ‘Did they come inside you?’
‘No.’
The surprise of relief rushed through him. He knew she told him the truth. ‘Did they make you come?’
‘Yes.’
He didn’t like hearing it. ‘Are you satisfied?’
‘Yes, I’m satisfied. Especially now.’
A glow spread upwards from deep in his belly. His thrusting sped up. ‘What next?’
Her voice drawled huskily. ‘Mm. Musicians, I think, or maybe actors.’ A small gasp escaped. ‘Something … a little more … sensitive … moody … creative.’
He had a picture of himself hanging around stage doors ready to chat up the artistes: Excuse me, gents, would you like to do things to a woman while I watch? … Well, of course, darling! Is she gorgeous? … Oh, yes.
He couldn’t hold off much longer. She whispered, ‘Make me come again, Lowry.’ Her hips were thrusting back in pace with him.
It was part of the game, to talk, delaying the moment until they could hold back no more. Think. Concentrate. Keep your mind off this glorious sensation.
… Maybe approach a woman. They had not tried that yet. But the thought of Eva with another woman only added to the present excitement.
Fortunately, she reached for his hand and squeezed it down between her legs, fumbling with his fingers until they felt the spot. He rubbed at her clitoris. It didn’t take long. She was already panting hard. He put the fingers of his other hand near her mouth and she bit on his hand as she came. He sank his teeth into her shoulder and her head jerked back. The pain of teeth and the pleasure of rippling muscles as they gripped inside her, both at once, a double whammy, was reward enough for the evening’s work.
He slid his hands to her breasts as he worked his body on her. He licked at her skin, tasting the sweetness of butter and the salt of sweat. Or was it blood?
‘Come on, Lowry, fuck me hard!’ she breathed. It was a signal. He could come. He cried out at the moment of climax. He had her. She was his, at least for this moment. He had been kept on the brink, simmering for so long. His orgasm seemed to go on and on and at its end he was slaked at last; replete.
Their breathing slowed to normal though it took some time. Numbers on the bedside clock flicked to a new hour.
‘Do you want me to stay?’
‘No. Not tonight. I have an early meeting at The House tomorrow.’
He shifted his weight and reluctantly rolled from her.
‘Maybe a mega session on Sunday? Just you and me.’
His sated appetite was stirred again. He could not get enough of her.
He got up and quietly dressed. He noticed a small glimmer on the sheet by her feet. The clasp of the anklet must have come loose. She seemed to be breathing now in a regular sleep-rhythm. He touched at her ankle and pocketed the chain, then gently pulled up the duvet and blew out the candle. Lifting the curls from her neck he kissed the teeth marks. No blood.
Switching off the light, he left the room and left the apartment, to be swallowed by the darkness of the night, to make his way back home through the city.
Maddie Mackeown’s short stories have appeared in numerous Wicked Words collections.
Doing a Number on Him Lisa Sedara
HE RAPPED ON my open office door before I could pick up the phone and pretend I was busy. ‘Yes? What can I do for you?’ I asked, glancing at my Concord La Scala gold and diamond watch like I had only a hectic few minutes to live.
‘I’ve got some questions, Ms Demmings,’ the kid responded, unfazed.
‘Well …’ I stalled, staring angrily at the phone, willing it to ring. No dice. I’d been ducking the auditors the entire three weeks that they’d been examining the company books for their year-end audit, but it looked like I was finally trapped. Hefty bank loans and limited stock capitalisation made their presence an unwelcome necessity; it had always ruffled my tail feathers that they could delve into any aspect of my company that they wanted to.
‘Come in and have a seat,’ I eventually responded, pouring syrup on to a full-bodied smile.
There were two ways of handling nosy number-crunchers: the hard way – brushing them off, making their job and the accounting records as difficult as possible, until they, hopefully, became too intimidated to question you or your actions; or the soft way – soaking them in so much sugary kindness and useless documentation that they, hopefully, jettisoned their objectivity as they rushed to get the job done on time. I knew; I’d worked for a public accounting firm 25 years before, before the long hours and short pay sent me in search of private-industry riches.
‘My name’s Malcolm,’ the short, stocky, brown-haired bean-counter informed me, as he parked himself in one of the big, black leather chairs that stood guard before my big, black desk.
‘I guess you guys are just about finished the audit now?’ I asked, flashing a picket fence of white teeth dazzling enough to snow blind a Canadian.
Malcolm adjusted his out-of-style tie with one of his thick hands, gripped a pad of green seven-column and a mechanical pencil with the other. ‘Yeah, we’re just about done.’
‘I used to work for one of the Big Five accounting firms, you know,’ I said, attempting to lasso the square-jawed auditing foot soldier with our common bond, waste the only face-time he’d ever get with me on idle chit-chat as opposed to tough Q & A. ‘An audit is never really quite done, though, is it, what with –’
‘Anyway,’ he interrupted, ‘I know you’re busy, so I’ll get to my questions.’
‘Yes, well, only too happy to help,’ I said, glaring at the open door; there was never a busybody secretary when you needed one.
‘I’ve got some questions about some of the income-statement accounts,’ Malcolm intoned. ‘First, the “Other Expenses” account. I noticed a lot of payments to consulting companies going through that account. One company in particular – T & S International. I looked at some of the invoices and all they said was “Management Consulting Services”. What work did T & S International actually do for your company, Ms Demmings?’
I fingered my Waterman Leman 18K fountain pen, leaned back in my executive chair and crossed my long, black-stockinged legs. ‘Catherine,’ I said, smiling. ‘Those amounts are fairly small, aren’t they – for your materiality level, I mean?’
He nodded his blocklike head, his clear, brown eyes unblinking as he glanced from my silk-sheathed legs to my pretty face. ‘Yeah. None of the individual invoices is for more than ten grand – way below our single transaction audit materiality for a client with five-hundred million in sales – but they looked unusual, so I thought I’d ask. What’d T & S International do for you?’
I ran the slender, silver-ringed fingers of my right hand through my lustrous, black hair, twirled a shimmering strand around my forefinger as the soft, pink tip of my tongue peeked out from between my crimson lips and moistened them. The kid had a hell of a lot of nerve for someone half my age, and an accountant to boot. I’d run across his kind before, however, in my past life – lily-white untouchables with puritanical streaks wide enough to build a highway to heaven on; plain-looking guys and gals on self-righteous crusades to protect the fidelity of every number they audited; charmless innocents with no real-world business experience, in other words.
‘I can’t recall off the top of my head,’ I replied. ‘I’ll have my secretary look it up and see that she faxes the appropriate documentation to your office.’
Like hell I would! Ten individual payments of less than ten thousand dollars to what no one but me knew was my own wholly owned shell company, which provided me with jet-set vacations, weren’t enough to hold up a large-scale audit. Now, if those personal payments were put together with the other payments to the other subsidiaries of myself and long-dead relatives, then the whole crooked jigsaw puzzle might come together. And that could lead to a qualified audit opinion, possible de-listing, my probable termination. Not to mention nasty criminal charges and shareholder class-action lawsuits.
‘I need to see some evidence of the work that these consultants performed, and I need a name, a phone number and an address – so I can get third-party confirmation,’ Malcolm remarked, ignoring my response, making it all sound so damned easy.
I slammed my chair upright, my baby blues turning cold enough to pour Scotch over. ‘Your firm collects a significant audit fee from my company each year,’ I scolded. ‘And I don’t pay the partner you report to – Lyle – to waste my time with insignificant, immaterial questions.’ I stared hard at the earnest, green-as-money auditor, like any more sass might cause me to bend him over my knee, give him some good, old-fashioned motherly advice.
He didn’t flinch. ‘I’ll need the information I asked for – immediately – otherwise I’ll be forced to document your lack of co-operation, and my concerns, in a management point, forward it to the partner-in-charge of the audit, Mr Warkentin, with a cc. to the board of directors. As duly appointed external auditors, we’re entitled to full access to any and all records that we request.’
It was quite the sermon, and it made my delicate, manicured hands ball into rugged fists. It was time to implement the last-chance plan. I slowly stood up, swung around my desk and sauntered over to the door, my hips swaying like a fish-tailing Caddie. I closed the door, and then sashayed back over to an antique filing cabinet and pulled it open. ‘Well, let me see what I can find for you,’ I said huskily, with a smile warm enough to penetrate the darkest heart of any accounting zealot.
I plucked a folder marked ‘Miscellaneous’ out of the cabinet, and accidentally on purpose dropped it. Papers scattered all over the plush carpeting, forcing Malcolm off his chair and onto the floor, to gather up some of the meaningless pulp. I stood there and looked at his hard, round buttocks, as he squatted at my feet, and then I unlatched my short, black, leather skirt and let it fall to the floor. He heard the seductive plop and halted his paper chase, turned around on his heels and tentatively fingered my abandoned hip-wrap. His eyes wandered up my slim, stocking-clad legs, all the way up to my lacy, black panties and sheer, black garter.
‘See anything you can use?’ I murmured, unbuttoning my metallic-grey blouse, sliding it off my buff shoulders to reveal a black lacy bra that had its cups full trying to restrain my overlarge breasts. I’d attained the ripe age of 45 only two months earlier, but in my business – in any business where ethics are written in sand – it pays to take good care of yourself, and I had.
Malcolm watched as I unhooked my bra and shrugged my shoulders, forced the stretched-out tit-holder to join my skirt and my auditor on the floor. I cupped my heavy, creamy-white breasts, rolled my jutting, pink nipples between long, silver-tipped fingers and formed a scarlet ‘O’ with my pouty lips, my eyelashes fluttering. I wouldn’t be doing a girl–girl with Jenna Jameson any time soon, but judging by Malcolm’s red face and partially unhinged jaw, my performance had definitely gotten some sort of rise out of him.
‘What say we forget about the paperwork for a while?’ I suggested, before reaching down and grabbing Malcolm’s tie, pulling him to his feet, pressing my hot, soft-hard body against his and kissing him.
And after applying a heaping dose of snog to the stunned auditor’s mouth, intoxicating him with the sweet scent of my body spray and the sensual warmth of my big tits and velvety lips, I broke contact with his gaping mouth. He tried to splutter a protest, but I placed a calming, controlling finger on his smeared lips. I pushed him back against the desk and dropped to my knees, unbuckled his belt and unfurled his fly in the time it took to cross at, dot an i. Then I yanked his pants and shorts down in one fluid motion and proudly greeted the hard penis that sprang into my face, brushed my nose and swelled even further with anticipation as I breathed on it.
His aroused cock topped out at the five-inch mark – short and stocky like the rest of him. ‘God, it’s so big!’ I enthused, looking up at him with admiring eyes. Come to mama, little man, I thought, you’re playing by the house rules now. I wrapped my fingers around it and his body jerked, and then I began swirling my soft hand up and down his velvety pink length.
‘Jesus!’ he blurted, his body trembling.
I had the overwhelmed number disciple in the palm of my hand now, and I torqued up the sexual pressure, tugging on him faster and faster, testing his resolve, my scarlet lips mere millimetres away from the mushroomed head, my sure hand a blur.