by Emmie Combs
The woman considered her situation. She thought of the emails she'd discovered -- the filthy exchange between Peter, a supplier of fabrics to her factory, and her PA, Vanessa. The written exchanges had, at first, disgusted Charlotte, but there'd been a frisson to her discovery. Despite her offended morality, Charlotte had experienced a rush of warmth between her legs, and, red-faced with mortification, she found herself locking her office door and rubbing herself to orgasm as she imagined herself in the scenes described.
Charlotte confronted Peter about the lewd communications between himself and Vanessa -- a strange course of action given the fact that Vanessa was an employee, but Charlotte didn't reconcile her actions on a logical level; she was driven by a more primordial force.
The heat in her cunt.
They met in an expensive London eatery as arranged. Peter, tall, broad-shouldered, and with his rough, interesting face betraying his concern, complimented Charlotte in her long, black dress. Charlotte knew she looked good, understated but elegant, with a simple string of pearls around her neck. She'd chosen her dress and shoes deliberately. Her ash-blonde bob was newly cut and feathered around her face prettily. She noticed Peter's eyes flicker towards her deep cleavage and she smiled to herself -- Big tits, she thought, gets them every time.
Ignoring the polite murmur of muted conversations around them, Peter brought the subject in hand immediately to the fore. Lifting his hungry stare from the upper slopes of Charlotte's round breasts, Peter fixed his grey-blue eyes on her face. "I'm surprised," Peter said after a waiter had poured wine and left. "You find such emails between me and Vanessa, yet you speak to me and not her ... Why?"
"I can deal with Vanessa any time," Charlotte responded in her typically haughty fashion -- a self-made woman, she was used to having her own way. She shrugged, a movement that caused her breasts to jiggle, and Charlotte saw Peter glance at her chest again. "She's an employee, I can replace her, but you, Peter, are much more important to me."
The man's lips pursed and he shook his head. He ran his hand over his close-cropped hair. "No, Charlotte," he said emphatically. "I don't accept that. You could just fire Vanessa and not say anything to me. She's at fault, you're her employer ..." Peter paused, he stared intently at Charlotte -- it was a stare that caused the mature woman's sex to clench. Charlotte reached for her glass and gulped at her wine to cover her discomfit. Peter smirked, Charlotte's reaction spoke volumes. "There's more to it," he continued. He studied Charlotte's face. "Tell me," he insisted.
Peter used silence as a weapon. It was a trick he'd been taught years ago by his father. "They'll grow uncomfortable," the old man had said. "You control the silence and they will try to fill it. A useful trick in negotiations," Pappy had said and smiled.
"OK," Charlotte blurted finally. Peter smiled to himself. It had worked. "At first I was ... disgusted by what I read. The things you wrote to each other ... I've never ..."
"It's role-play, Charlotte," Peter interrupted. "A game." He sipped at his wine and glanced around the room. Nobody was paying any attention to the couple. They were an innocuous sight. Well-dressed, obviously wealthy -- they could even be married. "You said you were disgusted. What changed? How come you're not so offended anymore?"
Peter used the silence again.
"I—" Charlotte began.
"—were turned on," Peter finished for her. His voice fell to a whisper: "You grew excited." The man leaned across the table, he held Charlotte's gaze: "You played with yourself, Charlotte. You used your hands on yourself ... down there." Peter nodded towards Charlotte's lap.
The woman blushed and looked away. He was right; Peter had known exactly what she'd done. "It wasn't like that," Charlotte blustered. Her usual, assured demeanour evaporated. The man could read her like a book. Damn him, damn his intriguing eyes and his harsh good-looks. An image flashed into her mind. She saw Peter above her as she lay supine, with her legs wide apart, as she offered herself to him. Charlotte blushed at the vivid picture; she saw Peter's assured smirk as he held himself above her submissive form, she felt her nipples tighten as, in her mind, his big cock nudged her opening ... Charlotte squirmed against her seat. A pulse throbbed between her legs.
"It was exactly like that, Charlotte." Peter's accented English brought her back to the present. The residue of her fantasy lingered; her breasts ached and her teats longed to be sucked by this man -- Charlotte's insides melted.
Forty-five minutes later and Charlotte found herself in a black cab with Peter. She heard Peter speak to the driver -- she recognised the address from somewhere, but lust and wine blurred her senses. Besides, as soon as the cab turned a sharp one-hundred-and-eighty towards their destination, Peter fell on Charlotte like a predatory beast.
His hands were on her thighs instantly. Charlotte, feeling his fingers travel down her limbs, allowed her legs to fall apart. Peter growled as his hand slid up under the hem of the dress. He pushed roughly at Charlotte's thighs, eager to get to the hot place at their junction. Charlotte shuffled forward to accommodate Peter's insistent probe; she pushed her legs wider apart, and, at the same time, saw the driver observing the goings-on in his mirror. Aroused by the voyeuristic intent of the cabbie, Charlotte stared back at him belligerently -- as though challenging him.
Fuck you, she thought. Watch all you like, I don't give a damn. She groaned as Peter's palm cupped her mound through the fragile material of her underwear. She pushed back against the pressure while Peter moved across her body to kiss her.
Charlotte returned the kiss. Her lipstick, so carefully repaired following the meal, smeared across her face. Her hair also fell into disarray, smudged against the seat while Peter's tongue explored the wet cavern of her open mouth.
"You want to do this." Peter murmured during a break in their frenzied kissing. "We agreed."
"Absolutely," Charlotte acquiesced. "You've never cheated me so far ... in business ... why should this be any different?" She gasped as Peter's finger pushed beyond the taut film of her underwear and found the oily gape of her opening.
"You must trust me," Peter breathed into her ear. "It will be strange, but you must trust me."
Charlotte groaned and looked at the mirror again. The man was watching as Peter fingered her hole. The situation was already strange to Charlotte. A divorcee and 42 years old, she was used to straight sex behind closed doors. Sprawled in the back of a cab with the driver ogling her gaping snatch was just not her style. A modern day ladette would be more inclined to such lewd behaviour, but Charlotte, having conquered her modest upbringing, considered herself more refined. She moaned, turned on enough to agree to anything: "I do," she panted. "I trust you ... I ... I ...."
Peter grinned into the shadowy interior of the cab. Charlotte couldn't see his expression; her attention was on the cabby's eyes and the flame between her legs. Things were going better than he'd anticipated. He was pleased he'd made the call ahead when the opportunity arose. Charlotte's make-up repairs had given him the chance to use his mobile phone. His cock, already stiff, throbbed at what was to come.
The taxi driver accepted the fare and tip and, with a smirk, drove away. As the cab's engine noise dwindled, Peter led Charlotte up a short flight of steps towards the impassive facade of an expensive London mews.
With some trepidation Charlotte allowed herself to be blindfolded and bound to the chair by her wrists.
And now she had to make her choice.
Decisive in business, and, once a decision was made, she stuck to it. Charlotte opted to stay. "I trust you, Peter," she said determinedly. "I want to do this."
"Excellent," a female voice whispered in Charlotte's ear. The accent was quintessentially English; the speaker was well-educated, the product of indulgent parents and a girls' private school. Charlotte recognised the voice of Vanessa, her PA.
"You!" Charlotte blurted. "The address, your perfume ... I should've known sooner—"
Fingers dug into Charlotte's cheeks. The woman hissed: "You don't talk. No
body gives a fuck what you think. You're here for my pleasure."
A thrill of fear surged through Charlotte. Her guts clamped at the venom in the woman's tone. She thought of the safe word and nearly called it out. Then, as the code was about to form in her mouth, she recalled Peter's repeated insistence on trust. She swallowed heavily, still frightened, but now a thread of lust ran through the dark fabric of her fear.
Charlotte surrendered her will.
"Do it to her," Charlotte heard the woman say. A sound told Charlotte that Peter was moving to obey the command. So Peter wasn't in charge; he was in the woman's power as well. Charlotte had no further time to ponder since she felt hands grasp her ankles.
"Put your legs over the chair arms," Peter said.
He guided the woman's limbs into position. It was uncomfortable but not intolerable. Charlotte sat there with her backside on the edge of the cushioned seat, with her wrists bound and the backs of her knees hooked over her forearms. In this position, Peter lifted two handfuls of her dress and pushed the material up around Charlotte's belly. The woman felt fingers against her body as Peter wrenched the lacy scrap of her underwear to one side. A rending sound told Charlotte that her knickers were now a rag.
Peter uttered a Polish obscenity. Vanessa laughed.
"Looks like the bitch is all hot for your tongue, Peter. Her cunt's swollen and red and bubbling with juice." Charlotte's face burned beneath her blindfold, but Vanessa's vulgar description sent a surge of lust through her body. "You may kiss her there," Vanessa allowed.
Charlotte felt hot breath on her sex as Peter manoeuvred himself into position. Her labia were spread, with Peter's thumbs Charlotte imagined, and then she groaned when the man's mouth touched her burning sex.
"Oh ... fuck ..." Charlotte grunted and immediately fell silent as Vanessa's fingers dug into her cheeks again.
"Not a word from you, cunt. You say another word and I'll take this big-cocked bastard away from you. Then you can sit there with your twat unfucked. "
Charlotte whined but made no articulate sound.
A few minutes passed. The only sounds in the room were the slurping of Peter's mouth and tongue against the slippery flesh of Charlotte's core, and the muted moans and whimpers from her mouth.
Peter worked two fingers inside Charlotte and curled them to rub at the sensitive place inside. He rubbed hard at the rough spot he felt there, and was rewarded by a great burst of delight from Charlotte. The woman groaned even louder as Peter dabbed his tongue at her excited clitoris.
Vanessa's insistent voice broke across Charlotte's thoughts: "Don't let her come! If she comes you don't get your reward."
Immediately Charlotte felt Peter's fingers slide out of her opening. His tongue formed lazy patterns around her labia rather than the hard pressure against her clit that she'd adored. She wriggled in an effort to urge Peter to return to his earlier ardour.
But it was not to be. "It's time for the collar," Vanessa commanded. "Untie her, take the blindfold off and strip her."
A ripple of unease caused Charlotte to shiver for a second. Strip her? Naked? She was unprepared for this. Her body wasn't what it had been as a young woman. She was aware of her curves and felt self-conscious at being nude in front of these people.
Caught on the horns of a dilemma, Charlotte called to mind the safe-word again. She dithered, and before she'd managed to form a protest she felt the cords around her wrists slacken. She flexed her fingers and became aware of the ache in her forearms. Charlotte had been straining against the bonds without realising it as Peter had licked her. The discomfort momentarily displaced the anxiety she felt at being stripped bare.
The blindfold was removed and Charlotte blinked. She looked around the room. The place was sparsely furnished, but what furniture there was, was obviously expensive. Charlotte saw her employee, Vanessa. The woman stared at Charlotte with a supercilious expression on her face -- an arrogant sneer. Charlotte was cowed by the intense, green-eyed gaze and she hurriedly turned her face away to observe Peter. Charlotte gasped when she saw him. He was naked. Peter held what appeared to be a short, leather belt and a chain in one hand; in the other were what were obviously cuffs. It wasn't the sight of the paraphernalia that caused Charlotte's shock, nor was it Peter's heavy-muscled body -- it was the girth of his penis that made her gasp.
The great thing just ... hung there; a malicious entity, thick and threatening.
"Fucking huge isn't it?" Vanessa said; her eyes gleamed. "You're going to suck that thing. He's going to stick that monster into your mouth and down your throat ... And you're going to love it."
The prospect of taking Peter orally frightened Charlotte. It would be impossible to put that ... awful penis into her mouth; she would choke on it! Then, as Peter came towards her, his brutal cock swinging as he walked, Charlotte experienced a surge of elation. She was so aroused; she needed to come, her climax was imperative, and she'd do ... anything to get it.
"Take off your dress," Vanessa barked. Charlotte's face grew scarlet with embarrassment as she unhooked the eye at the nape of her neck and unzipped the dress. She shuddered and closed her eyes when the garment slid over her body, but she accepted the humiliation gladly if it meant that she was a step closer to orgasm. "Take off your bra, slut!" Charlotte jumped, startled out of her reverie. She hesitated, but then complied. Peter murmured softly in his native tongue when he saw Charlotte's full, heavy breasts swing free. "Put the collar on her. Cuff her wrists!" Peter obeyed instantly. He indicated the string of pearls around Charlotte's neck. Soon after the jewellery was coiled atop Charlotte's discarded dress. "Touch her breasts, Peter. Squeeze them. Suck her nipples."
Charlotte opened her eyes when Peter's hands closed around her body. The collar felt strange around her neck, so much tighter than the pearls had been, and the chain felt cold as it hung between her breasts, its leather loop hanging just in front of her navel. She gasped again when she saw Peter's cock jerking and stiffening of its own accord. It couldn't possibly grow any bigger! But Charlotte saw it could.
Peter nuzzled and suckled Charlotte's nipples. He sucked one teat between his teeth and then did the same to its twin. The flesh thickened and grew while the dark saucers of Charlotte's areolae contracted as her excitement heightened. All thoughts of her slight belly and bare bottom were banished as the fire between her legs raged on.
Vanessa stared at the pair with a hungry expression on her face and a glint of desire in her green eyes. She lifted her tight skirt to her waist, and, being naked beneath, split the folds of her labia with her middle finger. She sighed when her fingers slid over the slick nub of her own engorged clitoris. She tottered momentarily; her own desire and the spiked heels of her mirror-shiny, black shoes nearly caused her to fall. She recovered her balance and allowed herself a few seconds more of self-indulgence before she strode across to Charlotte and Peter. She ordered Peter to cease and then hooked the leather loop between Charlotte's breasts with her fingers.
Charlotte experienced a fresh burst of fear as she was yanked across the room to a leather chesterfield sofa. The tattered remnant of her knickers slid down her shin and fell to the carpet. Vanessa wrapped several loops of the chain around her fist until Charlotte was on a short leash, and then, with a look of disdain, Vanessa manoeuvred the blonde to her liking. She shoved disdainfully at Charlotte's shoulder; Charlotte fell into the cool embrace of the settee.
Vanessa released the chain as Charlotte fell backwards. "Julian," she called.
A tall man entered the room. Charlotte estimated his age at late-twenties and immediately saw a resemblance between the newcomer and Vanessa. Their hair colour was identical; blue-black, but rather than the straight length of Vanessa's, the man's hair was a mass of loose curls. They shared the same angular cheekbones and deep, green eyes. One noticeable difference was their attitude. The man, Julian, Vanessa's brother, didn't share his sister's arrogance; he appeared hesitant -- as though this situation was relatively new to him as well.
Julian eyed the pretty, voluptuous blonde on the settee. Her make-up was a mess, and her hair in disarray. She was older than he by at least ten years, but Julian found her attractive. She was desirable. His cock stiffened a little more at the perversity of the scene his sister had engineered.
"Give her your cock to suck, Julian," Vanessa ordered. She turned to Peter: "You go over there too. You're going to share that hard-on with the slut."
Charlotte's stomach lurched when she heard Vanessa's orders. A thrill of the taboo shocked her. Did Vanessa really mean for Peter to suck this man's cock? It wasn't that she objected to having Julian in her mouth -- his cock looked divine -- it was the perversity of sharing it with a man.
She soon found out.
Julian offered his penis to Charlotte. The blonde wriggled forwards on the sofa and leaned towards the proffered erection. Her hands, although cuffed at the wrists by wide leather bracelets, held close together with a few links of stout chain, could still be used. She opened her mouth and, with a glance at Vanessa, popped the purple dome between her lips. Julian sighed and pushed his fingers through Charlotte's hair.
Charlotte warmed to her task. She decided to make a good show of sucking cock in front of Vanessa. Having reconciled herself to her situation and, as a result, recovering some of her confidence, Charlotte felt her competitive edge returning. She slurped at Julian's cock with exaggerated vigour, spitting onto the helmet and rubbing a smear of saliva and Julian's goo around her cheeks.