Yes, Mr Larson and Other Filthy Stories

by J. J. Hayle

  “Yes, you do.”

  “It’s just your obsession with money.” His eyes flamed towards her. “I know you didn’t make what you said you did in tips, and you never refuse my offers to give you money. What sort of woman does what you do to pay off a pittance of debt?”

  “Are you serious?” she whispered. “It’s not a pittance to me, and you offered. Why offer if you don’t mean it? You bullied me into our arrangement.”

  “But you agreed. If you don’t respect yourself then why should I respect you?” he replied, fiercely.

  Before she could reply, the Fosters called to them. Mr Larson brightened, and Layla smothered her anger. She managed to avoid speaking to him for the rest of the day. Mr Larson appeared happy that he managed to sign a few more contracts with the Fosters to increase supplies to more of his branches. Mike had Layla speak in German with one of his associates. Mr Weber was very impressed and said Layla’s passable German was impeccable. Mike invited Layla to attend a meeting to translate for some of his clients.

  “You don’t mind, do you, Larson?” asked Mike.

  “Of course not,” said Mr Larson diplomatically, though Layla suspected he was annoyed.

  The journey home started as silently as the journey there, though this time, Layla bubbled with rage. She was still angry with Mr Larson for what he had said. He had done nothing but put her down recently, and now he using his own arrangement against her.

  I’m going to end it. I wonder if Aaron will take me back. Damn, I wish I hadn’t ended my job the way I had.

  Aaron wasn’t so bad—he just thought his staff were fiddling the tills and many of them were.

  Layla was busy rehearsing what she would say to Aaron and hadn’t heard Mr Larson begin to speak.

  “Well?”

  “I was miles away, what did you say?”

  He huffed. “I said, on Wednesday I want you to come on a night out with a few of my friends, but I want you to accompany my friend Richard. He is upset about a break-up with his wife, and I want you to…you know…show him a good time.”

  “Excuse me!” she exclaimed. “You want me to spend the night with one of your friends?”

  “Instead of me, yes. You’re being paid.”

  “I’m not doing that,” she cried.

  “Why not? You’re getting paid. What difference does it make whose dick you’re sucking?”

  You bastard!

  “Does your friend know you pay me?”

  “No.” He sneered. “If he knew you were a whore he wouldn’t go anywhere near you.”

  “I’m not a whore.”

  “You take money for sex—that’s a whore. Whatever. I don’t know why you’re bothered as long as you get paid.”

  “And you’re just happy to send me off to your friends?” she asked, dumbfounded.

  “I pay for a car and let others drive it. What’s the difference?”

  “Red,” cried Layla. “Red. Red. Red.”

  “Why?”

  “Replay this conversation back. Replay every conversation we’ve had for the last week back. If you have a shred of decency, you will know why.”

  “You’re being dramatic. How will you pay your debt?”

  “How I pay my pittance of a debt is my problem.” She gritted her teeth to prevent tears.

  “Suit yourself,” he said plainly. “I’m bored anyway.”

  “As am I. Perhaps I should go with your friend. Maybe he could satisfy me and not leave me frustrated, disappointed, and frozen on his doorstep.”

  He glared at her before turning his eyes back to the road.

  “You’re ashamed,” she said. “That’s what is wrong with you. You’re ashamed that you’re giving me money, and you’re attacking me and being nasty to me to make it my fault and to absolve you of any blame. I’m ashamed too, but I don’t deserve this. We’re both adults, and we both agreed to something that should have been fun, but instead it has become bitter and twisted.”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Have you nothing to say?”

  “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

  “You do owe me an explanation.”

  “Here’s one.” He laughed icily. “You’re right, I am ashamed. Do you want to know why I never fuck you? It’s because I don’t want to pay to fuck a dirty little tramp. I want the minimum from you, and when I am done, I want you out of my sight.”

  Tears streamed down Layla’s cheeks. “Stop the car and let me out.”

  “We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

  “I want to get out.”

  “Whatever,” he grumbled, pulling the car onto a layby. Layla got out of the car and, leaving the door open, began to walk down the road. Mr Larson slammed the door and sped away.

  Layla sobbed as she walked.

  Evil bastard!

  She was grateful for her decision to buy flat sandals. She rubbed the tears from her eyes and checked her phone. No reception. Great! She had no idea how far away she was from the nearest anything and wasn’t sure if she would make it anywhere before it went dark in the next hour. She was considering flagging a lorry and trying to hitch a ride when the blue Audi sped past her. Mr Larson turned around and pulled alongside her with his hazard lights flashing.

  “Get in the car, Miss Farrow,” he said.

  “No.”

  “Don’t be stubborn,” he said. “You’ll get run over or picked up by some weirdo.”

  “There’s someone worse than you?” She sneered.

  His expression softened. “Layla, just get in the car. Let me take you home and then you can hate me.”

  “No.”

  “I’m holding all the traffic up.”

  She huffed and then opened the door and climbed in the car.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, putting his foot on the accelerator and apologising to the impatient drivers behind him. “I have been a colossal jerk.”

  “Yes, you have,” she agreed, wiping her tears.

  “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I thought I could handle it, and it would be no big deal. I thought I could be cold and just do what I wanted and not let my feelings get in the way. I feel embarrassed that I have put you in this position, and I have resented you for agreeing. When you told me I was ‘the fool who paid’ last week it has played on my mind. It made me despise you. I despise myself, but I wanted it to be all your fault. I feel sleazy and perverted, and it makes me sick.”

  “Your needs aren’t sleazy and perverted.”

  “Perhaps not, but bullying a girl into fulfilling my needs is. I feel ashamed that I have done that to you. That’s why I send you away so I can pretend that it never happened. Pretend that I’m not just some deviant.”

  She sighed. “Look, I was intrigued and excited by what you offered—the money was a bonus. I think I would have gone along with it anyway if you hadn’t treated me like you did afterwards.”

  “I’m sorry,” he murmured.

  “It’s okay.”

  “There is an inn on this road, why don’t we stay there tonight? I’ll get you your own room, but we can have a drink and talk and get to know each other like we should have done in the first place.”

  Layla smiled. “Okay,” she said. “Do I still have to call you sir?”

  He laughed. “Call me Larson—everyone else does.”

  “Is that your public schoolboy name?”

  “Now who is judgemental?” He laughed. “I didn’t go to public school. I grew up on a council estate, and my parents built their business from nothing at the time when e-commerce was starting to boom. They helped me start my business.”

  “So why were you so against me?”

  “Because I’m a dick.” He smiled. “And because I’ve made my success on pretence. On pretending to be refined, pretending to be rich even when I wasn’t, pretending to be ruthless to get my own way. I was worried when the Fosters insisted that you came to the dinner that you would
ruin my façade, but they love you exactly as you are. That deal would never have happened if it wasn’t for you, and I was jealous that it wasn’t me who made it. I was jealous that you made one of the biggest deals in my company in your lunch hour, and that you could show up at a fancy restaurant in a twenty-pound dress, not knowing which fork was which, and they not only offered contracts but offered you a job.”

  “He has offered me a job again today.”

  “I know. It’s an excellent opportunity. You should take it.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “I will give you your fair cut of those contracts. I was reluctant at first because I knew you would pay off your debts, and I would have nothing to keep you in the arrangement with. I am a selfish ass,” he said, staring at the road ahead. “I have made a mess, but I will put it right. You’re going to be well-off now, Layla. These contracts could be the start of something great for you.” He turned, and his eyes met hers briefly before he turned back to the road. “I will respect your decision to end things between us.”

  He is more handsome when he’s apologising.

  “Perhaps we can have a new arrangement,” Layla said as Mr Larson pulled the Audi into the pub car park.

  “What’s that?”

  “One that involves no money and two consenting adults who want to have fun with each other.”

  Mr Larson grinned. “I like that arrangement. Can I still be in charge?”

  “Yes, sir.” She smiled coyly.

  Mr Larson booked one room, and after a lovely meal and a few drinks he dragged Layla into the room. She stood before him with her eyes to the floor as he pulled her towards him to kiss her mouth. She gasped as he kissed her hard and crushed her body tightly against his. He grasped a fistful of hair and pulled her head back to expose her throat. He placed gentle hot kisses at her throat before nibbling at her ear.

  “What do you want me to do to you?” he whispered as he bit her earlobe.

  “I have been a naughty girl, Mr Larson,” Layla replied. “I have agreed that I will allow my boss to use me for his pleasure. I deserve to be punished.”

  “I see nothing here I can use to punish you,” he whispered. “My hands will not offer a severe enough punishment.”

  Layla smiled coyly and walked away from him. She picked up one of her sandals, the TV remote, a rolled-up copy of Surrey Life, and a bamboo cane from a potted plant on the balcony. She strode towards Mr Larson and knelt before him with her eyes towards the floor and offered him the items for her punishment.

  “Good girl,” he murmured with excitement. “My good obedient girl. Do you want me to use these things on you?”

  “Yes, Mr Larson,” she said.

  “Even this?” he asked, spinning the cane between his thumb and forefinger.

  “Yes, sir. Please punish me. I deserve it.”

  Mr Larson smiled hungrily and pulled her over his knee. After warming her skin with his hand he began to beat her with the sandal. Layla moaned as her bottom burned.

  Yes. I need this.

  Mr Larson had reddened her skin before he used the remote to make short, sharp bites across her cheeks and the backs of her thighs. Layla felt ecstatic as the blood rushed to the surface of her skin and flushed it red.

  “Stand,” Mr Larson commanded. She obeyed, and Mr Larson removed her clothing. He pulled hard at her nipples and made them erect and swollen.

  “May I retrieve something from my purse, master?”

  He nodded, and she retrieved the nipple clamps she had taken from his attic and forgotten about. Mr Larson smiled, taking them from her. “You have earned an extra few strokes for stealing my property.”

  “Yes, sir.” She grinned as he squeezed her hard nipples between the clamps. She groaned at the exquisite pain that bit her nipples and felt her pussy juice begin to trickle down her thigh.

  Mr Larson noticed her glistening thighs and reached his fingers to touch her. Layla bit her lip at the pressure of his fingers against her swollen clit.

  “Lie down and spread your legs,” Mr Larson commanded.

  “Yes, sir.” Layla obeyed, and Mr Larson lowered his mouth to her pussy.

  Layla gasped as his lips met hers. She was soaking, and he feasted on her juices and licked every drop. He ran his tongue inside her and flicked it against the bud of her clit. Layla groaned and tried to close her legs. Mr Larson used his strength to pin them apart and began to suck on her. Layla moaned loudly with every pulse of her clit as it throbbed between Mr Larson’s lips.

  “Yes,” she gasped. “Yes, master. Oh. God. Oh!”

  Mr Larson caught her come on his tongue as it ran into his mouth. He climbed up her body and plunged his tongue into her mouth and made her taste her come. Layla licked at his tongue to savour every delicious drop.

  “Turn over,” Mr Larson commanded.

  “Yes, sir,” replied Layla, lying on her stomach on the bed. He commanded her to put her feet on the floor, and she obeyed.

  Mr Larson picked up the magazine and began to hit her with it. It was a pleasing sensation and much less painful than the sandal and remote control. He hit her ass, thighs, back and shoulders before ordering her to lie on her back again so he could beat her between her legs.

  Layla roamed her hands towards her breasts and tugged at her clamped nipples. She had adjusted to the sensation and no longer felt the delectable pain. Mr Larson smiled.

  “Good girl,” he said, adjusting the clamps so they became tighter.

  “Thank you, sir,” she gasped.

  “Are you ready for your caning?” he whispered.

  “Yes, Mr Larson.”

  “I am going to give you a lot of light strokes and six hard strokes. I want you to count the hard strokes. If you miss, then I will start again. Do you understand, Miss Farrow?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He positioned her in the corner of the room, bent over with her hands against the wall.

  She felt her anxiety and excitement burn. She knew this would hurt, but she knew she needed to yield to him. She needed to submit to him and allow him to punish her. She could not explain why, but she felt so satisfied under his command. She wanted him to be fulfilled when she submitted herself to him and accepted his dominance and his discipline.

  Mr Larson began to use the cane to make light strokes around her back, shoulders and thighs and finally on her bottom. They felt wonderful, though she braced herself and the first hard stroke bit her skin.

  Ouch!

  “One. Thank you, sir.”

  He hit her lightly again and the second came. She felt herself twist away but held her position.

  “Two. Thank you, sir.”

  The third followed closely, and she rose onto her toes. Tears sprang from her eyes.

  “Three. Thank you, sir.”

  He hit her lightly again around the bottom, the cane stinging where it touched the tender spots where the cane had sharply found her skin. Again.

  “Four. Thank you, sir.”

  “Are you ready for a hard one?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir,” she replied.

  “Good girl.”

  The cane thundered against her cheeks, and she yelped.

  Oh, my God, that hurts.

  “Five. Thank you, sir.”

  The final blow made her cry out.

  “Ouch. Six. Thank you, sir.”

  Mr Larson dropped the cane and rubbed his hands on her bottom. It was so sore, but she loved the sensation of him touching her. “Well done,” he said.

  “Thank you, sir,” she replied, catching her breath. “Thank you for caning me. I deserved it.”

  “You took that well.” He stood her up and turned her around. “It makes me happy when you obey me.”

  “Yes, master.”

  “Lie on the bed and spread your legs.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Mr Larson pulled the cords from the complimentary dressing gowns and used t
hem to bind Layla’s wrists together and tie them to the bed frame. He stripped his clothes and knelt in front of her. It was the first time she had seen him naked, and he was magnificent. His huge cock stood to attention, and Layla’s pussy pulsed with anticipation.

  Is this it? Is he finally going to fuck me?

  Mr Larson removed a condom from his wallet and rolled it onto his cock. He lowered himself towards her and pushed inside her. She groaned as his enormous length filled her and stroked slowly in and out of her.

  “Do you want me, slut?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  He smiled, and his cock began to pound her. He lowered himself over her and began to fuck her harder. He squeezed at the clamps on her nipples, increasing the sensation, and bit at her neck. Her sore bottom rubbed against the sheets as his cock grinded inside her. The fusion of pleasure and pain was intoxicating, and she cried out as she squeezed against him in response to her orgasm.

  Mr Larson pulled out and turned her over onto her knees. He entered her again and, holding her hips tightly, he thundered into her. She yelped as his skin slapped against her sore rear. He pulled at her hair. She pulled uselessly at the restraints. She was helpless and completely at his mercy as he ravaged her. He fucked her relentlessly, and Layla’s body screamed red as his cock tormented her. She cried out, and Mr Larson groaned loudly as they were both brought to a staggering climax.

  Mr Larson lay on his side and pulled her into his arms holding her closely and kissing her neck. She was still tied to the bed frame, her nipples were still clamped, and her derriere was battered. Perhaps it was sleazy. Perhaps it was perverted. She didn’t care. She had never felt more satisfied.

  Jenna had been married to Tom for three years today. She smiled as she admired herself in the mirror. She had spent extra time on her hair and had done her make-up how he liked. Tom loved her heavily made up. He wanted her to wear dresses every day—the tighter, the better—so he always had easy access to his prize. She wore an exceptionally tight dress today that revealed her full bust. Tom would be happy.

  He was always happy when he saw other men looking in admiration at his wife. Nothing got him hotter than men leering over Jenna. Well, nothing except watching men have their way with her anyway.