Their offices were small. Although the company was doing well and was still growing, it was all they could afford. Zoe and Claire had their own rooms, while the rest of the team worked in a fairly cramped open plan area. There had been a lot of talk of relocating, but Claire was worried about the extra expense. She didn’t want them to overstretch, but Zoe passionately believed that they needed to expand or risk going backwards. They had reached something of an impasse over this and quite a few other issues as well. But they’d work them out. They’d find a compromise. They always did.
Paolo retrieved his case and found Claire in her office, sitting in one of the chairs usually used for visitors to her room. She was tapping at her phone. “Will the cab be long?” he asked.
“Not too long. They’ve got a bit of a backlog. You know, last Friday night before Christmas… I might just have a look outside…” she stood up to go to the window, but Paolo blocked her route. They stared at each other for seconds on end. Claire cleared her throat. Paolo dropped his suitcase from his grasp and it thudded on the floor. He put his hands on her hips and took a step forward. She moved her head, almost imperceptibly, towards his. Her arms stayed rigid at her side. He moved closer and everything seemed to go silent so that all she could hear was his light breathing and, she was certain, the rapid beating of her nervous heart. She swallowed, closed her eyes and parted her lips slightly. He kissed her, softly, lovingly. She kissed back, for perhaps a second, but then pulled away. “I… I can’t. My-my husband…” she whispered, her lips barely more than the thickness of a credit card away from his. He ignored her and kissed her again. ‘It’s just a kiss,’ she told herself, ‘it’s just a kiss.’
Five minutes later, it was still just a kiss. Her phone had rung and a message had been left, probably from the cab firm saying their car was outside, but they had both ignored it. His kissing made her head spin, made her dizzy. It was so delicate, so romantic. She suddenly knew that he had planned the whole thing. He had worked on her all night. She couldn’t understand why he had gone for her. What about the other women? Why not Lily? Or even Zoe – she was married too and she was far sexier than Claire – at least in her opinion.
She kissed his cheek, catching the scent of his aftershave and kissed his neck. Curiosity got the better of her. “Why me?” He didn’t answer. “Why me?” she repeated.
He pulled away and held her by her shoulders. “I’ve been watching you for months. I think you are beautiful. A real woman. Not like these fake stick insects that I meet all the time. You are truth. You are a vision. You are strong, independent. You are beautiful. Your hair, that lovely auburn colour, your body…” he tickled his fingers down the sides of her breasts, down to her waist, and briefly felt the contours of her round backside.
“I’m so fat,” she protested.
“What?! Don’t you ever say that! What are you talking about?”
“I’m a size 12. That’s fat.”
“That is rubbish, and you know it. I love your curves, I love your body. God I have fantasised about getting my hands on you so many times you wouldn’t believe.”
“Really?” she looked up at him. He didn’t answer. He just kissed her again, more deeply this time, his tongue teasing her lips before darting inside her mouth. She slipped her arms inside his suit jacket and felt the heat of his body under his starched shirt. She felt his arms drop lower. He felt for the hem of her skirt and then pulled it up, allowing his hand to manoeuvre underneath. He moved it higher, to the side of her bum, while his other hand sensitively danced up and down her back. “I can’t… we can’t…” she murmured, pulling away again. But when she looked into his eyes she knew that they could, and they would. Her brain was too frazzled by alcohol – and lust – to resist.
He shrugged his jacket off and removed his tie. She stood, watching, biting her lip, her whole body telling her to walk out immediately, to escape, to leave before any real damage was done. Yet she remained rooted to the spot, unable to tear her eyes away from him. Her phone rang again, probably the cab firm once more, but she didn’t even look at it. Slowly, he undid the buttons on his shirt, folded it in half and placed it carefully on the back of a chair. She moved towards him and kissed his chest, taking in his scent, letting her fingers explore his naked upper body, thrilled that she was getting what so many other women hotly desired.
He pushed her jacket off too, and, while she scratched lightly at his strong back and kissed his throat, he flipped the buttons to open her shirt. When she finally felt his hands on her skin, on her waist and stomach, she gnawed at his neck, unable to control herself any longer. He didn’t protest or howl in pain. He just chuckled and helped her out of her bra.
She felt him cup her breasts as they kissed, his hands hot and tender and she grabbed at his butt, copping a feel as she knew every woman at the party had wanted to do that evening. She smiled to herself at this, almost started laughing at the ridiculousness of it.
He ducked lower now and kissed his way from her neck to her nipple, sensuously circling it with his tongue until it became rigid. Claire felt her pussy grow hotter, wetter, with each lick and, knowing there was now no way back, she reached out and unzipped him, fumbled drunkenly with his belt and then grabbed, with not a huge amount of grace, at his engorged cock, still held in check by his immaculate white briefs.
He pressed himself up against her, forcing her to remove her hand, but she could now feel his hardness on her pelvis and she grabbed at his buttocks again to make him grind harder. “Fuck,” she whispered. “I need to get out of these tights.” She jerked herself free from him and sat down. As quickly as she could, she pulled down her tights. She wished she had worn stockings, but it was so cold out and she wasn’t exactly expecting something like this. She pulled her knickers off too, flinging them to the floor without ceremony.
She stood back up and he pushed her back against the filing cabinet in the corner of the room. She felt the cold metal against her back and relished the contrast between that freezing shock and the heat of his body pressed against hers.
He hitched up her skirt as they kissed and she yanked his trousers and briefs to his ankles. She reached between them and wrenched at his penis, marvelling at what a perfect size it was, how smooth it felt, at how stiff she had made him. She bent it a touch and a moment later he was inside her.
She lifted a thigh to allow him better access and, with a teasing, leisurely rhythm he slid his cock in as far as he could and then right out again until she could only feel his tip at her opening. She bit at his neck again, unable to control her passion. In retaliation, he raised her arms high above her head and gripped her wrists together with one hand while the other returned to the underside of her upper thigh. With her body now stretched, he went to work, pummelling her harder, crashing against the filing cabinet, making it rumble almost like it was beating out a rhythm to their sex. Papers, a photo frame with a picture of Claire and her husband and a couple of pens all spilled joyously to the floor around them as the intensity increased.
She closed her eyes, her body now in the throes of ecstasy, and allowed him to pound her. She grimaced, yet she also relished the feel of the handles and the pointy parts of the cabinet digging into her back with each thrust. He let go of her wrists and instead placed his hand behind her head and kissed her. She scratched at his back, nearly drawing blood, which only seemed to spur him on to stronger, more rapid strokes. She willed him on, breathing, ‘Yes!’ with every single jolt, and then, ‘I’m coming!’ which only gave him an even greater impetus – he seemed to grow another centimetre or two inside her, filling her cunt, encouraging her love juice to flow ever more freely. He held her jaw with one hand and they stared at each other as the climax fast approached…
Just outside Claire’s office, obscured from view, Zoe stood stock still, iPhone in hand, recording the moment when Claire exploded in orgasm, her body convulsing violently, her nails dragging down Paolo’s back, her eyes closed, expletives somersaulting from her mouth.
“Dirty little slut,” Zoe whispered under her breath. “Not quite so perfect now, are we?”
Claire and Zoe had met at University and quickly became best friends. They lived together even after graduation. Both seemed on course for reasonably successful careers; Claire in accounting, Zoe in Public Relations. But then, one evening in the early part of the century, they were at home watching, as they often did, Sex and the City, when the kernel of a big idea sprouted between them. As usual, they were scrutinising the wardrobes of the four characters. Carrie always came out on top (although some of her outfits they both found hard to credit), but they were also impressed by the fashion styles of Sam, Charlotte and Miranda in different episodes. “Wouldn’t it be great,” said Zoe suddenly, “if you could just walk into a shop and buy something in the ‘Carrie’ section. It would save so much bother.”
There was a pause for a moment before Claire excitedly replied: “That is an… incredible idea!” That evening, GetMeHerLook.com was born. It was a simple enough premise: a website that sorted clothes and fashion into sections relating to their favourite TV characters. Together, they scoured fashion sites for specific clothes and accessories that they felt suited the styles of characters like Carrie (Sarah Jessica Parker), Rachel (Jennifer Aniston) in Friends, Gabrielle (Eva Longoria) in Desperate Housewives, and Phoebe (Alyssa Milano) in Charmed.
It began as a hobby that they worked on in the evenings and at weekends. They would simply link to clothes on other websites that they felt fitted the characters. A free, fun service. As traffic increased, however, they realised that they could take commission when their click-throughs turned into sales. They began negotiating associate deals with companies and they added new character styles to their site almost every week – in some cases even finding fashions of today that would have fitted classic characters from the past, such as Diana Rigg’s Mrs Emma Peel in the original Avengers series.
Within a year, they had both quit their jobs to concentrate on the site. It was a real slog at first and several times they had serious discussions about letting the whole thing go under, but they always found some way to keep going and eventually their graft and inventiveness paid dividends. The key to really taking off as a business was when they started selling clothing themselves after making deals directly with manufacturers and designers and adding those products to their existing business of showcasing particular styles from a handful of High Street fashion stores.
A decade on, though, fissures had opened up between the partners. While Claire was happy to continue their gradual growth and development, Zoe was becoming increasingly impatient and wanted to surge forward. They were growing apart at an alarming rate. Both of them had got married, but while Claire seemed to become ever more conservative, seemingly more interested in her home life and leisure time than the business, Zoe, in her opinion, had hardly changed. She still loved the thrilling lifestyle of building the company, of networking, of making more money, and her home life had never significantly impinged upon that.
Zoe had always believed Claire’s natural cautiousness to be invaluable, but now she felt trapped by it. She could see so many opportunities, but Claire was never willing to take risks and would never agree to adapt the brand. In Zoe’s mind, they had stood still for three or four years. Plenty of other businesses had taken important parts of their model and were steaming ahead with new innovations that, she felt, meant they were in danger of being left behind. Several times she had tried to persuade Claire to take a back seat, or to concentrate on the accounting and the more mundane sides of the business in the hopes she might get a freer hand in bringing in new ideas. Claire, though, was reluctant to let go.
For example, it could not be ignored that the culture of celebrity, while big in the early 2000s, had become exponentially larger by the end of the decade. Zoe felt that they had to reflect this on the site. She had campaigned for years to have style pages focusing on the likes of Amy Childs from The Only Way is Essex or US reality TV star Kim Kardashian. In Zoe’s mind, these kind of characters represented huge potential business for the company and while she didn’t exactly appreciate the kind of fashion these reality stars promoted, she knew that a lot of young women did look to them for clothing ideas. To Zoe, it was madness not to jump on that bandwagon.
Claire, however, was adamant. Firstly, she refused to move from the original idea of only using characters from fictional shows and movies, and secondly she felt using these kind of reality stars would cheapen the site and send it too down market. She was happy to include new characters such as Alicia Florrick (Julianna Margulies) and Kalinda Sharma (Archie Punjabi) from The Good Wife, or Bel Rowley (Romola Garai) from BBC period series, The Hour, but always refused suggestions of reality stars. Zoe was furious at this snobbishness and, what’s more, she knew that she had the support of the majority of their team on this issue. This wasn’t a hobby any more, this was their livelihood and they could not afford to ignore potential revenue streams.
They had argued many times over this issue and others. Their relationship was deteriorating fast. True, the company was still doing okay, but Zoe was positive it could do better, a lot better. She was bitterly frustrated at Claire’s lack of support.
Now, however, she had leverage. She went home and thought about it all weekend. Should she use it? Had it really come to this? They were once closer than sisters. She tried to wipe the sentiment from her mind. The business was what was important, and Claire had held it back for too long.
The following Monday was the 22nd of December. Everyone was in the office by 8.30am. Christmas was always a busy time and they needed to be sure that the site was stable and that their suppliers were working as efficiently as possible to ensure that they were able to meet the demands of their clients.
Everyone, that is, except for Claire, who came in at 9.30am, looking bright and unflustered as usual. She greeted everyone but did her best not to meet Paolo’s eye. She had obsessed about their moment of weakness all weekend. She shrank from her husband’s touch out of pure guilt. She felt awful. She wanted to blame the alcohol, but she knew that she had had plenty of opportunities to walk away from Paolo and had taken none of them. They had fucked because she wanted to fuck him, because she desired him. There was no getting away from that.
She stepped into her office, but before she could even remove her coat and scarf, Zoe followed her in. “Hi Claire, listen, can you come over to my office in a moment? I’ve got something we need to go over.”
“Sure, be over in a tick.”
“Fancy a coffee, you two?” asked Lily, sticking her head round the door.
“That would be lovely, thanks Lily,” replied Claire.
“I’m fine. Already had two cups today,” said Zoe, pointedly. If Claire noticed the dig, she didn’t react, and five minutes later she was in Zoe’s office, warming her hands on a mug of white coffee.
“So, what’s up?”
“Can you close the door, babe? Sorry, this is a personal thing, sort of.”
“Ooh, sounds exciting,” said Claire, gently clicking the door closed behind her.
“Can you come round here? I’ve got something I need to show you on the laptop… Better just make sure the sound is dipped a bit.”
“What is it?” At first, she couldn’t quite tell – the camerawork was a little wobbly – but then she realised it was her office. She immediately felt a kick in her stomach, as if the wind had been knocked out of her. The sound was low, but she could still hear the clanking of bodies against metal and, above that, her own voice: “Yes, yes, yes, yes, oh fuck yes!” The camera moved slightly and now the whole scene was visible. Paolo’s brown, firm arse clenching and unclenching, swaying back and forth. His trousers round his ankles. Her naked leg up by his hip. Her head over his shoulder, her face screwed up in ecstasy, her mouth open, as if she was struggling to breathe. Bits and pieces toppling from the filing cabinet onto the floor.
“Turn it off! Turn it off!” she whispered.
; “Wait,” said Zoe, smiling. “I like this bit.” Claire’s high-pitched moans increased in velocity. The filing cabinet looked like it might fall over. Claire saw her own nails drag down Paolo’s back, leaving thick red marks. “That must’ve hurt,” giggled Zoe. “Ah, here it comes… or should I say, here she comes.” Claire watched herself reach her quick, shuddering orgasm, her face locked in frozen bliss. She watched herself kiss Paolo’s neck, his shoulder.
“Turn it off, please.” Claire held her face in her hands.
“It ends there anyway.”
Claire staggered to a chair. “This is really, really embarrassing.”
“I should say so.”
“How did you get that?”
“Well, in the end the girls decided they didn’t fancy another drink, so they went home. I just came back to the office to grab my laptop and heard some funny goings on in your office.”
“And… and you filmed it?”
“Well, not at first. I just watched. I’ve always wanted to see Paolo naked! As did you, apparently!”
“Oh God.” Claire wiped a tear from her eye.
“And he didn’t disappoint, did he? I thought he’d be… big. But wow. Just wow.”
There was a pause. Claire looked at her friend. “But… why film it? I don’t get it.”
“Claire, listen. I’ve been trying to get through to you for a couple of years now. This company needs to change. It’s stuck in the mud. It’s not moving forward. We have to move with the times. We have to surge on, to capitalise on our base. We need more investment, more ideas. We need more clients, a greater depth of clients.”
“But we’re doing so well…”
“We’re doing okay. But we’re stagnant. And you just don’t listen to me… Look… I never thought it would come to this. You – you do still love your husband, don’t you?”
Sex with a Sting: Six Erotic Fantasies with a Kink in the Tail Page 9