by Bridy McAvoy
“I’m sorry about the blouse. Was it an expensive one?”
I shook my head. “No, it was an old one. About at the end of its life.”
“Well, I am sorry, and I’m sorry I was so rough with you today. I don’t want you to get yourself into trouble at home.”
I explained my epiphany this morning, how I would be confining my dating to the condo from now on, and that meant the house became my sanctum. I’d told him about the condo before but he’d never paid any interest in it.
He smiled gently. “I’d love to see it some time.”
“Anytime, anytime.” My mind was alive with thoughts of what it would be like to make love to him in a bed rather than be fucked on his desk, spend some time more like a regular couple, but he shook his head.
“Don’t daydream about it, Samantha. It won’t happen. In here we can control what happens—well, I control what happens. Out there, rumors can start, and once they start…” He paused, then shook his head. His face seemed more somber, more melancholy. “Go on, scoot, it’s about quitting time anyhow.”
* * * *
For Sammie it seemed to be a natural time for a break in the story. So we both took a comfort break, and she fetched us another couple of beers. I checked my watch—it was gone ten o’clock now and I’d been listening to her for nearly two hours. She definitely needed a break.
After drinking about half her beer, she looked over at me. “He never did, you know.”
“Never did what?”
“Visit here. He never saw the condo, but he did hear quite a lot about it over the next eighteen months.”
I tried to work out the calendar in my head, but I already knew things overlapped. I’d been relieved to find out the guy I’d worked with, the guy I’d confided in about Sammie, hadn’t actually beaten me there. He’d referred to her as an ice-queen often enough. At the time I’d thought that was in reaction to what I said about her. I guess, now, I knew some of his reasons.
Part of me had come to an accommodation with what Sammie was telling me—even I’d noticed my change of attitude. All my previous girlfriends had come with history—indeed, if I thought about it, most had been little more than casual hook-ups, certainly not exclusive. I’d thought Sammie was exclusive, but she’d as much as told me she hadn’t been, even if I had.
I could see her watching me as I sat there thinking this through. I was still angry, but the harsh rage had abated. Dealing with Malcolm and the vindictive Sarah, who’d been happy to trash her own father’s memory less than two months after he died, had given me satisfaction. Okay, I hadn’t confronted them directly, but I had bested them and that gives anyone satisfaction.
Sammie finished her beer. “You want to continue, or call it a night?”
“I want to hear more. The more ground we cover, the more recovery time we’ll have.”
She sighed. “I was trying to leave you on a bit more of a high. The next bit might be harder for you to take.”
“That’s okay. I’m a big boy.”
She smiled. “I know… I’ll do you a deal. Give me five minutes, and you get us two more beers, okay?”
“Sure.”
She disappeared into the bedroom, and I could hear a closet door opening and closing. Guessing what she was doing, I took the empties through to the kitchen trash and grabbed another two beers from the fridge. I was sitting in the chair waiting for her return when she called out from the bedroom.
“Close your eyes.”
“Why?”
“Please, just for a few seconds.”
This kind of game was one we played fairly frequently. Neither of us cheated, or at least I didn’t, and I’d never caught her. Taking a deep breath, although I had guessed what she’d been doing, I did as she asked and closed my eyes. “They’re closed.”
I heard the door open and close and then the click of heels on the wooden floor. She’d been wearing a tight T-shirt and very tight shorts with bare feet when she’d gone through that door. She was wearing shoes now. That piqued my interest.
I felt her come to a stop just in front of me, breathing heavily. When she spoke it was breathy and her voice was lower. “This is your reward for what you did for me today. Open your eyes.”
I had to whistle. She’d got changed, and in double quick time. She’d got changed in what must have been record time. It wasn’t the Merry Widow she’d described wearing for Frank Bryant. This one was white, strapless, with pink lace edging the cups of the bodice. It looked like her breasts would fall out if she moved. Lower down she wore white panties that matched, but which showed every contour of her partially visible pussy through the thin lace. The Merry Widow had garters attached which were hooked onto white fishnet stockings. On her feet she wore a pair of open-toed white sandals, with probably a two inch platform and a five inch heel.
“Wow!”
“You can dispense with the wrapping whenever you like, honey.”
She was a vision, a total vision of erotic loveliness. Even after four years of marriage she could still stop my heart and make my cock jump to instant attention. This was one of those moments and she knew it. That devilish smile told me that, and told me she intended to take full advantage of that, either now or later.
“I might unwrap you later, but I might make you sleep in that getup instead.”
She shuddered. I could see the idea of being in bed with me, dressed like that, was pushing a button for her. Already I was sure the panties had turned a little more transparent as her pussy produced more juices than it could contain. Her breathing was rough, just like it got immediately before she came.
“Go and sit down, I got you a fresh beer.”
“Thank you, honey.”
I guess she realized her ploy had only partially worked. She’d got me interested, but she hadn’t distracted me from hearing about her history—the one she’d hidden from me for so long.
She sat down and crossed her legs, showing the whole expanse of her creamy thigh. Wow, she was a vision, but my mind was made up. I wanted the story and I wasn’t going to let her distract me. I might let her start making it up to me, or I might not—that depended on the rest of the story. My resolve there had weakened. My little head was screaming at me to give in.
* * * *
Friday was a disaster day for me. Firstly, nothing seemed to go right at the library. Some little kid was running in the children’s area, slipped and banged his head on one of the tables. His mother was almost hysterical. Then a high schooler managed to knock a whole stack of books off one of the high shelves in the non-fiction section. I’m sure it wasn’t deliberate but he was laughing about it, and I was the one who had to sort out the mess. He got very quiet when he stood under the ladder to pass me the books and realized he could see up my skirt and could see the stocking tops. When I noticed what he was doing I got flustered and dropped a book as well. Mr. Bryant ended up chasing him out of the library, almost literally, then came back to help me. He went up the ladder so I could pass him the books—just to spare my blushes. Even so, I felt humiliated. I was also in a foul mood because my ass was still sore from the spanking and the fucking he’d given me the day before.
By quitting time I was ready and left with a curt goodbye to my boss. I went home and grabbed the clothes I was going to wear, then drove over to the condo here. I showered, and did my hair and makeup and then went out to meet my date, Paul. You wouldn’t know him—he moved out of town a couple of months later. I had him pegged as a possible Keeper, according to Mr. Bryant’s groupings. I found out that night I was wrong. I’d made an effort, nice little, short, and tight red dress I’d bought the week before. Black hold-up stockings and thong panties. No bra, the straps would have shown.
After a burger we went to a bar on that side of town, one that closed down a year later. They had a live band and I wanted to dance with him. I was following Mr. Bryant’s rules and dancing to a slow number would allow me to get up closer to him without it being overly sexual. That was
what I thought, anyway. We danced to a couple of songs, but I was still in a bit of a mood. Someone bumped into me from behind, and since my butt was sore I winced. I’m sure it was an accident but Paul went a bit macho on me. The guy apologized but Paul wasn’t having it. I forced him to walk back to our table toward the back and sit down. He turned sullen and I pouted, the evening spoiled. I guess I reached a decision, he was either a Never Evah or a Has Been, and after half an hour when the band started up again he asked if I wanted to dance. I said no, and he took that as my final word. He shrugged, said goodbye and walked out. I’d just been dumped, publicly, for the first time—and not in the nicest way.
Every guy I’d dated in the previous weeks, I’d been the one to categorize them and dump them. For the first time in my life I’d been dumped. I’d done it nicely, at the end of the evening, in private next to the door of my car. Two of them I’d even given a lift home in stony silence afterward. I still used my car all the time—I wasn’t ready to trust myself to anyone else’s driving, especially if they’d had a drink.
Now I was sitting at a table in a bar, on my own. I was certain the people around me were sniggering and talking about me behind their hands. They probably weren’t, but it seemed like it to me. I felt humiliated and I didn’t know what to do. I guess I should have got up and gone home and not gone back, but I didn’t. I sat there and finished my beer.
I’d resolved to leave and go home when a large meaty hand placed a fresh bottle of Bud in front of me, then he sat down beside me.
“I’m Brad.”
“Samantha.”
“I saw that jerk. You’re better off without him.”
“My thoughts too.” I smiled at him. “Thanks for the beer, but I should be going soon.”
“Don’t worry, it’s not a pick-up. I just didn’t want you sitting there on your lonesome.”
“That’s considerate of you.”
“That’s me, rough and tough on the outside, soft and squidgy on the inside—except where it counts. That’s always hard.”
As a double entendre it was nothing like subtle, but he was funny. We chatted for ten minutes or so, and then when I reached for my purse he asked if I had a lift since my bozzo of an ex-boyfriend had deserted me. I told him I had my own car, so he insisted on walking me to it.
In the course of talking to him, I’d found out he was twenty-two and was working for a local builder as he learned the trade. He reckoned he could make anything out of wood in less time than it took for me to describe it. Confident, yes, strong and handsome, yes. He was ticking several boxes for me. When we reached my car he turned my back to the side of the car and leaned in and kissed me. He didn’t ask, didn’t hesitate, just kissed me. Passionately. I was stunned. Mr. Bryant didn’t kiss me, and so far I hadn’t dated anyone I’d let kiss me properly. I hadn’t kissed like this for about five years. His tongue pressed against my lips, demanding entry, and I let him penetrate my mouth as he wrapped his arms around me. I kissed him back, injecting a lot of passion into it. I did, however, break the kiss when his hands started to wander south. After all, my butt was still sore. That’s what had started the argument with Paul in the first place.
“I’ll see you here tomorrow night, then, Samantha. About eight?”
I swallowed hard. He was direct, aggressive and confident. By Mr. Bryant’s classification system, he was a Bull. He was also handsome and sexy, and he’d been right with his early quip—he’d been hard. My mind whirled as I thought about it. He might be aggressive and confident, but he didn’t appear to be nasty. I felt sure if I’d said no, he’d have said sayonara and walked away. If I did turn up, I was pretty sure what would happen—I’d end up with him at the condo, back at his place, or in the back of his or my car with my legs pointing to the roof. If I said yes, I was going to get fucked by my first Bull!
“I’m waiting.”
“Sorry, I was thinking.”
“Oh? What’s to think about?”
“Whether I want to date a knight in shining armor.”
“Ah. What if I take my armor off? And yours?” His voice dropped, as did his gaze, to my chest. His hand came up to my shoulder and he played with the spaghetti strap of my dress then slowly, almost unthreateningly, drew the strap off my shoulder down onto my arm.
My breath caught in my throat, and he dropped his hand, only to bring his other hand up on the other side and repeat the process. This time the hand stayed there, and his left hand came back up. His thumbs were snagged through both shoulder straps. All he had to do was pull the straps down and the whole front of the dress would slide down, baring my breasts. The thought horrified me, especially after the confrontation with my boss the day before, which was why my ass was still so sore.
“Stop.”
The downward pressure on the straps of my dress stopped immediately. “I’m still waiting for an answer. You don’t have to say yes, although I’d prefer it if you did.”
“If I say no, will you walk away?”
“Of course.”
I smiled then. He’d answered the way I wanted to him.
“Then I’ll see you here at eight tomorrow.”
He grinned and then leaned in for a quick peck on my lips. “I’ll see you then. You take care now.”
I got into my car and carefully drove straight back home. There was no need to use the condo after a date until I needed to because I was taking a guy back there. To be honest, I’d have liked Mr. Bryant’s advice at that point but, after the day before, I knew I might be risking his jealousy—despite the fact he’d been the one to insist I start dating. In any case, I wouldn’t be seeing him till Monday, and I wasn’t going to call him at home in case any of his brood was listening.
Once home, I took a long hot bath. I knew I was I was going out the following night and, in all likelihood, I was going to get fucked at the end of that date. The last thing I wanted was to turn up with a sore butt, let alone face the embarrassment of a date seeing my red butt. I was pretty sure any guy would know why it was red, and that would blow my relationship with my boss wide open. Especially when they found out I had nobody else in my life. In fact, that badge of a red butt would be enough to confirm I was fooling around on them.
When I woke up the following morning, the redness had gone. Sure, it looked slightly pinker than usual, but it didn’t look like I’d been spanked. At least that meant I had a free choice—show up and meet Brad, or duck out and not do so. That decision wasn’t an easy one. The idea of a different guy—of actually dating a Bull, and what might well develop—was both frightening and exciting. The idea of seeing a strange cock—remember, I had still only seen, and had, Mr. Bryant’s at that point—was equally so. Perhaps the most frightening thing was the idea of being seen naked by a stranger, wondering if he’d like what he saw.
Breakfast wasn’t easy. I felt queasy, as if I was going to be sick at the thoughts roiling through my mind. I managed to choke down some coffee and some toast but that was all I could stomach. The idea of anything richer just wasn’t on. I couldn’t sit around the house all day, so I decided to go shopping for an outfit for the evening. If I didn’t find something I liked, then I wouldn’t go. If I found something I liked, I’d meet Brad at the bar. That way I let the clothes shops decide for me.
Two hours in the mall and I was despairing of ever finding anything. Starbucks beckoned and I went in for a mocha latte. Two steps into the place I stopped dead. There, working behind the counter was my supposed builder, my date for the evening. He was no builder, he was a barista. I almost turned and walked out, or burst into hysterical laughter, but I didn’t. Somehow his attempt to impress me made him seem more human, more likeable. I’d just learned a lesson—Bull’s will lie to get you out of your clothes and into their bed.
I hung back so he didn’t see me, then, when the previous customer had been served, I stepped into his view.
“Good afternoon, what can I get for you today?” His professional smile faltered as he recognized me
.
“I’ll take a mock mocha pine please, with a side order of chipboard and three ply, laminated.”
The look on his face was priceless.
“Well, you did say you could make anything in wood I wanted, and quicker than I could describe it.”
His smile was sheepish but genuine. “Busted, heh?”
“Yeah, busted, big-time.”
“Sorry. You just looked so forlorn and lonely, I couldn’t resist you.”
“I’ll make that a tall mocha latte to go.”
“Coming right up.” He wrote my name on the cup—didn’t bother asking for it, so he scored a brownie point for remembering it. Only a small one though. He made change for my five and then smiled. “No hard feelings?”
I shook my head and smiled. “No, no hard feelings.” As I walked away I half turned back, my mind made up. I had several dresses in my wardrobe that would do at a pinch. “See you at eight, don’t be late.”
His mouth dropped open and, giggling, I wandered along to the end of the counter where one of his colleagues made up my drink. Coffee in hand, I settled at a table just next to the window and sipped my latte. He glanced over a couple of times, then spoke to one of the others behind the counter. I watched as he walked over toward me, then pulled out the chair opposite and sank into it. He looked anything but the confident guy of the night before, but that might have been the uniform, and the need to maintain the company standards in regard to relations with customers. He could get into serious trouble if he behaved wrongly, especially if I complained. That perceived feeling of power was almost intoxicating, although I wouldn’t have abused it.
“I’ve only got a couple of minutes. Did you mean it?”