My Father's Dirty Friend

by Ava Carpenter

  “Sure beats eating some instant noodles back in my room,” Stacy says suddenly, as if she was answering my thoughts. She cuts herself a particularly large piece of the steak and pops it into her mouth.

  I can’t help myself but watch her lips as they drag across the fork as she pulls it out. She chews on the meat with a reserved hungriness. Perhaps I have underestimated just how much Stacy Bradley was getting under my skin, into my being. I’ve had many women before to fulfill my equally many desires, but Stacy feels different.

  “Dad won’t even let me eat at the restaurant downstairs for free,” she says woefully. She takes another sip of her wine and asks, “how long are you staying on?”

  I finish chewing my food before answering. “Probably until Monday, I was supposed to be out of here by Friday, but you know. Business deals always go into overtime.”

  Stacy smiles brightly. “Especially when you are doing deals with my father, right? I love the man but sometimes he can be a real —”

  “— stubborn guy?” I finish for her.

  She laughs loudly and then recomposes herself. “That’s dad. What are you two working on anyway?”

  “Oh, well, we’re just working on a new deal that will expand this little hotel chain he has going.”

  “Dad won’t like that, he likes things just as they are,” Stacy says.

  She is right of course, his sentimentality was one of the main reasons my business deal had stalled with her father. “Thomas knows what’s best for himself,” I tell her. And that’s the truth, as well. Thomas is one person I can respect for his principles.

  Stacy sips her wine. “Well let’s not talk about work,” she says.

  I flash her a smile and nod in agreement and drink to it. “So Stace, are you still into all those trashy horror novels? I seem to recall you being pretty hardcore into that genre.”

  “Mason, are you calling me a nerd?”

  “No,” I tell her honestly, “just a bookworm.”

  There are a few moments of silence as she stares into my eyes and then she bursts out into laughter again. “Well you got me there,” she says.

  “But seriously, I remember you having a huge collection of books all those years ago. Any time I saw you, you were either reading one or lugging one around.”

  “I’ve still got some of them; I kind of got into the whole digital book revolution — mostly because it made traveling easier for me. But I like to keep my favorite hardcovers close by.” She nonchalantly prods at her broccoli with the fork before selecting a piece and popping it into her mouth, an act that seems to turn me on even more.

  “Certainly helps when your living area is the square footage of a car,” I say.

  Stacy pouts and rests her fists on the table top, the cutlery pointing upward in an almost protest. “Did my dad actually tell you that, ugh,” she groans and rolls her eyes. “Well, that’s embarrassing, especially since you’re Mr. Billionaire.”

  “Well, Stace, we aren’t unlike one another, you don’t become this successful if you don’t read. Besides, how else would I know the best books to gift to you over the years?”

  She raises her eyebrows. “I thought you said they were trashy books?”

  “Well, they were the best trashy books, right?”

  Stacy smiles. “I suppose you’re right. My dad really doesn’t like those kind of books—” she begins before cutting herself off. “Actually, let’s not talk about dad right now,” she says.

  I nod in agreement and chew on my steak. It is probably a good idea not to talk about her father, considering I’m having trouble keeping my eyes off her body, the way she moved ever so slightly in her dress like her body was trying to burst its way out of the too-tight fabric.

  “So you’ve been back for a few weeks, yes?” I ask her.

  She sips on her wine before answering. “A few amazing weeks. Of boredom. Not a lot goes on around a hotel, contrary to what you might expect.”

  “Surely there must be some sort of excitingly insidious underbelly you’ve uncovered, working behind the scenes, so to speak?”

  Stacy sets her glass down and gazes at me with something like contempt. “Mason, are you asking me if I have seen any ghosts around here?”

  I swallow my steak. “Sure, why not. I mean you are read on the subject, so I’m sure you can pick up on all the signs, right?”

  She almost giggles. “Signs? Like blood spilling down the corridors or missing guests or dead bodies in the closets?”

  “Sure,” I deadpan her.

  A few seconds pass as she fingers the stem of her wine glass. I notice that she has almost finished it so I casually pour her another.

  “Maybe you’ve been reading too many horror novels, Mason.”

  “Perhaps I have.”

  She nods a thank you as I finish pouring her wine and immediately she brings it to her lips and takes a sip. Stacy clearly knows not to miss an opportunity to sample the most expensive wine she’s ever seen. From the sparkle in her eye, I can tell that the first glass has completely limbered her up, broken whatever ice existed.

  “Aren’t you in the hotel business, anyhow?” she asks. “You must have at least the same experiences I have.”

  “Not really. I’m just in the boardroom, negotiating deals. Mostly. This weekend trip — which started as a day trip, thanks to your father, I might add — I’m just here on the company’s behalf to smooth out a deal.”

  She slides another piece of steak into her mouth and the action is so slow I am unsure whether it is just the alcohol or if she is trying to seduce me. Or both.

  As she chews she says, “But aren’t you the boss? It’s your company, Mr. Billionaire. Where are the lackeys?”

  “Well, sometimes I have to come down from my billionaire tower to do things right.”

  “Well,” she says as she swallows her steak, “let’s not talk about business again, right?”

  I smile. “Hey, you brought it up. And no, to answer your question, I have very little experience in the hotel business. Now staying in hotels, that’s a different story altogether.”

  Stacy begins to stifle a laugh, bringing her napkin to her mouth as she does so. “I bet,” she says and almost rolls her eyes.

  I set my knife and fork down and sit back in my chair in mock protest. “Are you suggesting I commit nefarious hotel scandals?”

  She holds up the glass before her, as if she is planning on making a toast, but instead she says: “Depends on what kind of scandal you mean. I remember almost every time you visited my dad you had a new woman on your arm. The life of a billionaire bachelor.”

  It is true of course, but right now her eyes appear dark under the low lighting, and in them, I can see whatever envy she might have had for those women in the past, and that turns me on even more — once again I can feel my penis twitch. Could it be possible that Stacy has a thing for me all this time? Sure, she had let me spank her for performing her duties poorly, she had not fought nor displayed any indication of non-consent, but was that just her simply taking advantage of an opportunity that came along, or was it some part of a wish-fulfilling experience?

  I allow my gaze to fall down her body, taking in all parts of this woman. Attractive in her own way, as a complete package that appeals to me. There is no kidding myself, I had invited her for dinner so we could catch up, but I had also invited her because she had turned me on so much when I saw her in the hotel room this morning.

  At first, I thought it was that maid outfit. It too, like the dress she now wore, was too small for her weight. But no, it was Stacy in her entirety, a woman now, available. I wanted to spank her and so I had, unwilling to even consider the ramifications with her father. Sure, I’ve known Thomas a long time, but Stace is a woman now and I’m not about to patronize her.

  She knows what she wants.

  “Oh,” I say.

  She smiles. “You have terrible taste,” she says and sips her wine again.

  “That’s a very nice wine,” I say
.

  “You know what I mean. In women.”

  I laugh out loud at her appraisal. “What was wrong with them, Stace?”

  “Oh, you know. The typical wafer-thin supermodel girls.”

  Shrugging, I say, “Sure, sure. I like all kinds, though.”

  With this she sits up, piqued. “Really, then how come I’ve never seen you with anyone else?”

  “Just a coincidence.”

  “Really.”

  “Well,” I say nonchalantly, “you’ve never seen my boxers with the tiny, red hearts on them either, have you?”

  “You actually wear those?” she says, an incredulous eyebrow.

  “Only when I’m at home,” I tell her. “Alone.”

  A few seconds pass as she seemingly contemplates this information. Then she raises her glass again. “I’ll drink to that,” Stacy says and we both finish our glasses.

  “What about you?” I implore. “I’m sure your taste in men is just great.”

  Stacy smiles brightly and waves a finger in the air before her. “Oh, no, you don’t get to fish in those waters, Mr. Lockwood. Pour me some wine, sir.”

  She holds her glass out as I pour from the bottle. “Are you sure you haven’t had too much already?” I ask.

  “Does it sound like I’m slurring, Mason? I’ll have you know I’m closer to my college years than yourself, I could drink this whole bottle myself and feel only the slightest buzz.”

  “Now you’re calling me old.”

  “Older,” she says as she once again sips at her wine.

  I look at her plate and see that all but a lone piece of broccoli has been eaten. Her eyes still shine but I can see what she said is true: she isn’t drunk at all, she is merely socially limbered, and I can almost see her casting off her inhibitions like they are a physical thing. She sits somewhat off-center on her chair, leaning into the table, one elbow up with her hand in her hair, the other of course closely holding her wine glass like I might snatch it away. The more I look into her eyes the more I convince myself that she craves for me. Stacy Bradley’s outer layer is beginning to shred, revealing a raw sexuality boiling beneath.

  She is playing the game with me.

  “Come on, Stace,” I say. “I’m sure all the young men ask you out on dates.”

  She laughs then remarks: “Oh, I wish. I don’t think many men are interested in the frumpy reader.”

  “Why not?” I ask. “That young librarian look is very sexy to a lot of men, I’m sure. Especially to me.” I look her in the eyes as I speak and she attempts to hold my gaze but breaks first, her eyes drawing down my upper body and to the table. Even though its faint, I can still see some blood flush into her cheeks.

  Finally, she breaks the silence, her confidence restored. “Ha,” she says loudly. “Good to know I still have a chance with the billionaires out there. In your face, paper-thin chicks.”

  Again she takes a sip of her wine and I allow myself to watch her every movement. Her eyes flick in their sockets and I try to read her mind. It’s clear that she is turned on, that there is some level of arousal, but is it the banter or the sexual tension that permeates the air around us?

  We chat for the next few minutes as we both finish up our food. After dessert — an amazing golden opulence sundae — we both stand out on the balcony, taking the cool evening air and looking across the sprawling city. Stace finishes her latest glass of wine with a smile, locking her eyes on mine. Perhaps she is right, she might very well be able to drink me under the table. Despite the cool breeze, she seems comfortable, her very body emanates a heat that I can sense against mine.

  Small chat erupts, token statements and interaction. The kind that happens between two people because they don’t want to really say what is on their minds. I stare at her body as she leans over the railing, looking to the street below, the hem of her dress sways gently on the breeze.

  Soon I walk her to the door and she thanks me, telling me that it was great to catch up, that she had a great time, and the food, the food was amazing.

  As she speaks, I just smile and I allow myself to look at her again. She certainly has grown since the last time I saw her. That five-foot-three frame has blossomed in just the right places. Her bosom swells as her chest heaves and her hips and ass stretch out that just-too-small dress.

  In my mind I bring everything to the most basic point of view to assess, and before me I once again see what I consider an attractive young woman with a potent sexuality hidden just below the surface, something that just breaks the water now and again to show that it exists, something that needs and wants to be brought to the forefront.

  And I want to be the one to do it.

  “Stace?” I say, smiling as she is about to leave, deciding that I am going to give Stacy Bradley a weekend she will remember, one that she deserves.

  Chapter 5

  Stacy

  “Stace?” he says as I’m about to step through the doorway. I turn and look at him and notice that he is slowly closing the door again.

  I smile and joke: “Yes, sir? Is there anything else you’d like, sir? Some fresh towels perhaps?”

  “Yes,” he says. “Take off your panties.”

  I stop breathing as I look up at him. He stares back with those hard, dark eyes.

  My breath comes quick. “I’m sorry, sir. I can’t do that.”

  He takes a step forward. “Give me your panties, Stace.”

  “I can’t,” I tell him pointedly. “I’m not wearing any.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m not sure…” I tell him. It’s the truth, too, I’m not sure why I didn’t wear them. Maybe because squeezing into this dress was hell enough to begin with. Maybe because I was going to a dinner with the billionaire I had masturbated too earlier, an old family friend, but no that couldn’t be it because that felt so wrong.

  Mason raises his brow and says nothing.

  “Is it a problem?” I ask.

  He shakes his head slowly. “No,” he answers. “But why wouldn’t you wear panties, Stace?” he asks me and he steps forward again so that he towers over me, looming down. I gaze up to meet his dark eyes, almost finding myself lost in them again as they softly twitch in their sockets, and I find it hard to resist their allure. “It seems highly inappropriate, no?” he almost whispers.

  “No more inappropriate than the spanking you gave me,” I counter. “Am I in trouble again?”

  “Would you like to be?”

  I’m not sure how to answer it, or if I should answer it, or whether I should even be here. I simply stand still with my hands behind my back, waiting on him to speak first. Mason moves toward his bed and sits down on the edge and brings his gaze back to me — it is startlingly sharp and I feel almost naked. “Come here, Stace,” he demands.

  I obey and walk over to stand in front of him. His eyes flick down my body and settle on my midsection. “Show me,” he says.

  Stacy, what are you doing?

  I push the thoughts deep down and go on instinct. I grasp the bottom of my dress with trembling fingers and pull it upward to reveal my naked lower half. Mason’s face shows no expression, no sudden twitch of passion or disapproval, but his eyes dilate in the light. Mere seconds pass but it feels like an eternity as I stand there with my lower body exposed to him, my father’s business partner, my family’s longtime friend.

  My heart pounds in my chest and I don’t even realize I’m holding my breath until I begin a gasp for air that I quickly stifle.

  Mason grabs my wrist and breaks me from the spell. He yanks me over his lap in one singular motion and I gasp, taken by surprise. “Is this what you want?” he asks me, laying his hand across my bare ass.

  “Yes.”

  I say it without hesitation, sighing with his touch, the feel of that powerful hand upon my skin, feeling my cheeks almost twitch in anticipation, awaiting the arrival of that red flash. I sense Mason raising his hand and I brace myself for that searing pain, that blissful teasing pleasure.
But his palm doesn’t connect. I open my eyes and look up at him.

  “How tight is your cunt?”

  I blink. “What?”

  A blinding flash of red pain shoots through my body as his open hand connects to my ass. The sting is barely receding when again I feel his palm connect once more and I squirm in his lap, my back arches and my feet kick upward. I bite my lip as I ride out the pleasure and the pain, looking forward to the open windows, staring out across the city.

  Mason growls. “How tight is your cunt, Stacy?”

  My body quakes still from the spanking and when I answer my voice is ragged. “Tight,” I say.

  “Do you know what this is?” Mason asks.

  At first, I am unsure of what he means but then I feel it and my flesh goosebumps from the sudden touch. I feel it slide inside, so easily I realize how wet I must be, deeper, stretching me. It’s not soft, not like a finger. It’s hard and cold, like a smooth metal. Mason pushes it in as far as it’ll go and rests the outer piece between my folds, just barely touching my clit. My body shudders from the physical and mental contact occurring and I bite my lip harder as my breathing becomes labored.

  From his right jacket pocket, I watch him pull out his phone. “I want you to keep that inside you for the rest of the night.”

  “Why?”

  He flicks his thumb on the screen and the object inside of me turns on — the low vibration tickles me and I laugh at the teasing pleasure.

  Mason leans in. “I’m going to play with you, Stace,” he whispers. “Place it inside you again in the morning, bright and early, and keep it for the day. You’ll never know when it’s coming. You could be on the elevator or cleaning a room… and I’ll…”

  He holds the phone up close so I can see the screen and I wince when I see the gadget’s setting is at its lowest. Mason slides a finger up on the screen, taking it up a notch, and suddenly I am overwhelmed with a vibration that intensifies inside of me. My jaw drops, feeling that perfect push against my inner spot and I nearly come right here and now while spread across his lap.