‘Climax?’ he asked.
‘That’s right and, when I do, I expect you to suck all my juices out. You are going to do that, right?’
‘Right –’
‘No teeth! Just – that’s right, lips and tongue … just your lips and tongue, Rudolf.’
‘Rup –’ he mumbled.
‘Of course. Rupert. Just like that, Rupert, you’ve got it now, keep that up, don’t vary the rhythm yet, just … mmhmm … just exactly like that.’ Amanda stopped talking and focused on the sensations. What he lacked in expertise he certainly made up for in enthusiasm. He was good at following direction, which was a thrill, and it seemed that she was good at giving it, which was, perhaps, an even greater thrill.
When his licking started to really get to her, Amanda gripped his hair in both hands, the better to grind his upturned face against her sex. Her hips gyrated. The lad followed her clit, licking frantically. She pressed herself down on his mouth. Her hands clenched into fists but if his scalp hurt he made no sign. Lucky for him, too, because nothing was allowed to get between her and the orgasm that was curled like a snake in the pit of her belly and now, right freaking now, uncoiled at lightning speed. It struck at her clit, again and then again, delivering not poisonous venom but a pleasure potion that nonetheless might be fatal.
‘God!’ Amanda’s stocking feet arched, her toes curled. Sweet venom coursed through her veins, more like lightning, now, than any sort of liquid. It shot out the tips of her toes and her fingertips and exploded out of the top of her goddam head. ‘Fuck!’
Amanda’s hold on Rupert’s hair loosened but she held his head in place until the last shudder left her and she was able to stand without leaning. She pulled him erect. He was grinning. His face glistened with her juices.
‘How did I do?’ he asked.
She allowed him a ‘good boy’.
He clutched himself through his pants and groaned pointedly.
‘I’ll take care of that,’ she told him. ‘This way.’
They were only visible from the shop’s windows for the four feet they crossed from leaving the stacks to being hidden behind the bench seat around the leather cone. If anyone had seen them, well, they both seemed fully dressed. No one could have seen Rupert’s painfully confined erection or that she had her sopping panties balled in her fist.
Amanda dropped the wet panties on to her purse. ‘Up on the bench, standing, facing me,’ she ordered. When he was up, with his crotch on a level with Amanda’s face, she added, ‘Lean back. Spread your arms to the sides and hold on to the leather. Good. Now don’t move until I tell you.’
And there he was, like a sacrificial offering, leaning back slightly, presenting the cylindrical bulge in his trousers to her. Amanda paused to savour the moment. She had a young man’s package ready and willing to be unwrapped. All she had to do was …
She slowly tugged down on the tab of Rupert’s zipper, prolonging the moment. He made a little noise in his throat. Using both hands, she spread his open fly wide. Amanda leant a little closer and inhaled his burnt-spice aroma. Her mouth watered. With her left hand holding his fly open, she slipped the fingers of her right into his pants. There was dampness. Poor boy! She fumbled around but couldn’t find a slit. He had to be wearing bikini briefs. Well, the best way to deal with those is to pull them down by the waistband. Amanda tugged. Hot flesh warmed the backs of her fingers. She wrapped her hand around the boy’s shaft and worked it out to jut up into the air right before her eyes.
It was longer than Roger’s had been, but not so thick, with paper-white skin, except for a purple dome that was shaped like an oversized, lop-sided, blunt arrowhead. There was a single dewdrop in its eye. Amanda touched the back of her hand to the underside of Rupert’s shaft. It resisted and didn’t wobble.
He groaned.
‘Be patient!’ Her right hand delved again. She worked his briefs even lower, cupped his balls in her hand and drew them out carefully. ‘That’s better.’ They were compact, the skin tight and smooth, nothing like the large leathery bag her late husband had proudly possessed. A surge of tenderness for the innocent youth made Amanda hesitate. She shook it off. But she handled him carefully, as if his ‘jewels’ really were jewels. Taking her time, she arranged them to dangle prettily.
‘Ms Amanda …’
‘Shush!’ She scratched behind his sac. His manhood twitched. Amanda made a fist around it. Looking up into Rupert’s eyes, she drew the purple dome closer and closer to her parted lips. ‘You want me to?’
‘Yessss!’
‘Then ask for it.’
‘Please?’
‘Ask properly. What is it you want me to do?’
‘Suck …’ His hips jerked.
‘I told you to keep still. Now, what is it you want? You want me to put your nice stiff cock into my mouth, is that it? If so, say it, and don’t forget to say “please”.’
‘Please would you put my cock into your mouth, Ms Amanda. Please?’
‘That’s better.’ She parted her lips and closed the gap between her mouth and his feverish flesh. Her lower lip touched it.
Rupert mewed. ‘What do I do?’ he blurted.
Again, a surge of tenderness almost undid her. So sweet, this eager young man. So new. ‘Enjoy,’ she whispered.
Amanda’s head moved half an inch. The flat of her tongue laved across his helmet. The poor lad’s thighs trembled. She took a little more, so that his head passed between her lips. She closed them around it. Amanda was very aware that this was the first time he’d been held captive by a woman’s lips, the first time he’d experienced the warmth and wetness of a woman’s mouth around his manhood. She held him like that until he sighed so deeply she felt it as much as heard it. He was ready.
Amanda’s tongue swirled around the head once clockwise, once counter clockwise. She tried to squirm the tip of her tongue into the eye of her prize.
Rupert gasped and made a noise as if he was about to speak but he swallowed his words. Out of the corners of her eyes, Amanda could see his fingers scrabbling at the leather he leant against. Should she take pity on him? But teasing him was such fun.
She relaxed her mouth and lapped up the vein under the shaft slowly, from its base to its head and then took it fully back into her mouth, but deeper this time. Good God, it felt fine, the bulk of it, the strength, the heat, the flavour. Amanda turned her head, moving him into her cheek. Being very careful not to let him feel her teeth, she polished his knob. Her mouth was watering but some of the wet was from him seeping. She straightened again and pushed forwards. His helmet slid across her tongue until it butted against the back of her throat. Amanda had excellent control over her gag reflex but, when a knob touched her there, it always made her salivate copiously.
She released him. Rupert sighed another full-body sigh. The tenderness she’d felt towards him moments earlier was gone. Instead, she felt a mischievous urge to shock him. Amanda drew back very slowly. A long silvery strand of her spit mixed with his precome stretched from his knob to her lower lip. She sucked it in, breaking it, and then spat directly on to his purple dome before lunging, taking him in deep again.
Rupert emitted a strangled gasp. Good. She was playing him like a violin. Likely he was very close to his climax. Men of his age could come often, as she remembered. There were all sorts of things she could do to him before he was drained. He really was her toy. She’d take full advantage of that. Amanda slurped fully off him again and pulled his right arm down.
‘Jerk off for me, Rupert. Show me how you masturbate.’
He paused. Amanda frowned up at him. Lust overcame his shyness. He took his shaft between his fingers and his thumb and started to pump. It couldn’t have taken more than a minute before his face twisted and turned red. He groaned, long and low. Amanda snatched up her panties just in time to catch the fountain of cream.
‘My souvenir,’ she told him. ‘Now let’s get you nice and stiff again.’ She took him into her mouth again, very gently,
and coaxed him back to full erection. It took all of two minutes. She had a fleeting memory of Roger resting after his orgasm, mourning the loss of his ability to do what this boy had just done – spring back into action without so much as a pause for a drink of water. She’d comforted Roger, cooing that it didn’t matter, not a bit. Amanda giggled. Actually, it mattered a whole helluva lot.
‘Now sit down,’ she commanded.
Once Rupert was seated on the leather bench, Amanda pulled her skirt aside, straddled him and squatted, lowering herself until she could feel his wet smooth tip rub her naked nether lips. ‘Want to fuck?’
He nodded.
Amanda sank down his shaft. The much-missed sensation of emptiness being displaced by rigid male flesh made her knees weak. Goodbye, old man, hello, boy-toy. Her faithless female parts practically purred a warm welcome. She wriggled a little to enjoy the feel of it. ‘I’m going to fuck you now. After you’ve filled me with your hot cream –’ she paused in expectation of his shocked gasp, which he emitted as if on cue ‘– I’m going to suck you up and off again.’
Her hips gyrated. ‘You’ll like that, won’t you – creaming in my mouth. And then we’ll have a nice little chat. You can tell me more about the shoe business.’ She jerked her hips and his rubbery dome bumped her G-spot – heaven. ‘After that, I’ll teach you a few positions you’ve never tried before and I’ll show you how to finger a girl properly. All you have to remember, Rupert, is that Ms Amanda is in charge. Got that?’
‘Ms Amanda’s in charge.’
‘Good boy.’ Amanda angled her body to press the top of his shaft against her bud and slowly writhed herself into a frenzy and then jerked into another gut-wrenching, immensely satisfying climax. Then it was his turn, then hers again. And on it went, until her knees and her hips ached and she was so swollen between her thighs it would hurt to cross her legs. And his rod was red and so tender that he gasped at even the gentlest touch. And, once more, their noises were a mix of pain and pleasure and their orgasms insubstantial but welcome, somehow necessary, all the same.
It was close to midnight when Amanda dropped some money next to the cash register to pay for her shoes and let herself out of the shop, leaving Rupert asleep on the bench with a silly grin on his young face and his shrivelled cock limp against his thigh.
6
AMANDA SPENT MOST of the next few days on her office PC, comparing purchases with sales and making copious notes. The remainder of her time was spent consulting with Mrs Carrey, of the Human Resources department. When she felt sufficiently grounded in the business, she buzzed Purchasing and asked if Mr Dumphries, the manager of that department, could spare her an hour. A whiney voice told her that Mr Dumphries wouldn’t be in until ten, or maybe even eleven.
Amanda went down two floors to Purchasing. The whiney voice belonged to Pat, an overweight redheaded youngster with acne and an attitude.
‘Where is Mr Dumphries?’
‘Not here.’
‘I can see that. Why isn’t he here?’
‘He don’t come in early.’
‘Really? By whose authority?’
‘Ms Sharpe’s. She’s the VP of Purchasing.’
‘Where’s she?’
‘She’s away.’ The girl scratched absently behind her ear.
‘Is she? Away where?’
‘Holiday.’
‘Due back?’
‘A week from next Monday.’ Possibly the redhead hadn’t stood still for this long in a while, or perhaps the barrage of questions was getting to her. At any rate, she shifted her weight back and forth, from left hip to right, while they talked.
‘So who’s in charge of Purchasing right now?’
‘I am.’
‘I see.’ Amanda turned to leave but almost tripped over an open carton that was filled with magazines. More kinky porn? She picked up the top one. It wasn’t a porn magazine but what looked like a shoe-trade journal. She couldn’t tell much more because it was in German. ‘Who do these belong to?’
‘No one. That stuff was Paul’s, Paul Carter’s, but he ain’t here no more. I was gonna, like, dump them?’
‘He quit?’
‘Mr Dumphries, like, fired him?’
‘What for?’
The girl leant forwards conspiratorially. In a whisper, she hissed, ‘Forgery.’
At last, Amanda felt she was on the track of a crime. ‘What did he forge?’
‘An order. Mr Dumphries placed an order for fifteen cases of some shoe. Paul Carter changed the one into a four for forty-five cases.’
‘Why on earth did he do that?’
‘Well, him and Dumphries had had a big fight. Carter wanted to order lots of the style but Dumphries wasn’t going for it, so Carter increased the order, like, by forging, you know, faking the number.’
Amanda perched on the edge of a desk, intrigued. ‘This shoe, did it sell well?’
‘What? Oh sure. Sold out all forty-five cases in about three weeks, it so happens. All the shops wanted more but it were, like, too late.’
‘So this Carter person was right about the shoe, then.’
‘I know. But that wasn’t the point, Dumphries said. He said, like, Paul was dishonest. So he had to go. Dumphries was really pissed off.’
‘Because Carter forged, or because he was right?’
The girl shrugged.
‘Deliver this carton up to my office, please. I’d like to take a look at these magazines.’
‘I don’t do deliveries.’ The girl actually laughed out loud. ‘Do I look like I’m dressed to carry stuff around?
‘I see. What’s your name?’
‘Pat Hughes.’
‘Well, Pat Hughes, you may take the rest of the week off.’
‘Cool!’ Belatedly, the girl asked, ‘Who are you, anyway?’
‘I am Amanda Garland, the owner of Forsythe Footwear. On Monday, report to Mrs Carrey. She’ll have your severance papers and final pay waiting for you.’
‘What?’ The girl’s mouth hung open.
‘You’re fired.’ Amanda felt a tingle of pleasure as she abused her power for the first time. Anyway, the girl was a dud. If the redhead was taking the hit not only on her own behalf but on behalf of all the obnoxious teens who had ever given Amanda lousy service over the years, at the cinema, in shops, at the counters of take-out restaurants, well, so be it.
‘You can’t do that!’
‘I just did.’
Amanda lugged the carton up to her office herself. It didn’t just contain shoe magazines from around the world but also scores of sheets of paper covered with numbers and graphs and notes in some sort of code. As best she could make out, they were someone’s – Paul Carter’s, she presumed – attempts to forecast shoe styles. Considering his row with Dumphries, it looked like he’d succeeded in one instance, at least.
Amanda buzzed Nola. ‘Nola, we used to have a man with us, a Paul Carter. Can you find out who he’s working for now?’
‘Certainly, Ms Garland. Ms Garland?’
‘Yes?’
‘He was nice, really smart. I was sort of sorry to see him go.’ It was the first time Nola had initiated conversation.
‘Good looking?’
Nola giggled. ‘A real dish, if you like ’em that young!’
‘How young?’
‘Oh, he’d only be about twenty, I think.’
Amanda smiled. Her world was filling up with potential toy-boys.
At one, Nola brought Amanda a tray with a Caesar salad and a mineral water with lemon wedge. Apparently, she had a memory inside that fluffy head of hers. The way the girl swished in, she was begging to be looked at.
‘New skirt?’ Amanda asked.
‘Do you like it?’
It was in grey flannel, fitted and a few inches longer than Nola usually wore, but with a six-inch slit up each side. Amanda thought that perhaps it was some sort of homage to the skirts she herself wore.
‘Very nice,’ she said, and meant it. The girl h
ad remarkably attractive legs.
Nola reddened with pleasure. ‘I’m so glad you like it, Ms Garland. You always dress so nice, so it’s a real compliment.’ Her face clouded. ‘You’re really nice, and smart, too. Not at all like I expected Rog – Mr Garland’s wife to be …’ She dried up.
‘How did you picture me?’
‘I don’t know. I’d seen pictures of you, of course, but I thought you’d be dumb. Self-centred and dumb. But what did I know?’ Now that she’d started talking again, the poor pink-haired girl clearly couldn’t stop. She babbled on, ‘If I’d known you were so great, I never would’ve …’
‘Never would have what?’
‘Nothing.’ Nola stood frozen to the spot. ‘I have to go,’ she finally mumbled, and retreated much more clumsily than she’d entered.
Amanda grinned. Hm! That was very close to an apology for screwing Roger, an apology Amanda had a mind to accept. She was starting to like the little upstart. Nola of the pink hair had had the nerve to imagine her, Mrs Roger Garland, as dumb. It amused Amanda. And it couldn’t have been Nola in that motel room. Amanda had checked the time sheets. Nola had been behind her desk that morning. It seemed that Roger had fooled around with a number of women and girls. Nola couldn’t be entirely blamed for Roger’s unfaithfulness.
She opened the locked drawer and fingered the bag of gold charms. Roger had been a complicated man, clearly in love with her yet happily unfaithful. Or perhaps all men were like that.
Maybe it had been power that had made him cheat. Amanda had happily seduced both Trevor, the building’s security guard, and Rupert, her own employee, directly or indirectly – and she planned to screw this Paul Carter, a young man she hadn’t even met yet. Any of them might have a girlfriend or a wife. Roger’s death had certainly liberated her, if its having turned her into a conscienceless libertine counted.
It was three o’clock when Dumphries, a suitably dumpy little man with a wart between his eyes and a comb-over, bustled into her office. ‘What happened to my Pat?’
‘I fired her.’
‘Why?’
Amanda's Young Men Page 5