by KT Morrison
He stroked himself, bringing back his full hardness, and waited. Whoever had been in the bathroom before had left a terrible smell but he couldn’t open the window. He waited, flattened out the corner of a picture of a girl, bare breasted holding a wrench, torn from a magazine and stuck on the wall.
Kate: I can’t, I’m on the subway
When he’d got back from Cayman and gone to his apartment he’d had this unshakeable feeling that someone had been in there. Nothing was disturbed, everything was the way it should be, he just felt it. It was a few days before he’d gone into his cloud account looking for an invoice he’d stored and realized the video that should be there wasn’t there. He hadn’t checked before—really blackmailing them was not something he would do—but he stared at the empty folder the video should be in and felt a little concerned. He looked around his empty apartment and considered how scary the thought was that Mitch was the kind of guy who could get something like that done. Unless of course it was done through the phone he’d given him. So he checked his log and saw that he’d deleted the file, permanently trashed it from this very computer, roughly the time he was in the air over the middle of the Atlantic.
Omar: take them off now
That was the only hitch. After that the cash came, and some instructions about what he should demand, what he should say. He forgot about it, the intrusion, put it away. Better to just give them what they want. Let them see he had nothing to hide, he was on Mitch’s side. He wasn’t really the kind of man who could take money through threats anyway. Mitch could keep his cloak and dagger stuff, Omar was into his plan, wasn’t going to be a problem, just keep the money coming.
Kate: everyone will see me
He pictured her on a crowded train, panicking, having to slide her panties down without anyone seeing. If it was very busy she could get away with it. He smiled.
Omar: take them off and send me a picture. I want to see your pussy
She wanted to argue, plead for some leniency. Let me get somewhere private. But they’d done this dirty little thing before. She knew that the point of it was to humiliate herself, that was what he wanted more than to see what her pussy looked like right now at this moment. This was an exercise in shame and he was enjoying it. Her heart was racing too.
She put her phone in her lap and looked around. The train wasn’t that busy, people in seats, a few empty spots, no one had to stand. She couldn’t do this without being noticed.
She’d tried to drag the conversation out with Omar, wait until she was at a stop, duck out and handle this in the ladies' room, but there wasn’t time.
She fiddled with her waist, trying to look like someone whose belt was too tight, uncomfortable. She fussed with herself looking around gauging people’s reactions. No one looked bothered.
She slid her hand down her waistband and felt for the thin edge of her panties as they crossed over her hip, found it and pulled it up. She couldn’t break it. She kept her eyes up, watching for the other passengers. She crossed her other hand over, hidden behind her big purse sitting in her lap, and slipped it into her skirt. She used two hands to try and tear the string of her panties. She tried her best not to grimace but the fabric was too strong and her arms started to shake with effort, she felt the fabric cutting into the flesh of her fingers. Her phone vibrated in her lap.
Omar: Let me see it
Why couldn’t he have called while she was in the fitting room at the store. It was like he knew.
Kate: I’m doing it, hold on
She looked through her purse, trying to imitate someone who’d misplaced something important. She frowned and looked around, trying to remember, putting on a show for the people that weren’t really paying attention anyway. She looked briskly through her shopping bags, still unable to find this imaginary thing, then stood up and checked the pocket of her knit cashmere top, smoothing her hands over her skirt. She sat back down, flipping the back of her short skirt up so that her bare cheeks came down on the cold of the subway seat. She could feel her panties, pulled up at the hip, wedged between her cheeks.
Her frustrated movements caught someone’s eye, could see him in her periphery, middle-aged guy, Persian, glasses. He was looking over. She picked up her phone and flicked through it, tried to look boring again.
Kate: they’re coming down now
She put her right hand behind her slowly, slid it under her skirt. She hooked her thumb through the waistband and slid it over towards the middle of her cheek. She carefully lifted herself off the seat and started to pull them down, felt them pulling out of her creases and across the soft flesh of her ass and thighs. She put herself down, felt the cold of the dirty seat against her bare ass. Her panties were pulled down to the tops of her thighs.She looked around once more, leaned over and looked into her bags, put her thumbs into the sides of her panties again and slid them down smoothly and swiftly. She felt them slide over her knees and down her calves, and once hidden behind her tall paper shoppers with the tissue tufted out the top, she peeled them over her Gucci horsebit loafers. She tucked them into a bag, dropped them in under the pastel tissue and sat up, keeping her head down; like if she didn’t look up and see people staring then she’d got away with it. She looked up at the adverts, didn’t see any faces opened towards her.
Kate: they’re off
Omar: show me
She fiddled with her phone a bit, putting it off. She looked up again, saw no one was looking and she slowly brought her legs apart. Her skirt was short enough that the young couple across from her could see her pussy if they were to look. She leaned forward to look in her bag again, saw her flash was on and the camera was ready. She put her hand up her skirt between her legs and touched at the screen hoping to get the button. She heard the shutter sound off and closed up her legs. Sat back up looking around, no one watching her but the Persian man again. Did he see?
She looked at her screen, swiped through the menu to find the picture. Not the best, the flash lighting up her thighs an electric white, but you could see the focus was on her mound, just above the plastic subway seat, clear enough to see individual strands of her pubic hair. Proof.
She sent it off and waited.
She got a call on Skype and accepted, knowing what to expect. Opening it up and seeing his point of view, the unsteady camera filming his right hand wrapped around his huge cock, stroking it. She watched him work it, watched the thick foreskin bunch up then roll back. She squinted a little, felt a little nauseous as she could tell he was close, waiting to see his semen spurt from him any second now. But she didn’t look away, saw it as it happened, a clear spray at first, in all directions, then milky streams into the sink, onto the mirror, the camera jostled so much it was hard to see after that. Final shot of his big hand choking it right up at the end his glans dark and full from the pressure, milking out a final drop beaded at the tip.
2
Frosted Windows
By one o’clock in the afternoon Derek Sutton had one of his most important clients, Jahangir Dehghan, an Iraqi natural gas guy, cash heavy but still safely diversified in their fund, back at ease. The panic came early in the morning, concerns over changes in the Euro’s stability. Fucking Germany. The last thing they needed right now was someone pulling out their four hundred and fifty-eight million pound investment. Not now. Any time would be bad, but please, not now. He put his polished, handmade wholecut Oxfords up on his desk and allowed himself a breath, allowed himself to enjoy a slight moment of relaxation leaned back in his chair. Crisis averted. It was a conspicuous display, one meant for the dozen other executives outside who could see through the glass sheets of his office that looked out over the Square Mile.
He saw his family staring back between his shoes from inside their silver frame. He closed his feet up, shutting off their exigent faces smiling at him. From the frying pan to the fire. The dread was back and he put himself upright again.
He saw her out of the corner of his eye walking across the floor, head bobbing alon
g above the short, smoked glass cubicles that ran along the floor outside his office. His brother's hot little wife. Couldn’t actually ever really remember seeing her here in the offices before, though he figured he must have. She just looked out of place.
She turned heads in some inky knitted top hanging off her shoulders like a cape—she couldn’t hide her large chest. Sunglasses on indoors. A lacy, sheer skirt that ended too high, showing off her short but shapely legs. Bare even though it wasn't really Spring yet. She looked like a very expensive little hooker.
She turned unexpectedly, caught him looking, and lifted her hand, gave him an expressionless contracted wave. He nodded his head at her through the glass and smiled weakly.
“How do you do that thing? Make the windows go…” she said, motioning with her hand like a slow screen being lowered down in front of her face.
Kate was standing in the doorway of his office, the glass door closing slowly behind her. She’d walked in unannounced, just opening the door stepping in, throwing her purse onto his couch and addressing him.
Mitch looked up at her, sitting at his huge modern desk, paperwork spread out. He smiled, genuinely pleased at the surprise. He picked up a tiny flat remote and touched a button. The entire glass wall of his office went a frosted white in an instant.
“This locks, yeah?” she said, thumb pointing at his door.
He pressed another button and the door clicked to lock. He shook his head. I mean, it had to be obvious to everyone seated out in the office. Or would they think they were going to argue? He didn’t know which he’d prefer them to believe.
“Well, isn’t this a surprise,” he said, throwing a folder of printouts onto his desk, into the clutter. He leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. “What can I do for you, Mrs Sutton?”
“I’d like to say something really sexy here, Mitch, some clever but dirty little play on words, but I don’t think I have that kind of time.” She walked over to him, but he stayed leaning back.
“Oh, what’s got into you?”
“I can work with that one—it’s what I want to get in me that’s brought me here.”
“Good one, Kate.” He said looking at her through half closed eyes.
She sat herself on the corner of his clear acrylic desk, just a transparent slab on heavy industrial looking wood and metal trestle. She touched her fingers along the hem of her short, lacy skirt. “Can I show you something?”
“I can’t wait,” he said.
She pulled the skirt up slowly, over her bare thighs. The sun wasn’t out, but the grey sky behind him, out beyond the floor to ceiling windowed wall of his office, lit her up bright and shadowless. Her skirt inched up over her mound and he could see she wasn’t wearing any panties. The skirt came right up to her hipbones and he saw between her legs spread wide by the sharp table corner that she was wet. She was swollen and aroused, beads of her own wetness on her tufted hair.
Mitch felt a little light-headed in the moment, so aroused by his dirty wife.
“How has this happened?” he said, sitting forward, but he thought he knew.
“I was out shopping and I was thinking about this, coming to see you, and the more I thought about it, the more I liked it…”
Mitch doubted it. Some little online encounter with Omar more likely. That excited him too. Her sexy, hung lover turning her on while, as far as she knew, threatening to destroy her life. Mitch’s life too. Forcing her to be bad, making her be a dirty little whore against her will. Bending to her lover’s demands to save the life of her husband. Now turning to him after some hot little exchange made her so wet the inside of her thighs shone.
Mitch wheeled his chair between her legs, ran his hands up her thighs and watched her quiver. She closed her eyes and put her head back, waiting for him to relieve her.
“Can you do this without making a sound?” he asked her. She nodded and put both her hands over her mouth.
“There’s about a dozen people just the other side of that glass who know exactly why you’re here.”
“Please,” she said, lifting a palm up so he could hear her, “Just do it.”
He made her anticipate it another moment, then lowered himself to her, felt how hot and full her flesh was down there, felt her dampness on his cheeks, smelled her scent in his nose. She was full, and wet and coppery.
He slid a finger inside her, felt her part for it, accept it. She hunched forward, hands still clasped over her mouth, and he felt her wrists across the top of his head. She pushed her hips to him, wanting him deeper, and he felt her start to tremble when he put two fingers inside her. She was panting through her nose, shaking enough that he could hear a tremulous vibration from his coffee cup on the tabletop. He felt himself hard, trapped, pushing against the front of his woollen pants, as he gave his wife everything he could. She started to sob as she got close, struggling to keep quiet, then she came for him, squeaking quietly into her palms.
“Jesus Christ,” he said, standing up now between her legs. Kate could see he was hard, his pleated pants showing the tip of his erection pressing out at an angle.
He started to take his jacket off and she stopped him.
“Fuck me in your suit,” she said, and pressed her fingertip against the end of his cock. He kissed her, taking her face up in his hands. She unzipped him, pulled him out of his boxers, felt how slippery he was already.
When she stroked him, just using her thumb and finger, his breath quavered and she felt his weight against her. He was so close already.
She pulled back, looked up at him, said, “Fuck me.” She arched her back, pushing her mound out to him, her legs spread by the table corner, the tips of her toes on the floor. He slid it into her and it felt so good to have him inside her. She sighed for him, let him hear that she wanted it.
She put her hands inside his jacket, around him, scratching at his back as he slowly fucked her. He'd been going to the gym four days a week since they'd got back from Cayman. He wasn’t muscular yet, not noticeably bigger. But she could tell, if you were familiar with him you might think he just looked better. More masculine. She ran her hands over him, could feel that he was harder, stronger under the soft cotton of his tailored shirt. She felt the movements under his skin as he thrust himself into her.
“Oh God, Mitch,” she whispered in his ear, “I’m going to come.” He pushed himself in her as far as he could and she worked on it, found the spot that would take her over the edge. She came again, biting her lip, her arm around his neck, pulling his head against her, the coffee cup rattling behind them.
He thrusted into her again, making her squirm, and she tightened on him, felt how hard he was. It tickled her, was uncomfortable, but she knew he was close, she said, “Let me see you come.”
He pulled himself out and she watched him come, watched it spurting from him and into her pubic hair. He grunted, holding in the noises he wanted to make, pushing his cock against her, sliding it through her tuft.
“Oh my God, Kate,” he said and kissed her again, leaning on the table. She put her hands to his cheeks and started laughing.
“I don't know what came over me,” she said.
“I did, you just watched,” he said, laughing too, she could see how happy he felt.
“I really need something,…” she said, moving her hand in circles like she was wiping herself. He looked down between her legs, and she liked him looking. Seeing the mess down there, their evidence. She smiled up at him. He sighed, walked over to his gym bag on the couch, her purse thrown up against it. He had his palm pressed into his pants, just above his softening cock, trying to keep the two from touching. He pulled a towel out from the bag, and tossed it to her.
She wiped herself with his towel, smelled the fresh laundry smell from it, liked him seeing her like this, dirty, sexual, in love with him. He watched her clean herself and slowly the dread creeped over her again, the smile on her face diminishing. He came to her took an end of the towel and squeezed his dick in
it, wiped himself, then zipped back up.
“I love you,” she said, feeling so tender towards him.
“I love you too,” he said, “What's wrong?”
“Nothing at all,” she said and stood to kiss him. “You make me very happy.”
She went to his couch and sat down, crossed her legs. Mitch sat in his chair, examined the front of his trousers, wiped at them. He laced his fingers together and looked at her. So handsome, her husband, sitting in his powerful throne, grey expanse of sky behind him, the City of London moving around below it. She could cry if she thought about it. What she'd done to him. The danger he was in. Sitting there so unsuspecting, a mammoth weight dangling over his head, the rope ready to snap, and she couldn't even yell to him to watch out. She pushed it out, away, exhaled heavily.
“You sure you're alright, Kate?”
“Mitch, I couldn't be better,” she said, forced a smile, got away with it. “You home for dinner tonight?”
He looked at his screen a moment, said “Yes, I will.”
“Can I make you something?”
“I think I'd like to take you out,” he said, picking up the remote.
“Hold on,” she said. She stood up and found her balled up panties in her purse, she kicked her loafers off and slid herself into them, letting him watch her do it.
He smiled at her and clicked the button, the window was clear again, people bustling about just feet away from them. His secretary's back to her, signing for a package, the delivery man looking right at her. She was standing there in her bare feet. She shook her head at him, “Asshole.” She put her feet into the shoes, anyone watching would have had their suspicions confirmed. He laughed behind her.