by Dae, Harlem
Pleased with myself and feeling back on track, I approached the cashier’s desk, pounced on by a shop assistant who had zoomed in from my right.
“Would you like some lube to go with that?” she asked, holding one hand out to the side to indicate some shelves next to the register that held various scented gels. “This one enhances orgasm.” She smiled proudly, as though she’d created the gel herself.
“For men?” I asked, tilting my head and looking directly at her.
“Oh, I see. Well, if smothered on him, then yes, it would.” She beamed again.
“On him. What part of him?” I asked, enjoying myself.
“His penis,” she said, her cheeks colouring a little.
“Oh right, well, that’s no good to me. I want it to do something to his arse.”
Her mouth dropped open, and she struggled for an answer, finally managing, “Oh!” and a little titter before floating off to annoy someone else.
I turned to place the plug on the counter and waited for the older assistant poised at the till to ring up my sale. She placed it in a bag, handed it over, and I was off, heading for the nearest post office. I had to buy a padded envelope. From there, all I needed was to find a quiet spot where I could use my phone and credit card.
I had a mission in mind.
Chapter Thirteen
Mary had been testy ever since I’d arrived at work this morning. I had a feeling it was me coming in with a smile on my face and a hearty laugh for my cheeky apprentice after he’d asked if I’d “got some” last night. I didn’t usually have anything to smile about so early in the morning, unless you counted me winning a bid to draw the plans for a building.
Mary had taken it upon herself to add placating and nurturing to her secretarial duties since Helen and I had parted ways. I realised, what with Mary’s children being long gone from the nest and her husband resting in the cemetery, she had no one to care for, to worry over, but for her to act upset because I wasn’t my usual down-in-the-dumps self felt a little wrong.
Maybe I’d misinterpreted and she’d had some bad news.
I hadn’t let it bother me other than for the time it had taken to process the change in her—couldn’t let it bother me because, God, my mind was crammed with Zara. I’d made love to an incredible woman, had felt her soften in my arms, succumb to me. Sure, she’d soon reverted back to her know-it-all self, but still, I’d had her my way, taken what I’d wanted while giving her what she’d needed. She wouldn’t admit it, no, that wasn’t her style, but I’d felt it in her every kiss, caress and in the way her pussy had trembled around my cock as she’d caught her breath.
Then, although she’d slunk out leaving just a note saying she’d see me today, I’d woken for the first time in what seemed like forever, without Helen being the one to flutter through my thoughts.
Zara had been there instead. Zara, with her beautiful long hair, her tiny little body, her infectious grin. Her sometimes shockingly crude language, her way of making me burn up inside with just a quick glance, her…just her. The whole package wasn’t something I would ever have chosen had I known exactly what unwrapping her would mean at our first meeting, but since fate had had a hand in things, I’d discovered not to judge a person by the impression they gave. And I’d done that when she’d sipped her coffee that day, telling myself she was my type, the kind who needed a man to take the reins and show her what was what, look after her, cherish her. And Christ, how she’d changed the minute we’d gone back to her place. How my perception of her had been shattered. How my world had been tilted on its axis.
But axis tilted or not, she excited me like no one else ever had and I wanted more of it. More of her.
I sat up straighter behind my desk, surprised at that revelation. I’d always thought I wanted a soft and gentle woman at my side, but now Zara had shown me a different dimension to femininity and it had made me hungry. I wanted—needed—her in a way I couldn’t explain. Yeah, I’d known she was a drug, a vixen that would take some shifting from my system once our time together was over, but I knew now that thoughts of her would remain long after we’d gone our separate ways. She would be with me wherever I went, branded into my skin, my heart.
I sat up even straighter, shaking my head to deny that last thought that had sneaked in. My heart. Really? No, no way. Besides, was she even up for that kind of thing? I didn’t think so. She’d made much of letting me know when we’d initially met that a one-night stand was all she’d been after—was all she’d ever be after. I was kidding myself if I thought we could have more than what had originally been agreed. Besides, she needed more than I could give her. Would probably want me smacking her arse at all hours of the night or using one of those flogger things on her. Could I hurt her like that?
Julie came to mind and I closed my eyes, seeing that woman striking herself, whacking at the scars she’d already inflicted upon her skin. No, I couldn’t do that to Zara. Could I? My instincts screamed that I ought to protect her, to cherish her and show her that the life she was living really wasn’t something she’d have to do anymore if she was with me. Then I realised, with an ache in the pit of my stomach, that the lifestyle Zara lived was one she’d chosen, one she needed. If we were to ever see each other on a more permanent basis after our game had ended, how could I expect her to give up what made her happy? She clearly craved a higher level of sexual stimulation and more of it than I did—although the latter was maybe changing since I’d had more sex this week than the last three months—what with her exposing herself to people the way she did at work, an exhibitionist hankering after being adored or whatever the hell she thought these men felt for her. I knew, being a man myself, that she was nothing more to them than a visual, a real-life porn mag where the object of their desires moved and spoke instead of just posing flatly on a page.
My balls ached. I squirmed in my seat, trying for a more comfortable position, but the ache grew, as did my cock. Standing abruptly, I went over to the window and stared out, thinking of Mary at an old-age pensioner’s tea-time gathering to stop myself getting any more aroused. Images of clacking dentures did the trick, and as my dick deflated, I went through what I had to get done today. I’d had a request come through to draw up plans for a supermarket that wanted a new look, mainly glass and steel, and one aspect of their application would have me scratching my head in order to come up with a way to do what they wanted without it being a huge safety risk. I nodded, telling myself to get on with it instead of procrastinating. Instead of daydreaming about sex with a woman I had no chance in Hell of being able to keep satisfied in the long term.
Turning from the window, I made my way across the room to my drawing area, startled by a brisk rap on the door. When Mary didn’t come breezing in, I frowned, wondering who else would need me when they were all meant to be busy.
“Come in,” I said, staring at the door.
It opened, and Mary appeared, holding a small white padded envelope. I was about to ask her why she hadn’t done her usual, knocking then entering, but she held the envelope up and waved it.
“This came for you by courier,” she said, remaining at the door. “Unscheduled.” She tsked and gave me a stern look as though I wasn’t allowed anything via post unless she knew about it first.
Maybe I would need to have a word with her if she continued like this. I wasn’t about to let my secretary control my life.
Further confused by her behaviour, I waited for her to come in and either hand it to me or put it on my desk, as was the norm. When she didn’t, I asked, “Is something wrong?”
“No,” she said, too quickly, and flapped the envelope again.
I walked towards her, took it from her, and asked, “Are you sure? You don’t seem like your usual self.”
“I’m worried about you,” she said, pursing her lips.
“Why? I’m perfectly fine.”
“Well, it isn’t really my place to say—”
“Then maybe you ought not say it.”
What she’d said irritated me, and I held back a retort she didn’t deserve—one that would have been biting and cruel. I knew exactly who she’d referred to with “people” and wished she’d just come right out with Zara’s name.
“Perhaps they will,” I said, turning away from her to hide my scowl on my way to my desk. “But some people have money of their own and have no need of mine. Some people don’t expect me to buy them anything. Believe it or not, some people like me for who I am and spending time with me has nothing to do with my wallet.” I’d gone too far in making my point, I knew that, but I hadn’t been able to stop the words once they’d started tumbling out. Her picking at Zara had hit a raw nerve, one I hadn’t realised was there until now.
“Oh,” she said, backing away from the door. “Well, I was only… I’m… I…”
She closed the door, leaving me somewhat startled and angry at the same time. I knew she’d meant well, but she’d been referring to someone I’d begun to feel protective of and that had rankled. Yes, my pretty minx had a way about her that might give the wrong impression, dressed in a style that someone of Mary’s age wouldn’t possibly understand—in a style I hadn’t understood when she’d put on that bloody PVC dress—but having been in Zara’s company, in her bed, in her cunt, I’d come to realise that what was on the outside most certainly didn’t always match what was on the inside. Not that I knew much about the inside yet. She was a closed book there. But I would. I’d make damn sure of it.
I toyed with the envelope, waiting for my anger to disperse along with the strange new feelings of protectiveness I had for Zara. The handwriting on the front wasn’t anyone’s I recognised—neat capital letters, blocky and large, written with a slim-tipped black marker pen—and I was intrigued to discover what it contained purely because it had been delivered by courier and was so small. I usually received bigger packages via such a delivery system, often in big cardboard tubes and most definitely none that came without prior notice.
I tore off the end in one long strip and peered at the contents. What appeared to be a small burgundy carrier bag was inside. I reached in and, feeling a packet beneath the plastic, I pulled. Drawing it out, I widened my eyes and dropped it on the desk. A rubber…thing was attached to a card that proclaimed, in rather lurid font, I felt, to be a butt plug.
The sender could only be Zara.
My email alert chirruped, and I sat on my chair and brought up my inbox screen. The most recent message was from a Mistress Z. I asked myself how she’d got my postal and email address then realised it was out there for anyone to find. I owned a business, after all, and she’d been here before.
The title was…Oh, God, what was she doing sending me mail like that? I could only be relieved that my emails were exempt from my IT employee having access. I stared at the subject line again.
ARSE STRETCHING.
Face growing hot, I clicked to open what I knew would be a filthy little note from a filthy little harlot.
Dear Mr Doesn’t-Know-It-All-But-Still-Thinks-He-Does,
By now you should have received your present, providing Moody Mary has given it to you. By the subject of this email you’ll have some idea of what I want you to do with the gift, but in case you think it’s just something I plan to use on you later, I’ll dash that assumption right now. I’m nice like that.
You need to put the plug up your arse while you are at work. Yes, you read that right. You need to wet it if you haven’t got any lube handy—and I’m guessing you don’t, being the prude that you are—and stick it up your bum. You have to wear it all day. Do NOT remove it until I say so. I expect it to still be there when we meet later. And the location for tonight’s venture is at Eden Street, 8 o’clock sharp. And don’t be late.
Mistress Z
With an extremely hot face, I stared at the screen but no longer saw the words. They blurred into a single mass, and certain lines from it floated through my head. Mr Doesn’t-Know-It-All-But-Still-Thinks-He-Does. You need to put the plug up your arse. Being the prude that you are. Prude? I wasn’t a prude. Was I? Clearly, Zara thought I was. Well, I’d have to do something about that. Prove her wrong. Make her eat her words. And while she was at it she could eat my cock.
I grabbed the plug and removed it from the packaging, holding it up for inspection. My heart gave a little skip—God, I’d definitely need to remember to take my pill when I got home—and turned it around. Confused by a ring on the end and what appeared to be two rectangular flaps, I picked up the packaging and turned it over. Unfortunately, there weren’t any instructions on the back. Placing the plug on the desk and hoping Mary didn’t revert to her usual behaviour of knocking as she breezed in, I opened an internet browser, brought up Google, and, cringing, typed ANAL PLUG into the search bar. A page of links came up, but that wasn’t what I wanted. I needed visuals to see what those flaps were for. I clicked the IMAGES tab and flung myself back in alarm at the sight of various plugs—some pictured alone, some actually up arses—face growing hotter by the second.
“Oh my fucking good God…”
I shut down the page, quickly deleted my history and shoved the plug onto my lap, off the desk. Out of view.
I stared at it, clenched my arse cheeks and felt my dick growing hard. She had a goddamn cheek that bloody Zara, invading my working day like this. Didn’t she understand how much I had to do?
Grabbing the phone on my desk and hitting number one, I heard Mary’s voice.
“Yes, Mr Partridge?”
“Can you hold my calls please, I want to get my head down on something, don’t want my concentration disturbed.”
“Certainly. Anything else?”
Yeah, do you have any lube in your desk drawer? “No, that’s all, thanks.”
I dropped the phone into the base unit then headed into my private bathroom. One of the first things on my list when designing the home of Partridge and Partners was to have an integral toilet in all of the partner’s offices. Who wanted a boss who hung around the general staff loos? That was where my employees could have a few minutes of undisturbed gossip; they didn’t need to think that their superiors were in one of the cubicles.
I locked the door. The air-con came on, as did the spotlights that shone down on the walnut panelling. I dropped my suit trousers, filled the sink with water, then shoved at my boxers, freeing my now engorged dick.
Getting a hard-on at work was becoming a bit of a damn habit.
I stood the plug on the sink, its blackness shocking against the white porcelain, and gave my cock a few pleasant strokes. Thoughts of the warm wetness that surrounded it when I’d slid into Zara the evening before filled my mind, and a pull of desire tugged at my belly. Again my arsehole clenched, and I couldn’t help but think of Carlos getting impaled on the giant dildo Zara had produced in the show.
Setting one foot up on the toilet lid, I circled my tightly puckered back-hole with my fingertip. It had only ever been an exit in the past; the notion of entering had never crossed my mind. I’d never fucked a woman’s arse, never had a great desire to, but now here was me, bending to Zara’s will and seriously thinking about shoving a butt plug into my rectum.
I carried on wanking, reached for the plug and dipped the end in the water. Cursed when the water dripped down my leg onto my sock and brown leather shoe. The globule balanced and then trickled to the sole.
I pressed the smooth tip of the plug against my hole, clenched my teeth and eased it in, just a fraction.
Whoa, that felt weird. Not painful, just weird.
My cock grew further at the rudeness of my action. I carried on masturbating, building up the pressure. Took a deep breath and penetrated my arse another inch, enjoying each stretching sensation of my tight ring as the taper increased.
A long, low groan escaped my lips, rumbled around the room, and I squatted slightly, as if encouraging my own movements, wanting more.
I gave it; the damn thing must have been halfway in by now. I could feel it touching my insides. Pressing on something that was immediately greedy for sensation. A lump that was sensitive, hungry, and just being stroked by the very tip of the plug had a shiver swirling through my pelvis.
My knees shook, so did my chest when I heaved in a breath. I glanced to the right and saw my reflection in the full-length, smoky mirror.
Jesus bloody Christ.
The image that greeted me made my heart rate scatter. What the hell was I doing? I looked lewd, insane, like I’d decided to make my own porno movie.
Fucking hell.
I was in my bathroom at work, minus my pants, shoving a sexy toy up my arse and, to top it all, having a wank.
That wasn’t me. Since when did Mr Victor Partridge, CEO of Partridge and Partners, behave this way?
Since never.
Fucking Zara, she’d screwed with my head, my identity, and now with my professional life.
It had to stop.
I yanked at the butt plug, threw it in the sink and then pulled up my trousers. My cock had deflated at the ridiculousness of the situation, shrinking and shrivelling in shame at what it had so nearly indulged in.
Hurriedly I scrubbed the plug, emptied the sink, washed my hands and splashed water on my flushed cheeks.
Zara had gone too far. I’d shove the plug up her sexy little bum if that was what she wanted, but it was staying away from mine.
I was a man, I didn’t get arse-fucked.
Ever.
Chapter Fourteen
Impatience and frustration pummelled my insides. I could barely concentrate on Fifi and Carlos, who were fucking at my command. I held leads to their studded collars in one hand, a whip in the other. They were both blindfolded, giving the impression they had no idea who they were with—though, of course, they did.