The office was divided up into teams, with each team managing its own list of clients. In addition to this everyone in the office took turns to hold the duty phone, dealing with miscellaneous queries that the reception staff couldn’t answer, or handling urgent problems when the caseworker responsible was unavailable.
Now, I was competent at my job. I was conscientious and looked after my clients well. I didn’t like holding the duty phone though, because you never knew what was coming, and you could be faced with having to sort out all sorts of problems without knowing anything about the background. One particular afternoon when I had the phone, everything had been pretty quiet, only ringing with everyday queries I could easily deal with. Then a call came through from one of Mathew’s clients. Mathew was out of the office and couldn’t be contacted. His client was calling from a hotel in Bangkok, in a furious panic because a vital piece of paperwork was missing. I did my best to reassure him, took down the phone and fax numbers of the hotel and got to work in the file room. I found his file easily enough, but it was in such a mess that it took me some time to find what I was looking for.
I prayed that the fax machine wouldn’t choose this moment to play up – luckily it didn’t – then rang him back to tell him what I had done.
He sounded too relieved to be annoyed any more, and I felt as if I had just headed off a potential disaster. Mathew was due back in the office at four, and I was so irrationally excited about his return that I forgot to be nervous about holding the phone.
He arrived back in the office and began talking to Monique. I waited a couple of minutes, then I picked up his client’s file and the phone, and knocked tentatively on the open door.
‘Hi Julie.’ Monique was friendly enough, as always.
‘What can we do for you?’ Mathew drawled, looking at me for what felt like the first time. My mission gave me a purpose, and some confidence. I stepped into the office and sat down on a chair opposite Mathew’s desk. I’m sitting in his office.
‘I had a call on the duty phone from one of your clients – Mr Mason, in Bangkok?’
His face registered this information. He laughed.
‘Oh shit. I bet he was after that spreadsheet?’
‘That’s the one. I faxed it to his hotel, it’s all OK now.’
He leaned back in his chair. I tried not to stare at his forearms, bare below his rolled up shirtsleeves.
‘Knew I’d forgotten something. Well, thanks for that. You can just put that file back for me.’
‘No problem.’
He turned back to Monique. Say something.
‘Lucky him, must be exciting, jetting off to Bangkok.’
‘Horrible place. Far too hot, full of traffic fumes.’
He looked at me. My stomach contracted. Was he smirking at me?
‘Right, well, I guess I’d better -.’ I picked up the phone and waved it vaguely.
‘Has it been busy, Julie?’ Monique asked kindly.
‘Er, no, not really …’ I trailed off. Mathew appeared absorbed in his paperwork. I stood up.
‘OK … bye.’ I don’t think he even bothered saying goodbye.
I had been assigned a small research project to do, but between looking after my clients and the distractions of a busy office I was beginning to despair of ever getting it completed. I knew my boss often came in on a Sunday to catch up on paperwork, so I asked him if I could do the same. He said I was welcome to, and that he and his wife were flying to Melbourne for the weekend so I would probably have the office to myself.
When the alarm went off on Sunday morning, I resisted the temptation to switch it off and go back to sleep. The sun was coming in through the curtains, and although the bed was lovely and warm, getting up didn’t seem such a bad idea. I stretched and hugged myself awake, then rolled out of bed and wandered naked straight into the shower. The hot water felt good, made me feel awake and energised. I washed and conditioned my hair, shaved my legs, and after I had towelled myself dry I put on body lotion and perfume and painted my nails. It felt good to pull on jeans for going into work. I put on a thin black cashmere jumper without a bra, to enjoy the feeling of it against my skin.
I blow-dried my hair and put on a little make-up, then picked up my bag and headed out the door, humming a little tune to myself. I felt light and free, and proud of myself for getting up early.
The change in routine gave me a lift, and I thought about how silly I was, to feel so excited about going into work on a Sunday.
I opened the main door using my passkey. The boss was right – there didn’t seem to be anyone else around. I opened the door to the file room, putting out my hand to feel for the light switch as I stepped inside. Before I found it, I screamed – I had touched someone. The someone grabbed hold of my wrist, really hard, and I looked up and saw Mathew. Fear turned to relief, and back to fear. A jolt of electricity shot through my belly, and our eyes locked.
‘I’m sorry.’ He let go of me. He put the light on and I sat down on the table. I could feel myself trembling. This was the closest we had ever been to each other.
‘I’m sorry.’ I said, even though I didn’t know why I was apologising.
‘Nervous aren’t you? I was just switching off the light when I heard a noise. I wasn’t expecting anyone else to come in today. Sorry. Did I hurt your wrist?’
I held out my arm. My wrist had a red mark around it. He picked it up, lightly, casually, as if he was picking up a pencil, or a piece of paper, and kissed it on the red mark.
‘Cold are you? Good job it’s Sunday, you’d drive your clients wild.’ He was staring unashamedly at my chest, an amused expression on his face. My nipples were hard and quite noticeable through the thin cashmere.
Then, casually, as if he was doing nothing at all out of the ordinary, he took hold of the hem of my sweater and pulled it off over my head. He knelt down and kissed my nipples, taking them in his mouth. It felt delicious, but after a few seconds, he stopped.
‘If anyone came here, I’d get all the blame, and you could say it was sexual harassment, even though you’ve been making eyes at me for months.’
‘No. I wouldn’t do that.’
‘Prove it.’ He looked down at the floor in front of his feet, and I understood. I knelt down on the floor in front of him. He undid his belt, and the zip of his trousers. The smell of him was like a drug … all soapy sweetness. I reached into his trousers, pulling down his black cotton shorts and exposing his cock, which was thick and hard, and quivering slightly, right in front of my face. I felt a ringing in my ears as I closed my eyes and took him into my mouth. I put my hands on his thighs, feeling a thrill of pride that they were shaking slightly. So, there is a way to get to him.
I concentrated as hard as I could on the task in hand, licking the length of his cock to make it slippery and easy to take in, and taking it as far back as I could. I let my hands explore his thighs and his balls, which were hard and felt full to bursting. When he came, he held the back of my head with his hands and thrust into me, fucking my mouth.
I spent the next three months being his whore. No one was supposed to know. He had forbidden me from telling anyone at all. Monique once raised an eyebrow at me, giving me a funny look, and I blushed and felt embarrassed, but she never said anything. I never went to his house, nor he to mine. Little pieces of paper would appear in my pigeonhole: 8pm Wednesday and I’d cancel whatever I was doing and be there. We always did it at work, in the file room, because at least that had a lock. He never took me on a date, or even so much as bought me a drink.
Most of the time he didn’t even fuck me, much less caress or cuddle me. Our encounters were clinical, emotionally cold, yet he left me desperate for more, absolutely in thrall to him and his wishes.
I never found out why he stopped. Maybe he was worried about people finding out, or maybe he had decided to settle down properly with the Russian cookery expert, I don’t know. I was devastated at the time, of course, but there was nothing I could do. It
wasn’t as if we even talked about it – talking wasn’t something we ever did. But I tried to keep my chin up, and one of the things that helped was remembering our last time. It felt so special that even now I feel sure he must have planned it specially, in order to do me a final kindness.
He’d left me a little note, as usual, except that this time it was handwritten instead of typed, and actually had a little kiss at the bottom. After he had locked the door of the file room behind us, he actually sat down on the floor next to me and talked to me for a little while. Not about anything earth-shattering, just a little small talk about work and the office, but it meant a lot. It made it feel a bit more normal, less degrading, than his usual practice of just undoing his trousers. I knew something was up when he kissed me before doing anything else, then lay me down on the floor and held me, chest against chest, so that I could feel his heart beating.
I love you, I love you, I love you. I had to bite my tongue to stop the words escaping, but the feelings spilt out anyway, tears falling down my face as he made love to me. He let go of me and pulled me onto his lap, so that I was sitting on him, his arms around my waist. All I wanted was to hide in his chest, but he made me sit up straight and look at him. He stared right at me, watching my tits as I moved slowly on top of him.
‘You’re beautiful, you’ve got great tits.’ I held on tight to these words that he had never said before. I knew it would be all too easy to think later that I had imagined them. He hooked his fingers around the base of my back, pulling me up, down, forward, back, until black spots started to appear in front of my eyes and it was all I could do to follow his rhythm. I felt as though I were dissolving, as if the edges of my body and his had blurred, leaving only the interface where we were touching and burning, melting and dissolving together. I couldn’t believe, at that moment, that he didn’t love me too; maybe not in the way I loved him, but somehow, in his own way. It just didn’t seem possible that something could feel so much like love, if really it was nothing at all.
Afterwards I fell onto his chest and he put his arms around me and stroked my hair and I felt so grateful. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I think I knew then that it was over, but I didn’t want to listen to the voice of reason in my head. Instead, I said to myself, here is the man for me, I have finally met my match. This is the man I would renounce my country for, my family. As if saying it in my head would somehow make it all come true.
Alley Kat
by Alcamia
My name is Katrina and I always look impeccable in my starched white blouse and sensible shoes. However, I am far from little miss purity. I have a very dirty secret. Whenever I step into an alley, I shed my innocent Katrina skin and I become filthy alley Kat.
Dirty Tom cat, has been following the essence of my pussy for weeks. He has teased and sniffed around the fringes of my sexuality until I am simmering with lust. Now, tonight, like any predator stalking his prey, he has entered attack mode and I am sharpening my kitty claws ready for his advances. Tonight is my initiation. You see, to be fucked up Alley Zero, is like a right of passage, through which I have to pass to awaken my new found sexual liberation. I have been trapped in a dry wasteland of ‘no sex’ for far too long. In fact I have been in a state of alley virginity for as long as I can remember, because it is not easy to find a dirty Tom who can fulfil your filthiest fantasy
Tom cat is following me out of the club. He is stalking the essence of my tantalising pussy musk. I draw into the shadows, licking my lips at the prospect of the meal to come and my amber eyes dilate in anticipation.
I am liquescent. So turned on I am breathless. He really lit my fuse when he danced with me earlier. Smothering my mouth, grinding his hips into my quim. From that moment, he marked his territory on me and I had no desire to escape his claws. I simply began to purr.
I sniff and lick at the feral scent of alley Tom cat on my hands, and its filthy key note explodes within my neural synapses, sending a surge of excitement though my body.
Where are you, Tom cat? I know you are somewhere in the shadows, toying with me like a cat toys with a mouse. My body stiffens with sex impulse. My cunt is sopping wet. The moist sex juice, is like rainfall on a dry desert. It makes my pussy seed germinate, erupt and blossom, and I quiver with orgasmic ripples.
I exude sex appeal. It oozes out of my feline pores. Men pursue me because they smell alley Kat all over my hot body and they just love that wild pussy odour. They sniff at the dirty undertones and instantly they are spellbound by my alley cat vibe. They adore my slinky sexuality, purring vibrato voice, long claws and savage, wild cat eyes. Most of all they love the smell of alley Kat sex honey, oozing from my cunt. Naturally, I fight them all off. Only one kind of mate appeals to this kitty, and that is one as down and dirty as me. Mr Tom cat.
I feel the familiar glow of expectant sex and my internal sexual barometer begins to rise, as he steps out of the shadows. He is just the kind of cat I adore. Rough and territorial with emerald, deep set eyes and a dangerous twist to sardonic lips. The moment I laid eyes on him, I knew he had grown out of the filth and graffiti. He was a true urban child of the alley.
A jolt of electricity stiffens my nipples. Tom cat creeps up on me and holds me captive. His voracious tongue probing my mouth. He can feel the fire rising through my skin, as he presses against my writhing body and my pulse escalates, giving birth to the flowing juices which stain my thighs. Tom cat makes me flow like a geyser and the pussy cat cream just keeps coming and coming.
He continues to kiss me with rapier stabbing motions of his darting tongue. This is not the gentle kiss of a lover, but the hungry desire of a copulation seeking animal. Insistently the tongue keeps working the inside of my mouth, igniting my circuit of eroticism. Sending arousing stimuli through my sexual network. It triggers nipple and clit, and soft welcoming pussy. He presses me up against the damp bricks of the alley and his hips grind me into the viscous, semen-painted walls. Then, lips and tongue chase the blue vein, down my bare arm, as if he is pursuing the essence of pussy cat through my blood. I sink my nails into his skin and my purr intensifies. I fire again and again, in rapid convulsions, his hands kneading my buttocks, first one then the other. Sliding my skirt up to caress my thighs, he probes between my legs, rubbing my liquid crease through my flimsy panties. I run my tongue over my lips in further invitation.
‘I have this obsession with getting fucked up an alley. Actually, it’s the only place I can fuck.’ I moan, low and vibrato.
‘I’m going to eat and then fuck you.’ He says huskily. ‘I’m going to lap at that kitty cat milk, and I’m going to suck the cream.’
Excitement sends shots of adrenaline through my system and my plump white breasts swell and recede beneath my tight corset. I grip the hard bulge in his pants with my strong fist and I knead him with my paws, pulling him closer as I slide my arms around his tight butt. Tom cat’s lean hips will feel so good, pumping my drought-dry pussy. I can hardly contain myself. My addiction has not been fed for months, and like any addict, I desire my fix.
I don’t know what made me like this. Perhaps it is in my genes, or maybe it is because the first thing I ever laid eyes on was the alley, and they say you have a definitive tie to your birthplace. You see, my mother gave birth to me in an alleyway. She rarely talked about it, after all that was her dirty secret. But as a result I think I am a little tainted by the down and dirty vibe, of the pussy cat hunting ground.
When the pain took her, my mother was surprised as she had not made much of an effort to ascertain her due date and I literally dropped into her life like a bombshell. I was born in the alley as she could not walk any further and she had needed to crawl into secrecy to have me. She birthed me like a kitten, quickly and in the dark shadow of a fire escape. Apparently, I was easy in my arrival but I squealed like a banshee. Later, as a child I sought out the darkness of passageways. The memory of filthy dark places was instilled in me and appealed to my sense of urban mystery. My mother was a whore and men
came and went at all hours of the day and night from our Islington flat. My mother’s behaviour got up my nose to such an extent, I walked the streets like an orphan, detesting the return to the flat which always reeked of cheap booze, stale perfume and sex. Or I would sit surrounded by mewling cats in the alley, my true home. Of course, my mother threatened me with punitive measures if I kept returning there, but I didn’t take any notice. It was my happy hunting ground, and what did she care anyway. All my mother was concerned about was her next bottle of gin or new pair of shoes.
I was always slightly strange Katrina, but I can remember the day I changed my name to alley Kat and discovered the licentious depths to which I had evidently sunk. I was staying with Marvine in New York before I started university.
Marvine and I had been to a burger joint to see her boyfriend, Jerome. I could tell instantly that he had a thing about me. I had met him several times by then, and his eyes always probed lasciviously beneath my clothes, seeking the bud of firm nipple and the contours of juicy sex. I possessed the feral stink of alley cat, and he was drawn to me, and saw something in me which was kinky and arousing. The three of us walked out from the burger joint together, straight into a noisy parade, there always seemed to be one in New York. I became separated from Marvine and I panicked a little.
Darting inside an opening, I found myself in the mouth of an alley. Marvine had underlined that I was not to take short cuts. But in the daylight it seemed harmless enough and, I deduced from my calculations, it must exit somewhere near Marvine’s apartment. Jerome was behind me and that gave me a curious sexual thrill. I felt no sense of alarm, simply the familiar moistening of kitty milk, between my legs. I knew he wanted to fuck me, but until now, he could not find a way to get me alone. The anonymity of the dark alleyway fuelled my desire and I flexed my claws. I was thrumming with lust as pressing against me, he began to fondle my breasts and taking my hand he placed it on his monster cock. I tugged at his zipper, having great difficultly getting it to move over his mammoth erection. Jerome hitched up my skirt and, ripping down my thong, he began to fuck me with the ferocious abandon of a feral alley cat.
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