Copyright 2008 by Portella Honyton, all rights reserved, Not For Sale
  

As they made their way to the elevator bank, Leah became increasingly aware of the almost insolently close scrutiny Alan was giving her. By the time the elevator doors closed on them, her composure had once again deserted her and she lapsed into a state of apathetic anticipation, like the prey of a serpent meekly waiting for the coils to begin tightening.  Neither of them spoke during the descent.

“So, Leah,” he broke the silence, a hand cradling her elbow and ushering her gently but purposefully out of the cab, “where would you like to go?”

“Go? Nowhere, really,” she floundered uncertainly, “I mean, home.” But as she spoke she was already yielding to the pressure of his touch.

“No, I meant you and I,” he said, shepherding her across the marble floor of the lobby. “For a drink.”

“I . . . I don’t know. I’m not sure I have time for . . .” her voice trailed away.

“Well, to slightly rephrase an old legal doctrine, indecision confers consent,” he laughed, consolidating his control of the situation. “Come on, I know a dim, secluded alcove over at Harry’s that should be just perfect for us.”

So she allowed herself to be led off to Harry’s at Hanover Square, a large, noisy Wall Street area watering spot favored by high energy traders and bankers, and in short order found herself installed in just such an alcove booth and provided with a daiquiri. He sat across from her, a single malt and water in hand; smiling, he raised his glass

“To coincidence, huh?”

“Coincidence?” she repeated in a lame pretence of incomprehension. “What coincidence?

“Come, Leah,” he chided her gently, “if you hadn’t decided to drop by Trish’s office just now, we would in all likelihood never have gotten this opportunity to renew acquaintances, would we? So,” he continued, sipping his drink, “during the week, you’re a hard-driving Wall Street executive, but come the weekend you moonlight as a lady of pleasure, hmm?”

She looked down, her face burning under his gaze. “I  . . . I wish you’d stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” he responded in a mock innocent tone. “How am I looking at you?”

Unable to answer his cleverly table-turning inquiry without even more deeply exposing herself, Leah stayed silent, her eyes remaining downcast and her cheeks aflame with embarrassment.

He chuckled softly. “Hey, if it’s any consolation, you never struck me as a typical hooker. Not even in our mutual friend Lisette’s idea of evening wear. Your hair, your skin, your scent,” he reached out and captured one of her nervously fidgeting hands in his “and your manicure obviously put you in a much higher league than most of the rest of the talent. A very high class call girl, maybe. But then what the hell were you doing in a place like that? I was curious enough to ask Lisette about you.”

“Oh?” Leah’s nerve-ends were suddenly jangling like broken piano wires. “And . . . and what did she tell you?”

“Just that you were the only one of her ‘girlfriends’ with a body classy enough to wear the sort of things she was designing. Which, of course, begs the question of how someone like you becomes ‘girlfriends’ with someone like Lisette? A question I find even more intriguing now that I know a bit more about the mysterious ‘Leah’.”

How was she to respond to that? Still, she avoided his eyes, her hand lying passively in his and her flesh tingling with a curious mixture of shame and excitement.

“Well,” he pressed when she offered no reply,” you can’t deny that it’s a curious relationship, can you? High powered Wall Street bankers and hot little Latina hustlers from the Lower East Side don’t usually become girlfriends, do they?”

“I don’t see what business that is of yours.” Lifting her eyes at last, she challenged him with a defiant glare. “I’m not the only one at this table who could be asked to explain my ‘curious relationships’?” And, she withdrew her hand from his.

“I suppose not, but at least I am a player in the business she’s so determined to break into,” he responded calmly. “And beyond that, she’s been incredibly shameless about expressing her desire that we have a much more intimate relationship. Which, flattering as it is, I’m inclined to avoid.  I may be old fashioned,” he returned her glare coolly and recaptured her briefly escaped hand, “but when it comes to intimate relationships, I prefer submissive women to aggressive ones.”

For the next two and a half daiquiris, Leah sat quietly listening while Alan laughingly recounted how he had met Lisette while serving as a member of a design jury at the Fashion Institute and had since become the object of her relentless pursuit, both professionally and physically. Then, in the middle of her third drink, the rum began to work its warming magic, gradually easing the distracted state into which the encounter had plunged her and allowing her to relax into a more pleasurably dolce far niente frame of mind. Gradually, she surrendered to her companion’s incontestably good looks, his sonorously caressing voice and above all his air of total mastery. It wasn’t hard to see why Lisette was so hot for him; a realization that inevitably stimulated her own senses and touched off all the appropriate glandular responses. With the keen awareness of one accustomed to provoking such reactions among members of the opposite sex, Alan immediately picked up on the subtle pheromonal signals she was sending.

“You know what I’d like, Leah?” he murmured in low, enticing tones. “I’d like to see you in Lisette’s outfit again. Would that be possible, do you think?”

“It’s . . . it’s in the cleaners,” she replied in a hesitant, breathy voice, “I was planning to pick it up on my way home.”

“Well,” he glanced at his watch, “it’s a quarter to eight. Think there’s still time to get it?”

“I don’t know. I guess so.”

“Come on, then, let’s go.” His smile washed over her, carrying away whatever remaining inhibitions she may have been feeling. “That is, if it’s OK with you?”

During the taxi ride uptown, she tried to attend to the soothing flow of small talk he directed at her and to respond in kind, but the mounting sensations of anticipation and vulnerability she felt made an almost embarrassing sham of the effort. The outfit retrieved from the dry cleaners, they proceeded without another word between them straight up to her apartment.

With Alan settled in the living room with a glass of wine, Leah retired to her bedroom. There she hastily shed her Ann Klein power suit and under things, misted herself with a spray of eau de toilette and after a brief impatient search gave up on finding a pair of dark pantyhose to go with the outfit, settling instead for the bare-legged look. Slipping into it, she stood before the mirrored doors of her closet, fitting her feet into the conservative black patent pumps Lisette had chosen to complement the “corporate slut” look. Smoothing back her hair, she contemplated her reflected image and felt the sudden pulse-pounding burst of excitement that the outfit’s creator insisted was one of the most powerful inducements to “hot couture” dressing.

Seizing upon this erotic rush as a source of positive energy, she re-entered Alan’s presence with long, confident strides, head held high, bosom outthrust, shoulders thrown back, projecting the aura of power-as-desirability her appearance was calculated to command. But no sooner did she feel his eyes on her than that positive energy drained away and she slipped abruptly back into the essentially suppliant role of presenting herself for his approval. And adding to her sense of deflation, his gaze seemed to be more that of a neutral appraiser than of an actively engaged admirer.

“You know,’ he mused as she did a slow turn in response to the motion of his hand, “I don’t think I’ve been giving that little floozy enough credit after all.” He rose to his feet and walked over to her, reaching out to finger the lapel of the perfectly fitting little jacket. “Take it off, will you?” She shrugged obediently out of the garment and watched as he examined it with a practiced eye, checking out every detail, from its sleek, peau-de-soie lining to its fitted waist and back venting.

“Hmmmm.” He folded the jacket carefully and laid it aside, then knelt down to look more closely at the short shorts component of the ensemble. As he scrutinized the cuffs, Leah felt his fingertips brushing against the bare flesh of her thighs and buttocks. Although there was no indication that this contact was anything other than incidental, it nonetheless sent tremors running through her. “This tailoring is definitely Saville Row quality.”

Rising, he took up a position directly in front of her now, shifting his attention to the cleverly cut little white linen dickey, with its daringly scooped, keyhole front and push-up underwiring.  Inserting an exploratory finger into the cleft of her bosom, he traced the edges of the built in bra cups, causing her to vent a sharp, startled, but not exactly protesting gasp. “Very nicely engineered,” he observed, seemingly oblivious to her reaction to this intimate probing. “Which only goes to show that a girl with a 34B can have a cleavage every bit as luscious as one with a 38D, huh?”

Now he raised his eyes and locked them onto hers, toying idly with the little polka dot bow tie encircling her throat. “No,” he continued, his tone shifting from offhanded to caressing, “I think I’ve definitely short-changed our mutual friend.  She really does know how to design for a ‘classy body’.”

Yielding to his commanding gaze, seductive touch and complimentary words, Leah’s self control finally and completely deserted her. Eyes half closed, lips parted, breath quickening, she made her availability quite shamelessly apparent.

“You know,” he continued, slipping his arms around her waist and gathering her body up close to his, “I’ve got a recurrent fantasy about this very attractive female exec who’s hard as nails in the boardroom, but turns into play-dough in the bedroom. The contrast turns me on. I once thought your colleague Trish might fulfill that fantasy for me, but alas it was not to be.” He insinuated his thigh between her legs and pressed up against her by now excruciatingly sensitive vulva. “So, how about you, Leah? Am I misreading the situation, or to borrow a phrase from the merger and acquisition types, are you ‘in play’?”

“Yes!” Quivering with by now out of control lust, she rubbed herself against him, accepting eagerly and without reservation, her assigned part in this delicious little duet of dominion and submission. “Oh, God, yes!”

“Then make me want you,” he whispered, pressing the palm of one of her hands against his crotch, “as much as you seem to want me.”

It was a bit humbling for Leah to find him less than aroused even as a lubricious wetness flowed ticklishly down her legs, but this discovery also further inflamed her desire. So, when he finally joined her in bed, after a slow, deliberately teasing process of stripping down to a body that now seemed to her indistinguishable from that of Michelangelo’s David, she energetically set about trying to arouse him. Initially she fondled him, but when her fingers were not immediately successful in inducing the desired swelling and hardening, she took him into her mouth.

Only a few months earlier, the readiness with which she did this would have been unthinkable. But that had been before she’d encountered Lisette and been awakened to the exquisite pleasures of employing her lips and tongue in ways so shamelessly lewd, so thoroughly depraved as to make what she was now doing to Alan seem rather tame by comparison.

Finally he began to respond to her urgent attentions, which only deepened and intensified her involvement. Inspired by the beauty of his gracefully proportioned rod, its smooth shaft rising from the hard flat plain of his abdomen and terminating in a delectably pink capital that was as velvety to the touch as it was pleasing to the eye, her salivary glands rocketed into overdrive as her mouth enveloped it. She flicked the tip of her tongue out, teasing the area just below the head. Incited by his pleased response to these attentions, she took him deeply and enthusiastically into her mouth. Eventually, in her eagerness to please, she overdid it, gagging in an undignified, not to mention temporarily spell-breaking fashion.

“You OK?” he inquired, sounding amused. She nodded, teary eyed and mortified. “Well, you’re no sword-swallower yet, but you’ve certainly got potential.”

Pushing a fall of dark hair back over her shoulder, she bent down to resume her interrupted activities. But he stopped her. “Hey, Leah, why should I have all the fun, huh?” He raised up on one elbow and reached out to finger her gently between the legs. “I may be in charge here, but I don’t want to be totally selfish.”

“Ohhh!” She gasped, shivering with excitement as a teasing fingertip found and toyed with the swollen bud of her clitoris; “Ohhh, God!”

“I mean, why should all that sweet, wet, womanliness go to waste?” He maneuvered her into position astride his waist and drew her down onto him “Don’t deny yourself, Leah.  Hop aboard.”

She responded to his smooth, deep and almost effortless penetration of her with a soft cry of pleasure and began to rock. Head thrown back, hands clasped behind her neck, breasts out-thrust, back arched, she bounced up and down on him. In short order, her breath was rushing and her body glistening with sweat as a result of these sexually aerobic exertions. Bringing her, with stunning swiftness, to the brink of orgasm.

“Mmmmm,” he expressed his pleasure, watching as she whipped herself into a lather of lust, “you must do a lot of work on the Stairmaster.”

Except, of course, that Stairmaster sessions never culminated in the sort of pulsatingly convulsive climaxes as the one she now yielded to with such explosive abandon. “Oh God, oh God, oh God, ooohhh God!”

“My dear Leah,” he observed in a teasing tone as the last quivering tremors of climactic release ran through her body, “that was a performance extremely gratifying to my male ego. But then, perhaps you’re that way with all the boys, huh?”

“No, Alan, that’s not true,” she protested fawningly. “I’ve never been like this with any . . . any guy.”

He reacted to her self-abasing confession by abruptly retaking control. Within moments she was in the “present” position, groveling on her knees and elbows while he knelt behind her, his hands gripping her waist, his thumbs pressing firmly into the small of her back just above her buttocks.  Once again he entered her; only this time he took the lead, driving himself into her with a force that caught her totally unprepared, causing her head to snap back and her teeth to clash, as if she were a passenger in a rear-ended vehicle. Which, in a manner of speaking, she was. There was even a “whip-lash” effect, although the lash was being applied as much to her libido as to her spinal column.

“Uhhngh, uhhngh, uhhngh!” she groaned, at first in protest, but ultimately with the most sublime sort of pleasure. “Ummmm, yes!”

Submitting to his rough, even arrogant usage, Leah swiftly found herself reduced to little more than a helplessly compliant receptacle for his sexual aggression, and hurtling headlong once more toward rapturous fulfillment. A goal she achieved so swiftly and full-throatedly that it only accented just how unconditionally she had surrendered herself to him

“Leah, really, have you no self-restraint,” he bantered as her emotive announcement of this second orgasm trailed off in a soft moan. “Makes me wonder about how committed you are to the idea of pleasing me.”

“Ohhh!” She gasped out as he withdrew from her. “Alan, I do want to please you. Please don’t stop! Please! I want you inside me!”

“Who said anything about stopping. I just think maybe it’s time we took that hair trigger clit of yours out of the equation.”   He grasped and forcibly spread the cheeks of her buttocks, and before she realized what his intentions were, he was carrying them out.

“Uhhhnngh!” She grunted loudly as the head of his cock abruptly thrust its way past her defensively tightening sphincter and up her into her rectum. This unexpected invasion was both stunning and, against all expectations, utterly ravishing; and she responded involuntarily to it, wiggling her hips and pushing her rump back in an effort to assist him in the act of penetration. “Oh, god, yes!”

“Hey babe,” he reacted to this more than accommodating response, “you must be an old hand at this sort of thing, huh?”

“N . . . no, I’m not,” she replied in a strained voice, as surprised as he at her easy acquiescence in an act that she would, only weeks earlier, have regarded as unspeakably degrading; “I’ve never . . . uhhhnngghh! . . . never done this before.”

“Then you clearly have a natural affinity for anal sex,” he decided, sliding his hands along the line of her rib cage, then reaching down to cradle her pendulous breasts gently in his palms. “Now, just relax and let it happen, OK?”

“Mmmm,” she yielded docilely, “all right, I will.”

With Alan’s shaft throbbing like a piston in the cylinder of her butt hole, her slender body was soon transformed into a surging, supercharged vehicle for his gratification, ready to be driven as fast and as far as necessary to achieve that goal. He began slowly, almost tenderly, but as she opened up to him, the speed and vigor of his thrusts and retractions picked up. She responded by alternately tightening and relaxing the walls of her anal duct around his pulsing rod. But even as she struggled to convince herself that she was doing this for him by concentrating on the physical discomfort of having her butt-hole reamed out, the shamelessly perverted pleasure she was experiencing mounted until she could no longer deny it. Not surprisingly, then, when he slipped a hand under her belly, pressed a fingertip into her sopping, dilated box and began to tease her “hair trigger clit”, she yielded, body and soul, to him.

“Ohhhh, Ahhhh-lan, yes, yes, YES!”

“Leah, you’re utterly incorrigible!” He greeted her third orgasmic detonation in less than fifteen minutes with a mixture of amusement, wonder and derision. “You might’ve held out a little longer just for appearance’s sake.”

“I . . . I can’t help it,” she sobbed piteously. “It’s just that you . . . you’ve made me so hot.”

As heartfelt as this utterly abject confession was, she also sensed it was exactly what Alan wanted to hear. And correctly so, to judge by the urgency with which he now rolled her over onto her back, vaulted astride her belly, and thumped his erection down against her breastbone with a meaty thud. Cupping his hands, he forced her breasts together, sandwiching himself tightly between them and began to masturbate in her cleavage, keeping up a steady flow of gratuitously lewd remarks about her lack of restraint.  And as he became visibly more heated himself, the sensation of his rod, sliding up and down in the silken valley between her breasts, rock-hard and sticky with rank residue of its most recent burrowing, had a similarly disturbing effect on her.

But this time she was determined to resist giving in to him, if only to prove to herself that she retained at least some vestige of self-discipline. Then, just at the point of climax, Alan abruptly withdrew from the haven of her bosom and rising up off her belly, finished off the job with his hand, emptying himself directly into her face, ejaculating jet after jet of semen in scalding, viscous spurts over her chin, lips and cheeks. And, in spite of her resolve not to give in, Leah responded explosively. 

Her final orgasm may have owed less to physical stimulation than to the sensations stirred by this last in a series of deliciously debasing indignities, but it was every bit as shattering as any of the three that had preceded it.  Her body was still quivering with its after effects, when he brusquely jolted her from a state of dazed satiation.

“OK if I use your shower before I leave?”

“Yes, of course,” she reached up and caught beseechingly at her hand. “But you’re not leaving so soon, are you?”

“Sorry, Leah, but I’m afraid I’m already late for a date. It was, however, an unexpectedly pleasant evening, and I can’t tell you how much I enjoyed renewing acquaintances.”

Fifteen minutes later, showered and fully dressed, he bent down to touch her lips briefly with his by way of parting. She looked imploringly up into his eyes. “Alan? When . . . when will I see you again?”

“When? I really can’t say. I’ll have to see when I have time to fit you in. Or should I say,” he added with an insinuating smile, “when I have time to fit into you, hmmm?”

“Alan?” Crimsoning, Leah lowered her eyes and murmured plaintively, “that’s not very nice.”

“Sweet Leah,” he laughed, casually patting her flaming cheek, “if you were truly interested in being treated ‘nicely,’ you’d scarcely be asking when you could see me again, would you?”