Amanda's Young Men (13 page)

‘Stop fucking her, Rupert,’ she ordered.

Rupert froze, his cock still halfway embedded.

‘Pull out.’

He obeyed. Amanda twisted her finger out of the girl’s bum and left off fingering Nola’s clit. She took hold of Rupert’s shaft and guided its slippery head to nudge at Nola’s already relaxed sphincter. ‘Ever done this before, Rupert?’

‘No Ms Amanda.’

‘You’ll like it. Now push.’

Rupert took Nola’s hips in his hands and pulled on them as he rammed unceremoniously into her bottom. Amanda gasped even louder than Nola. Rupert grunted and did it again. Nola squealed with obvious delight. OK then.

‘As hard and as fast as you like, Rupert,’ Amanda said.

He drove into the girl and swivelled his hips, grinding in as deeply as he could push. Amanda cupped a palm under and between them to toy with the girl’s swollen lips and the boy’s swaying balls. He pulled back, quickly, and slammed in again.

‘Faster!’ Amanda encouraged.

He pumped quickly and furiously. His face contorted. It looked as if he was about to climax and Amanda didn’t want him to, not just yet. She snatched up the ruler and whacked it across his bottom.

‘Wha –!’

She struck him again.

The sudden pain seemed to have pulled Rupert back from the edge he’d been balancing on but Amanda found that she was having far too much fun to let up. Each time his buttocks drew back, she swiped at him again, spurring him back in. They developed a rhythm that, almost as if by mutual consent, accelerated. Amanda wasn’t counting but she was sure he’d endured far more than the ten blows he’d given Nola, yet he still hadn’t so much as yelped. Amanda was astonished by the pain threshold of both Nola and Rupert. Clearly, she had a lot to learn. She drew her arm back and delivered yet another crack to Rupert’s beet-red bum.

Rupert gasped, ‘I can’t hold back any more, sorry!’ and skewered his shaft into the girl’s bottom.

Nola, who’d been whimpering and moaning with pleasure,
suddenly
screamed, ‘Fill me up, you fucking bastard! Give me your hot load!’

The filthy words, delivered at top volume, electrified the boy. He ground into Nola, grunting and groaning with complete abandon. Nola thrust up to meet him, urging him on with her body and her unintelligible moans. It seemed as if a pulse ran through Rupert’s entire body before he slumped, staggered back and sank to the floor. His cream trickled obscenely from Nola’s bum-hole.

The frantic coupling had driven Amanda wild. She flipped Nola over on to her back so that she lay across the sofa’s arm on her bottom, puffy pubes uppermost. Amanda hunched over Nola and thrust three fingers into the girl, found her swollen seed with the ball of her thumb and frigged her frantically. Nola reached out to Amanda’s sex and fingered it the same way.

At last Amanda gave in to the sexual need that throbbed in her body with every beat of her heart. A few minutes of frenzied fingering later, they climaxed more or less simultaneously. Amanda threw back her head and let her voice express what her body was experiencing as she came for the umpteenth time that day. Nola’s trills of delight joined Amanda’s howls to create a Sapphic cacophony that rang in Amanda’s head all through her drive home and right up to the moment she fell into her bed for a few hours of much deserved rest.

When she arrived at her office the next day, there were two gifts waiting for her. The first was obvious – a gigantic bouquet of white and pink roses in full bloom commanded her immediate attention, their scent as heady as the most concentrated rose-based perfume. ‘Lovely!’ she called to Nola, who was rather gingerly seated at her workstation. ‘Who sent them? You? Rupert?’ It was inconceivable that her two young playmates
had
either the funds or the sensibilities to arrange such an extravagant offering.

Nola shook her head, her full lips compressed into a thin straight line. ‘No,
that’s
not from me,’ she grumbled.

Amanda closed the door to her office. She circled the bouquet. It was truly a superior arrangement. Unless she was mistaken, the vase was crystal. She began counting the blooms, putting off reading the attached card as long as possible, enjoying the suspense, but left off at 26. The flowers were from Buds, a shop so exclusive its name seemed self-effacing, rather than silly. The card read, ‘A rose by any other name is not nearly as lovely as you. – Tom.’

Oh yes, young Tom Sharpe. She’d almost forgotten him in the excitement of her first ménage, her first time with a woman, her first time as a dom. He was a good lad, perhaps a bit – what was the word – ‘vanilla’, that was it; he was a bit vanilla for her taste. It took all Amanda’s strength to move the great vase of roses from the centre of her desk to a low table under the corner window. They’d get plenty of light there, and she needed her desk. She’d have to call Tom and thank him, and she’d have to do so soon, as he was due back at college in a few days, if she remembered correctly.

Amanda sat down at her desk, aware that she was a tad disappointed by the name on the card. She turned it over in her hand. Exactly who had she hoped the flowers might be from? David Beckham? Leonardo DiCaprio? Jared Leto? Amanda giggled. Perhaps one of the British Princes, William or Harry? She flipped the card into her pencil drawer. Amanda could only hope that Tom had paid for the flowers himself and not charged them to his mother’s credit card.

Now that the vase was off her desk, Amanda saw a thick manila envelope that hadn’t been there the night before. It was marked: ‘Ms Garland, Private’. When she opened it, she
found
a D&S magazine that featured a photo-story about a vicious-looking but gorgeous dominatrix wielding a leather paddle on the bottom of a worshipful little female submissive. The dominatrix had been labelled, in pen, ‘Ms A.G.’ The submissive’s hair had been brightly coloured in with a pink felt-tip pen.

So, Nola had chosen Amanda Garland as a replacement for Roger Garland as her dominant, had she? In that case, Amanda decided she had better do some research. She left her office early; frankly, every muscle in her body ached from the debauchery of the day before. But, she noted with some satisfaction, sexually she was entirely sated.

After a long dreamless early-evening nap, Amanda surfed the web for material about domination and submission. The number of websites devoted to the subject was overwhelming so she concentrated on a few highly informative sites. Amanda was pleased to find that many of her instincts had been right on the money. She’d been correct in her assumption that it would be a mistake to inflict pain when angry and she’d used her voice well, by turns commanding and praising her two eager submissives. Amanda had good reason to be proud of her first attempt at domination, but she’d been lucky, too. What if Nola or Rupert had refused to do as she bid? She wouldn’t have known how to deal with it at the time, but now she did.

This strange world of D/s was actually very well ordered, with strict rules that made perfect sense. Safe, sane, consensual. Next time – and she was sure there would be a next time – she’d assign the submissive a safe word, and she’d plan events in advance, but on the whole Amanda was content with the way she’d played things. It was simple, really, as long as the dominant stayed in control of the situation, which had been easy for Amanda, and in control of herself, which hadn’t come
quite
so naturally to her. There’d been any number of times when she’d desperately wanted to abandon herself to the highly charged eroticism of ‘scening’. But she’d been right not to do so. There were sacrifices to be made when one chose the dominant role but, as Amanda had discovered, the rewards were spectacular.

That night, when Amanda went to bed, she dreamt of an infinite daisy-chain that alternated dominant and submissive, command and obedience, absolute control and total surrender, everyone knowing their places and sublimely happy.

12

MR EGGERDON WAS
alternately ecstatic and despondent. With prices slashed at every Forsythe Footwear shop, the company’s bank accounts were fatter than they’d been in years, and still gorging. On the other hand, the value of their inventory, in their assets account, was plummeting. The net balance was negative. They were, on paper, bleeding money.

On top of that, Ms Garland’s juvenile team had reorganised the way inventory accounts were kept, so that no profit was shown until an item was actually sold. Ridiculous!

Mrs Carrey was frantic. In under a week, five shop managers had given notice, all panicked by rumours that Forsythe Footwear was going under. She’d never had to deal with that many severance packages at one time, not back in the days when
Mr
Garland had been in charge!

While trying on some of the sample shoes she’d had returned by all the shops that had some in stock, Amanda consulted with Rupert and Paul. Based on Rupert’s knowledge of the managers’ personalities and sales abilities and Paul’s mathematical analyses of their ordering habits, they agreed that two of the managers who’d given notice should be allowed to go but two should be persuaded to stay, if at all possible. They disagreed about the fifth, Meg, the tall slender blonde who had been Rupert’s assistant before being promoted to take his place. Rupert said she’d be an asset. Paul maintained that she was untried and too young, and female, come to that. By tradition, Forsythe’s managers were always men. Paul suggested Rupert
wanted
to keep her on just because he was desperate to get into her panties.

Rupert and Amanda exchanged secret looks. Neither of them was about to explain that, what with Amanda and Nola, separately and together, Rupert was getting all the sex he could handle.

Poor Paul. Amanda suspected he was the brightest of her young stars and possibly the most dedicated – to her company and to her personally. She’d have to reward him for that in the future, but there’d be no future if she didn’t get to keep Forsythe Footwear.

Amanda said, ‘I’ll go size the girl up for myself.’

Rupert smirked. Amanda shot him a look that should have fried his brains.

The intercom buzzed. Nola’s voice announced, ‘Trevor, the building’s security man, would like a word, please, Ms Garland.’

Amanda ushered her handsome boy-toys out of her office and let hunky Trevor in.

He said, ‘That woman, Ms Sophie Sharpe, was back again this morning, Ms Garland. I told her that you’d had her barred from the building and I escorted her out.’

‘Thank you.’ Amanda glanced guiltily at the now droopy roses in the window.

‘Did she, um, say what she wanted?’

‘You know what she wants. To take over your company.’

‘Oh, right.’

‘She told me that, when she’s in charge of Forsythe Footwear, she’ll have my job.’

‘Does that worry you?’

He grinned. ‘I don’t work for the company, I work for the building. But there’s something else.’

‘Something else? What did she say?’ Amanda’s heart sank.
Damn
that Tom Sharpe, he’d promised to keep their liaison a secret.

Trevor’s face became stern. ‘This has nothing to do with Ms Sharpe. There’s something you and I have to talk about.’

Amanda said, ‘Go ahead.’

‘Not here. Not now.’

‘When then? Where?’

‘Somewhere more private.’ He came closer, his bulk looming over her. His voice became more resonant. ‘Tomorrow’s Saturday. I think you should invite me to your home for dinner, don’t you?’

Amanda’s tummy fluttered. In her weakest, most ‘little girl’ voice, she said, ‘Will seven-thirty be OK, Trevor?’

‘Eight o’clock. Wear something pretty.’

‘Yes, Trevor, I will – and thank you for keeping Sophie Sharpe out.’

He relaxed back into his employee self. ‘No problem, Ms Garland. It’s always a pleasure to take care of you.’ He saluted her with two fingers to his forehead and left.

Amanda sat back in her chair, closed her eyes and allowed herself a long sweet moment of anticipation. It swept through her like a strong hot breeze. The intercom buzzed.

‘Yes, Nola?’ She tried to keep the irritation out of her voice.

‘Tom Sharpe on line one, Ms Amanda. Shall I tell him you’re out?’

Oh that boy! He’d been pestering her non-stop since their afternoon together. ‘Yes – no, wait. I’ll take the call.’

Enough was enough. She punched the button on the phone with such force her nail broke. Bloody hell! ‘Tom?’

‘When can I see you again? Please, please say you’ll see me this weekend.’ His voice was high, an annoying whine.

‘Shouldn’t you be back at school?’

‘I told my mom I’m sick. I can’t bear to be that far away from you.’

Dear God! ‘Tom, don’t be silly. You have to get back to your studies.’

‘I can’t concentrate. All I see is you. Listen, I wrote you a new poem. “The Goddess”, by Tom Sharpe. Her face is heart-shaped like Athena’s, her brow, like Hera’s, is high and clear –’

‘Stop!’ Amanda’s voice was stern. ‘No more nonsense, young man. Get your ass back to class.’

‘What about us?’

‘There is no “us”, Tom. We had a – a play-date. That’s all.’

He groaned as if she’d stuck a knife in his belly. ‘No!’

‘I’ve tried to be patient but I’ve got work to do. Stop calling me, do you understand? No more flowers, chocolates, poems – no more contact. Is that clear?’

‘But I’m in love with you.’

‘It’s a schoolboy crush. It’ll pass. Find a girl your own age to play with, now that you know how. I have to hang up now, Tom. Goodbye.’

‘No! Wait! I love …’

Amanda cradled the receiver. She jumped up, grabbed her purse and hurried out of her office. ‘Get rid of those damn dead flowers,’ she barked at Nola. ‘And all those chocolates and stuffed animals and that ridiculous giant cookie.’

‘Yes, Ms Amanda.’

‘If Tom Sharpe calls –’

As if on cue, Nola’s phone rang.

‘– you tell him if he continues pestering me I’ll take legal action. Understand?’

‘Yes, Ms Amanda. Where are you going?’

‘Out!’

Amanda took a taxi to the shop that had been Rupert’s and that was now in Meg’s hands. She’d learnt her lesson
about
trying to drive through that maze of one-way streets. Driving, like sex, she’d decided, should always be fun, never a chore.