Amanda's Young Men (16 page)

Incredibly, Meg laughed. Not her usual guffaw but a half-embarrassed, half-proud tiny sound. ‘Does my clit look like it’s been squashed by a steamroller?’ She giggled, then groaned as the slight movement of it reached her pussy.

‘It does,’ remarked Amanda. ‘It looks like I could stamp my thumbprint on it. I think I’ll give it a try.’ She swiped her thumb with some of the copious cream on her other wrist and pressed it in the centre of Meg’s flattened clit.

‘Thank you. Don’t come out, please …’ Meg trailed off. She was nodding again.

Amanda pressed with her thumb as she gently turned and clenched and unclenched her fist, each movement causing Meg
to
shudder and moan until she was shaking and groaning and coming. The first spasm squeezed Amanda’s hand like a too-small glove and for the first time she feared for Meg’s safety. She became totally still, her thumb pressed hard on Meg’s clit and her fist curled tight inside her, until Meg stopped moaning and all the spasms ceased.

Amanda opened her hand as she carefully slid free of Meg. She could breathe again. Her hand was covered with white cream.

Meg was limp and quiet.

Amanda lay down beside her and placed her cream-slathered hand on Meg’s breast. She slipped her other arm under Meg’s shoulders and pulled her close. As much as she’d wanted, only a little while ago, to rest in Meg’s arms, now she wanted to hold this ethereal creature in hers and keep her there, safe and blissed, forever.

13

AMANDA WAS UP
and showered and still Meg slept. Though she yearned to wake the girl, Amanda moved about the room as quietly as a mouse. There were dark circles under Meg’s eyes and, in repose, she looked like an angel who’d lost her way as well as her wings. Amanda had promised Meg a long lie-in and she intended to keep that promise.

The valet service had returned their clothes, laundered and ironed. On a whim, Amanda took Meg’s white cotton bikini panties and left her own black satin thong behind. She hoped that Meg would consider it a romantic gesture. At any rate she’d get a kick out of the joke – each ‘getting into the other’s panties’. She recalled Meg’s guffaw, so at odds with the delicate being now murmuring softly in her sleep.

Meg was overworked, underpaid and dead tired. And whose fault was that? Truthfully, Amanda rarely considered the plight of the working poor. She’d done nothing but scheme, either for sex or business, since her husband died. Had last night been an exception? Or more of the same? Silently, she left.

Amanda took a cab from the hotel to the office parking lot to collect her car. She took a route that passed a few shops, where she absently collected the things she’d need for dinner tonight, with Trevor. She was of half a mind to cancel and spend the rest of the day alternately resting and attending to some rather important matters concerning the upcoming
business
meeting. She’d be wise to be ready for that. But Trevor didn’t strike her as the type who’d suffer a postponement gladly. They’d agreed on a time and a place and she suspected she’d better stick to it.

As she manoeuvred her way through the morning traffic, Amanda tried to organise her thoughts. She had a lot to accomplish before the fateful meeting, but there was still time to accomplish a few tasks before she started preparations for Trevor, if she could only concentrate. But she kept returning to the last few hours, from the moment – and she could narrow it down to exactly the moment – when she’d fallen head over heels for Meg. It was hard to believe so little time had passed, especially when you consider the hours they’d spent sleeping. Even then, they’d fit perfectly, ‘like’ moulded to ‘like’, curled up as contentedly as two kittens on a couch. Last night she’d have sworn she was in love, and, if the fact that the one she loved was a woman made her a lesbian, so be it. This morning she was rushing to get ready for her next assignation: to submit herself to the rule of the mighty cock.

It had all been so much easier when Roger had been alive. Damn him! Damn him for cheating and double damn him for dying from it! Her eyes filled with tears and she eased up on the accelerator. ‘Fuck you, Roger.’ Amanda tilted her head, as if Roger was beside her in the passenger seat and she was giving him a piece of her mind. Oh, it had happened, from time to time; after all they’d been married eight years. ‘You had your fun. If I had me waiting at home for me I’d be organised too, like you were. But I’m all alone. You didn’t even fucking provide for me properly, you bastard.’

Amanda wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘Fuck you, pal. I’m going to fuck whoever I want when I want and I’m not going to feel one bit bad about it, either.’ She punched
the
radio on. Rock and roll filled the car. ‘That’s right, Roger. I rock!’

The house was already close to perfect. Now that there was no messy man living in it, there was very little housework to take care of. All Amanda had to do was tidy up a bit. After that she spent an hour or so at her desk. She looked up Meg’s address on the Forsythe’s employee list and called Buds to order an exotic bouquet to be delivered the next day. She and the florist settled on a brilliant combination of Bird of Paradise and Calla lilies.

That taken care of, she summarily dismissed memories of Meg from her mind. Saturday night was fast approaching.

Dinner was going to be simple. She’d bought steaks to save defrosting any. There was beer to put in the fridge, just in case Trevor was a beer man, and wine to decant. The sideboard had plenty of spirits. That left Amanda with just herself to prepare. It was a time-honoured tradition with her. But now she was doing it for Trevor, not for Roger!

Trevor. She imagined the bulk of the man, his dark brooding craggy looks and his remarkable body. In a way, sex with him would be relatively relaxing. Now that she was responsible for Forsythe Footwear, about a hundred and fifty people relied on her for their jobs. The company’s future depended on how well she performed as its president. In her sex life, she was still in control, totally responsible for the pleasures and performances of Rupert, Paul and Nola. No wonder last night had been so fantastic, at least with Meg they’d been mutually responsible for the success of their love-making, so the pressure had been halved.

But, with Trevor, she could give up all responsibility. She could stop scheming and it was unlikely she’d feel the same tug at her heart-strings that she’d felt as she’d watched Meg
sleep
. All she had to do was to prepare herself for his arrival. Once he walked in her door, he’d take over. Success or failure was in his hands, not hers. She simply had to obey him. And, if anyone gazed tenderly at a sweet sleeping form tomorrow, it would be him, admiring her fragility; it would be his heart-strings that felt the tug, not hers.

Amanda took a two-hour scented and oiled soak. Since she had it in mind to be buggered, she paid special attention to her back passage. This was followed by a long slow full-body lotion treatment. Ever since she’d transformed herself into a sexual predator, she’d kept her pubes perfectly bald, so she had no need to wax again. Inspecting her privates gave her a minor thrill. What she saw, the smoothness, the plumpness, the crinkled pouty pink lips, Trevor would soon be gazing at.

And he would sodomise her, she was sure. He’d already explored her there, with his fingers, so it had to be something he liked. She was sure she could send him a signal, wiggling her rear as she served him dinner or maybe wriggling into his lap, blushing and stammering a request. ‘Please would you take my ass?’ No, not sweet or hot enough. ‘Please, Trevor, would you kindly fuck my virgin bum?’ Much better.

Amanda knelt on her bed. She sucked on her fingers to wet them and reached behind herself. One fingertip rimmed her sphincter. It felt nice! She pressed gently and willed her tight little hole to relax. There! One fingertip slid in quite easily.

It was tight inside, though, and that was just a finger. Trevor’s cock had to be at least as thick as four of her fingers together, and thicker again at its bulbous head. A lot longer, too. Her finger pumped experimentally. Hm! The sleeve of her rectum dragged, which a man would likely enjoy feeling on his cock. Still squirming that finger in her bottom, Amanda toppled forwards on to the bed. She felt between her thighs for her clit. Um, yes. The two caresses worked together beautifully. No wonder Nola
had
got off so hard on being taken in two different places at the same time.

That was another ‘to do’, to replace the sodomising she was certain she’d experience that night – two men or boys at once, one taking her from behind while the other buried himself to the hilt in her pussy. She imagined Trevor ploughing her rear while Rupert, or perhaps Paul, fucked her. Oops! There was another thing for her growing ‘to do’ list,
three
men at once! After all, she had three holes. What would it be like to have her bum, pussy and mouth all stretched over hot thrusting …

Stop!

She’d been close, very close. Of course, Amanda, unlike some old man whose name she seemed to have forgotten, was able to come many times in an evening. She could have climaxed and still been horny when Trevor arrived, but that would have spoilt her ritual. When she was preparing for a man, she allowed herself to play with herself but never to reach orgasm. That way, she was especially eager when he arrived, and it showed.

Amanda already knew what she was going to wear. That night in her office, Trevor had obviously taken great joy in her acting like a total slut. If ‘slut’ was what he liked, ‘slut’ was exactly what he was going to get, in spades, vulnerable and doubled. She had an outfit that had inspired Roger to call her a ‘super-slut’ when she wore it. The sooner another man got the benefit of what had been one of Roger’s favourites, the better!

Amanda’s fishnet stockings had seams, which meant ten minutes of pinching and tugging to get them perfectly straight, but she had lots of time, and the more painstaking her preparations, the better she felt she was serving her man. By the time she was satisfied with the straight lines that ran up the backs
of
her elegant legs, she’d started to sink into a submissive frame of mind. Amanda the dominatrix had disappeared. She had been replaced by an Amanda who not only was an abject sex slave, but was also immensely proud to be one.

Her thong was made of fine black mesh. She moulded it to her pouting pubes and then drew a fingernail up between her pussy’s lips, tucking the fabric between them. The transparent wisp blurred the details of the plump treat it covered without concealing a thing.

Her long-sleeved, high-necked top had come as part of the same outfit as the thong. When off her, it was just a handful of shimmery black cloth. When she’d stretched and struggled and tugged and smoothed it into place, it compressed her flesh and obscured it about as much as a deep shadow would have done. Amanda didn’t need support but the tightly clinging garment lifted and projected her lush breasts quite deliciously.

She looked absolutely stunning. Amanda wondered what her young men would think of her in this outfit. Or Meg? At the thought of her willowy playmate from the previous night, Amanda’s deliciously simple state of mind disappeared, replaced with a dozen persistent confused questions.

Damn!

Amanda had no choice. If she wanted to enjoy an evening of submitting to Trevor, and she did want to, she’d have to banish Meg from her thoughts, just as she’d banished Roger. Well, not exactly as she’d banished Roger. He was relegated to a dusty corner, slouched among the cobwebs, with a dunce cap on his head. In her imagination, Meg, on the other hand, would simply stay as she’d been when Amanda had last seen her, sleeping peacefully in a comfy bed in a deluxe hotel suite. She giggled. Paul and Rupert and Nola were no threat to her peace of mind, but she was happy to give them a room in the
same
fantasy hotel, with one bigger-than-king-size bed, ample room for all three of her toys, and always room for one more.

She imagined that she tucked the covers neatly up under Meg’s chin, sent the youngsters off to bed and gave the finger to a pouting Roger. Done. She had just enough time to finish getting ready before Trevor arrived. At the thought of him, excitement surged through her body, making her arms and legs tingle and igniting an ache in her groin. God, he was so big and powerful, sort of dangerous but at the same time a source of absolute security. This was going to be great!

Her skirt was very short, in glossy black satin, with slits to the tops of her thighs. Amanda chose simple black patent pumps with slender four-inch heels. She considered wearing higher ones but she was trembling all over now. Amanda couldn’t trust herself to serve a meal. Falling flat on her face while carrying plates of food wouldn’t be sexy.

Amanda loved the anticipation of a planned night of sex. She’d touched herself occasionally during her preparations, and the one time when she’d fingered her own bum she could’ve come. But she was saving it all for Trevor. Every glance, every smile of hers would be her most alluring; she’d pour admiration on him until he felt like a king bathing in a waterfall of adulation – powerful and exhilarated.

And, in return, he would approve of her. He might not say so but it would show in his gaze and his tone of voice. He’d be as overwhelmed by her regal sluttishness as Caesar had been by Cleopatra’s when she’d emerged from that rolled-up carpet – especially once Amanda had finished doing her over-the-top black kohl eyes. Using a lipstick that was so expensive it smelt good, Amanda gave her lips the colour and shine of molten maraschino cherries.

She admired the finished product in the mirror. ‘Trevor,’ she
purred
. In that one word, she promised her expected guest absolute and eager obedience – in all things sexual.

Seven forty. She put the steaks on and set the microwave’s timer for Trevor’s jacket-baked potato. A foil-wrapped baguette was already warming in the oven. The salad was a simple one, just iceberg lettuce, green onions, julienne orange bell peppers and paper-thin slices of cucumber, with an assortment of dressings on the side. She’d be serving fried onions, fried pea-meal-coated slices of yellow tomatoes and lightly sautéed sinfully black Portobello mushrooms with the steaks.