Putty In Her Hands (11 page)

Heather drones on and is onto
objective setting and the use of SMART targets. SMART – a tedious
acronym that signifies objectives that are
S
pecific,
M
easurable,
A
rsey,
R
idiculous and
T
wattish. God, I need to escape this place; God, I long to
be back in Dawn’s arms; God, I so want to fuck her again. But we
still have to endure the round-the-table listing of current
priorities, where we each state what we’re currently working on. No
one listens except Heather because she wants to, and Paul because,
as minute taker, he has to.

Robin? Your priorities?

Er, yes, well my main priority,
I guess, is to get my arse over to Dawn’s as fast as possible, kiss
her, slide my finger down the front of her knickers and finger her
deliciously wet cunt.

Sorry?
I mean, currently I’m working on….

It’s twelve and the meeting
finishes. Not because Heather is any respecter of lunch hours,
being of the ‘lunch is for wimps’ generation, but because, finally,
after 2½ hours, she’s covered everything on her agenda in detail.
Also, she has another meeting to attend. It’s amazing to think a
woman like Heather has actually got a boss. But I can picture the
relationship – he feels intimidated by her, knows she’d do his job
better; can’t answer any of her queries, and rues the day he took
her on, even though she was by far the best candidate and never
fails to deliver. Bit like me and my wife.

Paul comes out of the meeting
with me, huffing and shaking his head.
That was a tough one,
he says.

Why? Because you had to work
for the first time in two years?

Hey, now that’s not fair.
Anyway, I shall ignore your ignoble statement and ask whether you
fancy a bite in De Nero’s?

Oh, Paul, can’t today. Would
love to and all that but you know…

No. What?

Well, things to do.
Shopping, dry cleaners, that sort of thing.
If only you knew, I
thought, if only you knew.

It’s cold and windy outside and
I haven’t a coat or jacket. The car’s hardly had time to warm up
when I arrive at Dawn’s. Still in her silky dressing gown, she
greets me with a hug.
I’ve been counting the hours till you came
back,
she purrs in my ear.

Oh, honey, so have I. Can’t
tell you how dull my morning was. Couldn’t concentrate.

Well you’re here now. Where’s
your jacket? You must be freezing.

Not now, not in your arms.

We kiss; warm and delicious.
Still no regrets?
she asks.

Hmm?
Regrets? I’ve
had a few…

Oh yes, go on, too few to
mention. Very droll.

But no, I haven’t. Have
you?

Her eyes dart to one side.
No,
she says softly.
Maybe but everything seems all right
when I’m in your arms.

I pull her closer, feeling her
breasts against my shirt.

How long have you got?
she asks.

Not long. Not long enough. One
hour.

Or two? Or three maybe?

Oh, Dawn –

I know; I’m only teasing.

She takes my hand and leads me
through to her bedroom. I hadn’t been in here before, hadn’t liked
to assume. It’s warm, infused with an amber glow, a large double
bed, four-poster, with a mauve duvet, a dressing table covered in
jars and pots, and jewellery boxes spilling out their contents, a
Dean Koontz novel on the bedside table, a Garfield digital clock.
She sits on the bed, reaching out for my hands, pulling me down,
kissing me. Soon she’s lying on top of me. My heart pounds as she
sits up and slowly, but slowly undoes the sash to her dressing
gown.

Look at you,
she says.
You look like the cat that’s got the cream.
And as she lets
slip her gown and reveals her breasts to me, I feel my erection
spring to life. No need for Viagra this time! She laughs at the
glee within my face:
Anyone would think you haven’t had sex with
a beautiful woman before
, she said, pulling down both my
trousers and my boxers in one swoop. Free from restraint, my cock
stands to attention. I think I may have cried out.
My
, she
purred.
Look at him; look at that purple head.
Lizard-like,
her tongue darted out, licking my deep-red helmet.
Do you have a
big cock, Robin Collingbourne.

So I’ve been told.

This time, with time against
us, we were quick, but no less delicious for it. No sooner had she
removed her knickers, I took my cock, already dancing and trembling
with anticipation, yanked a condom on and plunged myself into her.
I didn’t even have time to remove my shirt or tie. She squealed
with delight and slapped my arse, digging her nails into my flesh
and pushing my arse so that I thrust deeper. She then gripped my
hair and grunted
yes, yes, yes,
surprisingly deep, grinding
her hips in time to my thrusting. She pushed me off, and went on
all fours, wriggling her arse in the air, her shaved cunt wide open
and dripping for me. I loosened my tie and guided my cock into her
hole and as the lust took over pumped her with quick short thrusts,
animal-like. I kneaded her buttocks and pounded so hard, her
buttocks rippled. She arched her head back, and I took her long
mane of hair in one hand and rode her like a rodeo, swinging my
free hand round in circles. The noise we made was full-pitch and
guttural. Then, slowing down, I pulled my prick out until the knob
was just at her entrance. I left it there for a few moments while
she exclaimed with delight, then just as she thought I was removing
it entirely, I plunged it violently into her, making her
scream.

Oh, fuck, do that again
,
she gasped. Happy to oblige, I did, resting the tip of my knob
against the outside of her pussy, moving gently to and fro, while
she waited with mounting anticipation for the mighty thrust.
Sometimes I’d push in just enough so that the ridge of my knob
expanded her hole. Her legs buckled slightly and when I finally
plunged into her, she screamed again. She pushed me down on the
bed, and eased herself down on me and started riding me hard,
forward and back, forward and back; her eyes clenched shut as if in
pain. Panting and out of breath, she flopped onto her back and,
stretching open her legs, exposing her red, glistening cunt,
beckoned me in.

Do it, just do it hard, you
hear me, boy, fucking do it hard.
I did, feeling the sweat down
the back of my shirt as I pinned her hands against the pillow and
pushed her legs wider still with my knees, and pumped. I came on
top of her, with so much hot cum. She watched me intently as I
spilled my seed into her.

An hour and a half later, I was
back at my desk, forty minutes late, my balls aching, my heart
still calming down. I ate a cereal bar, idly flipping through my
emails. I’d sat there in nervous anticipation for ten minutes
waiting for someone, for Heather, to say “where have you been?
We’ve been looking for you everywhere”. No one had missed me.
Heather passed my desk and even raised an eyebrow in a form of
acknowledgement but, to my relief, nothing was said – I’d got away
with it!

5 p.m. I bought a rose. I tried
to remember the last time I’d bought flowers for Emily and realised
it must have been the anniversary before last. Or perhaps the one
before that. So I bought another.
Be lucky
, said the
ruddy-faced florist as I paid him.

And so, for the third time
today, I was at Dawn’s. I couldn’t stay long – I’d received
instruction to pick up Lola from the childminder’s. Dawn looked
serene. Her own interpretation was more direct, more honest:
I
feel fucked
, she said with a giggle.
Well and truly fucked.
I was in the supermarket and I thought everyone could tell; I could
barely stand!

I’ve brought you a little
something
, I said, holding out my rose, blood-red, soft and
inviting.

Sweetheart… thank you.
She smelt it.
A souvenir of today. We’ve had quite a time,
haven’t we?

You could say that.

Oh, Robbie. Robbie,
Robbie…
She wrapped her arms round me, still clutching the
rose.
You sure you can’t stay… just a little longer?

I can’t, Dawn.

I know. But listen, thanks for
coming to see me again. It means a lot. And the rose… I shall keep
it forever.

Forever?
She smiled.
Forever.

The second rose was accepted
with almost as much gratitude and certainly much more surprise –
surprise bordering on suspicion.

Saturday, 5th January

I forget the excuses I
sometimes came up with but again I managed to get away, and with
Lola drove off to have lunch with Dawn in De Niro’s. We only had
the hour but after the last two days, I simply had to see her
today. It was worth the effort – a lovely lunch, a ‘little circle
of happiness’ as I called it – Lola, Dawn and I. Afterwards I drove
back home with Lola chirping away in the back, as happy as can be.
I felt wonderful.

Sunday, 6th January

Today, the Christmas
decorations came down, the Norwegian pine tree taken to the dump,
unceremoniously tossed aside along with hundreds of others.
Christmas cards were stuffed, mostly unread, into the recycling,
the baubles and yew logs neatly packed away for another year.

So,
said Emily as I was
looking up the fairy’s skirt,
were you playing on us watching a
DVD tonight?

No, why?

So, why have you got four
films from the library then?
Oh, that. I forgot about those. I got them the other night. I
thought we needed to broaden our cinematic horizons. Werner…
Hernog, I mean Herzog
,
is a fantastic director.

Is he, indeed?

So, I’m told.

Later, I put Lola to bed who
was still bemoaning my callous treatment of the Christmas tree.
But, Lola, we couldn’t keep it forever; Christmas is over
now.

I
know
that, Daddy,
but it’s so sad. Why couldn’t we keep it?

What, like a pet? A friend for
Ginger?

Daddy, don’t be silly.

With Lola asleep and Joshua
reading in bed, Emily and I settled down and watched the DVD.

Well, that was bollocks,
I said as the credits rolled.

Tuesday, 8th January

The next week passed in a haze.
Life returned to normal. But for me, it was far from normal. Not a
waking moment passed without my thoughts turning to Dawn, wondering
what she was doing at the moment, wondering whether she was
thinking of me. Visual snatches of our intimacy would appear in my
mind, involuntarily, at the most inopportune moments.
So,
Robin
, Heather would be saying,
have you assessed the
re-gradings for the Scale Four call centre posts yet?
And
whilst grappling for an excuse, my brain put an image of Dawn into
my mind, riding me, juddering up and down on my shaft, her tits
bouncing, her eyes half closed in ecstasy.
Hey, Rob
, Paul
called out.
Do you know how to freeze-frame a spreadsheet?
Whilst the only freeze-frame I could think of was one of Dawn on
her knees half way down the bed, my cock disappearing into her
mouth, her fingers curled round my shaft.

Dawn, meanwhile, had started
her work in Ipswich. She texted me just the once, reminding me to
return the DVDs to the library.

Friday, 18th January

I felt bereft, knowing Dawn was
far away in Ipswich. Work is normal – Heather, fortunately, has
been in meeting after meeting, so we haven’t seen too much of her;
Ernie is on the up – having been smiled at, apparently, by Marjorie
in Accounts; Karen’s now fretting about the bridesmaids’ dresses
(and making frequent furtive calls); Sean is back from his
parachuting and humming all day long; and even Paul seems
suspiciously upbeat (he must have got one over on his ex-wife and
her new boyfriend).

In the meantime, I’ve tried not
to think of Dawn and, as a result, thought of her during every
waking moment. I long to see her, to hear her voice, to smell her
fragrance. Thursday, I received a text – my heart went into
overdrive. It was Emily – could I take a detour on my way home for
a loaf of bread. Rendered useless by disappointment, I went to the
disabled loo and locked myself in whilst trying to recover my
sanity. Only the rattle of the door handle brought me to my senses.
Opening the door, I found Sean, waiting outside. I smiled weakly,
aware of having been caught somewhere I shouldn’t have been.

Finally, today at lunchtime, I
got a text from Dawn, asking if I fancied popping round after work.
I almost punched the air. Heaven! I couldn’t wait and counted the
hours. Meanwhile, it was a tough day, and it was a relief to get to
Dawn’s and settle down. It’s strange how I’ve adapted her flat as a
sort of second home. Dawn made me soup and gave me a plate of
stuffed vine leaves. Snuggled up together, we watched a bit of crap
primetime TV, which I always hate. I rather hoped we might migrate
into the bedroom. After an hour or so, when I could no longer bear
the TV mystic and his magical powers, I declared I should go home.
It did the trick.
No, don’t go, hon. Stay a while longer. I’ll
make it worth your while.