Stephanie's Revenge (2 page)

The phone on
her desk rang.

'Stephanie?'
She recognised the voice of her boss.

'Norman,' she
said.

'You are in,
then?'

'It appears
so,' she said sarcastically.

'Can you come
and see me now?'

'I was just
about to.'

'Are you
feeling better?' He sounded concerned.

'Much better.
I'm coming up now.'

Stephanie made
no attempt to hurry. She finished clearing out her desk and found
one or two things she did want to keep. Stuffing these into a
plastic carrier bag, she walked back to the lifts, ignoring the
questions in the faces all around her. As the lift arrived, she
turned to the assembled company and flexed her fingers in a tiny
wave.

Two floors up
on the executive level, the offices were divided into executive
suites, unlike the open-plan offices for the menial classes below.
Each suite had an outer office for the executive's secretary and,
its size depending on the importance of the executive, a large
inner office. Some had adjoining conference rooms, some, for the
most important in the company hierarchy, had their own toilets.
Stephanie's boss was among the latter.

'Mr Hughes is
waiting for you,' the petite, mousy-haired, bespectacled secretary
said, as Stephanie walked in, as though keeping Mr Hughes waiting
were a capital offence.

'I know,'
Stephanie said, opening the door beyond the secretary's desk and
walking straight in.

'Stephanie...'
Hughes was obviously about to say something. Instead, he eyed the
exquisite vision in yellow that had just walked into his office.
'Stephanie?' he repeated, unable to keep the astonishment out of
his voice.

'Norman,' she
said, sitting in the chair in front of his desk without waiting to
be asked and crossing her legs. She had always liked Norman Hughes.
The resentments and disappointments she had felt in her job were
not of his making: she ascribed those to a system dominated by men.
Norman had always treated her well and given her credit for her
work.

'My God...' he
said, seemingly hypnotised by her appearance. His eyes were riveted
to her legs. Her skirt was so short. 'You've been ill?'

'No. I've been
offered a new job. I've come in to give you my notice.'

'You told me
you were ill.'

'I lied,' she
said, blatantly smiling.

He managed to
take his eyes off her thighs for a moment, and looked into her
face. He didn't appear angry. 'It doesn't surprise me. You're very
good. Is it one of our rivals?'

'No.'

'But in
advertising?'

'No. It's a
job where I can use all my talents.' It came out more
provocatively, more teasingly, than she had intended. She realised
she had not taken off her sunglasses. He could not see what was
going on in her eyes.

'What talents
are those?' he said.

'If I told
you, I don't imagine you'd believe me.'

'Really?
Sounds very interesting.'

Hughes got up
from his desk. He was a tall man, and his face was not unattractive
in a rugged, weather-beaten sort of way. His short curly hair was
flecked with grey, and his piercing eyes seemed grey too. But his
feature, literally, was his belly - a huge hillock of fat rising
from just under his chest and only descending again at the top of
his thighs, where the belt of his trousers was pushed down by its
weight. His shirt struggled to contain the rubbery flesh, the
buttons stretched to their limit. White, hairy blubber poked
through the gaps created by its own bulk.

He came round
the desk and leant on its front no more than a foot away from her.
His eyes went to her crossed legs, the finely drawn lines of her
thighs.

'Is there
something about my legs that interests you, Norman?'

'Everything
about you interests me. Surely we can persuade you to stay? I'm
sure I could get a sanction to offer you more money...'

'It's not a
question of money...'

'Perhaps even
a company car—'

'No,' she
said, simply and firmly.

'There's a lot
of companies going bust out there. I'd hate for you to walk from a
nice, secure job into something that wasn't going to last.'

'It's nice of
you to be so concerned.'

'I am. I'd
really like you to stay.'

'My mind's
made up, Norman. I'm flattered...'

'Well, at
least I can't be accused of sexual harassment, can I?'

'Sorry?' She
did not understand. The tone of his voice had changed.

He leant
forward and put his hand on her knee. 'Well, if you're determined
to go.' He slid his hand higher, until it was almost halfway up her
thigh. 'If I tell you I think you're absolutely gorgeous, it isn't
sexual harassment since you've given in your notice. And I do -
think you're gorgeous, I mean.'

Stephanie
measured her reaction. Before her experiences at the castle she
would have felt anger, then panic. She wouldn't have known what to
do, what to say, or how to react. But now she felt in control. She
didn't feel threatened or cowed or put upon. She felt no anger.
Instead, she felt a delicious sense of power. She had a power over
this man; power she could use, wanted to use, to see how far it
could be used. It was like a muscle wanting to be exercised.

She took off
her gold-framed Cartier sunglasses and put them down on the desk,
leaning forward slightly and looking straight into his grey
eyes.

'Your hand is
very hot,' she said steadily.

'Is it?'

'Very. I like
that.'

'Do you?'

'It makes me
hot.'

'You feel very
cool.' He was rubbing his hand on her smooth thigh, up and down. In
his trousers, under his gut, she could see movement.

'I feel very
hot.'

She got up
from her chair and walked slowly around the office. She picked up
and examined his executive toys, looked at his prints, went over to
the window and looked down, seeing her Mercedes parked below. She
could feel his eyes following her, burning into her back, the neat
curves of her arse, the slimness of her legs, the pinch of her
ankles. She felt too her barely covered sex, felt it beginning to
want attention. He had woken it up.

'What do you
want exactly, Norman?' she said. She knew what she wanted.

'Perhaps we
could have dinner.'

'And after
dinner?' she smiled, turning so he could see her smile.

'Well...'

'Why don't you
say it, Norman?'

'Say
what?'

'Say that you
want to fuck me. You do, don't you?'

'Yes.'

'So what are
you waiting for?'

'What?'

'Haven't you
ever wondered what it would be like? Haven't you ever fantasised
what it would be like to fuck someone over your desk? Perhaps even
me. Perhaps you had a little fantasy about calling me in here and
getting me to bend over your desk. Did you?'

'No.'

'Oh. How
disappointing.'

She reached
for the zip in the small of her back and pulled it down. She pulled
the dress off her shoulders.

'The door's
unlocked,' he said.

'Does it
matter?'

She stepped
out of the dress and stood in front of him. The tanga panties clung
to her hips, forming a deep V-shape pointing down to the junction
of her thighs. Norman's mouth was open. His eyes did not know where
to look first.

Stephanie
leant over the desk, tilting her pert arse into the air and resting
her elbows on the blotter. The tiny crotch of the panties did
little to conceal her thick forest of pubic hair. She reached
behind her back and pulled the thin crotchpiece aside.

'Well,
Norman?' she said, tauntingly.

'I
didn't...'

'Fuck me,
Norman.'

'The
door...'

'Leave
it.'

'I could put a
chair—'

'Leave
it.'

He appeared to
be in a frenzy of indecision. He wanted to fuck her but he couldn't
lock the office door.

'Fuck me,' she
said again, letting her considerable irritation into her voice.

Indecision
resolved. For a big man he moved with surprising speed. In seconds,
his trousers were around his knees and she felt the hot sword of
flesh pushing through the cleft of her arse. Up until now,
Stephanie had been experimenting with herself. Seeing what would
happen. It had been a game. But suddenly, the game had turned to an
urgent need, her urgent need. She wanted him. She had never given
him a thought before, never even noticed that he was a man. Now she
wanted him. Now.

His cock pried
down into the folds of her sex. When it found the entrance to her
cunt, it plunged forward. She couldn't stop herself from moaning.
There was no resistance. Her cunt was wet. He sunk in to the hilt.
In his position, that meant deep, so deep she felt him nudging at
the bulb of her womb.

He was out of
control. Perhaps this was his fantasy. He was fucking her like an
animal, pounding into her with all his strength and energy, with a
power that belied his bulk. She could feel his huge belly bouncing
into her arse as he thrust forward. She could feel his cock, hard
and hot, reaming into her wet sex.

She rested her
head on the desk, unable to concentrate enough to keep it raised.
Her orgasm was beginning, slow and heavy. She felt herself tensing,
her nerves pulsing as Hughes pumped into her, trying even harder,
ramming her faster, invading her deeper. She started to moan,
rhythmically and loud, as each wave of her climax welled up in her
body, each moan louder until she felt her body explode over his
cock, broken on it, every locked nerve in her body, released,
sprung open, at once, and the moan changed to a long continuous
cry.

She pushed him
away quickly before he could spunk. She wanted something else.

'Please,' he
said.

'Norman.'

He looked at
her, his eyes dulled by his passion.

'No, Norman. I
want you to do as I say.'

'I want to
fuck you.'

'No, Norman.
Bend over the desk. Like I was.'

'I want to
fuck you.'

'Do it,' she
said, with the command she had learnt at the castle.

Reluctantly,
he obeyed. His cock rested on his blotter, glistening with her
juices. He rested his weight on his elbows. He had no idea why he
was doing this. Why wouldn't she let him just fuck her? He'd
thought that was what she wanted.

She picked up
the wooden ruler on his desk and, before he realised what she was
doing, slashed it down on his huge white buttocks. It landed with a
sharp smack. She repeated it again, and again. To his own
amazement, he made no objection. He couldn't object. It was his
fantasy. This was his fantasy.

'Oh my God...'
he murmured.

'You want it,
don't you Norman?' She didn't know how she knew.

'Yes, oh
yes.'

Four strokes,
five strokes. Harder, fiercer. She could see red marks appearing on
the white flesh. Seven strokes.

She raised the
ruler for the eighth, but he knew he could not hold out any longer.
His cock began to pulse, his spunk ready to jet out. As he felt the
wind of the ruler come down, as he braced himself for the shock of
delicious pain, the office door opened and the mousy-haired
secretary stood in astonishment, the handle of the door still in
her hand.

'Mr
Hughes...'

He came,
flooding his blotter with his spunk, more than he could ever
remember producing, as the ruler bit into his arse one more time
and he saw the look in his secretary's eyes. It went on for ever.
He came and came and came.

'Mr Hughes!'
the secretary said again, recovering enough to slam the office door
behind her.

Norman slumped
into the chair in front of his desk. He was sweating profusely and
panting for breath.

'Well,
Norman...' Stephanie said. 'Quite a performance.'

'How did you
know?'

'One of my
talents, it appears.'

'I've never
known...'

'Sh...'

She stepped
out of her knickers. They were too wet to wear now. She dangled
them in front of his face then dropped them into his naked lap.

'Souvenir,'
she said.

He had still
not recovered his breath by the time she had zipped up her dress,
adjusted her hair, replaced her sunglasses and picked up her
handbag and the plastic bag with the things from her desk.

'Well, time to
go.'

'Stephanie...
Listen...' He had so much he wanted to say to her.

'Got to
go.'

'But - I want
- I mean, can I see you again?'

'No,' she said
simply.

'But...'

'Think of it
as something to remember me by.'

'I really want
to see you again.'

For a moment,
Stephanie toyed with the idea of inviting him to the castle. She
could certainly be sure he'd lose weight after a spell in the
cellars. But Norman Hughes, despite his newfound ardour, was part
of her old life.

'No, Norman.'
She patted his cheek as if he were a schoolboy, before walking
briskly out of the office.

The
mousy-haired secretary blushed scarlet as soon as Stephanie
appeared. 'I'm giving in my notice,' she said.

'But now you
know what he really likes,' Stephanie said.

'Disgusting,'
the secretary said under her breath. As she waited for the lift, it
occurred to Stephanie to go and see Martin. Four months ago it had
all started with Martin, her odyssey. In a sense he had created
what she was now - he had made her.

He had shown
her what was on offer and what she was capable of. Hesitant at
first she had soon become his willing accomplice, and she had never
looked back. Which was why she took the lift to the ground floor
without stopping off. Never look back. She was grateful to Martin.
Very grateful. She would never forget him. But Martin was now in
the past.