The Boss (8 page)

‘I like your new hair.'

‘Same hair, different colour and style.'

‘Yeah . . . right, you know what I mean. You look right smart too. Been to a funeral or something?'

‘Thanks a lot, Dave. No, I've got a job.'

I told him, using the same explanation as I had before. He accepted it, desperate to please as ever, but I could see he was surprised. I changed the topic of conversation.

‘Why not take this heap of junk off-road?'

‘This is my car, Fizz, I ain't wrecking it.'

‘How much did you pay for it?'

‘Twenty-five quid.'

‘Right, and how long do you reckon you'll keep it with no tax, no insurance, no MOT and a suspended licence? We might as well have some fun with it before the police get you.'

He made to reply but didn't, putting his foot down instead as if that would answer my question. There was a sulky look on his face, one I knew only too well, and I was about to say something to try to put off the inevitable when he spoke up.

‘Tell you what. I'll go off-road, and you can drive if you blow me?'

‘You're a dirty little boy, Dave, you know that?'

‘A hand job then?'

‘Dave, shut up.'

‘Aw, come on, Fizz. I need you so bad.'

He was whining, and there can't be many bigger turn-offs than a whining man, especially when he was
such a weedy specimen next to Stephen English. Stephen wouldn't have whined . . . no, he'd never have asked. It was so frustrating, and so typical, to have one man wanting me and wanting another myself, especially when Stephen was so wrong for me. Dave chirped up again.

‘How about giving us a titty show then, like you do when you play?'

‘That's part of the act, you pervert.'

‘Yeah, but you look so fucking good. You give me blue balls, Fizz, you do.'

‘Turquoise? Ultramarine?'

‘What?'

‘Never mind. Look, can't we just go for a drive?'

‘Yeah, but . . .'

‘Just drive, OK, and maybe I'll think about it.'

‘Yeah!'

I'd only said it to shut him up, but as he slammed his foot down on the long straight into Methwold I realised that there was more to it than that. Stephen English had made me feel small, and if I showed off for Dave it would make me feel powerful again, to have him grovelling and begging for the least little favour while he pulled on his cock in desperate need. It would also be an act of rebellion against the creeping need to behave myself I'd been suffering from all day.

‘Turn right. You said you'd go off-road.'

‘You got it.'

He swung back into the forest, fast at first, then slowly, glancing to the side each time we passed the end of a logging track, and turned sharply the moment he found one where the gate was open. They'd been working there, maybe earlier in the day, leaving the
ground scarred with lorry tracks and showing bare flints, which he sent up in a spray as he brought the Rover to a skidding halt. He spoke immediately.

‘Don't fuck it up, yeah? And remember, I get to see your titties.'

‘Here's a hint, Dave, for free. When you want sex, it's best to play it by ear instead of negotiating every detail in advance.'

‘Oh . . . right . . . but I get my titty show, yeah?'

‘You get what I choose to give, if anything. Now get out.'

He was looking seriously sulky, no doubt thinking I was going to trick him, but he got out. I don't actually mind guys who ask for stuff if I'm in the mood, but this was different, because I didn't want to admit what I might do. He shifted into the passenger seat as I walked around the car, and I spent a moment going over the controls. There was a lot of power, raw, loose power, poorly controlled and just great to play with.

I hurled the car down the logging track, throwing up a shower of flints and a great cloud of yellowish dust. The track was arrow straight, but a fully loaded trailer had been left half in the woods, making me swerve. One wheel hit a patch of mud, sending up a spray of water and losing grip just long enough to give me a hit. My hands were tingling with the familiar pins and needles as I swung the car around where a turning circle had been made for the lorries, now riding a high as I had so many times before.

Dave was clinging to the seat in fear and excitement, adding to my thrill, especially when he gave a yelp of alarm as I threw the car into what was supposed to be a spectacular skid turn but ended in a bang as one of the rear tyres blew. There was an ear-splitting screech,
a juddering shock as the wheel rim jammed into the ground, and we stopped. I was shivering in reaction and laughing too, but Dave didn't seem to be amused.

‘Shit, Fizz, you've blown a tyre!'

I'd done rather more than that, tearing the off rear tyre to shreds on a patch of jagged flints. We examined the damage together, Dave quickly giving his considered opinion.

‘It's fucked.'

‘Bollocks. You've got a spare, haven't you?'

‘No.'

I shrugged. He looked shifty.

‘How about my titty show then?'

‘I didn't get much of a drive.'

‘You blew the fucking tyre! Now I've got to go to Reardon's and get another, and get it out here.'

For once there was a hard edge to his voice, and suddenly I wanted to do it. I'd been driving for maybe five minutes, but it had left me tingling with adrenalin, while it was a lot easier to give in to what was only a fair demand rather than his wheedling.

‘OK, come on then.'

All the aggression went straight out of him at my words, and he followed like a puppy at my heels as I walked in among the pines. The loggers had cut a big swathe of clear ground, but where they'd stopped work two felled trees still had their top foliage on, creating a near perfect shelter for my rude little show. I didn't waste time, pausing only until Dave had sat down on the trunk of one of the fallen trees before opening my blouse and pulling up my bra.

‘Here you are, you little pervert.'

He was staring, his mouth a little open, his eyes riveted on my bare breasts. I put one hand on my hip
and stuck my chest out a little, looking down on him with a great feeling of power as I spoke.

‘Is this what you wanted?'

He gave a weak nod. I couldn't help but smile, but tried to make it look contemptuous, and put as much scorn as I could manage into my voice as I spoke again.

‘Go on then. You can toss off in your hand.'

‘Thanks, Fizz. You are lovely . . . I do love your titties . . . I . . .'

‘Shh. Come on, do it then.'

Again he nodded, and his hands were trembling badly as they went to his fly. I was loving his helpless excitement, but I did want to see his cock too and watch him come because he couldn't control his excitement over my body. He took it out, long and pale in his hand, already close to full erection, and his eyes had gone back to my chest as he began to masturbate.

I smiled down at him, now thoroughly enjoying myself and tempted to tease him even more. Cocking one leg up on a branch, I took my breasts in my hands, lifting them and running my fingers over my nipples to make them pop out. He gave a whimper and said something about puppy-dog's noses, his hand now hammering up and down on his fully erect cock and his face set in an expression of worship. I leant forward, cupping my breasts and squeezing them together to show him what cleavage I had, and as I did so I stuck out my tongue and waggled it at him.

That was too much for him. He gave a single muted grunt and he'd come in his hand, thick white semen running down over his fingers as he finished himself off with a final crescendo of hard tugs. I couldn't help but laugh, just at the expression on his face and at how much he'd been prepared to sacrifice – both his car,
wreck that it was, and his dignity – for the sake of seeing my breasts. Only his shamefaced look as he put his cock away changed my mind, making me feel sorry for him.

‘I don't mean to take the piss, Dave. I did enjoy that.'

‘Yeah? Like you act it.'

‘No, really. It was fun. I . . . I like to see your cock.'

‘What, for real?'

‘Yes. I promise. You've even turned me on a bit.'

It was true, sort of, if only because it was quite a naughty situation, and I do like to show off, but what he asked for took me completely aback.

‘Why not do it in front of me then?'

‘Do what?'

‘You know, touch yourself off. You did it for Pete, and stuff.'

What is it with men? They think because you get off with one of them it means you're up for everything and with everybody. They can't keep their mouths shut either. I knew what he meant by stuff too, which sent a little shiver between my thighs as I answered.

‘Pete is Pete, you're you.'

‘Yeah, but . . .'

‘Oh, allright. You're such a fucking pervert, Dave.'

I just wanted to put him in his place, because I was already tugging my skirt up. It felt good, to be bare and dishevelled outdoors, the sun warm on my naked breasts, and on my thighs and bottom as I pushed my knickers down. Now I was enjoying showing off, fully, and the look of worship in his eyes as I let my thighs come wide to show him exactly what I was doing.

His mouth had come open like a goldfish as I began to masturbate, with my pleasure rising quickly, the thrill of being naughty outdoors mixing with the thrill
of my power over him and the sheer physical joy of playing with myself. I knew I could make him lick me if I wanted. I knew I could make him do anything if I wanted.

Only it wasn't what I wanted. As I stood there, bold and in control, showing myself off because a man had begged for me, so as my orgasm began to rise up new thoughts pushed unbidden into my head, thoughts I'd had earlier, of me grovelling on my knees, stark naked as I licked and sucked on Stephen English's cock and balls, begging to be permitted to let him satisfy himself in my mouth.

I tried to fight it, thinking of how Dave had begged just to see me bare, but it wouldn't work. It was Stephen I wanted, and I knew he'd never beg. He'd have me bare though, naked on my knees while he was fully dressed in his smart suit, only with his cock and balls rising proud and virile from his fly, for the pleasure of my mouth, for me to worship him, to lick and suck and kiss until he gave me everything he had full in my open mouth.

As I came I cried out in ecstasy, making a thorough, uninhibited exhibition of myself, but I didn't care. In my mind I wasn't even there, and Dave mattered not at all. In my mind I was on the floor of Stephen's office, kneeling in the nude as I sucked on his cock and rubbed myself to ecstasy for the privilege.

I REALLY DID
not want to go into work on the Tuesday morning, and it had nothing to do with walking back across the Breckland and not getting home until well after dark. It did have a little to do with my dislike for my job, but mostly it was because of Stephen English. Not that he was to blame, as such, but that only made it worse.

As it happened, it wasn't as bad as I'd expected. With the men from the council coming the next day all three of us were too busy for me to brood, and the worst of it was having to call him Mr English, because every time I said it I got a little jolt and the memory of how I'd come the day before. He was as oblivious and as condescending as ever, but I was at least distracted.

Wednesday was the meeting, which had me nervous as I walked in, and also seriously conflicted. On the one hand I did feel a sort of loyalty to Black Knight Securities and I had put a lot of work into the presentation, but on the other it was firmly against my interests for us to be awarded the contract we were after. Nevertheless, I was there on time, smart and attentive in my skirt suit with my hair pinned up and a fixed smile on my discreetly painted lips.

The arrival of the council advisory team wiped the smile right off my face. There were three of them: a middle-aged woman in tweeds whose face registered
disapproval of everything, a large man with a red complexion and watery eyes and the Voice of Authority from the Dog and Duck. I just froze, standing there like an idiot with my presentation folders held out, waiting for him to denounce me. He came close, looked straight into my eyes, and spoke.

‘Thank you.'

It took me an instant to realise that he had absolutely no recollection of me whatsoever, and then I'd gone into automatic, handing him a folder and reeling off the little speech I'd prepared like a machine.

‘Good morning, and may I welcome you to Black Knight Securities. My name is Felicity Cotton. Please may I introduce my colleagues, Mr Stephen English and Mr Paul Minter.'

Both Stephen and Paul had appeared through the door on cue, beaming and extending their hands. The big florid man responded much in kind, introducing himself as Mr Burrows, while the woman, Mrs Shelby, accepted Paul's hand with what seemed every evidence of distaste. The Voice of Authority was the last to introduce himself, as Mr Phelps, and he too remained very formal. I was still terrified he'd recognise me, and I was sure I could feel his eyes on my back as I left the room, Stephen having told me to make coffee.

By the time I came back they were seated and Stephen was in full flow, expounding on the virtues of the ZX system. Mr Burrows seemed blandly welcoming, Mrs Shelby sceptical, Mr Phelps interested. I handed out the coffees and took a seat at the back, listening to Stephen's now familiar presentation of how the system worked and how he was going to catch every scally in a ten-mile radius. When he finally finished it was Mr Phelps who put the first question.

‘Let us take a hypothetical example, Mr English. I myself have been a victim of street crime recently. My car was stolen and later found burnt out. There seems to be little or no possibility of catching the culprits, despite our system of street cameras. Could you improve on that?'