A Train of Events

Her desk did not have a modesty board and she had allowed her skirt to ride up revealing her legs. As I neared she parted them a little more and in the dimmed light beneath the desktop I could see that she was wearing stockings and suspenders.

It seemed so decadent to be wearing them as everyday attire but on her it seemed perfectly natural.

I felt both absurd and demeaned but any thoughts of stopping were crushed by an aching need as she lured me further in. Her legs were opening inch by inch exposing the paleness of her thighs above the dark welts.

As I began to tentatively kiss her warm skin I was infused with a feeling of well-being that I had not experienced since childhood. I stroked her smooth calves moving up to the solidness of her toned thighs willing her to beckon me in.

I heard distant laughter and snatches of conversation but they were meaningless as I was slowly seduced by prospect that lay before me.

Her panties were dark, expensive, silk and they were stretched across her mound which was obscenely prominent. She had applied a light scent to her thighs but it could not compete with the emergent proof of her arousal.

Driven by an outlandish yearning I used the flat of my tongue to lick the tight crotch of her underwear feeling the soft rasp of silk and appreciating the exuded taste.

For a moment of two I was riding a wave of pure euphoria but then, without warning, she eased her chair backwards.

"That's good for now. I want you to come back at the same time tomorrow. Make sure that you free up the afternoon."

The abrupt dismissal hit me like a cosh. Less than five minutes later I was standing alone on the pavement, having left them together, feeling both confused and bereft.

Back at the office I could barely function and I could not fully comprehend what had happened to me. I had prostrated myself for a total stranger, in front of a woman I hardly knew, but there was no doubting that I had been excited almost beyond measure.

Trying to take a step back it seemed that Bryony was showing me how weak willed I really was and how easily I could be seduced. Now it had been left up to me.

I spent a restless night thinking things through but by morning I had reached a decision. I still harboured a strong desire to get to know Bryony better, in every sense, but the price was too high to pay. I determined that I would explore my feelings for other women on my own terms and, bolstered by this plan, I went into work.

At the office I spent a productive couple of hours clearing my in tray but then I drew a sharp breath as an e-mail from Etheridge arrived.

It was a personal message from Moira Etheridge herself and started off with an apology for the delay in replying. My heart began to beat faster as I read on. The Etheridge board were happy with my proposal and it would now go to a vote of the trustees. She suggested that, with the support of her personal recommendation, the vote would a formality and I gave a muted whoop of delight.

The final paragraph referred to our mutual decision to revisit the tax shelter issues in light of the first year's returns but Moira asked if I would give a brief outline to one of the trustees who had raised a last minute question.

I was elated. The tax issue was completely uncontroversial and there was no way that it would a show stopper. The deal was effectively done. I opened the attachment to get the contact details of the trustee and then I gasped as I read the name... Grace De Moyes.

Chapter Five

I was breathing raggedly and perspiration beaded my forehead. It was a minute of two before I recovered a vestige of composure and then I frantically called up the Etheridge trust deed on screen.

The trust had been set up by Henry Etheridge who had made his money in South African mining. His wife, Moira, ran it on a day to day basis along with a board of trustees all three of whom I had met on a frequent basis.

Beneath board level all of the organizations that contributed to the investment pool, that Etheridge administered, were represented by one of more trustees depending on the size of their commitment. In all there were more than one hundred contributors and nearly two hundred trustees entitled to a vote.

Buried way down the list I found Grace's name as one of two trustees representing a children's charity called 'Compassion'. A further trawl established that she had never attended an Etheridge meeting nor had she ever registered a vote. Hers was clearly a token presence.

There was no way on earth that this was a simple coincidence and I angrily picked up the phone. After five frustrating minutes of being pushed round the hospital's telephone system I was eventually told that Grace was running a clinic and would not be available until later in the day.

I was still seething as, after lunch, I took a taxi in order to keep our original appointment. I burst into her office without knocking and confronted her at her desk.

"What the hell do you think you're playing at?"

She looked up from the report she was reading completely unfazed.

"Good afternoon."

Her insouciance riled me even more.

"I do not care about your little fantasy life. Anything that happened between us is at an end and you do not threaten my professional role, even obliquely."

She looked at me with mild amusement.

"A little ironic don't you think? Our talk of worlds colliding and here we are, my charity and your asset management company. The truth is the name of your company rang a bell but I could not think why. Finance is not my strong suit."

I bit my tongue waiting for her to continue.

"I wouldn't even have bothered to check it up except that Bryony and I had a talk after you left yesterday. You see, Bryony surmised that you had come too far too quickly. She was guessing that you would step back from the brink and that you would not keep our appointment today.

Now that, for me, would have been a great pity. So great that I was encouraged to do a little digging and lo and behold..."

I looked at her intently.

"You will phone Etheridge and you will tell them that everything has been cleared up to your satisfaction."

A hint of a smile crossed her face.

"...my satisfaction...yes, I guess it will all come down to that.

I had to check with my accountant and she confirms that your work on behalf of the trust has been exemplary. She even thought that the tax shelter matter had been shrewdly handled but I needed something to entice you back."

Only now did I fully understand what this was all about.

"The tax shelter is not an issue at all. I can talk to the Etheridge board and clear this up in two minutes."

She put her pen down and steepled her fingers.

"I have no doubt that you could. I only have a nodding acquaintance with Moira Etheridge but 'Compassion' is a large stakeholder. I'm guessing that I could make a minor nuisance of myself."

Did she know about the tax year deadline? Any delay beyond that left an open ended completion date and the prospect of other suitors trying to get a foot in the door. I had to get the deal sealed.

She remained silent for a second or two longer and then she spoke bluntly.

"I want two hours of your time...or, more particularly, two hours of your lovely little mouth and tongue."

I fired back at her.

"I will not be blackmailed!"

She smiled as she replied.

"Think of it in any terms you wish."

Without another word she got up and left the room and it was a few seconds before I gathered myself to follow after her. I walked through to the outer office and was stopped in my tracks. She was standing in the middle of the room, having already shed her dress, looking totally beguiling in her elegant black underwear.

Her lightly tanned, toned, body belied her age and she was fully aware of the effect that she was having on me. She crossed to the examination couch, which was decorated with nursery motifs, and pressed a button at its head. With a soft hum of motors the couch reconfigured from a single to a double platform.

Seeing my bemusement she explained.

"It is sometimes easier to examine a child if the parent lies down with them."

With studied deliberation she removed the remainder of her clothing and settled onto the bed with her legs parted.

"A quick one to start with, just to ease the tension, and then you can settle down and take your time."

She spoke as if I were nothing more than a concubine, a slave to her desires, and I should have been fired with anger but, instead, the heat within me was transmuting into a pathetic craving.

Her sex was revealed in all its glory by a bank of spotlights that illuminated the couch. The perfectly shaped mound was shaded by a close trimmed covering of dark hair with a few flecks of grey sparked by the light but it was her labia that riveted my attention.

The swollen lips bloomed languorously already speckled with tiny droplets of moisture and I swallowed audibly as my tongue awakened to a realm of possibilities.

She said nothing more but lay there confident of the inevitable outcome. I felt galled but I had lost all sense of reason. I paused fleetingly wondering if I should undress, but I could wait no longer.

I lay prostrate on the couch, setting myself between her legs, and breathed in the fullness of her personal scent which hung heavily in the air. Its muskiness was narcotic and I began to softly kiss her lips, each in turn, before slyly employing my tongue.

Her taste was all that I could have hoped for and I was soon lapping greedily along the whole length of her furrow. Outwardly, she retained her cool demeanour but the heat that radiated from her sex told its own story.

I wanted to work my tongue deep inside her but she had made clear her desire and I strained my neck to seek out her clitoris. It needed no coaxing, already standing proud, and as I engaged with her I could feel the vitality of her pulse.

I was still certain that my technique left something to be desired but it only took a few strokes of my tongue before she began to clutch me to her and the dam quickly burst. Her body shook gently but erratically as she rode out her climax coating my face with the dew of her arousal.

I pulled away from her to catch my breath and to cool down a little and, as I did so, she drowsily turned over onto her stomach.

Now that she was faced away from me I could her appraise her more fully. Her body was long and lean and her skin flawless save for two tiny moles high on her shoulder. Her legs would be the envy of many a young athlete but my eyes were drawn to the surprising fullness of her derrière

It was beautifully curved and, without thinking, I reached out and ran my fingers over the taut contours. In response she gave an appreciative moan and lifted herself a little. I drew my hand away quickly, as if scalded, only to hear her laugh quietly.

"Don't be coy...I want you to lick me."

She stretched with a feline grace opening the divide and putting herself lewdly on display. The tight, puckered, opening was fully revealed, a forbidden shade in a pale landscape.

It would be a lie to say that this was something that I had never contemplated but it required a degree of intimacy that I had never found in my previous relationships. How bizarre then that I should feel so drawn to a woman I hardly knew.

As I drew nearer my body was trembling and I took a deep breath to try and calm myself. I placed my hands carefully on her cheeks as if she were a work of art and then, cursing my own timidity, I licked clumsily.

I was surprised by the tenseness of her muscles but pleased as she gave growl of approval. I tried again, this time more positively, with a long stroke of my tongue.

I fell into an easy rhythm causing her to sigh deeply but then she began to arch her body guiding me towards the ultimate goal.

Even now I felt uneasy, my arms rigid, as I dared myself. Each successive sweep of my tongue was foreshortened as I began to fix my attention on the opening itself.

At first it felt inflexible but then she held her breath and there was a tiny but perceptible yielding. Emboldened, I speared my tongue and applied a steady pressure.

For a few seconds it seemed a futile struggle but then she hissed out a triumphant "Yes!" and I breached the portal to be gripped tight within. The initial pressure was uncomfortable but as I flexed my tongue and probed more deeply she relaxed and accepted my ministrations.

I registered a brackish taste cut through with the astringent tang of an expensive soap and there was a strong temptation to switch back to her sex which was weeping copiously not least because she had brought her fingers furiously into play.

At the finish it was this evidence of her excitement that kept me in place trying to drive her ever higher. I lay locked with her for what seemed an age and when she finally deigned to allow herself a second climax the cramping of her muscles threated to painfully crush my tongue.

For the briefest instant I felt pathetic but I knew that, if she asked, I would do it again. Through it all I was hovering on the brink of an orgasm that promised to shake me to the core.

As I finally slid free she twisted herself and lay slumped on her back. Her mauled sex was a beautiful shade of angry red and the surrounding wetness spread to her thighs. I needed no bidding. I slowly and slavishly licked her skin clean working my way inevitably back towards that beautiful oasis.

Her third climax was prolonged. She would stop me from time to time to regather herself and then allowed me to resume. My neck and tongue, in fact my whole face, ached but I remained tireless in my efforts to please this captivating goddess. My own arousal ebbed a little but only to swell again as she joyously shuddered through another series of blissful contractions.

Her two hours had become the better part of three before she cleaned herself up and got dressed again. I was conscious that she looked totally composed whilst I looked a complete wreck and I knew I would have to go home rather than back to the office.

I was almost in a trance as she led me to the door and, as I stood there, wondering what the hell to say, she slipped her hand beneath my skirt. In the space of a single heartbeat she fleetingly touched my sex and then brought her fingers to her lips. As she sucked them gently and closed the door on me I collapsed to the floor as I climaxed on the spot.

Chapter Six

The next few weeks passed in a blur. The Etheridge deal was sealed and my partnership was confirmed.

Setting up the initial investments and putting all of the required reporting into place was demanding and I had little time for a social life. If I am honest I was glad of the distraction as it gave me an excuse to duck the personal issues that I should have been confronting.

The one exception was the temptation, on several occasions, to get in touch with Bryony, not least because I noticed that the show at the Palace Theatre had closed as a prelude to the touring production, but cowardice got the better of me.

I had already decided that I was going to move house to somewhere more commensurate with my new position in life and I figured that Bryony would fade into a past left behind.

My confidence was further boosted when the other partners tasked me to take a trip to New York to talk to some US investors who were interested in the Etheridge model.

I decided to tack some well-earned annual leave onto the back of the trip. Ostensibly I would revisit some the sights I had first taken in as a teenager but in reality I was keenly aware that, as a stranger, I could dip my toe into the waters of the gay scene and see where it led me.

As it transpired my toe dipping proved to be a disaster. The bar I chose was nice enough but the clientele made it a pantomime. Every stereotype was to be found there. They were loud, ostentatious, and this was clearly a place to see and be seen. I found some of the woman attractive but there was no way on earth I was going to make an approach.

Back in my hotel room I struggled to formulate what I really wanted let alone how to go about finding it. I was gazing blankly at my e-mail account when a new message appeared. I took a sharp intake of breath and actually ran my finger across the address bar on screen to be sure.

The message was from Bryony.

"I tried to get in touch but I am told you are in New York - lucky you! We'll catch up when you get back but, in the meanwhile you might want to look up a friend of mine."

My heart soared irrationally on reading the simple words and then I quickly re-read it to ensure that there was nothing incriminating given that she had used my work account. My instinct was to reply immediately but something held me back. Hard as it was I decided that I would let her wait until I returned home.

It was a day later that I picked up the phone and dialled the number she had given me.

I asked to speak to "Philly" and was rocked back by the boisterous reply.

"You must be the investment guru Bryony told me about. That English accent is so cute!"

Within moments I had agreed to meet with her at her apartment on the Lower East Side. I dressed as if for a date and then gave some serious thought to changing again but I finally plucked up my courage and had the doorman hail me a cab.

Philly was something in magazine advertising and her apartment turned out to be a barn of a place on Stanton. It was a reflection of the woman herself who seemed larger than life. I guessed that she was at least ten years my senior and she was heavy in a sexy, curvy, sort of way. Her clothes were tailored to flatter her fuller figure but it was her face that seized my attention.

She had the most startling blue eyes set above high, rosy, cheeks and a sultry Clara Bow mouth. The roundness of her features was accentuated by her shoulder length blond hair set in soft curls.

With a little work she could be a total beauty but I sensed that she was more than happy in her own skin and people had to meet her on her own terms. She greeted me with a glass of wine and within minutes it felt as if we had known one another forever.

It struck me that I would be happy just to spend an uncomplicated evening in her company but we both knew the unspoken ties that bound us. Thus, I was not sure how to react when she asked

"How adventurous are you?"

I was still examining my feelings when she rose from the sofa and opened her hand bag. She took out some lengths of wide white ribbon and showed them to me.

"Would you let me tie you up?"

If she had been a man I would have refused point blank but, contrary to every instinct, the prospect of putting myself at her mercy sent a shiver of excitement coursing through my body.

Set in front of the sofa was a full length Ottoman style upholstered coffee table which doubled as a footstool. As she bent to pat it I saw how it could be put to another purpose.

"It might be more comfortable if you undressed."

I think I began to take off my clothes just to give myself more time to deliberate but the ribbons looked so innocuous and her face beamed with mischievous fun. Almost in a daze I laid down on the padded surface and allowed her to fasten my limbs to the legs of the table.

Once she had me securely in place I found that the ribbons were more than equal to the task of holding me firm and with my legs opened across the width of the table I felt frighteningly vulnerable.

She left me for a moment and I heard her talking, presumably on the telephone. It only now dawned on me how stupid I had been but she smiled openly and put me marginally at ease.

She came and knelt beside me and idly teased my nipples to engorgement.

"Bryony wasn't lying. You really are beautiful."