By Wynn Bryan from Janus 95
Alex replaced the phone with a sigh. Damn Roger Ormondroyd, as a human being he left much to be desired. As a publisher though, he was among the best. If it hadn’t been for Roger, Alex would still be pushing a pen in a dingy solicitor’s office. His present opulent business suite with kid-leather furniture and state-of the-art word processing equipment was just one of the rewards that his talent, harnessed by Roger’s aggressive promotion, had earned. Now the man had committed him to finishing a novelette in one week when he needed three. Naturally, the fee was substantial, but with that came a deadline and Alex had no option but to meet it. A great deal of midnight oil would have to he burnt!
‘Bring me the Estermann manuscript please, Ms Seymour.’ Alex spoke quietly into the grille of the inter-office speaker system. He was certain that his efficient and loyal PA had had more than just an elegant hand in this.
‘Certainly, sir,’ responded a soft feminine voice. ‘Do you also require the research notes and synopsis?’
Alex brushed back his thinning hair and confirmed that he did. Little remained of what had once been an abundant thatch, but he strived to make the surviving strands cover the shortfall. Next, he tugged at a navy waistcoat and smoothed it across his not ungenerous stomach. After adjusting the Gresham’s tie, Alex fixed his brown eyes on the connecting door to Ms Seymour’s office. Within seconds, it opened.
Fay Seymour entered, as always exuding confidence. The soft dark eyes behind expensive horn-rimmed glasses were smiling. Like Alex she had carefully checked her appearance and at six feet in height she was an impressive sight to visiting clients and anyone else who met her. A perpetually perfect demeanour gave her an air of sophisticated superiority. Her looks were stunning.
A 36-year-old married woman, Fay Seymour’s unlined face, high cheekbones and sculptured jaw bestowed on her a timeless anti classic beauty. This was emphasised by glossy black hair drawn tautly back and fixed into a neat chignon. She was immaculately dressed in a tailored suit, crisp white blouse and black patent court shoes.
‘I have taken the liberty of completing the research notes, sir,’ Fay smiled, revealing full lips and even teeth. She placed a manila folder neatly on his desk. ‘You’ll find the historical data in a special file on the research disc. Hard copy is in this folder.’
Alex was stunned. Fay Seymour had saved him two days’ work. She was too damned good to be true.
‘Er, yes… thank you, Ms Seymour,’ Alex answered, tugging again at his waistcoat and feeling a little nonplussed. ‘Your work is efficient in the extreme and I am most satisfied with the initiative you continually show…’ He rambled on for a few minutes, complimenting her efficiency whilst slowly regaining his composure. She stood serenely at attention throughout. He knew that he was struggling, but he had to find a way of tackling her on the subject of Roger Ormondroyd.
‘Thank you, sir,’ Fay replied primly. ‘I have also managed to delay HM Customs and Excise for one month. I didn’t think you needed that distraction with a deadline to meet.’
‘Ah yes, the deadline,’ Alex said pointedly, and for a brief moment her dark eyes looked guiltily away. He knew for certain now. He had found the chink in her neatly starched armour.
‘So,’ he said quietly, ‘it was you. You had no business telling Roger what I was working on.’
The realisation that she had given herself away jolted Fay’s confidence. She suddenly felt defenceless and vulnerable, and very apprehensive. In all the time they had been together, she had never betrayed his trust, but now because of the pride and pleasure she felt in working for him she had let enthusiasm get the better of professional judgment. She wanted to say something but instead bit her bottom lip in frustration.
‘You had no right to tell him what I was working on!’ Alex’s deep voice was raised and he was plainly angry. ‘Your work for me is confidential in every way. You have abused your position of trust.’
Fay’s heartbeat increased. Her mouth had dried and in contrast her palms were starting to perspire. She realised she was holding her breath.
‘This means I shall be working until the small hours for a week! I will not tolerate this or any further transgression. My future projects will remain confidential!’ He paused and leaned forward across the desk. ‘NOW TAKE OFF YOUR KNICKERS, Ms SEYMOUR!’
His sudden, unexpected command hit her like a bolt of sheet lightning, conducting little thrills of excitement right through her tall, lithe body. She almost leapt to his bidding. In a most unladylike fashion she lifted the skirt of her suit, revealing long elegant legs and black-stockinged thighs. She scrambled unsteadily out of the tiniest of white panties before placing both hands coyly over the luxurious black vee at the juncture of her thighs.
‘Remove your hands!’ Alex said sharply, rising swiftly to his feet. ‘NOW TURN AROUND AND SHOW ME YOUR ARSE!’
His uncharacteristic coarseness thrilled her and with thumping heart Fay bent lewdly forward. Excitedly, she realised that he could see her bared buttocks and… and everything!
Alex strode around the desk and stood close behind her. She held her breath again, aware that he was looking… looking at her naked flesh, his eyes burning into her. She almost willed him to touch her, if only to break this terrible tension.
The touch that came was as unexpected as his earlier command. The right underswell of her bottom ignited as his palm exploded on the soft, offered flesh. Then the left cheek was set on fire with an even harder slap. Flames of heat surged through her, licking at the very centre of her femininity. She trembled in the confusion of shock, pain and burning pleasure.
Without pausing, he continued to spank her. Rapidly his hand tenderised the naked buttocks, intensifying and spreading the fiery thrills through her lower belly, thighs and loins. His hard palm flattened the sumptuous right globe first and then the left. Smack after smack cracked pistol-like on to her smarting flesh. She shuddered at each impact, writhing and squirming in an attempt to still the stinging smart. Soft, scarcely audible little moans escaped her lips and both of them knew that the moaning wasn’t solely through pain.
Finally, Alex paused. Fay tried vainly to stop the quivering of her thighs. She became aware of his heavy breathing and felt the electric touch of his hand as he ran it smoothly and lightly over her sensitive, burning bottom. Over and over, stirring her lubricious feelings. Then the hand slid firmly around her waist and she was pulled, still bent forward, towards the kid-leather chesterfield. In one quick movement Alex seated himself and sprawled her ignominiously across his lap.
‘I hope you agree that such a serious breach of trust deserves a thoroughly good thrashing, Ms Seymour.’ Alex said coldly.
I… I do, sir!’ Fay panted breathlessly, ‘oh, I do…’
A sound like the crack of a ringmaster’s whip filled the study as Alex’s palm once more exploded on the hot, pinkening flesh. Then again, and again, louder, and louder. Tears welled into Fay’s eyes; her buttocks jerked and undulated: burning, stinging and throbbing, reacting urgently, and then… more urgently.
‘Oh… oh,’ Fay panted, ‘oh, please… please, sir…’
Unceremoniously Alex let her slip to the floor in front of him. Fay found herself kneeling on all fours, the whole of her lower body heated and burning with embers that spread from her smouldering bottom.
‘Perhaps this will be a lesson you will profit from, Ms Seymour,’ he said quietly. ‘Now I am going to FUCK you!’
She gasped, startled and aroused by his crudity. Her back arched and she pushed her throbbing bottom towards him. He took her as quickly and as suddenly as he had spanked her. The incursion was more intense than she could have imagined and her soft flesh melted moistly around him.
Fully half-an-hour later, Fay began preparing dinner. She was tingling all over, from both the lovemaking and the spanking, and her bottom still burned as hot as the grill she was now using. Alex had continued working in the study and she lovingly turned her considerable talents to cooking for him. After twelve years of marriage he was still the perfect husband, never failing to surprise her with romantic advances; always inventing new scenarios to stimulate and amuse her and always reaching the very core of her womanhood. Fay wanted to make the perfect meal for the perfect husband.
She had decided to serve dinner wearing the French maid’s costume.