Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Fa/Fa, Consensual, Romantic, Humor, BDSM, Humiliation, Sadistic, Torture,
Desc: Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 1 - A modest but desperate young woman goes through deep embarrassment in order to become wealthy.
Veronica Harmsworth was not as happy as she would wish. She had a two bedroom flat in Hampstead High Street, the result of a legacy consequent upon the death of a rich aunt, and a good job in the City. BUT. Times were hard nowadays. Working in the Square Mile was rather like being in the trenches on the Western Front. People all round her were falling. Of course, they did not die when they fell - merely collected handsome redundancy packages, but it was still a sort of death. Her own time might come sooner than she thought.
A year ago her life had been hectic but carefree, a daily round of frenzied dealing and lunchtime and evening conviviality. Now it was different. There was less to do, but no one wanted to look idle. Liquid lunches had been eschewed and all stayed late at the office, despite having so little to do. It was not a nice life. How she longed to be out of it all!
That was why the little notice in the local free newspaper caught her eye. "Independence! Freedom! No more nine-to-five! Be a millionaire/ess!"
There was a telephone number to ring. Veronica picked up the phone and keyed in the number. Engaged. Well, it bloody would be, wouldn't it! She tried three more times with the same result. Oh, well! Probably a hoax anyway! One more go! "Brr Brrrng Brrrng Hello, how can I help?"
"Oh!" Veronica had hardly expected to be successful and was temporarily at a loss.
"I'm phoning about the ad in the Camden News. About being a millionairess! I think it might suit me, actually! I suppose it's all a joke, but I'm so bloody fed up with life right now, I'm game for anything!"
"Game for anything, eh?" replied the thin reedy voice on the other end of the line. It was the kind of antediluvian tone that could be coming from another age.
"Well - I've spoken to a few people already, but I didn't much like the sound of any of them. You sound like a breath of fresh air. Half of those other buggers were bloody foreigners - cheeky sods! May I have your address and phone number? I'll be in touch in the next few days."
She did as the old gentleman requested, giving him her details, and replaced the telephone, her heart aflutter with a strange excitement. She told herself it was all nonsense. But there was something in the back of her mind that KNEW she was on the brink of opportunity and great adventure.
She looked at her antique grandfather clock. It was ten-thirty. Time for a quick one at the "Flask". She pulled on a sweater. It was early in the month of April and the evenings were still a little on the chilly side. In a few minutes she was at her destination.
She pushed her way through the door of her favourite pub. Somehow, as she looked around the familiar bar, the place seemed pregnant with life. The very smoke-filled air around her reeked not only of stale beer and tobacco, but of adventure. Even the ever drunken and ever aggressive Bertha, that raddled blonde with the chip on her shoulder, was unable to jolt her out of the euphoria which she had experienced ever since speaking to the old man on the phone.
As luck would have it, there were none of her usual friends here tonight. She took her drink over to the large round table in the corner and a man asked politely if he might join her. She smilingly assented and he sat in one corner, immediately taking out a book, into which he buried himself, leaving Veronica alone with her thoughts.
Of course this thing was just a hoax of some kind! People just don't go around handing out one million pounds to perfect strangers. She had met a few millionaires in her time and they were as tight-fisted a bunch of skinflints as ever walked the earth! Of course, there were exceptions to every rule. Maybe someone with more money than he/she knew what to do with, or someone with a stricken conscience was finding a way to do a bit of good to someone.
As she continued to muse about the future, she noticed that the man opposite was casting surreptitious glances at her. She began to feel awkward, finished her drink and left, noting that the fellow had returned to his book. Funny. She hadn't seen him before and at this time of night, most of the customers were regulars.
That night she was tormented by strange dreams. In one of them, she found herself in the middle of a huge field and running for her life to escape from mortal danger. If only she could reach the fence and jump over in time she might escape, but fast as she ran, the sound of pursuit grew louder and the refuge seemed to be no closer. When she woke up she was sweating and the bedclothes had fallen in a heap onto the floor. She had awakened late and would have to forgo her morning jog. This put her in a bad mood for the day.
As her day wore on, events did nothing to improve her spirits. Work was as flat as ever. Business was dead as the dodo and she knew that she would be sitting around trying to look busy for very little longer. Almost certainly she would figure in the next round of redundancies and the soul destroying task of finding another, and almost certainly less remunerative, job would begin.
When she returned home, there was a letter waiting for her. She did not recognise the writing and opened it wondering who it was from. It was on Savoy Hotel notepaper. After reading the first few words, she had to sit down. It was from the mysterious would-be benefactor!
"Dear Miss Harmsworth" it started. "With regard to my recent advertisement and your kind expression of interest, I wonder if you would be good enough to visit me at the above address on Wednesday week. I look forward greatly to meeting you.
Andrew Vane-Clatworthy! Veronica knew all about him! Did she ever know all about him! The grandson of a Victorian entrepreneur who had turned on its head the old dictum about rags to riches to rags in three generations! He had come into control of the family businesses in his twenties and massively increased their turnover. Golly! He must be pretty ancient by now! Hadn't been seen in public for years, but was still rumoured to control his multifarious business empire with a rod of iron! And HE was the man who was giving away money by the million! Wonders never cease!
She got onto the phone immediately to James Clarkson, a contact of hers, reputed to have forgotten more about the world of business and finance than any ten others knew between them. Thank goodness he was in tonight!
"Hi, there James, Veronica here!... Yes I know it's been a long time... we really must get together sometime... Left it too long. Actually I had a reason for phoning (when did she ever NOT have a hard practical reason for phoning her friends!). It's about Andrew V-Clatworthy. What's he been up to lately and what sort of a guy is he? I know he's a legend, but a recluse. Anything you could tell me to put flesh on the bones, so to speak? It really would be appreciated old sport!"
Several minutes later she put down the phone, very little the wiser than when she had picked it up. The old man had been rumoured to be in poor health and depressed that he had no suitable heir to pass his empire on to after his death. It seemed that one of the largest major concerns to be in family hands would soon pass into the control of the faceless men. But - added James, he was not thought to be about to pop off just yet! One thing did worry her. Although par excellence a man of his word who had never been known to go back on any agreement whether written or verbal, he was thought to have a mischievous and almost sadistic streak in him, showing itself in a love of practical joking. Just what I thought, mused Veronica.
Five days remained before her appointment. She tried to contain her impatience and concentrate on the ever more dreary round of work and leisure, aching to know how her meeting would turn out.