Alan MacArthy, the company accountant, dressed soberly (as an accountant should) in grey suit and black shoes. A slight hint at free-thinking might have been his pale blue shirt and mauve tie; but not the red socks with (hidden on the sole) 'sex bomb' written on them. They were a present from several Christmases ago and the only clean ones he had that morning. He still insisted on clean socks, things hadn't slipped that far. Average height for an accountant is 5ft 10.5 inches (1.79m) so the actuarial fact book said. Alan was 5ft 11in. He still had his hair, not as short as the official accountancy standard required, he sometimes seriously wondered if that was the cause of his stalled career. Perhaps there was a secret society of accountants who had weighed him and found him wanting. Perhaps it was that he had enough self-awareness to realise that accountancy was the last refuge for the boring; he had been to occasional conferences where accountants regaled each other with hilarious incidents concerning double-entry ledgers. Alan could see that these people were sad deluded souls and wished he was really a mountain climber; but he wasn't a risk taker, he was a careful weigher of the evidence; he was, in short, a good accountant.
He typed his note into the computer and hit SEND.
I wonder if you could spare me a minute sometime. I just need to go over a couple of things,
Alan MacArthy, Accountant
If you are not the intended recipient of this message, please delete it immediately"
That was all the email said, there was nothing to indicate the seismic shift that was about to take place.
Three Years Before
"Good morning Mr MacArthy"
"Oh, ah, good morning, umm, Elaine isn't it?"
"Yes, just so, Helen" They got into the lift together, the company accountant and an office secretary who had been with the firm for 4 months "Ah, yes, did you enjoy the Christmas Party on Friday Miss, umm Helen?" He was never too happy around women, he was married, supposedly contentedly, but it was clear that women made him a little uncomfortable. His wife, who had been to one company event in the 16 years he had been with Gross-Paxman Ltd, was not the social, gregarious, type. He'd found that out after marrying her; he always felt this was part of the reason he hadn't got on in the company. Joined as the accountant and stayed as the accountant as three CFOs came and went. She was rather, mousey. It pained him to admit it, but she was. She allowed him to make love to her once a week after the first year of marriage and now, in their second decade of marriage (he was 42, she was 39) she had scaled that back to once a month. As Thomas Hobbes described life so he thought she would describe their sexual activity, 'nasty, brutish, and (thankfully) short'. No children had been the result of their rather scant liaisons. Yes, for all that he did love her dearly, he allowed her to pick the holidays each year; one in Britain and one in Europe. They were always the times she seemed about to blossom as they walked round Genoa or Paris or Malvern. Always somewhere beautiful and artistic and cultured. He loved that she brought him, briefly, out of his numbers and audits. He loved her. That (he told himself) was why the lack of sex hadn't driven him away. Actually it was also because of his fear of change. He liked things ordered.
"Well? Mr. MacArthy?"
"Sorry? I was miles away, what did you say?"
"I asked if you enjoyed it, you seemed to" She smiled, a smile he wasn't quite sure he liked. Why? What was it?
"Yes, I suppose I did"
"Is Mrs MacArthy relaxed about office parties and what goes on in them?"
"Mrs MacArthy? Why, what do you mean?"
"Oh, sorry, least said, soonest mended my Mum says. It's just that..."
"What? Out with it. Oh, this is my floor" He made to step out.
"I just worry in case you, well, you know. I'm not on the pill you see"
He stepped back in. They travelled up to her floor, and he noticed a couple of the girls looking at him oddly. "Come into the canteen"
"I can't go for coffee yet, I've only just arrived. Mrs Blantire will get cross"
"I'll sort that, come on." They sat down and he looked at her "Now explain"
"Do you not remember? Truly? I find that almost more upsetting, that a man can sleep with a woman and then forget"
"What?! Are you saying that I..."
Well, not so much sleep, we went into an empty office and emerged half an hour later. We were seen, I'm sorry, Janet saw us, I wouldn't have said anything."
Now the truth wasn't quite the same as her story. It's true they went into the room, it's certainly true he was quite drunk (and got drunker later, hence his amnesia concerning it). It is also true that after a clumsy snog and an attempt at a fumbling touching up he stopped and apologised. It wasn't, he explained, that she was unattractive; she was, very, and in other situations he would have willingly, but he was married and loved his wife. He then walked out with her (where he was NOT seen by Janet, who was told the embellished story on the Monday, and after hearing it a few times became convinced she may have seen something) and drowned his sorrows. So why had she been willing? Because she thought the accountant was a director, she thought he was the CFO, when she realised she'd had a close shave she decided to turn it to advantage anyway. Sly, that's probably a good word for her. No, a good eye for the main chance.
"I feel awful" She said "I feel I've betrayed your wife's trust in fellow women. I should apologise"
The penny dropped "Perhaps you should let it lie for a while, think it over" He watched her leave the canteen, her pelvic wiggle triggering a rush of testosterone that he had to admit he hadn't felt since seeing his wife that day many (many, many) years ago on the beach in her bikini. Others would just say 'lust', but he was always more detached, more dissecting in his descriptions.
And so they let it lie, or rather hang like a Sword of Damocles over his head, and she found ways to adjust her expenses up slightly when she travelled and he never queried the larger costs (slightly more costly hotel, slightly over the limit dinner receipt). After a year he realised that now to raise it he'd be saying he was incompetent. He was trapped in the web she'd spun. The firm could afford it though. It was the most successful at what it did in the UK. They had carved a niche and held it by skilfully adjusting costs and prices to be profitable but not too profitable (so investors stayed happy but competitors were never quite sure if the profits justified the risk of entering the new market).
That first year it had been easy to hide the expenses, they weren't excessive and he could just sign off on them. The second year required more invention (or myopia) as she started to become perhaps a little greedy. Others probably did not notice that she started to dress slightly smarter and look slightly better. Actually some others did notice her more, they just didn't know why; and (with his somewhat unwilling support) she began to accelerate up the greasy pole. When executives turn to watch her walk past then it becomes easier to recommend her as a replacement for a personal secretary. At the end of that second year she had made it to the role of PA to the CEO, that was quite a jump in a short time, but a short skirt, a perky bust and a normal man in his late forties (the CEO) were enough to give her a head start when the interviews took place. All Alan had really had to do was to get her name into the pile to be considered, she did the rest.
The expenses were sometimes more of a challenge and he had occasionally tried to raise it with her. She would put on that impassive, blank face and he knew he was defeated. He couldn't force her to rein in her expenses without running the risk of that one-night-stand (which he did on occasion doubt had occurred, but Janet still avoided being in a lift alone with him – he laughed to himself about that, could he ravish a woman between floors? Super-sex. Not a power that appears in Marvel comics). A receipt from Next. How could he process that? He added a note that 'waiter spilled gravy on dress, will claim from restaurant insurance', but of course never did. Someone taking a careful look would make a connection between the reviewer of expenses, the expensee (expensee?) and the justification. They would assume he was shagging her, and ... bugger! He would be condemned for something he wasn't doing!
She had him over a barrel (hmm, I'd like to have her, or Sally, or any woman, yes even Mrs Dwyer – would need to be a strong barrel for her – over a barrel). He had allowed this to happen and now he was trapped.
To understand the role better she went to a conference on driving the PA function.
She'd gone again this year and (like last year) had stayed in a hotel that would normally be outside the expense price range. This year she'd also booked to stay after the close of the conference, over the weekend. A little checking confirmed what he already suspected. She had registered for the opening session, but not attended any of the detailed sessions. She had just picked up the pamphlets at the start and then (he suspected) spent the rest of the time in the beauty salon and swimming pool in the hotel. "The lazy..." he mumbled when he realised. This was the smoking gun he had waited for for the last three months.
The thing was, she was probably quite clever if she could be bothered, instead she managed to spread her work around the rest of the office workers. A little here, a little there, so nobody realised that, combined, almost all her work was farmed out. Nobody except him, but he was watching. It's true when she suggested that she needed an assistant (to do the small amount of work she couldn't get out of), even the CEO pointed out that her predecessor had coped. She backed off from that one, no point in killing the goose laying the golden eggs.
Three months ago his wife had died. It wasn't unexpected, she'd been ill for some time as his CFO knew. He'd asked Brian Pringle to keep it confidential. Alan was a private man, he neither wanted his personal situation discussed in the company, nor the sympathy that this would produce. Brian had been understanding and sent him off, simply telling people Alan had had a bereavement that he needed time to sort out. A week later Alan was back. Brooding at home did him no good, he needed the structure of work to stay on top of his despair. He had no intention getting his revenge on Helen Jackinson, it was just that when this particular expense came in, he realised he no longer had any need to pass it. Only, as the days passed he began to think more constructively.
The Accountant turns the tables
"Ah, Miss Jackinson, come in. I'm sure this won't take long"
"How can I help Mr. MacArthy?" To give her credit, she had always been punctilious in her professional attitude to relationships at work; she never tried taking advantage.
"It's the conference last week, I'm sure it's an oversight, I noticed you had put in a claim for the Friday and Saturday night as well. I think the conference finished on Friday?"
"Ohh, errr..." She was taken by surprise, but he could see she was preparing to counter attack already.
"And to be honest, I'm not sure that the Locarno is a recommended hotel, it is, shall we say, a little pricey? Oh good value I'm sure, but not necessary for our requirements"
She was building up to speak but before she could, he thought he'd let her know where the lines had been drawn. He slid a sheet of paper over to her "I took the precaution of checking back a few months" 13 actually, to include last year's conference too "and found a few other discrepancies. I'm sure they are all mistakes, but if they aren't allowable I think we probably need to ask for the money to be repaid." The printed Excel sheet showed a significant total at the bottom. Much more significant than even her enhanced salary could cope with. Even now, before she spoke, he continued "I'm sure you understand, when the money is repaid you would probably be best looking elsewhere, quietly, for a role. The company won't want to make an example of you as it would be bad publicity" He said this as if it should put her mind at ease; instead her mind was in turmoil. They wanted to reclaim the money AND get rid of her?
"But Mr MacArthy, you approved them all. I didn't know how to stand up to you. Ever since that incident three years ago, you have pursued me with bookings for expensive hotels and restaurants, all at the company expense. It has been awful."
He sat and smiled, that wasn't the reaction from him she expected.
"You are absolutely right" phew! "I do blame myself partly as well. I deliberately didn't look further back than a year but I suspect I'd find other problems? It's most unfortunate; if we can't sorted it out quietly then it will have to be reported as a failure of fiscal reporting; which is bound to search back through your whole employment history here. That is why I should resign as soon as it is reported; I'm just grateful that my wife didn't live to see this" Wait! What? Oh, shit! Thought Helen.
With her leverage gone, she had to try and deal with this as it stood.
"£20,000? That can't be right. I can't have overcharged that much, I doubt if I have claimed that in total."
"I can show you the figures, or you can check them with the auditor ... or the police. I assure you that's what I found"
Actually she believed him, he has pernickety, accurate and detailed. She was surprised how much it came to but she was prepared to believe it was correct. She was also fully aware that there was no way she could pay it back, she'd spent it, not saved it. Although a small amount had gone on tangible things (occasional dress, shoes) most was wasted (yes, she recognised it was wasted) on services – hotels, hair dressing, health farms; oh, all sorts of luxuries. She had never asked herself whether or when this would all unravel.
"Perhaps you need time to pay? I could give you until next week I suppose"
"It won't help, I could have 6 months and I still wouldn't have that much. I'm maxed out on my credit card, the bank wouldn't loan me money for a car because of it. I can't pay." She started to tear up, it usually helped.
"Come, come, crying won't bring the money in, and it won't stop you going to prison ... oh yes," he pushed an article from three days ago in the Metro about a man who had claimed £10,000 in expenses and had been sent to prison 'It just amounts to middle class theft' the judge had said "I don't know, I don't know what we can do." He shook his head sorrowfully. "Have you no relatives who could loan you some money?" Actually he already knew her parents were not well off, and her brother had soaked them for most of their money. He hoped she wouldn't try and drag them down with her.
"No, my Mum and Dad have nothing left after Ronnie borrowed to start his paint-spraying business and it folded after 3 months. There's no-one else"
"I'm sorry, I just can't see a way round this. Couldn't you work it off?"
"What do you mean?"
"Get another job and..."
"But after tax and all I'd be paid so little, it isn't worth it. It would take ages"
"There might be work you could do that wouldn't need to be declared to the taxman"
"Mr MacArthy, I think you might have an idea to suggest?"
"Purely between you and me, I would of course deny it. But if you offered to provide social services, I could write off part of the debt until it had all gone"
"You want me to have sex with you, for cash?!"
"Well, not exactly for cash, more for credit, no cash would change –"
"You KNOW WHAT I MEAN!!"
"I think you need to calm down"
She looked at him, she really wasn't stupid. He was offering her a way out that kept her job. The alternative was leaving with no reference and probably a conviction. Back to working in the burger van with her uncle, putting up with him patting her bottom, getting spots and greasy hair. Hell, he couldn't be worse than Derek, her last boyfriend. Slimeball Derek who had been violent and when she split with him she discovered that most of his friends sided with him and her friends were friends of his friends. It hadn't been a good way to discover how disloyal people can be. "How much?"
"How much would each, each"
"Okay, each event cost"
"I would deduct £200 from the total for each 'event', how would that be? Or would you prefer an hourly payment?"
"I'm worth more than that! £300 at least. And no I would not prefer to be paid like some whore by the hour!" She also figured that she could be in and out in 30 minutes, even £200 wasn't bad for that.
"I apologise, it was not my intention to insult you, nor prostitutes to be honest. They provide a service, they rent their body, for a price. Your average salesman sells his soul, that must be worse. But I digress.
Since we are haggling, and time is moving on - I have a meeting in 10 minutes, and if you are much longer Mr Van Morrison will wonder where his PA has absconded to – let's just split the difference? No! I'm not negotiating anymore, take it or leave it. I'll not add interest to the debt, will that help?"
That hadn't even occurred to her, she took it. She didn't understand how he would reduce the debt, but that was his problem.
"Are you free on Fridays? My only neighbours are often away for the weekend, it would be less obvious"
As it happens that suited her well, the few friends she had left had opted for Salsa lessons; she had little interest in that so she would be alone. Now she could tell her Mother she couldn't ring because of the Salsa lessons and her friends would not ask where she was going. "Yes" He drew her a map, then had second thoughts and just gave her his address verbally. No written evidence seemed better.
Friday came and found her pulling into his drive at 6pm. She had come straight from work. His house was out of town and really quite private. The 'neighbours' lived opposite, aside from that no-one could see who came and went. A brief, very brief thought involved murder, but she discarded that. She wasn't the murdering type. She knocked.
He opened the door and she was assailed by the smells. "I cooked, I hope you'll stay? I should have asked, you aren't a vegetarian are you? No, good" The smells wafting round were already making her mouth salivate. "It won't be ready for an hour I'm afraid, I misjudged how long it would take to prepare."
He took her coat and hung it up. "Umm, since we have an hour, should we err,"
"Oh, you mean we could dispense with the business first, yes perhaps that would be a good idea" For the first time she noticed the bulge in his trousers, he was already hard. He wanted this badly, urgently. "Shall we go upstairs then?" he said, and led the way up the stairs to a bedroom overlooking the back.
"It's a nice room" she said, as much to satisfy her need to break the tension.
"Thank you, I redecorated, well got a man in to redecorate, after Sally, my wife, died. I cleared out all the furniture"
"So she didn't die in this bed?"
He was surprised at the brusqueness of the question, later so was she, but he replied "oh no, she died in hospital. But as I say, this is a new bed".
The looked at each other.
"Oh dear, I didn't think it would be this embarrassing. Um, would you mind if I, err, just took you? As I think I mentioned, my wife was very conventional"
"This is going to be very weird if you keep mentioning her"
"I won't mention her again"
"If I understand, you want to, err, rape me?"
"I prefer the word ravish, it seems less brutal"
"Is there a difference?"
"A good question, we could look it up after"
"Okay, go ahead. I can't really say no can I?"
"Look it up? Oh, no, I see. Thank you"
In a moment she found him lifting her skirt and pulling down her pants and tights. She hadn't expected it to start quite so quickly. Even more taken by surprise as he cupped his hands under her buttocks, lifted her and almost tossed her onto the bed; following almost immediately.
"Urmmmph" as he landed on her. She felt him forcing his knees between her legs. She wasn't fighting him, she almost had the impression he wished she would. She felt a hand at her groin and realised it was him releasing his zip and freeing his erection. Moments later it reached the outside of her vagina and, purely by luck she was sure, found a way in. What had she imagined? All sorts of scenarios but not this, the action of a man and woman acting like a couple of rutting teenagers, desparate yet uncoordinated. He began to push in. She wasn't ready, how could she be? But he wouldn't stop, they had no safety word; she was his property and he was taking possession. It hurt as he opened her up by force rather than persuasion and she found no enjoyment, but also little surprise – too many of her boy friends had been selfish, lumps of cock. Why would he, who she had given permission to (under duress) be any different? It was over almost as soon as it started. A few thrusts, an "Oooh" faded into an "Arrhhhh" and he was done. She overestimated the time. She could be out in 20 minutes maximum. Yet he stayed on top of her and his slight heaves gave her the impression he might be crying softly.
Then he pulled himself out and said "Feel free to freshen up in the ensuite, I'll use the main bathroom. Come down when you're ready, the starter is cold so it won't spoil"
She could have said no, the deal was sex, she'd fulfilled this week's contract, but she didn't. 15 minutes passed before she felt clean and brave enough to come down the stairs, he handed her a small glass of clear yellow-brown liquid.
"What is it?"
"Oh, no, I don't do sherry, too sweet"
Her lips tasted the liquid and she found herself savouring the driest of dry sherries, she could nearly taste the hot winds on the grapes. "Wow! That is lovely, where does it come from?" She forgot her determination to be reticent and sulky.
It's from a small town in Jerez, my ... I mean we found it one summer and found the sherry they make is like none other. There is only one importer in this country"
The starter was fish, cold fish. She nearly said she only liked fish with chips, no pies, kedgeree, smoked whatever thank you. But she didn't want to offend. After all she had a lot more 'events' to contend with yet. So she tried it and exclaimed "you can taste the?"
"Lime. Shop bought marinaded fish has just had it sprayed on for an hour or so. The fish has been soaking for two days (in the fridge)"
"It's very nice" She said crisply, trying to regain the distance. Then the main course arrived – a beef stew of some kind, with Arabic seasoning. It was tender and delicious and the sweet that followed – a meringue – was cooked to perfection. This was his hobby, "Perhaps " he said, breaking his rule "that was why Sally was so large, I do enjoy cooking for other people so much"
As she left, she found herself saying "Thank you for the meal" and then thinking "Damn and fuck! I've just thanked my rapist for the meal he cooked me!"
And so they slipped into a routine. After that first manic (one could hardly say violent) encounter he tried to be more considerate, he attempted foreplay which was clumsy and not particularly effective; she found herself giving advice. She was, she contemplated, becoming a sex-worker, no, a sex advisor, yes, that was it. She never came, it was a point of principle, but she started to find it less unpleasant. For six weeks, despite his comments about his unadventurous wife, the evening was the same, missionary position sex followed by dinner. The dinners were excellent.
"Good evening Helen, I was wondering, ah, would it be alright if we tried something different tonight?"
"What have you in mind?"
"Perhaps a different, errm a different approach?"
Oh God! She thought, here we go, he wants to fuck me up the arse or have a blow job "Oral or anal?" she said simply
"What? Oh, no, nothing like that, well nothing like the second one anyway. I would never, ever seek to invade you in that way. I find the very thought of it disgusting. You may find this odd, but at one time I wondered if I might be homosexual ... gay I think is the PC term now. I even had a friend who I was pretty sure would have been as open to the experience as I was; but the notion of the, aaah, penetrative sex that might involve put me off. Honestly, I wouldn't. Are you saying you have done that? I can't imagine it, don't want to" He had become quite the most animated he had been for sometime.
"No, I never. Two of my boyfriends wanted to, one I had to slap down, and the other – Slimeball Derek – had tried to force the issue. He got a kick where it hurt and I didn't speak to him for a week. I should've realised then and left instead of wasting a few more weeks. I confess, I'm not keen."
"And the other? The oral?"
"Well, if you want it, we'll do it, she knelt down and started to unzip his trousers"
"My, you are so direct. No, no!" he pulled her up to her feet "That is to say, thank you, but no, at least, not yet. I was wondering if we could try me taking you from behind, that was all. I'm sorry, I'm not good at this"
So they went upstairs and she went down on all fours and guided him in from behind. And it was good (for him).
The following weeks they tried various positions, some easy to achieve some less so; but she was willing and able, and he; well he was willing to learn. He quite liked her being on top; oddly, considering where they started from, he enjoyed the feeling of her being in control. He lasted longer and enjoyed the view of her rising and falling, her breasts rising with a brief delay and the falling just after she started to lower again. Or when she showed him reverse cowgirl he became fascinated by her buttocks, even going so far as to run his fingers down the cleft and caress the rose bud that was her anus. But even then, though she expected it (everybody else did after all) he didn't try to enter that hole with even one finger. It seemed he genuinely regarded that as a taboo that it was right to avoid. Others though, that was different.
"Do you masturbate?" He asked one evening.
"I beg your pardon?"
"I noticed that you never reach a climax, though you have seemed to become aroused. Do you masturbate? Perhaps that is too personal a question? You think I shouldn't ask?"
"You own me while I'm here, I can't see why I should avoid such a question. Of course, how would you know if I told the truth? Yes, I do, since you ask"
"You do ... tell the truth? Oh, no, I see. Good. I would hate to think you never enjoyed sex." He paused "Would you show me?"
"Yes, would you undress, lie on the bed and masturbate yourself to a climax, no pretending now"
"I haven't much choice really." But she decided that if she was choreographing the show, she'd do it how she wanted. She undressed to her knickers, lay on the bed and began to rub herself over the fabric. That was the way she always did it, it felt more sensuous. Only in the last minutes would she push her fingers under the waistband and caress her damp groin, rapidly increasing the pressure until she could take no more
"Arrrrggghh!" It was short, but also another stone removed from her resistance. She had promised herself she would never come in his house. As she contemplated this capitulation she felt her pants being pulled down and he slid up her body and entered with surprising skill. He really had learnt a lot. She was wet inside and he found the lubrication and looser vagina lessened the feeling but increased the time he could stay in her, until he too reached climax and she felt him once again ejaculating into her.
"Thank you, that was most erotic. I confess I found myself fondling myself as I watched"
Two weeks after this he said "Do you remember I asked about alternatives and you misunderstood?"
"You said you would never do that"
"I said I would never do anal, I was wondering about ... the other"
"Ah, yes, I don't swallow, it makes me gag"
"Interesting, but again you misunderstand, I would like to give you oral sex. You will have to tell me what to do. I hope you aren't too affronted I really would like to bring you to orgasm"
She smiled wryly, he kept pretending that she had a choice, that she could say no. "Would you like me to sit on your face? No? Okay" She lay back on the bed and opened her legs wide. She had lost all sense of shyness. He had asked to see her pee a few weeks ago, he had inserted a finger last week and then sucked it. He had seen every part of her, now he was to see part of her up close.
That first week it took too long. His tongue got tired and he insisted she finish herself off. Then he apologised for failing her and suggested they call it a day. Later, after she had gone, he masturbated himself, slowly, with breaks, and found the experience for the first time not a sad, lonely, desparate need but a pleasant interlude before falling asleep.
He was a perfectionist. The following week he tried again. Nearly this time (and this time he turned her over and gained his own satisfaction inside her). The third week something clicked.
"Yes, yes, and flick my clitoris, oh yes. Oh yes, OH yes, OH YES!!!! YES, Ye ... ssssss"
He sat up when she'd finished with a huge smile on his face. His wife had regarded oral sex as tantamount to fucking a piece of liver. She really didn't like to think about or see lady bits. For her husband to be that close didn't bear thinking about. Occasionally they would be taken by surprise with it in a film or television program. If they were at home she would switch over quickly; once in the cinema a film that was about a couple discovering nature had the leading couple laying down in a hay field and each taking it in turns to satisfy the other in quite a lot of (to Sally salacious) detail. Poor Sally, he thought, and snuck a glance, she had a look of horrified fascination about her. They couldn't leave as they were in the middle of the row. After, she said how disgusted she was, but he had an idea she wasn't quite so scandalised as she pretended. Very prim and proper, her reactions were what she thought they should be rather than what came naturally. Still, they never got past that restriction of what she believed was acceptable. He had once, mildly, suggested that in the privacy of their own bedroom it was up to them to decide what was acceptable rather than follow a set of perceived society mores. His argument fell on stony ground and they continued with the rather joyless monthly copulation sessions that barely relieved his sexual tension.
He had contemplated exploration with a prostitute, especially when he had to go to Hull, far away from home, woman open standing around in one part of the town, and an evening to fill. But he had no idea how to start such a conversation. Accountant though he was, this was one transaction he could not quite bring himself to see as a simple monetary transaction. Some of the women actually looked quite attractive (from a distance, he never went too close), and he caught the train after his last meeting quietly regretting a missed opportunity.
The chance combination of events that led him to have Helen in such a compromising position was fortuitous. Some days (not Fridays) he regretted his lost years of sexual desert; but then others he reminded himself that few are ever lucky enough to gain a beautiful (beautiful or pretty? What, he wondered was the difference? Finally concluding that pretty applied to girls and young women and would fade, beautiful would still be there when she was old. Yes, she was beautiful) woman who would do his sexual bidding. The very thought gave him an erection.
That first successful oral sex session triggered an evening that left Helen exhausted. Alan found pleasuring her with his mouth raised his excitement, he entered her with gusto and she found herself rogered vigorously. She admitted to herself that the enthusiasm he showed was quite exciting, it wasn't the same as her other boyfriends ('other' she realised implied something about this relationship. No! She was forced to do this, this was not a relationship) who had often engaged in rough sex but with little consideration for her. Alan was more like a child, lost in the moment. He insisted she eat dinner with no knickers, leaking gently down her legs. Then to her surprise he lay her down on the rug in the lounge and began to rub her under her skirt. He still wasn't that good and it took some time before she again reached full arousal and came. "Now rub yourself" he said and watched as she caressed herself to a third, brief, sweaty, orgasm. She was tired, and surprised when he found himself sufficiently aroused to re-enter her and in a slower, longer fuck he finally came with a satisfied sigh. She left feeling she'd earned her money that night.
Each evening Alan made a point of deducting the agreed amount from a spreadsheet. He sometimes showed her so she knew she was reducing the amount owed. It brought them back to the nature of the agreement, it was purely sex and money, that was all. There were times when he contemplated 'forgetting' to downdate the amount owed, but he never did, he liked to think he was honest in his coercion. She didn't know how he was downdating the money on the company systems, and she didn't want to know, that was his problem. Actually he had paid the final inflated hotel bill himself; the rest of the claims had been paid and signed off, he decided to let them lie as they were. No-one need be any the wiser unless the auditors picked up on it or they were invaded by Customs and Excise (and then this little peccadillo would be the least of their worries, he knew there were several other very questionable transactions on the books – that 'sponsored' trip of a mythical customer with Michael Van Morrison to the American Open Golf in Atlanta for example). The auditors he knew were, like so many of these big auditing firms, not very good; happy to sign off the accounts and take their money; no real danger there.
"Good evening Helen, perhaps we could eat first tonight, I hope that is alright?"
As usual the smells were enough to promise something special, this at least was something that she was starting to look forward to. The starter and main course were dispensed with and she was curious what the dessert would be, he had suggested something special, or different (why different she wondered). "I'll just clear the table" What? Was there no dessert?
"Now, I'll put a clean cloth on ... I have always had a fantasy, ever since watching the 'The Cook, The Thief and His Wife' – Peter Greenaway film? No? Oh, well, it is a little (no, very) weird. But in it they eat a meal off a naked woman's body. And, well, it looks ... erotic. Would you mind?"
This was definitely kinky. He propped her head up so he could feed her with a spoon, and then deposited two upended pots of tiramisu on her, one on her stomach "urrgh! No it's okay, it was just a bit cold" and one on her left breast, it slid down the sides of her perky (she looked that them with pride, they stood up like little mountains) breast and he bent and licked and sucked the creamy liquid. Out of nowhere he produced a cocktail cherry and placed in on her nipple. That was not part of any tiramisu she knew but he savoured the bright red, sweet fruit stuck by the remains of the dessert to the tip of her breast. Actually, oh God! She was turned on by this. Then he fed her the other one, and yes there was an erotic charge in being fed on this sweet creamy dessert spreading slowly over her midriff. He produced another cherry, and she had to admit that it worked! It went well with the dessert the way he made it. Damn he was a good cook!
Summer came on and he suggested they try sex 'alfresco'. He meant fucking her on the lawn. This proved a very late night as they waited for it to be dark enough to walk out onto the grass and not be observed from next door (who were home from their 'English Literature evening class' or whatever it was). She removed her pants and lay down, and was surprised to find he removed every stitch of clothing from her. She lay, naked, and watched him similarly undress; then came the inevitable penetration, back to the urgent, hormonal, longing and she found (as she distanced herself from his selfish desire) that her whole body revelled in the feel of the cool grass contrasting with the warmth of a summer air. She found her buttocks opened as her mounted her, his weight pushed her down and her legs, opened, resulted on her 'inner buttock' as she described it being pushed onto the damp ground. It was actually quite pleasant. It would have been nicer without the man shoving himself deeper and deeper inside her cunt. When he came she found the outside air made them both find an urgent need to pee. He told her to hold his penis while he peed, then made her sit on him and pee between his legs. Weird, and never repeated, just something else to try she supposed.
She began to realise that he was working through fantasies that he had never been allowed in his marriage (or, she guessed, before). Some of them were strange, some she discovered she might have tried again. Like the spanking.
"I want to punish you for your expense fraud"
"I thought ... oh, I see you mean?"
"You deserve a spanking"
A few months ago she would have been horrified. It was something she had always resisted with her boyfriends, Chris especially had been into bondage it seemed. But, well she couldn't refuse, and she was starting to trust him. Was this, she wondered, like Stockholm Syndrome? Or was it Copenhagen? She was made to lie across his lap (ooooh! His erect lap!) and he pulled up her skirt and pulled down her panties and tights.
'slap' Actually she barely felt it, he barely tapped her.
"Have you started?"
'Slap' A little harder but really she had probably slapped her pet dog when she was 4 harder than this (ah, Milly, she loved that dog, she hadn't thought of him for years – I wonder if he had been mentally upset by being given a girl's name)
'SLap' (that was down to her sister, she was so girly! Everything had to be feminine! And her Mum and Dad went along with it. She... )
'SLAp' (wanted to call him 'Slasher' or 'Killer', but he became 'Milly' And who had walked him when Melinda got tired of him?")
'SLAP' (she had that's –)
"Sorry, did I get carried away"
"You shouldn't ask that, it's meant to hurt"