Chapter 3

Friday April 29

I checked out the law firm Oliver claimed to work for. It’s real: there are way too many records about it to be fake. And they confirmed that Oliver worked there when I called (using the phone number from the web, not his business card). They even confirmed that they were working for Ashley Bishop after asking my name and putting me on hold for a few minutes.

I emailed Oliver saying I’m ready to talk again, but he hasn’t gotten back to me.

Monday May 2

Paris and I are still having trouble making our schedules meet - he’s got finals. But we have been texting, and this afternoon he asked if he could give me a ride home from work.

He showed up at the restaurant just as my shift was ending, so I asked him to wait while I changed out of my uniform.

“You don’t have to change, you know...,” he said with a raised eyebrow.

I smiled back. “We’re not supposed to take the uniforms home ... But let me see if my manager will look the other way. She’s pretty cool.”

So pretty soon we were zipping along in his Porsche with the top down, my microskirt providing no separation between my thighs and the leather seats. I was secretly giddy that he did, in fact, seem to find me sexy in these silly clothes.

Instead of pulling up to Juliet’s apartment, Paris drove right on by and pulled into the parking lot of an unused commercial complex

That’s when the kissing began. This wasn’t a pleasant-but-respectful kiss like we had done before on his bed: this one was lustful. It started off as the wet hungry pressure of his lips on mine as he leaned across the gear box, but pretty soon he was tongue-fucking my mouth and squeezing my boob through my top. I hoped that the sock I had stuffed in there wasn’t too much of a disappointment for him. (Just about all of the girls stuff their bras in these uniforms.)

Then his hand was up my skirt and inside my panties. I hadn’t really thought about how wet I was, but he had obviously known. He ran his fingers through my lips, up and down, spreading my slick pussy juice all over and inducing in me the most wonderful throbbing need.

I had to stop kissing Paris so that I could pant and moan. His lips moved to my neck instead. He wasn’t even touching my clit, but somehow his fingers touring my labia was charging me up to where I was ready to explode.

He had me teetering on the edge of climax when he whispered in my ear, “I hope that you’ll remember this every time you wear this uniform. I know I will.”

That’s when I came. It was a slow, throbbing, aching orgasm as if my uterus were trying to leap out and swallow his hand. My legs couldn’t decide whether they wanted to snap shut around his hand or lift me so that I could grind my pussy against it. Paris just kept rubbing me the same way while I moaned at the waves of pleasure pulsing inside of me.

I was still catching my breath when Paris started the car and took me back to Juliet’s apartment.

I wanted to ask him in. I wanted to make him feel as good as he had just done for me. I knew he had said that he didn’t have much time, but damn, I didn’t want my time with him to end. I was having trouble finding the words, but I’m sure he could tell what I was thinking.

“I’ll see you soon,” he said.

Juliet stopped typing and laughed when I came in to the apartment. “I’m guessing you didn’t take the bus,” she said wryly.

Wednesday May 4

I did think about what Paris had done to me as I changed into my work uniform today. It actually worried me a little bit. I mean, these skirts are short enough that there’s no way to bend forward - to put down a heavy plate, for instance - without flashing my panties at anyone behind me. The idea that someone might catch a glimpse of a wet spot down there was ... Well, it was lots of things. :)

Realistically, though, my mind turned to normal non-sexy work stuff quickly enough that there was no real risk of that.

Oliver came in while I was working the lunch shift today. I wonder how he knows my schedule? He asked me to set up a special email address, just for talking to him.

My next assignment is to photograph the inside of Paris’ house. Oliver said he wants the basic layout: which room is which, where the doors and stairs are, and so forth. I secretly wondered if this was meant as recon for a break-in, but I didn’t ask.

Paris and I had already made plans for me to go to his place for dinner, but I had a little time after work to go back to Juliet’s place and prepare. I practiced with a couple different pairs of jeans to find a back pocket that could hold my phone at just the right angle to record behind me.

Paris picked me up in the early evening. Let me stop to say that I’ve always figured that girls who cared about what kind of car a guy drives were horribly shallow. But I have to confess that Paris’ car is starting to turn me on.

I wanted to jump his bones as soon as we got back to his house, but I stayed focused and asked for a tour first. It’s a big house, but I think I did an excellent job of discretely pointing my butt at every doorway, stair, bookshelf, and alarm panel that anyone might be interested in.

We hit Paris’ bedroom halfway through the tour. I hadn’t noticed before but one of his shelves had a small collection of superhero figurines. One of them was Batgirl. I picked her up and held her close to my face. “So you’ve got a thing for redheads, huh?” I accused with a flirty smile.

“Well, yeah, kinda,” he confessed boyishly.

So I guess Oliver’s red hair offer was to set me up as bait. Interesting. Was that a long shot gamble, or has he been pulling other strings to put me in position as a spy, too? I’m guessing that Paris coming to my restaurant wasn’t a coincidence.

I also got to meet some of Paris’ family. Marshall, the dad, was a middle-aged guy of the still-sexy variety. He had a neatly-shaved salt-and-pepper beard that made me think a few inappropriate thoughts.

Marshall’s girlfriend, Kimmie, was in her mid-twenties. I guess I shouldn’t judge, given my history with Mr. Demarco, but I couldn’t help but think “trophy wife” when I saw her. The dinner was her event: she was practicing making fancy meals for some sort of chef class.

And then there was Paris’ twin sister, Chloe. “Her real name is Penelope,” Paris said brattishly. “But when we were fourteen, she decided she hated the name and would only answer to Chloe.”

“Oh, Penelope!” I said excitedly. “Like Odysseus’ wife - the one who snuck out every night to unravel to shroud she was weaving.”

“Yeah, that’s my sister,” Paris replied, “always unraveling.” Chloe sneered.

Chloe clearly can’t get enough attention. Her hair is short black and blue, shaved on one side. Her eyebrow had barbell through it, and there was ring in her nose. Tonight she was wearing a corset top and miniskirt to a family dinner. Nobody seemed surprised by this, so I guess that’s normal for her.

Paris and I went back to his room after the introductions for a little private time before dinner. We started off with me sitting in his lap, kissing and grinding, but pretty soon he was lying back without his pants and I was sucking on his balls.

When I started sucking his dick, it was a slow affair. I don’t think he was anywhere close to coming, but he was groaning with obvious delight. Neither of us were in any hurry: we were both enjoying the variety of feelings I could think up to give him. I especially enjoyed playing with his balls. I wondered how early in a relationship it’s okay to ask a guy to shave his balls? Balls are so much better without hair.

After tugging, squeezing, sucking, and shaking his testicles I ran out of ideas, so I ran my fingers down toward his butt crack for a new frontier. That, apparently, completely ruined the moment. Paris scrambled away from me into a corner of the bed. “I’m not into that,” he said with obvious vulnerability.

I apologized, of course. We just cuddled for a while after that until Marshall called us down to dinner.

Dinner was nice. Kimmie can definitely cook. And Marshall has every bit as much charm as his son does.

Chloe is obviously happy in her role as the family’s black sheep. There were uncomfortable evasions when I asked her about college and a few veiled references to rehab. She tried to get sassy with me about my job, but backed off when she saw that I wasn’t embarrassed by it.

After dinner Paris and I went back up to his room, and it was on again. At first I was lying on top of him, grinding and looking at his face hungrily. But then I pulled his pants down and covered his cock with saliva. It wasn’t long before I was bobbing my head up and down like a machine, sweeping my lips over his crown and making him moan with a desperate rumble.

I was squeezing his balls when I felt them tighten up. He gushed into my mouth, his body tensing while he was making unintelligible vocalizations. I almost couldn’t contain it all, but I managed, slurping up every last bit until his spasms were done.

In the hallway a moment later, Chloe muttered, “slut,” as she passed me. But she had a twinkle in her eye.

“Cunt,” I replied, and we both smiled.

Friday May 6

Oliver came to pick up the thumb drive with my recording on it. We talked out back during my break and he paid me two hundred dollars.

“So what’s my next assignment?” I asked, enjoying the game of espionage.

“Nothing yet, but stay close to them. I’ll need more of your help soon,” Oliver said.

“Anything in particular I should look for?” I followed up.

“Any details you can find out about the sale of the Bishops’ business, without blowing your cover,” Oliver told me. “Shortly before Marshall filed for divorce, he pushed to sell Bishop Solutions Inc., over Ashley’s objections. The sale was suspicious - everyone thought the company was worth more than the sale price. We’re not sure how he persuaded the board to approve the deal. We suspect there might have been some kind of side deal.”