Carol Penter heard her computer terminal beep which
signified a message had been sent to her via the company’s private network
mailing system. She took no notice and continued to stare out of the
window. Her office, being on the
forty-fifth floor, provided her with a majestic view over the city and, in the
crisp clear light of a winter’s afternoon, she could even make out the snow on
the distant hills.
But instead of enjoying the view, she was consumed by a
chilling mixture of guilt and fear. She was a senior partner in Bently
International Investments and, in order to prevent her parents from being made
bankrupt as a result of the Lloyd’s ‘names’ fiasco, had knowingly committed the
crime of insider trading.
On their behalf and using privileged and confidential
information, she had discreetly purchased, using several shell companies and
nominees, thousands of shares in a company which was about to be acquired by a
huge American multi-national. Following
the take-over, the value of the shares rocketed, giving her parents a clear
profit of over four hundred and fifty thousand pounds which enabled them to
clear their liabilities.
Bently International had handled the take-over and
considered the heavy buying of shares immediately prior to the event highly
suspicious and it was not long before the investigations started.
Bently had engaged the Piers Deveraux security
organisation to carry out the investigation. Every member of the Bently staff
had been interviewed, even those who had not been associated with the
take-over.
Carol smiled briefly to herself. She had not been
directly involved and had only learned of the take-over by chance. Even so, as
a result of wanting to help, she had risked everything; her career; her
financial security; her future and her reputation. She was fairly sure she had got away with it
but had solemnly vowed to herself never to do anything like it again.
Even so, she shuddered when she remembered how relieved
she’d been that Deveraux himself had not interviewed her. Instead a Ms Castle, another director who was
over confident and too full of herself by half, had spent some ten minutes or
so confirming she had not been involved with the take-over.
Although she had only met Deveraux briefly a year or so
ago, she knew all about his reputation. Had he interviewed her, she feared his
piercing blue eyes would have stripped away her defences, read her innermost
thoughts and easily discovered her guilty secret. At the time of their only
meeting, she recalled being acutely aware of the magnetic power of his eyes
which she found very disturbing yet strangely exciting. She’d even found herself hoping perhaps he
would be interested enough to ask her out, but he hadn’t.
She blushed when she remembered how, from time to time,
she included him in her fantasies while she masturbated. When that happened, her orgasms were always
fantastic.
No-one knew anything about his private life, but he was
acknowledged to be one of the best in the business and an expert on hi-tech
computer systems, software and surveillance. He kept himself to himself and
usually only appeared when there was trouble and now everyone knew he was
hunting his prey down with a vengeance. Still at least he wasn’t after her.
Carol took a deep breath, held it for a moment, then expelled
the air in her lungs as hard as she could. She turned away from the window and
padded into her en-suite rest room. She always took off her footwear in the
office and today, her black ankle boots, with their petite two-inch heels, were
under her desk.
She stared at her reflection in the mirror and the way
her long straight black hair cascaded over her shoulders. When she pulled her
shoulders back, the crisp white blouse strained to restrain her breasts,
clearly showing the outline of the lacy bra. Her regulation navy skirt finished
some four inches below the knee and she silently cursed her tan tights which
were making her feel hot and sticky.
“Pull yourself together, Carol Penter. You’ve got to hold
your nerve if you want to pull this off. Nobody suspects you and you know
Deveraux has no idea.”
Her words cheered her up, making her green eyes sparkle
as she smiled at her reflection. She knew she was attractive and sexy for men
seemed to fancy her even though most of them were intimidated by her status and
high salary. She had even, on occasions, overheard other female colleagues
speak enviously of her looks and figure.
They didn’t take into account the careful dietary control and regular
work-outs she did every week. Her 36 -
23 - 35 figure and long, shapely legs which were mainly responsible for her
height of 5' 8", were only achieved and maintained by taking good care of
herself.
Satisfied her make-up was acceptable, she walked back
into her office and sat at her desk.
Her office was large and expensively furnished,
indicating her senior position within the company. She was highly paid, had a large apartment in
a converted warehouse by the river and a cottage in the country where she
retreated to most weekends. She enjoyed a large circle of friends but for the
last two years, there had been no-one special in her life, mainly as a result
of totally committing herself to work.
Cindy Miles, her PA just about controlled everything to
do with her working environment. She organised her diary, made and cancelled
appointments and meetings and was the link between her boss and the clients.
Her desk was in the outer office and, when she was not working, she was forever
urging her boss to get herself a man.
“Carol, it’s a real shame no-one is enjoying any of the many
delights you’ve got on offer!” was one of her more common statements for they
enjoyed a close working friendship, one which never allowed rank or status to
get in the way.
Some six months ago, Cindy had come ‘out’ and told her
she only had relationships with other women and that her current partner was
very domineering. Knowing Cindy was a lesbian had not bothered her and, if
anything, their working relationship seemed to have improved even more. Every
once in a while, Cindy would recount to her the intimate details of some
special event which would usually make her very wet.
Rubbing her thighs together, she cursed the tights which
were making her so uncomfortable. She
had overslept and, getting dressed, had laddered two pairs of stockings with
her long nails. In her rush, the only
things she could lay her hands on were tights.
Undoing two of the buttons running up the front of her
skirt, she slipped a hand inside and pulled on her panties to ease the
pressure. Not being able to grip the
gusset of her tights, she then slipped her hand down inside the elasticated
waistband of her skirt and tights.
Curving her fingers, she pushed the gusset down and breathed a sigh of
relief. She let her fingers rest on her labia and immediately felt herself
twitch in anticipation. She pressed harder and felt her clitoris harden.
She tried to remember the last time she’d masturbated. It
must have been four, no five days ago.
God, her fingers felt good as she began rubbing herself. The wetness
seemed to come instantly and her labia lips opened, allowing a finger to slip
between them into the warm, silky softness. Her tongue pushed between her lips,
wetting them, tasting her lipstick. Her thighs opened as wide as her skirt
would permit and began thrusting her sex against her fingers.
Her nipples hardened and pushed against the inside of her
bra, both demanding attention. The thought struck her, she had never had an
orgasm in her office. She glanced at the digital clock in the top corner of her
monitor. It was 15:48. She also saw the flashing message indicator and
remembered the earlier bleep.
“You’ll have to wait!” she told her terminal. “I need
this right now.”
Closing her eyes she saw him standing over her, the whip
in his hand. He had an arrogant smile on his face for her knew she could never
resist him. Of course, it had to be Deveraux.
“You know how to please me or do you want my whip?”
Her heart pumped harder as she pushed first one, two then
three fingers into herself and began frigging herself while rubbing her thumb
against her hard clitoris. Her other hand went to her breasts and began
squeezing them. Her orgasm came from nowhere and hit her without warning.
Moaning loudly, she pushed her fingers in as far as she could, her hips bucking
against them as she seemed to come forever.
She sat slumped in her chair until the last mini shocks
had past then, carefully removing her fingers, pulled her hand out of her
skirt. Opening her eyes, she saw her fingers glistening with juice and, without
hesitation, sucked them clean one by one.
Buttoning her skirt up, she straightened herself and
turned to the terminal, smiling to herself.
“God, I needed that,” she said to herself. “I must remember to check my batteries are
OK. I’ll also get some spares. I’ve an idea my little vibe is going to be
awfully busy this weekend.”
She tapped in her personal code then, once it had been
verified, used the mouse to collect her mail.
There was only one message and, as she read it, her
earlier fears and feelings of guilt instantly returned to overwhelm her. The
message on the screen was terrifyingly accurate.