Behind these cold dead
Eyes, what secrets do I hide?
Ones you’ll want erased.
Behind these cold dead
Eyes, what secrets do I hide?
Ones you’ll want erased.
I woke in agony; my guts clenching with terror. Panting, I felt the sheets, twisted and sweaty. Was my conscience awakening, after all this time?
I felt for Francesca in the dark. “Babe, can you wake up for a minute?” I found her shoulder and squeezed it gently. She murmured as I switched on the light.
“What is it, Hermie?” She brushed her hair out of her eyes. She was spooning the soundly sleeping Dove, her gorgeous twenty-year-old intern, who we had been sharing that night. Francesca is a well-regarded video artist, currently being exhibited at the MOMA. She is using the videos of our sexual adventures for a future project, designed to be sent into space. I look forward to being a posthumous porn star, with future aliens jerking off to my pasty ginger ass.
“I had the worst dream. Hellfire, laughing devils, I was being torn to shreds. I think I am feeling guilty. I never feel guilty. Was I wrong, fucking Carly like that?”
“Herman, you are a beautiful man who has had a terrible year. 2020 has been a drain. You have had so many overnights, double shifts, you get manic sometimes. Honestly? I think Tom and Carly were into the sex. I would have said something if I didn’t think so. You need to rest.”
She had a point. Tom and I are pulmonary/critical care physicians at a major metropolitan hospital center. COVID has been so exhausting, physically, mentally, emotionally. We had lost colleagues, friends, neighbors, and worked ourselves raw. I was not the best version of Herman Sherman, MD. “It’s usually fun and games, what we do. This feels different.”
“Wasn’t it something about the masks?” Dove offered, still half asleep. Dove was the daughter of one of my ICU nurses and a promising art major on scholarship to the best university in our region. Francesca had been the one to bring her into our lovemaking, first fucking her in the laundry room.
“It started with the mask disagreement. Lots of people have been eating during the conferences, and he went off on me in front of everyone. I get it; the masks are essential for stopping the virus. But I was twelve feet away from everyone, and those meeting go on forever. I was also really upset because I had to re-intubate someone who I had promised to get out of the hospital.”
Francesca stroked my hair. “You use sex as a weapon. We get that. Everyone has a kink. Like you always say, ‘if we’re all getting fucked, we might as well enjoy it.’”
I have found medicine so frustrating as a profession. Knowing the exact right answer still meant little compared to the weight of human depravity and limited resources. Francesca got me into sadomasochism to allow me to express that anger in a self-contained manner. In lucid moments, I know I’m a narcissist and suspect I’m a sociopath. That said, I am trying to make it all work. There must be a balance.”
“Sometimes I think I want a war. I want an enemy to fight. Medicine is unsatisfying because you’re fighting someone who’s a victim, and there’s nothing to hit. It’s nobody’s fault, and I’m the one to picking up the pieces. We use manipulation to build up people’s egos and then pull the rug out from under them. We take advantage of their selfishness, loneliness, jealousy. We can fight and win without shedding a drop of blood.”
Dove yawned. “Herman, that video was totally hot. Francesca made me come three times while we were watching it. When you grabbed her by the neck and pulled her off your dick …” Dove bit her lip and moaned. I noticed the covers were rustling softly around Dove’s waist. I looked into Francesca’s eyes and grinned, then leaned over and kissed her on the mouth.
“You two, I’m turning over a new leaf. I’m not revenge fucking anymore. I want to reconnect with the intimacy and the sense of fun that I used to have. I spend way too much effort on mind games and manipulation.
“Babe, you really think they weren’t into it?” Francesca asked. Dove was quietly gasping now, likely finger fucked by Francesca under the covers. “You could always just call and apologize.” She nuzzled Dove’s ear, and bit it, gently, whispering “darling, my husband is preoccupied with his newfound guilt and he’s ignoring your sweet little pussy. Let’s help him find it, shall we?” She reached down and pulled the blanket away from the nude Dove in a single motion. Francesca had three fingers inside her, fucking her briskly. She slowed down, shifted her arms, reached between Dove’s thighs, and firmly spread her legs apart.
My mouth dropped open, watering. I had my boxers off to free my erect cock in an instant. I crawled over to them. “Dove, dear, your pussy is so tempting. But I’m afraid the woman of the house gets first dick.” The women giggled, and I put one hand down to test Francesca’s snatch. It was warm, wet, and open. I fit my cock into Francesca; after all these years, our privates know each other better than anyone. I grasped Dove by the waist, bringing her open pussy onto my lower abdomen and pubis, so that I was rubbing her clit and pussy as I fucked her boss.
Francesca was necking with Dove, and I stroked the young woman’s chest lightly as she undulated. There is something so beautiful about a woman loving another woman; I breathed and absorbed the vision. I could rub Dove’s crotch and watch the tremor of pleasure move through her. When it passed into Francesca, I felt her torque her pussy on my cock even harder.
I leaned down and suckled Dove’s small breasts, reddening and moistening them around their areolae. I gave Francesca a burst of power, fucking her harder and harder, and I pulled her tight to me, kissing her over Dove’s shoulder as the young woman was squeezed between us. When Dove was breathless from the pressure, and Francesca was breathless from the force. I slowed down and pulled out of her.
“You bastard,” Francesca smirked at me, knowing my next move. I picked up Dove by her pink flushed hips and entered her. She gasped and breathed deeply, her eyes wide. I fit a hand beneath her back and lifted her off Francesca, who luxuriously pulled herself up to a crouching position.
I laid Dove on the bed, and she obediently reached between Francesca’s thighs. Francesca situated herself, and Dove pulled her face into Francesca’s crotch. My wife grinned wickedly and licked her lips, and I pulled her in for a kiss as I began wildly fucking Dove.
Francesca and I made out passionately as she ground down into Dove’s lovely young face. Dove matched the strength of my thrusts, strength she’d developed in years with the women’s lacrosse team.
The triangle that we made with our mouths and hips was so harmonious and exquisite. I could not last long, but it was Francesca who came first, purring and then moaning, finally grasping me around the neck and screaming into my mouth as we kissed. I shot young Dove full of come.
Panting, I slid onto the bed beside the sweat and pussy-slick Dove. She kissed me softly as Francesca crawled down to the floor. She grasped Dove’s waist and roughly turned her hips. Dove responded by flipping over. Francesca delivered a few brisk spanks to her ass. “Get your mouth on my husband’s dick,” she ordered, my warrior woman.
Dove looked me in the eyes and took my wilted penis in her mouth, rousing my old soldier back for another adventure. I could see the crest of Francesca’s hairline behind Dove’s spread asscheeks, and I knew the slurping sounds I heard meant that my wife was sucking and swallowing my come from her intern’s pussy. Dove started to move her head and neck in rhythm to the slurps. I grasped her head and fucked her mouth and throat more forcefully. My cock was diamond hard.
Francesca stood and playfully smacked my hands away from Dove’s head, taking a handful of her thick hair to control the young woman’s cocksucking. With her other hand, she reached back and grabbed Dove’s crotch again. “Yeah, bitch, take it,” my wife grunted. Dove came hard, clenching and twisting her whole body. My cock loved every spasm of it.
When Dove was finished, Francesca rolled her off me, leaving me aching, twitching, needing release. Francesca stood over Dove’s nude form and crooked her finger, motioning for me. She slapped her ass and spread her asscheeks. I quickly was off the bed and behind Francesca, mounting and fucking her from behind with ferocious intensity.
Dove squeezed and kissed Francesca’s generous tits, basking in the attention she was getting. I grabbed Francesca by the wrists and pulled back as hard as I could, driving her face into Dove’s chest. She sucked on Dove’s tits and drove her ass back into me. Soon, I came again, releasing Francesca’s arms and spooning her on the bed as she clutched Dove. We were all tired, enjoying the glow of our closeness. I reached down, covered us with a blanket, and we fell asleep.
The next day, I was in my office, reviewing charts electronically ahead of morning rounds. I had a few minutes to spare, and called Tom. He was home on an admin day.
“Herman!” Tom cheerfully answered. “Great to hear from you! How’s life?”
“Tom, it’s great to hear your voice. Listen, I really don’t feel right about the other night. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. You didn’t deserve it. I know you’re phobic about germs, too. A few days before the dinner, I had a negative COVID test and a negative STD test. I had a vasectomy three years ago. I don’t blame you for being angry, but I had to talk to you.”
There was silence on the other end of the phone. “Herman, could I ask you to give me a call back in a few minutes on the video conference? I’d like to bring Carly into the conversation.”
I sighed and told him I would. I bit my lip and died inside as I waited to call back. I tried to check more clinical data, but the numbers and words didn’t mean anything to me. I logged into my conference app and called him exactly five minutes later.
Tom answered, seated at his dinner table, with a big shit eating grin on his face. Carly rested her chin on his shoulder. “Herman, like I said, I’m glad you called! I got to tell you, I’m new man! Carly and I are like teenagers again, always making out and touching each other. We had talked about swinging a few times, but we didn’t know where to start.”
“And the germphobia! I feel so much less anxious about it now. I can handwash once without repeating it. I went to the grocery store without getting a panic attack yesterday. This is the greatest gift you could have given me! My therapist says she wishes all her clients could get their wives banged in front of them!”
They seemed happy. My head was spinning. “You guys are sweet. But I don’t deserve it. How can I make it up to you?”
“Well, we have to do it again! I’ll stick to seltzer this time, you old dog,” he chuckled. “Carly, show him your love note.” Carly blushed and stood up. Tom repositioned the camera and moved back from the table.
The young wife addressed me. “Hi there, Herman. You look terrific.” She squeezed her breasts together under her long t-shirt, thrusting them into my view. Then she stepped back and bent at the waist. She slowly skimmed her fingers along her legs as she moved upward, raising her t-shirt over skimpy maroon panties, revealing a message scrawled in lipstick on her taut abdomen. I leaned forward to read the words ‘HERMAN’S COCK HERE’ with an arrow pointing down to her pussy.
My heart was racing. I was rock hard, of course. I croaked out, “Carly, you’re incredible. Listen, if you don’t hold me accountable, I’m not going to learn my lesson. You can’t reward my bad behavior.”
Carly sat back on Tom’s lap and they kissed over her shoulder, his hand under her shirt, squeezing her tit. She tilted her head toward the camera and said, “Herman, if you want to be punished, I can do that for you.”
I coughed. Goddamn. “You two are wonderful. I have to go.” I ended the call and stood up from my desk, willing my erection to lie back down. How was I supposed to be a better person now?
Read previous chapter at: https://www.literotica.com/s/a-dish-best-served-cold-5
It was a stupid disagreement. I was eating breakfast and drinking coffee during our weekly conference for my job. Tom, a co-worker was a notorious germophobe, and COVID was his personal apocalypse. He came up to me after conference and confronted me, in front of everyone: “Herman, you had your mask off during conference. You got to keep it on. You’re not even supposed to be eating in here.”
I lashed out; I should’ve held my tongue. But lots of people were eating, and he wasn’t even boss. He had no authority over me. “Tom, have you guys decided that there’s a no food policy in the meeting? No? Then don’t put your shit on me.”
He turned around and walked back to his seat. I was all fired up and walked out of there in a fire of furious rage. What the fuck? I couldn’t take an insult like that lying down.
Other people from my group called me to apologize on his behalf. He was a little rich boy, never been in a fight; others did his apologies for him. Days went by, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Finally, I was left with the only solution: I had to get his wife to suck my dick and film it. Fuck her in front of him.
I know, it’s not the simplest way to quit being angry at someone for acting like a prick, but I didn’t choose to be like this, I just … am like this.
I’m old fashioned; I still fuck women exclusively. Otherwise I’d figure out a way to sodomize him. It would be more direct, but I would have to settle for his wife, Carly.
I went online and studied Tom and Carly’s wedding pictures. You can read everything in a person’s facial expressions. I looked at Carly’s face, and saw what I needed. Her stiff upper lip, blank eyes and wide smile. The angles of her face. The sweetness, the barely concealed fatigue and frustration. Every look said: “You owe me, asshole.”
Compared to her, he was all softness. Quavering uncertainty, his will always failed. He didn’t have that killer instinct that rich boys needed to earn their father’s love. He was a second son, a disappointment, and he always would be.
I went to him and made a show of apologizing to Tom profusely. I made it abundantly clear how terrible I felt, and how I respected his bravery for enforcing COVID policies. I threw myself at his feet. I begged him to come for dinner with my wife and me. And to bring Carly, of course.
My wife, Francesca, is a tremendous cook. We bought several bottles of good red wine, and had steak, char-grilled to perfection. When they arrived, Tom and Carly were reticent to drop their masks at first, but they wanted to mirror our unmasked approving faces. The masks were pocketed quickly.
Tom relaxed in our company, bragging, laughing loudly, while Carly and Francesca chatted. We were all good friends now; any unpleasantness was in the past. Before long, Tom drank glass after glass of red wine and was heavily slurring his speech. After dinner we were in the living room talking. Francesca and I switched, so now I sat with Carly, and she sat with Tom. I could hear his voice dropping lower in register; I knew the wine was getting to him, and we refilled his glass whenever we could.
Carly found everything that I was saying hilarious. She could not stop laughing at my impressions of celebrities and the people from work. Finally, I started in on Tom. I imitated his germophobia, making him out to be Howard Hughes, with tissue boxes on his feet and jars of urine. Carly howled with laughter. When she leaned forward, I could through her decolletage almost to her navel. I put my hand on her shoulder and left it there.
Tom slowly turned his head. “Heyyyy…” he said, but he was too far gone to do anything. He slumped back into the couch, eyes wide, unmoving. He’d be a mute witness of the proceedings for long enough. Francesca rose from his side and came to me, kissing me tenderly on the mouth, absently stroking Carly’s throat and neck.
“Don’t stay up too late,” she whispered to me as she withdrew from me. She quietly left the room, with me and Carly close to one another. She would go to the computer room to start the living room cameras working to record all the events for posterity.
“I should probably call a taxi. It looks like Tom’s pretty drunk.”
“Just hold on a moment,” I said, and I drew her face to mine, inhaling her scent deeply. Her eyes were wide, frightened. She glanced over to Tom, still watching, not moving. I gently bit her upper lip and sucked on it. She shivered, and goosepimples appeared on her exposed chest. We kissed, and her sweet, sharp little tongue darted in and out of my mouth. She cradled my head with her hands, holding it for several moments.
She sighed and drew her head back, looking over at Tom. “I can’t do this,” she said. “I’ve only been married a year. My whole family was there. Everyone spent so much money. I can’t just go and fuck someone in front of my drunk husband.”
I took her hand and looked into her eyes. They were sparkling, crystal blue, intelligent and eager. Any fright they’d shown a few minutes ago had passed. Slowly, I drew her hand down to my erect cock. I let go and she didn’t move it. She licked her lips.
I pulled her close to me and we kissed. My hands were on her bare shoulders, unzipping her dress. She had a tight grip on my cock, working it up and down as she humped my leg. I unsnapped her bra and felt her warm, full tits in my hands, their nipples strongly erect.
She undid my slacks and released my cock, grasping it and looking into my eyes. I leaned toward her and whispered in her ear: “You see this cock? You are going to make it come harder and stronger than it ever has before.”
She started by kissing it on the side, running her mouth back-and-forth on it. Glancing from time to time at Tom, I murmured to her, “you have the most incredible smile, baby. I love the way you smile. Open up your mouth as wide as you can. Come on, wider. Let me see.” She complied; I put my hand on her chin.
“OK, I’m going to stick my fingers in your mouth so you start getting used to what it feels like. Yeah, OK, you see how when I push down, you drool a lot? That’s the kind of pressure you need to be putting on my cock.” She took the coaching well, bringing more and more of my girth into her small mouth. “That’s right, all the way in, slow and easy. Push me back with your mouth. Work your cheeks. I know you have more space in your throat. You can do a lot better than that. Push!”
Carly was now taking my cock like a pro, starting to bob up and down on it as she found her rhythm. I rolled my hips toward her while she gripped my ass tightly. My whole body shuddered; there’s nothing sweeter than a stolen blowjob.
“Don’t forget my balls, babe. Feel them with your hand, kiss and rub them on your cheek. Take the skin and just hold it between your teeth, just a little bit. Nice.” It was incredible to watch her, so gorgeous with her face shining with spit and pre-come and her broken husband in the background. I ran my hands down her heaving chest. “Let all that drool just wash over you, Carly. It’s not gross, it’s not disgusting, it’s what I want. Yeah, get it all over your face, all over your tits.” She complied and laughed, rubbing the fluid all into her skin. I hoped the camera was getting all this.
I needed to slow down before I came. I grabbed her by the throat and her eyes went wide, instinctively giving my cock the most delicious pressure. “Stand up,” I commanded, pulling her head off my cock. “Get naked.” She complied, discarding her sleeveless dress and bra while I kicked off my shoes and shucked off my pants. I stood and walked to her, unbuttoning and dropping my shirt on the couch.
She was trembling in an adorable pair of pink panties. I embraced as her and gripped her ass tightly as she relaxed into me. “Pink is my favorite color,” I breathed into her ear while she clung to me. I looked over at Tom, mouth open, erection tenting his slacks. “Someone’s having a good time,” I chuckled, drawing Carly’s attention to his cock. She giggled. “Get those fucking panties off.”
Carly slid her wet tits down my chest as she brought her panties down her thighs, past her knees and down her calves. She stepped out of them, giving my jutting cock a quick kiss as she stood up. I was ready to devour her. I wrapped her in my strong arms and lifted her, rubbing her wet quim on my cock. Carly humped me furiously and it slowly entered her. She kissed me, sucking my tongue with hungry intensity.
I countered her weight, thrusting into her. As I tired, I slowly sank to one knee. I gripped her hips and coordinated our move to the carpeted floor. Now she sat across my lap, driving and twisting her cunt against my rock-hard cock. Carly moaned and panted. I grinned and slid my hands across her sweat and spit-slick tits. She worked herself into a frenzy, squeezing my biceps and shoulders so hard I had to tap her forearms to ease up. I’d have bruises tomorrow.
Her panting and her pussy’s squeezing increased their tempo; she came with a loud, jubilant “yes!” I kept fucking her as she crumpled to my chest and hugged me. I kissed her softly; tears were rolling down her face.
“Stay with me, Carly, you’re doing great.” I stroked her back and sat up, gently bringing her to her feet. I led her over to Tom’s crumpled form and turned her to face him. I entered her from behind and guided her hand onto his shoulders. We regained our rhythm, and she humped back on me as I fucked her, faster and faster.
Tom’s eyelids were heavy but aware. “Tom!” I grunted. “Make yourself useful! Lick your wife’s clit while I’m fucking her, will you?” I patted him on the cheek, then gave him a light slap. Tom lazily stuck his tongue out, and I pushed Carly’s ass towards him. She moved her mons towards his mouth, and soon the three of us were in synch. “With gusto, Tom, gusto!” He needed a lot of encouragement.
My orgasm came, fierce and strong. I clung to Carly’s tits as I spurted, leaning into her and pushing her further into her husband. She moaned; I idly wondered if she was on birth control. I felt I had another jism still in me, so I pulled out and shot all over her back and Tom’s face. My resentment and anger faded as my heartrate slowed. I sank to the couch next to Tom, cuddling Carly’s nude form on my lap. She stroked my hair and rested on me.
After a few minutes, Francesca appeared in the doorway. She was in her bathrobe and had a satisfied smile. She walked over to us and handed me my folded pajamas. “I called a taxi for Carly and Tom,” she said. I nodded.
Francesca picked up Carly’s clothes, then patted the drowsy young wife on the shoulder. Carly compliantly followed her to the bathroom to wash up.
I rubbed my eyes and squeezed Tom’s thigh. “Buddy, it’s over, taxi’s coming. You need to be going.”
Tom blinked his eyes and felt the come on his face. I dressed; the smell of his wife’s pussy hung heavily in the room. He stood, unsteadily, and looked around. Carly had reappeared, dressed, with her coat on, holding Tom’s. He put his hand on my shoulder. “Herman, man, I’m so sorry I was rude to you, man. I feel terrible.” He was still slurring, but seemed genuinely repentant.
“Listen, rich boy. You may be able to buy anything, but you can’t buy fucking backbone. Don’t fuck with me, all right?” I brushed some of my come off his cheek and wiped it on his shirtsleeve. “Now get the fuck out.” He turned, joined Carly at the door, donned his coat, and shambled to the waiting taxi.
Sometimes I wonder
How the fuck this all happened.
My life. All the shit.
The good, the bad, the
Strange. It is as unreal to
Me as sci-fi is.
Whose dream am I? Do
I dare to wake? When will I
Lose the thread and fall?
Leyla stood and frantically tugged at the hem of her skirt. All heads in the room turned toward the door as the security guard entered the room. Hilda’s stern profile quieted the titter immediately. Leyla covered her chest with her arms as Hilda overshadowed her.
Hilda was my favorite member of the security detail; she was point guard for her NCAA college basketball team, and I’d recruited her personally. More than six feet tall, she kept her long blonde hair coiled in a tight braid atop her skull. She was every inch the Valkyrie her name suggested, with ice blue eyes and fair complexion contrasted by her black pantsuit. She covered Leyla’s shoulder with one huge palm and escorted her from the room.
I slipped on an ear pod to kept tabs on their conversation while they walked, patched through to the microphone in Hilda’s lapel. While they took the elevator to ground floor security, I took the stairs to my private monitoring station in a shaded, enclosed cubicle just a few feet from where Leyla would be debriefed.
I listened to Leyla ramble: “Oh my god, I can’t believe that happened. That’s never happened before. You have to believe me. This job means everything to me. I admire everyone that works here so much, especially June, she’s been my hero for years, even since high school. I can’t lose this job, please, can I just call June and apologize right now? I don’t have my phone. Where’s my phone?”
My cubicle afforded me multiple angles to watch their approach to the enclosed security office. Hilda maintained a firm grip on Leyla’s tricep. Leyla had fixed her skirt, but her blouse remained untucked, held in front by a few haphazard buttons she’d managed to secure. She hadn’t retrieved her blazer.
Hilda kept her silence as they entered the empty security office; she shut and locked the door behind her. Leyla was led to a dark corner of the office. Hilda pointed at a low table. “You are to remove every article of clothing and place them in a pile on the table. I will watch you closely, and then I will examine your person. If you are carrying any illegal material, such as drugs, and you attempt to hide or destroy them, you will be terminated and remanded to police custody.”
Leyla’s mouth hung open. She put her hand on the table, as if to keep from toppling over. “You mean I’m not fired now?”
“I cannot speak regarding the HR process for this incident and any future decisions about your status with June Loos Cosmetics. I can only advise regarding my role as security specialist and our security policy as it applies to erratic behavior which is suggestive of drug and/or alcohol intoxication. Rest assured that this will be a professional search. If you would like to surrender your drugs to me now, I can take them from you, but I will still need to examine you.” Hilda removed a pair of extra-large latex gloves from her jacket pocket, shook them out, and began stretching them on.
Leyla shook her head. “I have no drugs on me. I’m certain. Not in my pockets, not in my underwear, not in my pussy and not in my asshole.” I grinned to hear these vulgarities escape her prim mouth. I slipped my hand into my blouse to tease my nipple as I watched. I should have brought popcorn.
“Ma’am, I’ll restate my instructions one more time if you haven’t understood them.” Hilda’s firm mouth didn’t waver by a millimeter; she was truly unflappable. I reminded myself to give her a raise.
Leyla stepped out of her tall high heels and placed them on the table. Without them, she was several inches shorter than Hilda, exacerbating their difference in power. “Do you have a right to do this search, legally?”
Hilda fingered each pump roughly, tapping on the insoles and knocking the toes together to listen for a hidden compartment. “Ma’am, you may review the forms you signed when you accepted the offer of employment at this company if you’d prefer, but I want to get on with this.”
Her blouse was quickly opened and draped across the table. Leyla hesitated, as if deciding whether losing her skirt or her bra would be more humiliating. She chose her bra, and her breasts defied gravity as she surrendered it. Breasts are incredible; even though I see them every day, they’re new each time.
Hilda’s stoic face betrayed a coy grin as she turned the blouse inside out and shook it. “Your husband’s a lucky man.”
“We’re not married yet,” she sighed, taking off her engagement ring and putting it on the table. She unclasped her skirt at the side, releasing a lovely heart shaped ass. I had my skirt hiked to the waist now, running my fingers along my inner thigh. She sat down on a nearby chair to take off her sheer stockings.
“Can I ask you a question, ma’am? Are you pretty good at sucking dick?” Leyla’s eyes widened in shock as she stood, clad only in sensible white panties.
“What was that?”
Hilda stretched the stockings in her powerful hands. “I’ve never done it, myself. I just wonder. You’ve got pretty full lips, but you’re so tiny. I just wonder what kind of guy you could even deep throat. Come on now, get your panties off. I have to search your person now.”
Leyla’s whole body was shivering now as she inched the panties down, revealing a full, dark bush, sculpted. I rubbed my clit through my panties and wondered if she was Italian. She mumbled, “I guess I’m OK at it.” She handed Hilda her panties. Hilda brought them to her nose and sniffed deeply.
“I don’t believe you. Bend your ass over the table and let me check you.” Leyla didn’t move, petrified by Hilda’s lecherous turn.
“Let’s go!” Hilda shouted, slapping a hand on the metal table. Leyla jumped, and flung herself across the table, knocking her clothes and ring to the floor. I switched to the overhead camera to look at her welldefined shoulder muscles and the curve of her neck. And her ass, of course.
Hilda ran one gloved hand down the line of Leyla’s spine, and bent over her. She whispered into Leyla’s trembling ear: “Rascal.”
Read the next chapter, Chapter 4: https://hermanshermitage.com/2020/11/25/junes-new-sex-kitten-leyla-ch-4/
Leyla was a new hire, newly graduated, and this was her first job in the “real world.” When I first saw her in my office, I knew she was going to be mine. She had cascading waves of lustrous dark hair, which fell ever so delicately against her chin. Her neck was long and slender. Her features were delicate, as if sketched by an ultrafine pencil. Despite their definition, her lips were full, sensual, red. I wanted to touch her, to own every inch of her skin, to make her come so hard, fierce, and screaming.
I was, and am, a self-employed businesswoman, manufacturing and marketing a boutique line of pheromone-based cosmetics. The name “June Loos” is known the world over for what our products do for our customers. “The Love Potion for the 21st century,” as our boxes claim.
“Mrs. Loos, I’m so excited to be working here! This is like a dream come true,” she gushed as we shook hands. A flush had crept into her cheeks, one that I appreciated, and expected would be a sign of things to come.
“It’s ‘Ms.’, dear, but you can call me June. I’ve never been married. Don’t really believe in it. Surely that ring on your finger doesn’t mean that you…” I pursed my lips and watched her eyes widen.
“I’m engaged!” She thrust her wrist forward to show me the bauble her ring finger carried. “My boyfriend proposed when I got this job!”
I laughed and covered my mouth. “How wonderful for you, dear. I’m sure he’s a lovely man who appreciates what a unique and talented individual you are. Leave the date with my secretary, and I’ll be sure to send a gift.”
“He’s …” her face hardened, and I knew I had struck a nerve. “He’s been very kind to me and my family. We don’t see eye to eye on everything, but I think we have a good relationship. We don’t have a wedding date picked out yet, but I know we’ll agree on one soon. I’ll be sure to let your secretary know when we have one.”
“Now, I’ve gotten far too personal, Leyla, I apologize. Let’s start over. What are you most excited for working for our company?”
“I majored in marketing in college, but I love botany and chemistry. I think that the relationship between humans and plants is so interesting, and I’m just thrilled to be using all of those skills here at your company!”
“In that we are of one mind, Leyla. Humans have parts of their brains that are much, much older than anything modern science has come to understand. With our products, we influence people in ways they can’t begin to account for. I look forward to us working together.” I locked my gaze with her, and she smiled. I held it for longer than she was comfortable with, and her smile began to waver. Finally, she broke the gaze, and looked away.
Then, her face contorted into a look of horror as she clapped a hand over her nose and mouth; she sneezed! I quickly pulled my handkerchief from my pocket to give to her, the one I’d specially dosed with our Yoni compound, derived from plants first cultivated on the isle of Lesbos. She gratefully took the handkerchief and wiped her face, cleaning the sneeze and inhaling the compounds, soaking them into her mucus membranes. I pictured the Yoni traversing her nasal turbinates, effervescing up to the olfactory cortex, and delivering the payload of dopamine, oxytocin, opioids, and serotonin that equaled an irresistible love connection, dramatically retuning her brain’s chemistry, and leaving her vulnerable to the hypnotic triggers I was about to implant.
She fixed her gaze upon me, dropping the handkerchief to the floor; her jaw opened, and her shoulders slumped. She was mine. My (all female) office staff continued their work around us without a pause. They’d seen this routine before. “Leyla,” I slowly intoned. “my sex kitten. You will become sexually excited whenever I or one of my managers comes into the room. You won’t understand why. When you hear the command phrase ‘Rascal’, you will forget everything that is happening around you and devote all your energies to pleasing whoever you are with sexually. Whatever they ask, you’ll do. If they don’t ask anything, get creative, but stop at nothing to turn them on.”
“Leyla, you are permanently less. You are dependent on me for your life. My whim becomes your imperative. If I forgot you, you would die. My heart pumps yours too. My absence unmoors you. You float high above the ground, immaterial, until I make you real. Had you a life before you knew me? Impossible.” Her eyes were fluttering back and forth as she listened, like she was in REM sleep. This is always my favorite part.
“My authority is the breath in your lungs. If I did desire it, you would suffocate. Your gravity is controlled by mine. Subjected beneath me, shadowed. You are mine forever; even if you killed my body, still I would persist; I live inside you.”
“When you hear the word, ‘Ruby,’ your memory and consciousness will revert to your normal Leyla personality. You won’t have a single memory of any encounter, and any details which might clue you in to missing time, like a lost bra or sticky pussy, will be explained away by some excuse your brain will make, like, ‘I forgot to wear a bra today!’ or ‘did I not wash well enough this morning?’ If we give you any memory of what you do between ‘Rascal’ and ‘Ruby,’ it will be our choice. Now, resume your normal life and work.”
Leyla’s eyes slowed and she began to blink and return to awareness. She picked up the handkerchief from the floor to return it to me, and then drew it back. “Thank you for the handkerchief. I’ll wash it and get it back to you.”
“No need, my dear,” I said as I clasped my hand on her shoulder. “Keep it as a memento. Now, it’s been terrific to meet you, and Diane can take you to your desk.” I motioned to where Diane was seated, and she guided Leyla from my office. I retired to my private work area in the rear of the office and began my day.
That afternoon, I took my seat at the surveillance monitors I maintain for myself. I own the building, and the contractors were all close friends. Everywhere in the building is wired like a sophisticated recording studio, a pet project. In the fitness center’s locker room, there are cameras behind the mirrors, in each showerhead and soap dispenser, within each locker, and scattered throughout the room. There are microphones embedded in the paper towel dispenser, the sink, countertop, benches, and lockers.
When Leyla was hired, she was especially excited by the free gym access and personal lockers that the job provided. My cameras captured her entry into the locker room, which is empty. I wanted to see how her new programming was progressing. If things were going well, she should be out of her mind with sexual desire right now, without any understanding why.
She set her heavy bag on the bench and went to the sink. The water ran over her hands and fingers; she mutters to herself as she rinsed them without soap.
She lets the water run for a few minutes and rolled her neck back and forth, raising her shoulders up and down. She opened her mouth wide, like a lion, and lolled her tongue back and forth.
She took a paper towel, used it to turn off the water, and dried her hands with it. She dropped the wet wad in the trash and walked back to her locker. She unbuttoned her suit jacket slowly and shrugged it off her shoulders. She folded it vertically and arranged the sleeves so they could be folded as part of a square. She regarded herself in the locker mirror, examining her eyebrow raise, the inside of her nostrils, and the bags under her eyes. She undid the tie in back of her hair and let it shake out widely, massaging her scalp and humming to herself. She then sat on the bench to remove her shoes, placing them neatly in the locker.
She began to slowly unbutton her shirt, revealing her lovely pale cleavage beneath her starched white blouse. She pulled each tail from her skirt, shedding it like a second skin. The humble, simple white bra was quickly discarded. She checked the door and paused, waiting for an intruder. She stroked her hands down her torso, grinning as her nipples erected themselves on her angelic breasts. She bit her lip devilishly and dropped her skirt in a heap on the ground, quickly shucking off her stocking socks in a second. She eyed the skirt for a moment as her fingers dipped down her abdomen, just below her navel and approaching the treasure. She broke the movement and quickly retrieved and folded the skirt atop her pile.
She stood before the bathroom mirror, trembling in anticipation, and stealing glances at the door, waiting for interruption. She briskly tucked her thumbs on either side of her g-string and pulled it off. She sat back on the bench and tilted the locker door mirror toward herself. She cupped a breast with one hand and her crotch in the other, beginning to slowly squeeze and gyrate. She puts two fingers into her mouth, closing her eyes and bobbing her head like an act of fellatio. Spreading her legs wide across the bench, she arched her back and thrust her chest upward. She then extracted her glistening fingers and applied them to her sex, running a hand along the length of her neck, encircling it, squeezing gently. A quiet murmur escaped her lips, captured by the microphones.
She rotated her hips against her hand, increasing the pressure, and grabbed her breast hard; the skin visibly reddened under her grip. Now her full form was tense and twisting in ecstasy at her debauch, and she begins to audibly pant and gasp as the orgasm broke like a wave across her.
I watched her body pulse and writhe, and she slowly calmed, gathered herself, and went to shower. Everything was going according to plan.
She walks in to the empty locker room heavily, her footfalls echoing. She sets her heavy bag on the bench and goes to the sink. The cool water runs over her hands and fingers; she mutters to herself as she rinses them without soap.
I must have watched her do this a hundred times, but there’s always more to her ritual. She lets the water run for a few minutes and rolls her neck back and forth, raising her shoulders up and down. She opens her mouth wide, like a lion, and lolls her tongue back and forth.
There are cameras behind the mirrors, in each showerhead and soap dispenser, within each locker, and scattered throughout the room. There are microphones embedded in the paper towel dispenser, the sink, countertop, benches, and lockers. It’s a sophisticated recording studio, a pet project. I own the building, and the contractors were all close friends. Julie is a new hire, especially excited by the free gym access and personal lockers that the job provides.
She takes a paper towel, uses it to turn off the water, and dries her hands with it. She drops the wet wad in the trash and walks back to her locker. She unbuttons her suit jacket slowly and shrugs it off her shoulders. She folds it vertically, and arranges the sleeves so they can be folded as part of a square. She regards herself in the locker mirror, examining her eyebrow raise, the inside of her nostrils, and the bags under her eyes. She undoes the tie in back of her hair, and lets it shake out widely, massaging her scalp and humming to herself. She then sits on the bench to remove her shoes, placing them neatly in the locker.
She begins to slowly unbutton her shirt, revealing her lovely warm golden cleavage beneath her starched white blouse. She pulls each tail from her skirt, and sheds it like a second skin. The white bra is simple, humble, quickly discarded. She checks the door, and pauses, waiting for an intruder. She strokes her hands down her torso, grinning as her nipples erect themselves on her angelic breasts. She bites her lip devilishly and drops her skirt in a heap on the ground, quickly shucking off her stocking socks in a second. She eyes the skirt for a moment as her fingers dip down her abdomen, just below her navel and approaching the treasure. She breaks the movement and quickly retrieves and folds the skirt atop her pile.
She now stands before the bathroom mirror, trembling in anticipation and stealing glances at the door, waiting for interruption. She briskly tucks her thumbs on either side of her g-string and pulls it off. She sits back on the bench, tilts the locker door mirror toward herself. She cups a breast with one hand and her crotch in the other, and begins to slowly squeeze and gyrate. She puts two fingers into her mouth, closing her eyes and bobbing her head like an act of fellatio. Spreading her legs wide across the bench, she arches her back and thrusts her chest upward. She then extracts her glistening fingers and applies them to her sex, running a hand along the length of her neck, encircling it, squeezing gently. A quiet murmur escapes her lips, captured by the microphones.
She rotates her hips against her hand, increasing the pressure, and grabs her breast hard; the skin visibly reddens under her grip. Now her full form is tense and twisting in ecstasy at her debauch, and she begins to audibly pant and gasp as the orgasm breaks like a wave across her.
Every day at six, like clockwork.
What a beautiful
Woman, a vampire and
War have in common.
I am no one. But
I lift my shirt, and now I
Am your everything.