The rain splashed across Cathy’s windscreen faster than her wipers could clear it, the continuous impact vibrating through her fingers. They clenched around the wheel as she navigated yet another blind corner, the right-hand bend a blur of muddy verge and road. With each bump and pothole, the hard plastic mould of her hearing aid came loose and the microphone released a stream of squealing, warbling feedback right into her ear. She snatched the bloody thing out and dumped it in the central console.
It would be so nice to shove in a CD—ideally full of 80s cheesy rock anthems—and sing her way through the terror of country driving. The sing-along might also stop her mind over-rehearsing the difficult upcoming conversation with Sonia.
Just say it. Say ‘I know you’re trying to help me act out the fantasy, but this group isn’t working for me.’ She will cope. Eventually. She’ll probably let it go by the time we both hit thirty.
At the next corner, she had a split second’s warning of an oncoming car as high-beams hit the hedgerows. Cathy slammed down on her brakes as a small lorry rushed the corner and then rattled behind her into the darkness.
It took several seconds to register she hadn’t been hit. Seized by the possibility of being rear-ended, she hit the gas and pressed her Nissan up the hill into Rusper. It was a 30mph limit through here. Thank god. Still, her pulse didn’t calm down until she’d turned out of the village towards Capel, and found the little dirt track that led to Rob’s barn-conversion.
Sonia, I love you dearly, but there’s only a couple of guys I’d ever do this scene with, and they never have room on their dance cards. Probably best for me to find a boyfriend to do this with. I can’t keep turning up with my gear and keep chickening out. I’m cramping your style.
That might work better. Cathy released a slow breath, getting her nerves back under control. Her mate meant well, but her fierce single-mindedness was intimidating. Plus, she spoke so fast that as often as not, Cathy missed the opportunity to shove in a solid point that she’d spent ages rehearsing. It was a problem with lip-reading, always being a few syllables behind the conversation and needing time to think before speaking. Hell, Sonia was intimidating, full stop. If the Terminator rang her doorbell, gun in hand, and demanded entry, she’d make him wipe his feet on the mat before he shot her.
The dirt track seemed to go on forever, but she eventually reached a broad forecourt, covered in cars. Taking a quick look at her watch—half an hour late—she parked creatively along the side of the building, her left wheels up on the kerb, gathered her hearing aid and overnight bag, then bolted towards a little structure in the darkness that looked like a front porch.
Once out of the rain, she put her hearing aid back in and rang the bell. The feedback from her aid screamed at her—entirely unprovoked, this time—so she stuffed it back in her bag. Far better a night of silence than the endurance test of muted hearing and intermittent screeching.
No one answered for ages. Cathy pressed her palm to the door to pick up vibrations of movement from the other side. Nothing. She was about to ring again when the door flew inwards and a hand hauled her into the hallway.
Cathy reclaimed her balance, embarrassed at the mess her trainers had made on the parquet flooring. She tugged her wrist free of Sonia’s grip.
‘Easy, tiger. Let me get these off.’
Sonia’s heart-shaped face was a picture of incredulity under tumbling titian hair. ‘Where’ve youbeen? I’ve texted you about five times.’
‘I was driving.’
‘Did you come via Tanzania?’
‘I—’
‘Never mind, you’re here now. Luckily some of the others have only just turned up so you’ve got time to tidy yourself up. Drink first. Come!’
Cathy followed in a daze as Sonia stalked in her red mini-dress and heels through the high-beamed barn to the extension at the far end, then disappeared into a side archway. The ground floor—what she could see of it—was perhaps twice the size of a standard community hall. From floor to eaves, the barn walls were plastered and painted pistachio, with a few landscape prints at intervals across the hanging space. The flooring was parquet throughout, and the second floor a shelf that protruded perhaps a third the width of the building. All the wood looked like bona fide oak—not a veneer to be seen. She reached the archway where Sonia had disappeared and peered round the corner into the kitchen. It was roughly the size of an aircraft hangar, laid with slate flooring.
Cathy set her bag down, ignoring Sonia’s penetrating gaze. She felt scruffy in her jeans and zip-up hoodie, her blonde fringe hanging in her face. She took the wine pressed into her hand but hadn’t so much as sipped before an impatient tap on her arm redirected her attention to Sonia.
Sonia sighed. ‘Pleasedon’t tell me you’re having an aids-out night?’
‘Aid-out,’ Cathy corrected. ‘I’ve only got one.’
‘What’s wrong with it this time?’
‘I don’t know. It just won’t stop squeaking.’ Cathy resented being made to feel like she was letting the side down, somehow. ‘I know it’s not ideal, but I’ll do my best to keep up with things.’
‘Well, I hope you think of a decent work-around because I’ve got news.’ Sonia’s face brightened abruptly. ‘You know we had that chat about you being a bit of an onlooker?’
‘I don’t think that was a chat, Sonia. Chats involvetwopeople getting to have their say.’
‘Well, I’ve staged an intervention! Oh, tell you in a tick. Hi, Greg!’
Cathy followed Sonia’s line of sight to see Greg wander into the kitchen and head straight for the fridge. He went barefoot and wore scruffy jeans and a black vest. Cathy wondered whether one of the girls had a shagged-by-the-builder scene planned with him, or whether he hadn’t bothered getting changed into a play outfit yet.
She swallowed the knot that lodged in her throat as he bent over. She could stare at him harmlessly while he had his back turned. Actually, she could most of the time; her need to lip-read gave her a cast-iron alibi for gazing at him. It wasn’t good for her neck, though. She was a scrap over five foot; he was six-three. He was also broad but trim, and had a mysterious self-sustaining tan that showed the gold in his stubble. Whenever she got within a few feet of him, it was like taking a swift kick in the oestrogen tank. Greg straightened up and shut the fridge, saluting Cathy with a bottle of Beck’s Blue as he went.
Cathy jumped at Sonia’s light swat on her upper arm. ‘What?’
‘Save your dribbles, there’s a queue for Greg. And anyway, I’ve made plans for you. You finally get to do your scene!’
‘Wh-what?’
‘Rob’s been ever so sweet. He’s emptied out the green room under the stairs to make an interrogation suite and even went to the trouble of getting a metal-topped table for you. And a Border Force uniform!’
‘Right.’ She attempted a grateful smile but failed miserably. As frustrated as Sonia must be to keep inviting her along to these parties, only for her to bow out of taking part in any action, Cathy really wanted to wait until she had Greg—or maybe Alex—to do the scene with. Rob was sweet, but she got the distinct impression that he’d prefer to be where she planned to be during her scene: tied over a table, being molested. ‘Sonia, not to be difficult, but Rob’s a Geordie. He’s lovely, but I can’t make out a word he’s saying.’
Sonia laughed. ‘No! Rob’s just set the room up for you. You’re doing the scene with Dan! We’ve been emailing, we three, and Dan says he’s up for it.’
‘Dan?’ Her Cathy’s heart fell. The man looked like the walking embodiment of the Statue of David, but—to her at least—seemed just as cold.
‘Well don’t fall over with excitement.’
‘I’m…surprised. I thought he didn’t come along to these events anymore. Too busy with his directing career.’
‘They’re filming the remake of Monte Cristo near Brighton, so he’s taking a night off.’
Cathy took a long swig of wine and braced herself to be frank. ‘Sonia, that was very thoughtful, but I’d rather arrange my own scenes with people I’m comfortable with.’
‘Which hasn’t actually happened yet, has it? At least, not in the nine months we’ve been playing with this little set.’
Cathy looked down at her shoes.
Sonia gave her ponytail an affectionate tug. ‘Darling, you’ve hardly given yourself the chance to experiment. With anyone. How do you know you’re not comfortable with them if you don’t give them a chance?’
‘I think I’d be okay with Greg—’
‘Our beloved Kiwi prefers a little more confidence in his partners. He needs someone he trusts to tell him directly when things aren’t going right, and with the best will in the world, you’re not the most forthcoming girl around.’ Sonia reached over, tucking a rogue strand from Cathy’s ponytail behind her ear. ‘Look, I know you went through hell on earth with the meningitis, but at some point, you need to start adapting to the fact that you’re a little hard of hearing, find some coping mechanisms, and move on.’
‘I’mdeaf.’
‘Fine, deaf, if you prefer that label.’
‘It’s not a label, it’s a reality. There’s a big difference between finding it helpful to have subtitles, and hearing sod-all with the aids out.’
‘Alright darling, no need to get testy.’
Yes, there bloody is. Cathy fought to keep her voice even. ‘Dan’s really impatient. I really don’t need someone rolling their eyes at me when I have to say “pardon” more than once.’
‘Cathy,most people are impatient. It’s part of the human condition. Some just hide it better than others, so it might be…it might be the case that you have to give people time to likeyou, as well as the other way round.’
Cathy snatched up her overnight bag before her hand succumbed to the urge to commit a Freudian slap. ‘The room under the stairs, you said?’
‘Hon—’
‘Excuse me while I get “tidied up”.’ She’d made it to the archway into the main hall before Sonia overtook her, her expression contrite.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to be so heavy-handed. It’s just… you used to be so adventurous. So full of life. I’d hate for you to lose that just because you find life more difficult these days.’
Cathy knew a genuine apology from her friend when she saw one. She gave Sonia a light kiss on the cheek to clear the air, but wasn’t about to commit herself to openly-expressed forgiveness. She still resented Sonia trying to broaden her horizons by force.
In the green room, she tossed her bag onto the metal-topped table in the centre. Rob really had gone all-out. The interrogation room looked exactly as she’d imagined, with the steel-topped table in the centre of the room, warning posters on every wall, and a white chipboard cupboard in the corner, by the sink. On the cupboard was a stack of paper kidney bowls, some evidence bags, an industrial-sized bottle of lube and a box of latex gloves. The Border Force uniform—dark blue suit, pale blue shirt—hung on a peg on the back of the door. Up on the shelf, there was a collection of restraints: sashes, plastic ties, and cuffs. The only thing missing was a mirror so she could lip-read her scene partner as he finger-fucked her from behind.
Cathy unzipped her hoodie and struggled out of her jeans, then pulled on the barely-there mini-skirt and blue crop top she’d chosen for her scene. She was a cheeky drug mule, to be subjected to strip-search and examination. A long, unprofessional examination. Which was why it was so important to do it with the right man. She sighed, slipped on her sandals, and grabbed her makeup bag and brush to take to the bathroom. Rob had gone to a lot of effort, so maybe she should give a Dan a shot. And anyway, her lip-reading was ten times better than the last time Dan had joined the play nights. Maybe he’d be a little more chilled out, now she wasn’t struggling so much.
It took just a couple of minutes to apply minimalist foundation, thick mascara and cherry lipstick. She brushed a shine into her shoulder-length blonde hair and bundled it up into a half bun to make it easier for people to realise she had no aids in. When she emerged from the bathroom, everyone—ten people this evening—had gathered in the foyer by the front door. Dan, at their centre, was stripping off already. He seemed deep in conversation with Sonia, holding up a complicated leather…thing. Cathy didn’t quite know what it was supposed to be, but it seemed entirely comprised of straps.
Greg loomed behind them, powerful forearms crossed over his chest, now clad in what looked like most of a Police Constable uniform. Stern-looking at the best of times, Greg was looking down at Dan with an expression of such undiluted loathing it took Cathy aback. She blinked at the force of it, glad those dark blue eyes weren’t drilling holes in her. She took a step forward to greet Dan, who bent to give her a couple of air-kisses.
‘Just ironing out a few details with Sonia for something we’ve got planned later. I’ll come and find you in a bit.’ He dismissed her with a smile of expensive dental perfection, swept his dark fringe out of his eyes and turned back to Sonia.
Cathy took a few steps back, feeling dull and redundant while the pair of them chattered about their role-swap. She barely got the gist of their conversation; Dan had a cut-glass Home Counties accent, which was usually easy to lip-read, but he kept throwing his head back to laugh at whatever Sonia said. Dan wanted to sub, this evening. Apparently he’d stood in for their usual actor, who’d come down with the flu when he was meant to be playing the ‘Count.’ He’d been nervous about taking a flogging, but had become unexpectedly turned on in the role and had developed a taste for punishment. He didn’t exactly rush his anecdote, Cathy noticed.
Sonia looked Dan’s lithe, lightly-tanned physique up and down with open, naked lust in her face. ‘You’d look fantastic in a harness.’
‘Or a headlock,’ Greg offered.
Cathy caught the wrathful aside just at the edge of her vision and giggled before she could stop it. The others were clamouring over Dan’s exploits just enough that nobody noticed Greg’s comment, or her reaction. No one except Greg, who met her gaze with an embarrassed grin. He made a tiny back and forth motion beneath his lips with his forefinger in silent question—Really? You caught that?
She nodded.
Greg edged round the group and met her at the wine table. He gave her a lazy smile that made her want to launch her lips against his.
‘Nice party trick.’
On his lips, it emerged as ‘Nahs pahrty tr’k’, and it took her a moment to register his vowel pattern. Most of the facial movement went through the jaw and he moved the lower lip far more than the top. The accent was too bass for New Zealand.
‘You’re South African,’ she blurted.
‘Yep, Saffer born and bred. You didn’t know that already?’
She struggled with that one. When he spoke, Greg spoke fast. ‘Well…we’ve never really exchanged small talk. And Sonia said you were a Kiwi.’
‘Did she.’ Greg rolled his eyes. ‘Seriously, you can tell my accent by lip-reading? That’s awesome.’
Bloody hell, slow down, man. This isn’t lip-reading, it’s cryptography.
‘Awesome-ish. It would help if you could put some gaps between your words.’
Greg let out a laugh that took five years off his face. ‘That’s me told. I’ll try, sorry.’ He looked her up and down, peering behind with no effort to disguise what he was doing. ‘That’s a nice arse your skirt isn’t quite covering. So, you doing the same as Elsa? The whole prostitute-spanked-by-cop-
Cathy found herself tugging her hemline down, face aflame. ‘I’m a drug mule, thanks very much. And I’m not into being spanked. I bruise like a peach.’
‘So what happens to your drug mule character?’
‘She gets detained, stripped, then searched slowly and unprofessionally for contraband.’
He raised a brow of interest. ‘How unprofessionally?’
At his expression of amused bemusement, she felt heat rush into her cheeks, neck, and bloom across her cleavage. She cleared her throat. ‘I’m fairly sure that tying a mule’s ankles and wrists is a legal no-no. And making her come would be frowned upon, too.’
‘What about penetration?’
He took a half-step closer and her pussy clenched so hard it was nearly startling. She reached for the edge of the drinks table behind her, trying to lean back nonchalantly while gripping the wood for dear life. So,soclose now to the chance to have him tie her face-down to that ice-cold table and fuck her with his fingers. She didn’t dare jinx things by hoping for more. ‘One thing at a time.’
‘Fair enough. Can you hear behind you?’
‘No, but there are workarounds. Anyway, that’s enough of my filthy mind. What’s the fantasy you want to act out?’
‘I’m the long-suffering PA or right-hand man who snaps and teaches his rude-arse lady boss some manners. Usually on the floor of her hotel penthouse suite.’ A faint blush crept into his tan. ‘Or maybe I’m the camera man who turns on his bitchy reporter.’
Cathy took a sharp breath in, inhaling with her whole body. Her panties stuck to the edge of her pussy, teasing her. She ought to be alarmed that his fantasies were so vengeful, but could see an escapist theme developing. Her information about Greg being a kiwi turned out to be cobblers, but she was pretty convinced that she’d correctly understood his daytime job as a police constable. ‘Is this because you have to spend all day being polite to morons?’
‘Spot on.’
Carpe diem, Cathy. Show him your hard side. ‘I used to have a good handle on recreational rudeness. I-I can be a bitchy lady boss. Sometime. If you like.’
As hard as a wet tissue. Nice one.
‘Really?’ He gaped. ‘I mean…you’ve always struck me as the um…mild-mannered type. You take endless shit from Sonia but haven’t tried to drown her in the downstairs can once.’
Cathy cast a nervous glance around for her friend, but she was nowhere to be seen. Neither was Dan. ‘Sonia means well.’
‘Really? How did you work that out?’
‘She stuck around when I lost my hearing. Some didn’t.’
Greg dropped a sudden, light kiss on top of her head. ‘Sorry, that must have been hard.’
‘I’ve dealt with it.’
‘Despite her, I imagine. Not because of her.’
Cathy felt the uncomfortable flare of recognition of the truth and tamped it down. She couldn’t look at him while she worked out what to say in the bossy woman’s defence, but an incredible warmth at her waist distracted her and she saw his palms lightly wrapping around her bare waist, between crop top and skirt. She glanced up at him and their gazes locked.
‘So,’ Greg murmured. ‘D’you think you’re up to driving me to the edge of my temper?’
Adrenaline rushed through her system like a misguided missile, her heart thumping almost out of control as his thumbs stroked lightly at her midriff. His fingertips nearly touched at the back. He tugged her forward just a fraction, close enough for her to feel the heat belting from his body. A strong urge gripped her—the urge to undo the top couple of buttons on his white shirt, tug it to one side, and give his nipple a gentle but sharp bite. Her fingertips found their way to the V of his shirt and she trailed them down hot, velvet skin to the top button. Greg’s breathing accelerated to match hers, his chest movements fast and uneven.
A palm shot into her line of sight from the left and waved up and down in front of her face. This took a second to compute. Greg’s hands were busy pushing her top farther up her sides. The palm belonged to someone else.
It belonged to a forearm that disappeared inside a navy blue sleeve, decorated on the shoulder with a Border Force epaulette. Christ. She’d forgotten about Dan.
She glanced over to see his brows raised expectantly, his lips moving in an indignant blur as he blathered something about being kept waiting. She looked back at Greg, jerking her thumb at their uncouth third wheel.
‘I’m not sure I can be as rude as him, but I’ll give it a shot.’
Greg released her waist with a sigh. ‘Gives you plenty of material to draw on, doesn’t he?’
‘It takes the right man to get it out of me.’
‘Hel-lo?!’ Incredibly, Dan’s over-emphasis broke into her muted hearing. ‘We have a scene scheduled, remember?’
‘Dan, in the nicest possible way, the scene wasn’t scheduled byme. And I’m deaf, not catatonic. Don’t wave your hand at me like that.’
Dan went into a flurry of gestures and irritable consonants of which she caught perhaps half. She was still trying to keep up his bitching about needing more than a nanosecond to get himself organised before she ‘wandered off’ with someone else, when she realised he’d stopped talking, his brows raised expectantly once again.
Dan sighed heavily. ‘Are…we…doing…this…or…not?’
She gave him a bland smile. ‘I’d rather pole dance halfway up the Eiffel during an electric storm. But thanks all the same.’
Greg snickered behind his fist, earning him a furious glare.
Dan looked him up and down scathingly, taking in the Police uniform. ‘Bit of a bus-man’s holiday, isn’t it, role-playing your job? Never fancied deviating, just a little?’
‘Want me to deviate your septum?’
Dan stepped back in alarm.
‘Thought not. Bugger off.’
‘Bloody oaf.’
‘Smug Etonian bell-end.’ Greg hustled Cathy into the interrogation room, manoeuvring them both under the light so she could see his face. ‘Right, let’s focus on your scene. We can do that here and now. Mine takes prep. Let’s talk limits. No spanking, got that already. I presume no anal. Got spare undies?’
She nodded, still reeling at the reality of doing this scene with the only man she’d ever wanted to act it out with.
‘Good. I might get a little rough, so…’
Lust severely compromised her lip-reading. She could see nothing but the image of him pressing her down and thrusting his fingers into her. Of his entire speech about safety, she only caught ‘safeword.’ Her imagination projected images of him lashing her wrists and ankles to the legs of the table. Her pussy was already aching, her panties sodden, and all he’d done was hold her waist. ‘Red’ was her safeword. It was hardly pioneering, but her imagination was pretty busy already.
‘Am I allowed to strip you completely?’
‘Fuck yes.’
Greg chuckled. ‘Hint taken. I need to get a couple of things together, so I’ll leave you to stash your contraband.’
The moment the door was shut, Cathy reached into her bag and pulled out the tiny plastic baggie that usually held her spare hearing aid, but which now held tic-tacs. She pulled her pants down, made sure the clip-seal on the bag was properly shut, and pressed the bag as far inside as it would go, right over the pelvic ridge. The tiniest weight near her G-spot made her tingle, but she pulled her hand free and darted to the sink, cleaning up. She pulled her crop top back down and had just smoothed her skirt back into place when Greg reappeared with a mirror. He rested it on the floor for a moment, then made room on the surface of the white cupboard so he could rest it against the wall.
Greg pulled the Border Force epaulettes from his pockets. ‘Got these back from Dan.’ He slotted them into the tabs on his white shirt. He took her bag and put it up on a high shelf. When he turned back, he’d transformed himself into a grim-faced officer, sick of being given the runaround. ‘This is the third time, Miss Sansom.’
She gave a careless shrug. ‘We must stop meeting like this.’
‘You’re helping people to wreck lives.’ His glare was severe. ‘You might enjoy your pay now, but you’re just a mule. Mules are pawns. You know what the problem is, being a pawn?’
She shook her head, genuinely intimidated. It took her a moment to remind herself he was acting.
‘Pawns are there to be used. Face the wall. Spread your arms and legs.’
Cathy pressed her palms to the wall, her heart going crazy in her chest. His frisking was light and indifferent at first. There was nowhere to hide any gear in what she was wearing. Warm palms ran the length of her arms and legs and across her back, then he helped her balance as he pulled her sandals off. Seconds later, she felt the zip on her miniskirt go. Greg’s palms pressed across her hips right down to her crotch, fingertips dipping tantalisingly close to her mound, then he was smoothing them upwards to her breasts.
She released a sharp breath as he cupped them, gave a light squeeze and released. A light pressure on her upper arms on either side was an instruction to put her hands straight up. She complied as he tugged her crop top free. She was expecting to feel a tug at her bra clasp next, but felt his full heat behind as he shadowed her body with his, reaching round for her breasts. She couldn’t help looking down. Both thumbs were at work, the pads smoothing over the thin satin in ever-decreasing circles until they reached her nipples. She whimpered.
Greg pressed his fingers into her bra cup, took her nipple and stroked it between his forefinger and thumb. With her legs spread wide, all she could do was groan as he teased it until it was rock hard, sending jolts of intense need straight down to her pussy. She was almost in a daze as he gave the other breast the same treatment, then finally removed her bra. She was nearly naked, shivering and almost hyperventilating as he put his hands on her shoulders and turned her back to face him.
He hauled her over to the table by her upper arm, his expression stony. ‘You know what comes next. Bend.’
She arranged herself face down on the table, suppressing a hiss as the chilled stainless steel surface nipped at her tender underarms and nipples. He nudged her legs apart with his knee until her ankles pressed against the table legs. Cathy controlled her breathing as he secured both wrists and ankles to the table legs using long, soft cloth rather than plastic ties or cuffs. She felt a tap on the small of her back and looked up at the mirror.
‘You’re going to take this quietly. Understood?’
‘Yes.’
‘Yes…what?’
‘Yes, sir.’ She laid her cheek down on the cool steel and closed her eyes.
He started with a stroking attack that had her straining up onto the balls of her feet, barely able to cope with the sensitivity. His fingertips traced the length of her inner thighs from her knees up to her panty-line, making her release her breath in a sharp gasp. He teased for several minutes, tormenting the crevices around her tendons, but never between, never touching her panties. She obeyed the command to stay silent until he cupped her abruptly, pressing his hand hard against her flinching pussy and swollen clit.
The cry of need exploded out of her.
His smart tug on her ponytail was enough to silence her.
He turned the cupping into a maddening, feather-light massage that had her slamming back down onto her heels again, desperate to increase the pressure, to trick one of his fingers into pressing into the entrance of her cunt—just a little. Despite the chill of the table, she felt a sheen of sweat building across her brow and upper lip. Her nipples were hard pebbles and her fingers wrapped involuntarily around the sharp corners of the table.
Suddenly she felt the pressure she craved; Greg’s finger found its way past her panties and entered her in a sharp thrust. She barely had time to draw up her muscles to pull his finger in before he hooked it inside her and pulled her a couple of inches backwards, letting her feel the full length of his rigid cock under the smooth weave of his trousers.
He pulled his finger out. There was the swiftest touch of cold alongside her gusset on the left side, then his knuckle pressed against her bare clit, tormenting her as he snipped the fabric. She registered the first loss of elastic pressure as her pussy was laid bare, then another as he snipped the elastic at her hip. With a swift tug, she was left naked.
Naked, and with his fingers pressing hard inside her, searching, twisting.
She had to bite down on her lip to stay quiet but heard the echoes of her own squeaks and moans deep inside her ears. She peered up at the mirror; Greg’s shirt was open to the waist. A slick sheen of sweat dotted his pecs and down the centre groove between tidy, smooth-flat abs. His sleeves were rolled up, his cheeks flushed, and his gaze fixed right on the job in question—trying to get her to break his silence rule. She needed to take him by surprise. Impress him.
He splayed his palm just beneath her shoulders and pushed down, forcing her entire front against the chill of the table. She had to clamp her teeth together as he pushed his fingers into her as far as they would go.
She felt the bag inside move. He’d snagged it. It tickled a little as he yanked it out, and then she was left to stew as he moved over to the prep table and dropped the contraband into one of the evidence bags. His movements were relaxed, like he was done with the scene. A hollow feeling took residence in her chest and she met his eye pleadingly as he turned.
This can’t be over yet. Please.
Greg ducked down until his eye line was level with hers. ‘I think you’re looking at three years.’ He gave her a wicked grin. ‘That’s three years of peace and quiet for me, but I feel obliged to leave you with something to remember me by. Y’know, while you’re being reamed out by chicks with improvised dicks.’
She watched him as he returned to his station right behind her, but he made no move to undo his belt. ‘One thing at a time’ she’d said of penetration, and he’d taken her word. She found herself weirdly disappointed, as well as grateful.
An abrupt, deep pressure knocked the wind from her lungs. He twisted his fingers inside then withdrew them, letting them tease around her entrance. Her clit was caught in a light pinch. She arched off the table, the muscles in her thighs bunching. He kept the gentle pressure on her clit and plunged his fingers back inside. Cathy couldn’t stay still or quiet. She found herself gasping and bucking on the table as he fucked her harder, his movements fast and slick. She kept waiting for him to punish her for failing to stay silent but he’d let the rule slide as she approached climax. Her pussy clenched around his fingers, trying to haul him inside and keep him there, but then she was twitching, pleasure thrashing through her whole body from the source of ecstasy between her legs.
She screamed as she climaxed. She couldn’t help it—there was nothing to bite down on. He didn’t relent, thrusting his fingers in and out until her legs were jelly and she was begging him to stop.
Her vision swam a little as her wrists were let loose, and then her ankles. He pulled her up by the waist and turned her to face him. She rested her bum on the edge of the table, her face on his chest, then she stood and wrapped her arms round his waist. His erection, hot and vibrant, throbbed against her midriff. Greg had seemed so diffident earlier, talking about other people’s spanking scenes. Did he ever get what he wanted? She was shattered but energised at the thought of returning the compliment. Cathy went down on her knees, light-headedness dropping her a little faster than she’d intended.
He peered down at her in concern. ‘You alright?’
‘Fine. But you’re not, yet.’ Cathy undid his belt, popped the button on his waistband and yanked down the fly, along with several inches of trousers. Greg hooked his briefs down with his thumb, allowing his cock to spring out. She brushed her cheek against the warm fuzz of his navel and closed her lips around the head of his cock. Salty-sweet pre-cum seeped onto her tongue. She pulled his briefs down farther, and caressed his balls with her hand. His sharp double-gasp was a contraction she felt from his chest down to his groin.
Cathy wrapped her palm as far round his cock as it would go, stroking from the granite root to the gossamer lip of his uncut foreskin. She teased the underside with the tip of her tongue, tracing a path from the seeping slit to the base of the head and returning. His bass groan resonated through his gut, tightening his abs. She applied gentle suction, caressing him between her tongue and the roof of her mouth, quickening her fist-sliding. He cupped the back of her neck with one hand, stroking with his thumb. The palm of the other splayed across the table, steadying him. She peered up and he’d thrown his head back, his shoulders and jawline forming an arrow right to the ceiling.
His balls flinched out of her palm in the same second a deep cry crashed through her hearing barrier. She had a split-second’s warning to pull free but swallowed him down, revelling in a second yell and the way his hips jerked as she sucked him dry. He gave her a shaky tweak at the back of the neck. She took the hint and pulled back just in time to avoid being hit as he crashed down next to her, nearly bringing the table over with him.
Greg tipped forwards, bracing himself on his palms. ‘Wow. Genuinely a bit dizzy.’
She peered. He was far sweatier than he should be, his lips pale. ‘You okay?’
‘I’ll be ‘right. Unplanned energy expenditure.’
‘Blood sugar problems?’
‘It’s not usually a problem, but you went a little off-script there, girl.’ Greg chuckled weakly. ‘Not that I’m complaining.’
Once they were decent, Cathy opened the door to find a knot of wide-eyed partiers disperse in a rush, each finding their own spot on the floor, ceiling or wall to look at. Rob stared at her in awe as Greg staggered out and dropped heavily on a sofa a few feet away.
‘Good Lord. What did youdoto him? He nearly roared the place down!’
Cathy grinned helplessly and winked. Her moment of glee was almost wrecked by Sonia’s stony expression. Cathy got the distinct impression she wouldn’t be invited back for another party, if Sonia ever spoke to her again. Cathy decided she could live with that possibility.
Greg recovered with a little orange juice in him, strong enough at least to haul her onto his lap and loop his arms round her waist. ‘Free next weekend? I could book a hotel.’
Cathy grinned, happiness flooding her. ‘Completely free. Name the place, and I’ll bring my inner bitch. Just bear in mind, I won’t hear you rant. You’ll have to express your rage physically.’
‘Oh, I will. And by the way, bring all of “you”.’ He sat, brushing his lips over hers. ‘It’s not your inner bitch I want to wake up with in the morning.’
© 2015 Sam Thorne. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.