Chapter One

 

Keri Rhodes woke slowly, feeling a rich, languorous sense of comfort as she snuggled into the feather pillow. But there was more, a sense of inner heat rising, soft images swirling behind her eyes, and a growing hunger. She groaned softly, and her thighs spread incrementally apart. And then she wakened to the realizations he was being touched there. She felt an instant's shock, but only an instant, as she opened her eyes and stared into her husband's grinning face.

He was laying on his side facing her in the big, four-poster bed, and he had a slick finger between her legs, rubbing gently against her clit.

"Michael," she protested in a long groan as she pushed his hand away.

It was a weekday, after all!

But her small, pink nipples were hard, her small round breasts thrumming, and her body felt the hunger she so-often tried to deny as his massive frame half rolled atop her and his lips met hers.

"I - have - work," she groaned, trying somewhat feebly to push him away.

One didn't push back Michael Rhodes. He was six foot four, with very broad shoulders. The fact he was a gentleman, and a gentle man - which were not always the same, and a lawyer to boot, did not do a thing to detract from the sheer size of him. With his right half only lightly atop her body Keri was still very firmly pinned, her right arm beneath him, her left all but useless.

And though she felt somewhat flustered, and a sense of guilt at her own response, she didn't really want to resist him. He'd prepared her body, and without the nervousness and sense of guilt she usually felt it, had responded. She groaned again as his hand slid into her pajama top and gently fondled her bare breast, as his big right leg slipped between her thighs and ground against her sex.

But there was a great sense of comfort and excitement, too, as his mighty arms enfolded her, and his lips sought hers, and she felt the sheer male mass of him over her body. Still, her sense of guilt began to grow in tandem with her excitement, and when his hand slid into her pajama bottom and began to finger her clit again her guilt rose to anguish as her body heated wildly and her breath became ragged.

If he didn't stop soon she was going to come!

It always embarrassed her when she came, when she couldn't hide it. And it made her feel guilty, as well. But coming this way would be worse! Coming on his fingers, with her pajama bottoms still on!

"Michael!" she panted, wriggling more, trying to push his hand out.

Fortunately, he drew back, then gripped the waistband and tugged her satiny pajama bottoms down and off. Again she felt a flush of embarrassment spreading over her face as he threw back the covers. Then he was between her long legs, and pushing himself into her. She groaned as she felt the pleasure of his penetration, her knees sliding back, spreading herself open as his big cock pushed deeper into her belly.

"Ohh," she groaned.

He began to thrust in short strokes, his hips grinding, rising and falling. Her breath grew more ragged, and she turned her face away, then grasped his neck, pulling him down against her, hugging him tightly as the orgasm swept over her, wanting his face away from hers, so he wouldn't see her. She shuddered and bit her tongue to keep from crying out, hoping she could ride it out without his noticing.

He sighed and finished, and she felt a wave of relief - and beneath it, a dark disappointment.

 

* * * * *

Keri put her earrings on and checked the mirror. They were visible - just - which was what she wanted. Her just above the shoulder length blonde hair was as perfectly formed, as crisply lined as her dark blue business suit. She smoothed her hand down her mid-length skirt, then stepped into her high heels, checking the clock above the fireplace as she did so, and frowning. Michael's nonsense this morning had put her behind schedule.

He should have known better. She had a meeting this morning. It irritated her that he sometimes seemed to feel her career wasn't as important as his. Sure he made far and away more money as a partner at one of the city's biggest law firms, but her six figure salary (if barely) as a mid-level manager at an insurance firm was nothing to sneeze at.

She turned away from the dresser and went into the master bath. The big oval tub on its elevated platform was surrounded by plants. To the right was the big shower. Michael was inside, behind the glass. The oak counter with twin sinks was nine feet long and ran along the wall to her right. She found her Rolex, where she'd left it, and slipped it around her slender wrist.

She retreated to the doorway before turning.

"I've got to go, Michael," she said.

He slid the door back, as she'd expected, and formed his lips into a kiss.

"I am not going near you, okay," she said flatly.

He grinned. It had been months since she'd last made that mistake, and he'd drawn her into the shower. Honestly! She'd been all dressed! She'd had to redo her hair and change and everything! The man was forty! You'd think he'd have more maturity!

"I'll see you Friday," he said.

She hesitated. "I hope you have a good trip," she said, averting her eyes from his long, well-muscled body, and especially - that! "Call me tonight. I'll be late home, though."

"Love ya," he said.

She snorted and blew him a kiss, then turned and left. Her heels clicked on the polished hardwood floors as she headed to the stairs, the tone changing on the cool marble as she went down.

Marika, the Greek live-in housekeeper had Michael Junior and Miranda at the table. Keri ruffled their hair lightly as she passed.

"Your dad and I will be late tonight," she told them.

"How late?" Michael asked.

"I should be here well before bedtime," she said.

He nodded as if satisfied. Miranda cocked her head to one side. At eight, she was a year younger than her brother, and smarter, Keri thought, with a little feminine pride.

"Can we watch the Simpsons if you're not home by then?"

Keri made a face. She didn't like the Simpsons at all. But Miranda was a bargainer. She'd probably wind up a lawyer like her father.

"If I hear you using the same insults Bart does you won't watch it again for a solid month," she warned, finger wagging.

 

* * * * *

 

Her office consisted of an L-shaped desk with a cabinet over the side portion, a credenza behind her, a pair of book cases, and a round table with four chairs. It wasn't terribly fancy, but it did have a window. Which was pretty good given how cheap the company was. Even senior auditors worked in cubicles.

She hung her jacket up and checked her hair in the mirror. Alfonso, who did it for her, was tremendously expensive, but the results were simply marvelous. Hardly a hair needed to be brushed into place. Her golden hair was rich and thick and straight, curving gently inward a little below her jaw, and firmly cutting diagonally downward on both sides of her forehead. Oh yes, he was well worth it.

She checked the clock on her desk and sat down. She barely had time to check her email before the meeting began.

Keri's job was as manager of program auditing. That meant her group looked at the budgets and performance of individual groups within the company to determine if they were functioning efficiently, if their budgets were too small, or too large, or if they were wasting resources or underperforming. This did not make her a popular person within the company, but it did make other managers, and even higher level directors, very wary around her.

Keri was the same level as most of the other managers, but some pigs were more equal than others. When she wanted something done, it got done. That wasn't merely because of what she did, but her personality, which was coolly demanding, and utterly intolerant of excuses for failure to perform. Her cutting tongue had reduced more than one employee or even manager, to a quivering wreck.

One of the emails was a complaint from one of her employees, one of the auditors on her team. She'd sent him a project which had to be done by the weekend, and he claimed to not have the time. She snorted. "Make the time," she wrote back, then sent it.

Sure it was brusque. But the man was forty six! Did he expect her to coax him? If he had to work overtime then he'd work overtime. She did often enough. He was soft. He expected to work eight hours and five days and satisfy her. That wasn't going to happen and he should have known it before accepting the promotion.

If he didn't learn it soon he'd be back in his old job. Keri intended to be a director by thirty-five, and she had less than a year in which to accomplish that. There were two director positions coming open, and she didn't need weaklings on her team.

She made a note in her blackberry to mention it to him, and then stood up. She smoothed her skirt, checked her shoes, tugged her jacket, then picked up her folders and headed for the meeting.

The only way to get men in their forties to respect a blonde in her early thirties was to make them wary around her. And she managed that very well, indeed. She was six feet tall, with a slender body with long, lovely legs. She also had a lovely, heart-shaped face with wide blue eyes and small, but full-lipped mouth over her narrow chin. Under other circumstances she would have drawn lustful gazes as she walked into the board room. But no one there thought of Keri Rhodes as anyone's sexual playtoy.

She sat down at the head of the table and slipped on her reading glasses - thin, frameless plastic lenses which only served to accentuate the look of keen intelligence in her eyes, then gazed down the table.

"Let's begin," she said. "Tom, your report, please."

 

* * * * *

 

Keri's hands were sweating as she slipped into the big SUV and started the engine. Her stomach twisted with a mixture of queasy unease and dark, thrilling anticipation. The soft luxury of the car folded itself around her as she pulled in he seat belt and snapped it in place. The stereo played a soft Chopin prelude as she pulled out of her parking space and headed for the ramp up.

She glanced at the clock. It was barely past four. The traffic was chaotic, the height of the rush hour approaching, as she turned west and headed towards home.

She didn't get there.

She turned off her regular route halfway there, heart beating a little faster, stomach twisting as her mind filled with argument and counter argument, fear and anxiety, excitement and need. It wasn't cheating. It wasn't! It was - it wasn't even sex really! How could it be? She loved Michael! She had no interest in another man! None!

She pulled over to the curb and gazed furtively around, then stared at the doorway ahead, trying to brace herself. Her pulse throbbed and she tried to urge herself into movement, but she sat frozen for several minutes. Finally, she opened the door and swung her long leg out onto the pavement.

She took a deep, shuddering breath, said a small prayer, and then walked up the street a half block, again glancing furtively around without appearing to. She turned abruptly into the doorway and knocked, then waited uncomfortably, trying not to be seen looking around, face towards the door, her appearance the same arrogant confidence she'd shown at the meeting.

The door pulled back and she strode briskly through. It was closed behind her by the same Spanish woman as always, plump and middle aged. She took Keri's jacket, and Keri tried not to blush in front of her as, uncaring, the woman walked off. Keri braced herself further and walked down the hall, then tapped at the green door.

"Come."

She turned the knob and opened it. Inside was a well-appointed sitting room, complete with leather chairs and ottomans, a polished oak table, and a sideboard with crystal glasses and vases of liquor. A small, dark haired woman sat on one of the recliners, sipping wine.

The woman looked to be in her late twenties. She had short, punkish hair which was done in streaks of black and brown and which slashed down across the middle of her forehead, left to right. She wore leather trousers and high heeled, pointy toed leather boots. Her cocoa coloured skin was quite visible around the leather vest she wore, her arms and shoulders bare, her cleavage substantial.

Keri's face became more flushed as she stood in the doorway waiting. The girl looked at her for a long minute while Keri squirmed mentally.

"Close the fucking door."

Keri closed the door and waited, butterflies filling her stomach.

"So, did we do something naughty again?" the girl said in contempt.

Keri dropped her eyes, squirming anew. She knew that her entire attitude towards sex was idiotic and even schizophrenic, but she couldn't control her attitude, and neither could her expensive psychiatrist.

"Get on your knees."

With a sharp little inhalation, Keri dropped to her knees.

"Now all fours."

Face reddening further, Keri dropped to her hands and knees, her blazer falling open below her. It was not the same blazer she'd worn to work, however. That was in the car, as was the skirt and blouse she'd worn to work. These were cheap knockoffs she'd bought at Sears.

"Crawl to me, you fucking whore."

Face flaming, Keri crawled across the thick red carpet to kneel in front of the girl, who looked down at her and smirked, then crossed her legs and held up one of her boots.

"Clean this."

Keri inhaled deeply, then too the girl's ankle and began to run her tongue along the top of the boot, down along the ankles, then lower, to the toes, her tongue making long, slow strokes as her mind squirmed in embarrassment and shame.

And excitement.

She had been told the woman's name was Mistress, and that she needed no other term. She didn't know any other term, nor cared to. That would personalize what was strictly a business relationship. If a bizarre one.

Mistress pulled her foot away and uncrossed her legs, then sat forward. She stood up as her hands came down and gripped Keri by the scruff of the neck, dragging her up off her feet. Mistress was very strong. Keri worked out, of course, but Mistress had very powerful arms, and she smirked up at Keri as she held her by the front of her blouse.

"Did we have fun at work today, Catholic girl?"

"Yes, mistress," Keri said, feeling the same sense of embarrassment she always did when using the term.

Everything about this place embarrassed her! Everything!

Mistress smirked again and tore open the front of Keri's blouse, revealing her slender chest and flat belly. She looked ostentatiously down at Keri's bra-clad breasts, which embarrassed the older woman even more. Keri was not a lesbian, nor a bisexual. She had no tendencies or inclinations in that direction.

Winced as Mistress shoved her torn blouse and blazer back over her shoulders, then pulled her forward by the bra and bit into the side of her throat.

She stood still, quivering, fingers trembling at her sides, face red, as the dark haired woman ran her tongue along the edge of her collar bone. Abruptly, she spun Keri around, tearing the blazer and blouse off her shoulders, then gave her a hard push that sent her stumbling into the table.

"Bend over, slut," she barked.

Gulping, Keri obeyed, and flinched as she felt the woman's hand on the back of her leg, felt it sliding slowly up her bare leg, pushing the skirt higher and higher. The skirt was lifted up over her bottom and then she flinched again as she was slapped.