David knew when he was on to a good thing. He enjoyed his work, he had a good marriage, and he had his ‘interests.’ A little gambling, a touch of the high life, nothing too untoward. At least not by his standards.
He’d heard of others who had sailed a little too close to the wind and found themselves on the outside with little more than a pension on which to survive. That wouldn’t happen to him. He was too careful.
Last year he and Mel had taken the kids to Florida. His wife had been worried that they couldn’t afford it. She was the one who ran the household and kept an eye on the money side of things.
“Well?” He was aware she regularly transferred small amounts from his salary into a rainy day account. “You’re the boss. What do you think?”
When she looked up from her magazine, her eyes had been guarded. Then she’d relented.
“Well, I suppose we could manage a week. Ten days at most.”
He had made a point of grumbling to his colleagues, letting everyone know in no uncertain terms that there was something wrong with a woman who didn’t leap at the chance to take the kids on holiday.
“After all, isn’t that why we work? To get a decent break every now and then? It’s not as if we don’t need it in this job.” He’d been gratified by the nods and murmurs that followed.
David’s kids were at that age. A boy of sixteen who thought he knew everything, and a girl a year older. Neither seemed particularly interested in him anymore. That had all stopped years ago. He thought it might have something to do with the job. A father working for Revenue and Customs wasn’t everyone’s idea of fun, especially given the longer hours he often volunteered for.
Mel was the glue holding the family together. She was the one who took care of everything, him included. From taking his suits to the drycleaners to making sure the kids kept to their curfews, she ran the house like clockwork.
She’d been a stunner in her youth, with her big hair and even bigger tits. He’d been the envy of his mates. It had all been different back then, though. Even her becoming pregnant before they were married hadn’t been too much of an issue. They had the whole church, reception, honeymoon bit, and not long after he got his first promotion.
At first it was okay. Later, when the kids were older, he wondered where he was going in life. Oh, he loved the job. Loved analysing facts and figures, the detective work. Loved the power. But he was fast realising there was little more to his existence than that.
He was forty-six going on sixty, and starting to panic. Even his body was a mess. His hair was thinning, and his stomach had started to hang over his trousers—not that anyone in his life had ever called him athletic. But still.
The first time he’d been offered an incentive to sign off a blatantly false tax return, he refused it. Not only that, he’d gone out of his way to make sure the case resulted in a prosecution.
The second time he hadn’t been so stupid.
The payoff hadn’t been large, just enough for a couple of days in Brighton. He’d told Mel he was going a conference and she’d believed him. Well, why not? He often had to attend that sort of thing.
He’d spent most of the time shacked up in a three-star hotel with a hooker. He couldn’t remember her name, but he would never forget how good it felt to have money and a hot and horny pussy to plunge his dick into.
After that it was easy to justify taking the odd kickback, especially when all he was required to do was leave out a line or two from a report. And it wasn’t as if he were dealing with criminals, after all. No one was getting hurt. He thought of it as creative accounting.
Before Brighton he’d never felt the urge to use prostitutes. Now he was using them whenever he could. He saw it as living out his fantasy of being a high achiever in the city with a lifestyle to match. The serviced apartment he rented by the hour became his crash pad—his base away from the eight-bed residence in the country. He would leave his Jag or Maserati in the basement car park, and the following day he would fly to New York for a little shopping. Accompanying him would be his much younger second wife. She’d have long blonde hair and tits she was proud to show off and wear the highest heels and shortest skirts—and want to fuck as much as he did.
He didn’t even try to make the scene work with Mel. In fact she didn’t figure in his imaginary life at all.
He’d never booked Chloe before, although he’d had a couple of the girls from Elite in the past.
Now, as she sipped her Champagne, he openly studied her. The fingers holding the flute were long and elegant, and her nails were beautifully tapered and polished a dark coral pink. Not the gaudy blue or green seen on some of the younger women in his department. He couldn’t understand why anyone would want to paint their nails such unhealthy looking colours. He also noted that she was wearing only two rings, and neither was a wedding ring.
In a moment he would suggest that they get comfortable. He expected that, given the amount of money he was paying, she would be wearing something incredibly sexy underneath her blouse and skirt.
These days Mel only wore that sort of stuff on special occasions. When they went out for dinner, times like that. She had a red satin set he had bought her a few years back, but she’d only worn it once. She said the under-wiring was too uncomfortable.
Chloe looked like she lived in bras that pushed her luscious breasts up and out for men to admire and tiny little thongs that left nothing to the imagination.
* * *
Anna slowly undid each button of her blouse. It was white silk, and little effort was required to ease it up and out of her skirt. She leaned over David, and taking the glass from his hand, encouraged him to explore her breasts.
She had already detached herself from her work. Physically she was there, smiling and responding encouragingly as he parted the fabric and placed his hand almost reverently on the tulle and lace of her bra. Mentally she was elsewhere. She was thinking about Adam. More specifically she was wondering when he would book her again.
David used the language of the gutter as he groped her enthusiastically. She was fucking gorgeous. Her tits were fucking lovely, the best fucking pair he’d ever seen. Hauling a breast from its cup, he wet her nipple with his tongue and began to suck noisily.
She really needed to concentrate; otherwise they would be there all day. She allowed him a little longer then gently extracted herself in order to remove her clothes. He was breathing hard, his chest rising and falling as, clad only in heels and stockings and the expected tiny ribbon thong, she slipped off her bra. Then she pulled him to his feet and put her arms around his neck to lean against him. She could smell his cologne and the washing powder his wife used. She imagined Adam in the room, watching.
Would he be pleased with her performance so far? Her clit tingled at the thought of being appraised, judged, and even rated. She took David’s fingers and pressed them against the almost non-existent thong, and an immediate burst of sexual energy shot through her. If he ventured farther, eased the fabric aside to gain access to her, he’d find her damp.
Wanting to provoke the Adam of her fantasy, to inflame him with her wanton behaviour, she twisted in David’s arms and leaned back against his chest. He reacted immediately. One hand snaked round to cup a breast; the other pulled aside her thong. A finger was manipulating her clit and she was gyrating against it and moaning.
“Fuck, you love it, don’t you?” David was breathing hard. “Don’t worry, you’ll get what you need.”
It was turning out to be her client’s lucky day.