CONFERENCE CALL

Elizabeth Coldwell

It’s close to six, and I’m still waiting for the call. Lifting a slat of the blind with my finger, I gaze wistfully into the parking lot. Patti and Linda are heading for Linda’s car, laughing at something as they teeter on their heels. They’ll be going for drinks at Muldoon’s, our usual Friday evening haunt, and I wish I could join them. But I can’t. Once, bored and frustrated, I skipped out on a conference call. I haven’t made that mistake since.

“Juliana.” At the sound of that oh-so-familiar voice, I swivel in my chair, back to face the monitor. He’s watching me from his seat in the office down the hall, his brow raised.

“Sir.” The response is automatic.

“Max, are you with us?” he enquires. Another,

smaller window opens on the screen, as our colleague in the London office joins us.

“As always. Good to see you, Iain.” Based on the time difference, it must be almost midnight where Max is, but he looks bright-eyed and alert, handsome in his sober black business suit. “Miss Winston.” He acknowledges me with a nod.

“If we’re all here, then we can begin. Juliana, remove your jacket.”

“Yes, Sir.” There are no niceties, but I didn’t expect them. We’ve been sharing these calls long enough for me to know that, with him, it’s always straight down to business. It’s why he makes such a good Master; he knows how to read the mood in a room, and give me what I need, sometimes even before I know I need it myself.

Aware of Max watching from his vantage point across the Atlantic, I shrug off my jacket, and hang it over the back of my chair. The white blouse I wear is sheer enough to reveal the pink-and-black underwired bra beneath. A bra too tarty for office wear, but my Master likes it. As does Max.

“Undo your blouse.” Another curt order, and one that sets a pulse beating heavily between my legs.

I fumble with the buttons, unfastening four before I’m told to stop.

“What do you think, Max?” My Master’s voice holds a note of disinterest. He’s aware, of course, how much the idea that he’s not in the least bothered by my display turns me on.

“Very nice.”

“She has gorgeous breasts, doesn’t she?” Master comments.

Max seems to be fidgeting in his seat, as though he needs to readjust himself. “Mmm. Two perfect hand-fuls, I’d say. But I don’t feel as though I’m getting the best view of them here.”

“Well, I’m sure we can do something about that.”

I’m expecting to be told to take my bra off, and my hands are almost halfway to the catch at the back when Master says, “Lift your tits out of the cups, Juliana.”

Hurriedly, I obey, thrown a bit off guard by the request. In moments, my breasts rest on the silk fabric, pushed up a little way by the wiring. It’s a sight that’s somehow much ruder than if I’d been asked to take it off entirely.

Max lets out a small groan. He has so much less composure than my Master, and I know it won’t be long before he’s freed his cock from his suit trousers so he can jerk himself off to the sight of my willing humiliation.

“Pinch your nipples, Juliana,” comes the command.

I do as I’m told, wishing it were Master squeezing the tight nubs between his fingers. Or Max. I’ve never felt his touch. I wonder if he’d be rough, or whether he’d prefer to use his teeth to bite them. Juice trickles from my pussy as I imagine Max taking my breast in his mouth and sucking greedily on it.

“She has a surprise for you, Max.” Master’s voice cuts into my reverie. “Stand up and show him, Juliana.”

It’s obvious what he’s really asking me to do. Without hesitation, I get to my feet. Aware of Max’s gaze on me through the video link, I slowly ease my tight skirt up my legs. I know he’s a stocking man, so he’ll adore the sight of the black hold-ups I’m wearing, and the soft flesh above them, revealed as I lift the hem all the way up, to show that I have no panties on. Max bites back a moan, and I swear I hear the sound of his zipper coming down.

“Fuck—she’s shaved,” he murmurs. “Oh, that is exquisite.”

“I got her to do it especially for you. Don’t you wish you could reach out and touch that pussy? Feel how soft those juicy lips are?”

“Yes, I do.” Max fights to spit out the words, and I’m sure he’s uttering them between strokes up and down his dick. “You’re a fucking lucky bastard, you know that, Iain?”

Master chuckles. “Well, right now, neither of us is able to have the pleasure of feeling that wet cunt of hers, so I guess she’ll have to do it for us. Touch yourself, Juliana.”

I shouldn’t be so eager to do this, but I put my hand to my pussy without hesitation. When I skim a finger over my clit, tremors shudder through me, so strong that I know it’ll take all my willpower not to orgasm without permission.

“She’s such an eager little slut,” Master comments, “but it’s a beautiful sight, isn’t it?”

“Absolutely gorgeous.” A stranger’s voice. A woman’s voice. I don’t look at the monitor to see who’s joined the conference call. I can’t. Just the thought that a third party is watching me play with myself has me coming all over my fingers, sobbing and gasping as my legs threaten to give way from under me.

I’ll be in so much trouble when Master gets me home, but I don’t care. As my breathing slows and I gather my scattered wits, I risk a glance at the screen, but the woman has gone. So has Max. Only Master smiles at me, love and fond indulgence mixing in his expression. There are so many things I want to say, chief among them, “Who was she?” and “Please tell me that wasn’t a one-off,” but Master doesn’t give me the chance to ask.

“See you in the parking lot in five, boss,” he says. “We’ve got a table at Muldoon’s and the drinks are on you.”

And with that, our roles revert to normal and Iain, the best PA I’ve ever employed, shuts down the call.