Chapter 4

It has taken the rest of the day to wash the soup smell off me. I took the afternoon off work, faking illness. I’ll take tomorrow too just so it looks more authentic and less like me just pulling a sicky. It’ll give me time to plan my next move too.

I have struggled for hours but I have come up with a silver lining to my tomato raining cloud. I was in the same room with him and I proved my Trojan was doing its trick, bringing me good, truthful information on Nick’s whereabouts. Tony rang earlier to apologise profusely and check I was alright. I replied that I was okay apart from the ruined dress and bruised knee caps and he promised me a slap up meal on the house whenever I decide to take it. The optimist in me is saving it for a future date with Nick.

“I cannot sell you this house Sheridan.” He looks deep into her eyes, chin lifted, his hand on her arm.

“Why not, Dempsey?” She replies, pouting.

“It’s haunted!” His eyes go wide, and her mouth follows suit as she cuddles into his arm.

“Is that why it’s so, so cold in here?” He wraps his strong, suited arms around her and stares into her eyes.

“I think so,” he whispers and the silence lengthens. His lips slide down, pulled to hers as surely as opposites attract. When their lips meet they press hard, smooshing together as the tongues get busy, and the sound of a hot wet kiss fills the air when suddenly...

“AAAAAARRGH!” A ghastly scream cuts through the kissing and the lights go out, leading into the end credits of the show.

I put down the box of popcorn and sigh. I hate such cliff-hangers, making me wait for twenty four hours till I find out what happens next. I’ve never missed a one of the five hundred and seventy nine episodes so far and I have every one recorded too - I will watch tonight’s back again later. I’ll just check the Trojan first.

He’s online. I can see he’s surfing - oooh naughty boy - for porn! I can see the pages he’s visiting and it’s fascinating. He likes his women big busted, and I think he has a breast fixation because the video clips all contain tit fucks. Yes, he could fuck my boobs any day. I can feel his thickness sliding up between my round glories, his plentiful juices coating me, making him slip up and down, faster and harder until his cum fountains out and all over my face. Glorious, pity it’s just in my imagination though.

He swaps website, and I’m intrigued to see it is a BDSM site. I knew he’d have a kinky side to him, you can see it in his eyes. His viewing material is another surprise; he picks out the movies that show a mistress dominating a male slave.

I’ve heard that high up, powerful men in stressful jobs often like to have the control taken away from them. I’d take tight hold of Nick’s control and I’d ride it away into ecstasy. I have the most beautiful pair of kinky, fuck-me boots. They’re black leather and have a cute little spiked heel and lace zigzag across the front, right from the base of my ankle to just below my knee. I picture myself wearing them, a long, teasing cat o’ nine tails in my hand. He licks my boots lovingly, I lick his buttocks with my whip, the higher he gets the harder I whip until his tongue is sinking between my nether lips and pleasuring me till I bathe his face in my juices, marking him as mine.

His thirst for porn slaked (I get even more turned on imagining his hand stroking up and down his tool, his essence shooting out as he orgasms), he disappears offline after checking his email for one last time.

Hey Nick,

Is your Mother ok now after this afternoon’s madness? She was really upset about her soup wasn’t she? I hope that poor girl was ok though, it didn’t look like she wanted the soup at all!

Anyway just reminding you of the engagement tomorrow night at Mrs. Harbottle’s. I know you don’t like her, but the big bosses need her advertising deal. You must make an appearance. I will pick you up at six. Formal wear this time, so pull out the Tux and don’t keep me waiting. We have to be over in Parkridge by 7pm, you know how Sheila frowns on lateness.

Regards, Mike.

I blush at the reference to me; I definitely didn’t want the damn soup. I still smell slightly of it.

I know that name though, Harbottle, Sheila Harbottle. That’s it. She did the advertising campaign last summer. She’s a frigid bitch but I got her number, she liked me. Everyone likes me, I make sure that they do. I can be whatever a person wants. I’m malleable like that. The problems only come when they want to learn about the real me.

“Hi Sheila, it’s Caitlyn Jones here. Hi, yes I’m doing well thanks, how are you? I just saw the latest CatCar advert and I thought of you. I loved it, a stroke of genius. It reminded me that I’d missed your intelligent conversation.” I grin widely. “Oh let me check, you know me, busy, busy, busy.” I flip through the magazine on the living room table. “Ahh yes, it seems I am actually free tomorrow night. A party at yours? Why, I’d love to. What time? Oh yes, I can make that, no problem. Well I’ll see you then Sheila. Thanks once again for the invite.”

I dance around in circles then come to a sudden stop.

What am I going to wear?