PROLOGUE
Looking out a dirty old window
Down below the cars in the city go rushing by
I sit here alone and I wonder why
My name is Clara and I’m a prostitute … well, a sex slave to be precise. I work every day of the month, including when I’m on my periods, there’s some sick bastards out there who enjoys lapping it. My body no longer feels my own. To be honest, I can’t remember the last time I had my body to myself. Time has no relevance here. If I want to know what season it is, I look out of the grubby window, beyond the bars and take a guess by the weather. Every so often we’re told to dress up, then we’re led to a large room blindfolded where we celebrate Christmas—I’ll tell you about that later on though.
For now, I’ll just tell you the basics. My world is one room, one small insignificant room, but at least I’m lucky, I have my own adjoining bathroom. It may be an old porcelain bath with yellow rings around it, but it is all mine. There’s only a few mouldy tiles left on the wall, most of them have fallen off over the years. Some I’ve smashed off due to losing my temper. Above the metal sink, which is located mere millimetres away from the side of the bath, is my pride and joy—a mirror. The surface is scratched in several places and it has a few misty patches that never seem to go away. Of course, wedged into the corner is my lavatory, no seat though. I use my reading material to wipe my backside, old newspapers, well, the sports, cartoon, TV and advertisement pages. Most of it doesn’t make any sense, as when I get my supply it is already ripped into strips inside of a blue and white stripy carrier bag.
In my room, I have a double bed; the flower-patterned mattress is worn. I’ve had to pull many springs out, it was either that or getting one jabbed up the backside while lying on my back. Trust me, when you have another person’s weight upon you that spring becomes more than uncomfortable. I have a small hole in my right butt cheek to prove it, I swear there’s a small piece of wire still embedded in there.
Don’t take pity on me. I don’t want it. All I want you to do is sit back and listen. Listen to my tale, then take a good look around you. Why? I’ll answer that later on, when I know you are listening.
Oh, and there’s one more thing—don’t judge me. Well, not until I’ve finished.
I suppose I better start at the beginning.
CHAPTER ONE
As a child my parents liked to show me off. My golden ringlets and angelic face could melt unbreakable hearts. Mommy’s little beauty queen.
Dance Clara, dance, my mother would say proudly when she wanted to show me off, clapping her hands and tapping her foot.
Of course, I obey. I love the attention, what child doesn’t? I climb on the tiled, tea stained coffee table in my fairy dress-up suit, wings and all, and spin around on my tippy-toes like a ballerina.
“Kick those legs,” she continued, cigarette dangling out of her mouth with a halo of smoke lingering above her head. Mommy’s halo. Mommy the angel. The murky grey halo disperses leaving thin trails reaching up to the heavens.
Again, I would obey, kicking my legs as high as I could.
“Whoa there,” uncle Pete said, covering his eyes with his tattooed hands. “I don’t want to see your dirty knickers.”
“My knickers are clean,” I giggle, clinging onto the edge of my white tutu.
“Clara, show uncle Pete what we think of stiff bastards like him.” My mother nods towards Pete and winks.
I place my finger in my mouth and shake my head. I knew how to play my mother, well I thought I did, all along it was she who played me.
“Go on, you can have some extra candy.” She leaned back on the sofa and reached behind it, pulling out a yellowed carrier bag. Her scrawny hand withdrew several coloured pieces of candy. “You’ll get two handfuls this time.”
I won, so I thought, extra candy for me.
Giggling, I turn my back to uncle Pete, bend over and drop my knickers. “Kiss my sweet bum,” I say, slapping my right cheek.
My mother falls to the floor in fits of laughter. “That’s my girl.” Her laughter echoes around the shabby sitting room. “Fucking priceless ain’t it.”
Pete winks at me and stifles a laugh. “I’ll get you one of these days little madam. Just you wait till you’re begging for more candy.”
“No you won’t, ner ner—ner ner ner.” I stuff a green piece of candy in my mouth and stick my nose in the air.
“Hang on,” Pete says, now kneeling on the floor in front of me. “Wasn’t there a little girl, about so high, who needed someone to fix the tyre on her bicycle? I wonder who that could have been. Maybe I was just dreaming.”
I shove the piece of candy to the side of my mouth, saliva dribbles down my chin, I wipe it away with the back of my hand. “It was me, silly.”
“Nope, I don’t think so … anyway, who are you? I don’t know who you are.”
“I’m Clara, silly.”
“Hmm, I don’t know any Clara’s.”
“Yes you do.” I giggle and slap him on the arm.
He falls to the floor screaming, holding onto his arm. “Argh, you’ve broken my arm.”
I jump on top of him and punch into his back.
“Help, someone get the police. There’s a rabid animal on the loose. Help!”
My mother slaps her legs and laughs, which leads to a fit of coughing.
I stop attacking uncle Pete and approach my mother. Her face now bright red, tears streak her face. “Mommy?”
She holds a fist to her mouth and waves me away with the other hand. Pete grabs me by the shoulders and sits me on his knee. “Give your mom five minutes, she just needs to catch her breath.”
I huddle into Pete’s chest, watching my mother’s face turn several shades of colours. All I want to do is help her. No one else was. They all sat there staring at her. At the other end of the sofa my father rolled himself a cigarette and mumbled to one if his biker friends.
A few minutes passed, her coughing now eased. She wipes snot and saliva from her face, with the back of her hand, then she cleans her hand on the arm of the sofa.
“Mommy, you better now?”
She nods and takes several deep breaths. “I will be … in a minute … once I’ve … had my medicine.” Her hands shake.
“I’ll get it for you mommy.” I jump down from Pete’s knee and pull the stool from the other side of the living room to her. She thanks me, opens the lid and withdraws a small box, then turns to her side clutching it as if her life depends on it.
I hover over her, watching her set her medicine up in neat lines.
“Dance Clara, dance … wiggle that ass of yours,” my mother encourages me. She bends over and drags her nose along the side-table, then she wipes the white powder from her nostril and leaps on the coffee table grabbing me by the hand. “Turn that music up. Its time to party.” She swings her arms in the air. I like it when mommy takes her medicine it always makes her feel better and gives her loads of energy so she cam play with me.
‘Right Said Fred’ blasts throughout the house. Together we shake our behinds, swing our arms and sing along: “I’m too sexy for my shirt, too sexy for my shirt … too sexy it hurts …”
My father, uncle Pete and their friends sit around us clapping their hands yelling, “Get them off.”
“Yeeehaar,” my mother calls out as she pulls off her halter-top.
“Yeehee,” I shout, copying my mother’s moves.
My mommy the angel.
Chapter One
Barry sat at the computer squashed into his swivel chair. Clumps of fat from his sides hung over the handles. The chair creaked with every movement he made. Two castors had already broken off it, but he had sat patiently wrapping parcel tape around each one to hold them still. Amazingly, they held in place.
With a deep sigh, he switched the computer on. The monitor buzzed and the screen flashed. Useless information rolled up on it. The tower, which stood on the floor hummed noisily. After a short while the windows sign showed on-screen, then it went off. In its place in the top left corner, a box flashed saying ‘improper shutdown scandisk.’
“For fuck-sake,” Barry roared, slamming his fists on the desk. “Fucker was turned off proper, you piece of shit.”
He banged the space bar to cancel the request. Amongst a pile of papers, he fumbled around searching for his lighter. Under his breath, he mumbled and cursed to himself. He twisted in his chair to see if his lighter was on the windowsill behind him. It was. The chair creaked as he swivelled around. He lit his cigarette and spun back round quickly, knocking his can of lager on the floor.
“Argh! Here man,” he hissed impatiently, taking a deep draw of his cigarette, then he blew the hazy smoke out fast and kicked the can across the floor. “Good thing the fucker was empty.”
He edged his chair forward and restarted his computer. When it was ready, he clicked on the Internet icon to connect. A dialling tone roared from the tower, then a series of high-toned beeps. He tapped his fingers on the desk, and then stretched over to his right to lift up the pizza box off the small bookcase and rested it on his large sagging stomach. Between his teeth, he held the cigarette as he opened the pizza box. In front of him lay the remains of last nights eighteen-inch pizza brimmed with every meat possible. He picked up the last piece, forced half of it into his mouth, and chewed fast with his mouth open. He took another draw from the cigarette and a bite from the cold pizza.
“Come on,” he spluttered.
The tone continued for a short while, he stretched his back and yawned. The tone turned to a low humming noise, and then from the tower, a mechanical voice said, ‘ please try again later.’
“Ya, what? Like friggin’ hell will I.”
Furious, he continuously clicked the left button on the mouse. The dial tone restarted. He grunted, blowing smoke from his nostrils and took a couple more deep draws then rammed the dump into the overflowing ashtray, then he ate the last of the pizza and slung the empty box into the corner, where the other empty take-away cartons were piled.
Finally, the Internet started to load on screen. He cracked his fingers and picked up a piece of paper that listed a column of names. He read it smiling with glee.
“Well then, which piss-head is gonna get it today then?” He laughed, scanning the list. “Let’s see then, shall it be Nitty-Pitty, Hagar-Is-Here? Oh yes, Little-Miss-Perfect. Smart arsed cow. Think she knows fucking everything.”
He circled her name on his list with the half nibbled biro from behind his ear, then he clicked the favourite’s button and scrolled down to the file that said writings and clicked on it. The cursor rolled down until it came across a writers’ site that he visited very often lately.
He farted and chuckled. The stench in the small room was horrid. Mixtures of smells wafted through the air. The smell from his arse was bad, but mixed with stale lager, food cartons, glasses of off milk, overfilled ashtrays and his feet, would be enough to knock most people unconscious.
“How way man, load up,” he said, scratching his balls. The modem clicked loudly as it sent the data to the computer. Slowly on the screen, a blue background appeared with the main title. Barry sat up straight ready for action. He pulled out the sliding shelf from the desk where his keyboard sat covered in crumbs. On most of the keys were black smudges from his fingers.
“Yes!” Barry snapped eagerly as the last parts on screen filled in. He stretched his arm over to the mouse and scrolled down to see who was online. Four names were listed. Only one he knew of. A poet.
“Well, you’ll have to do till the bitch comes on.” He clicked on the poet’s name. The page changed. Now on-screen were the details for the poet. He read them, again.
“Ah yes. The wanker from the midlands, electrician, hobbies … reading, well of course you’re gonna put that down you wanker. Everyone does, frigger’s think it makes them look like a real writer cos they bloody read books.”
He shifted in his chair; it creaked, and then slowly went lower on one side. He leaned to the left trying to get as much weight as possible to the other side, then he bent forward a little bit to see which castor was giving way. The ball inside of the castor had cracked in half. He sighed with relief. At least it wasn’t the full castor breaking off this time. He sat back, hovered his hands over the keyboard as he read the list of the poet’s work and clicked on the latest submission. The screen flickered to the poem. He burped and read on.
“What the? This fucker ain’t right in the head,” he said, shaking his head and continued to read. “What a load of shit. I don’t know how the fuck you get away with writing such shit.”
He scrolled down a little further to see the ratings and comments. “A fucking ten? Who in their right mind would give that drivel a ten?”
He was irritated. His work had never been rated before. His work was hardly read and when a comment was left for him, it would be about the down side of his work.
He read the poet’s comments. Six in total, but three of them were the poet’s replies.
“‘An earthly feel to this wonderful masterpiece’ who … Madame-Stylist … earthly. Of course the shite is gonna be earthly, it’s about fucking mud.” Barry shook his head as he read the other comments. He rolled the mouse back up and clicked on the comment box. “I’ll give ya a comment,” he hissed.
He belched again and began to type: ‘This has got to be the worst poem I have ever read. How can you call this a poem? You only have two words on each line. To me this is just a useless list of what soil is made from. A child could write a better shopping list as a poem.’
“Ha! That’s you told,” he laughed, and pressed the submit button. Then he pressed the homepage button and waited for the poet to leave a reply.
He lifted his papers on the desk, looking for his packet of cigarettes. He found it, took one out and lit it, then looked back at the screen and noticed that Little-Miss-Perfect had signed in.
A low grumbling groan echoed from his stomach. “I’m starving,” he said, heaving himself from his chair. “I won’t be long bitch.”
In the kitchen, he slammed the fridge door and waddled back to his room with his arms full of snacks and a can of lager. One at a time, he climbed the stairs.
“Barry, don’t you be over filling yourself boy. I’ll be starting dinner soon,” an elderly voice shrilled.
“Yes, mother,” he said, ignoring her.
Crisps and chocolate were flung onto his desk. He forced himself back into his chair. As he was opening his can of lager, a blue sign flashed on his screen saying: ‘you have a private message.’ His heart leapt.
At last, some fucker has noticed me.
He took a large gulp of lager, spilling most of it down his chins. Gasping for air, he managed to burp the first five letters of the alphabet. A large grin spread on his face, he clicked through the buttons to read his message: ‘Due to several complaints I have no choice but to give you your first and only warning. Several members have placed complaints about the unnecessary comments and private messages you have been distributing. We will not tolerate such behaviour on this site. Please refrain from doing so in the future or I will have no choice but to cancel your membership.’
“What? Fuck you, you fucking bastard,” Barry yelled, cancelling the message. He clicked on Little-Miss-Perfect’s latest story. Without reading it, he clicked zero on the rating box and placed a nasty comment. Still full of rage he clicked on several stories and poems rating them with zeros too; on some, he left simple comments saying: ‘This is shit.’
Feeling satisfied, with a cigarette dangling from his mouth, he opened two packets of crisps, crunched them up, and poured them into his mouth together. He emptied his lager down his throat. With one hand, he stumped the cigarette out; with the other, he pulled a cigarette out of the box.
His stomach grumbled. An exceptional fart was brewing. He sniggered, gritted the cigarette in his teeth and slid his bum to the edge of the chair. After many attempts, he managed to lift one foot onto the desk. He bent over as far as possible and held the lighter close to his backside. A loud grumble roared from his intestines. He took a deep breath and forced an extended thunderous fart out, at the same time he lit the lighter. Flames sprouted from his backside setting the papers on his desk on fire and singeing his trousers.
“Argh! Fuck! Shit! Ya bastard!”
He patted his backside, then emptied his metal bin on the floor and shoved the flaming papers into it. Holding the bin at arms length, he scampered to the bathroom. The flames died out as soon as he ran the shower over the bin.
Packets of chocolate had melted on his desk, but that did not stop him from peeling it off and eating it.
Ping!
‘You have a private message,’ a blue sign flashed on the monitor. Who the fuck?
He sat back down and clicked on the button to see if it was the administrator again. It wasn’t. It was from Little-Miss-Perfect. His groin stirred and a tingle ran through his body. He had masturbated several times over the thought of her. He was besotted with her photo on the site, long blonde hair swept over her face, revealing one green eye with long dark eyelashes. Deep down he admired her work, but he was unable to admit it.
In his dreams she wants him, needs to hear his words and he strokes her soft silken hair and stares for hours into her hypnotising eyes.
With a quivering hand, he clicked on the private message and bit his lip, a single tear trickled down his cheek as he read it.
“Fucking bitch!” he yelled, slamming his fists onto the desk. Full of rage he shoved what junk was left on his desk across the room. The single tear turned into a stream of tears. Holding back the sobs, he stuffed a biscuit in his mouth from the packet that was spread all over the floor.
Ping!
“You want more of me, eh?” he spluttered, pieces of chewed up biscuit fell from his mouth.
This time the private message was from the administrator: ‘Your membership will be cancelled by the end of today, due to MORE complaints, again. This will give you enough time to save any work you may have on here. If you have any queries regarding this matter please feel free to contact me.’
“Fuck you too!”
He took a deep shuddering breath and placed a compact disc into his computer. His many years studying the ins and outs of computing had paid off as he hacked into the sites database.
Stuck up bitch. Waste of time am I? Fucking slut. I’ll show you where to shove ya friggin’ keyboard. Types like me.
“You don’t fucking know me,” he screamed at the monitor.
He lit yet another cigarette. With each deep inhalation, his nerves calmed down. His fingers dashed across the keys typing in a special code. By the time he finished smoking, he had done it. He was inside the sites personal files.
Me, a lonely fucker, like shite. I ain’t the one who’s deprived.
A list of names rolled down the screen. He clicked on her nickname. Within seconds, all of her private details were revealed.
“Ha! Got you now bitch.” Tears of anger rolled down his cheeks. “So, Brenda, you’re only about forty-five minutes from me. Just forty-five minutes away. I’ve got ya.”
I’ve got ya good now, oh yes. What you gonna do when I fuck you with your keyboard?
He wiped his tears and snot on his sleeve and wrote her address down on the back of an envelope. He turned off his computer and gathered up his cigarettes, lighter, keys and the envelope.
“I’ve done some mince and dumplings. If you … Barry, where you going? Put that hammer down. What do you need the hammer for? Barry? Your dinner is getting cold.”
The roar of the motorbike drowned his mother’s words. Nothing could stop him now. When something was embedded in his mind, he always went through with it.
Barry pulled up outside of a shopping centre and asked for directions. A few minutes later, he was in a car park by a block of flats. He turned the engine off and pushed his bike along the alleyway beside the flats. He took the hammer from the box on his bike and shoved it inside his jacket.
You better be in bitch.
He paced back and forth along the alleyway mumbling to himself. Bright lights lit up the car park. A small red car slowly pulled away.
“Fuck. No.”
He recognised her straight away. Little-Miss-Perfect, Brenda, was going out. With no time to spare, he revved up the bike and sped off following her.
She pulled up outside of a shabby looking café, with short red chequered curtains nailed up around the windows. Barry parked his bike down the street and watched her from across the road. She entered the café. He crossed over and slowly walked past the café and looked through the windows. Her plump figure sat at the back of the small crowd, huddled in a semi circle facing a frail looking woman.
His balls throbbed. His breath became unsteady as he recited one of her erotic poems. What the fuck you doin’ man? To take his mind from her poetry he read the sign on the café door several times: ‘Poetry Club Every Friday @ 8.’
He lit a cigarette, crossed back over, and hid in the shadows watching her. He noticed the way the others responded to her. They kept their distance. They pulled their chairs away from her and ignored her. She got up to fetch a drink and a well-dressed man shoved her chair further back. She sat down and gave him a courteous smile, but he sniggered with disrespect. Her face saddened. A smirk appeared on Barry’s face. I see I ain’t the only fucker who thinks you’re a bitch.
An hour later, Barry was outside Brenda’s bathroom window on the ground floor, at the back of the flats. He heard the bath fill and listened to her sobbing.
Fucking bitch shouldn’t think she’s better than everyone else. No wonder no fucker likes you. His thoughts wandered from pity to hatred towards her.
From the side of the flats, he heard some teenagers laughing. He glanced around, and saw a bin shed not too far from him. On his tiptoes, he quietly made his way inside of the bin shed and pulled the door closed. He sat down and watched the group of teenagers huddle behind the back of flats with their bottles of cider and cigarettes.
Barry had fallen asleep while he waited for the teenagers to leave; he farted and scratched his balls as he slept.
Raindrops woke him from a hole in the bin shed’s roof.
“What? What the fuck?”
He stumbled as he tried to get up. He looked at his watch, but it was too dark to see the time. Carefully, he peeked through the crack of the door; he decided it was safe to come out of hiding. The bathroom light was still on. She must have dozed off too. He was sick of waiting. One way or the other, he was going to get inside of her flat. He checked her bedroom window. It pushed open. He pulled a bin over and placed it on its side, holding onto the windowsill he climbed on top of the bin, the metal creaked. At first, he tried lifting one leg through the window, but he was unable to fit the top half of his body through too. So, with no other choice he forced himself through head first, he huffed and panted as he wriggled. It was a good thing it was a large window. He fell to the floor with a loud thud; he held his breath and listened.
All was silent.
He unzipped his jacket and held the hammer above his head ready for action.
A lamp glowed in the corner of the room, he slowly walked over the thick plush carpet.
All of a sudden, he stopped and bent over to pick up a pair of purple lacy knickers. He sniffed the crotch, instantly he had an erection. He pushed the knickers into his jacket pocket and walked silently through the bedroom. In the small passageway the bathroom door was closed, but the other door was open. So, Barry went through the opened door into the living room.
In the corner of the room was her computer. He stroked her mouse. The screen flashed on. He was devastated as he read the sentences with his nickname on the screen, which was repeated all the way down: ‘Bazza is a bastard. A bastard is Bazza.’
“Fucking dead now bitch.” His temper boiled. At the bottom of the screen, he noticed the time; he had been asleep for nearly two hours.
A terrible gut feeling swam through Barry. Something was wrong. His heart pounded in his ears. The palms of his hands were damp. He was beginning to panic. Why was she still in the bath after all this time? Without thinking, Barry raised the hammer and ran to the bathroom door. He flung it open and gasped. His stomach wretched and the hammer fell from his hand, the claw part of the hammer hit her head, tearing into her eye socket. The side of her temple caved in. The claw of the hammer swayed back and forth hanging from her socket, then it fell to the floor pulling her eyeball out, as well as small fragments of bone. Blood poured from the open wound.
Barry didn’t notice how bad the damage was—his eyes were fixed on the penis floating in the bath. He vomited uncontrollably over the floor. He pulled the knickers from his pocket and wiped his mouth.
“Oh, fuck,” he said shakily. He held the knickers in his hand and shook his head. The smell from the crotch still lingered in his nostrils, realising that he had sniffed them and enjoyed the scent made his stomach heave again. He vomited again and then threw the knickers across the room.
He looked up and noticed the hole in the side of her head. What have I done? Fucking weirdo. Then he noticed her wrist hanging over the edge of the bath. Blood dribbled from a cut.
It was obvious that she was dead. He looked once more at the plump figure lying in the bath, with its floating penis and large rounded breasts.
“What the fuck are you?”
Her long golden hair was now drenched in blood. Pieces of shattered skull and small lumps of flesh drifted in the pool of blood on the floor, where one deformed green eye stared back at him.
“Fuck this shit,” he whispered, as he ran to the bedroom window. He squeezed back out of the window and fell to the ground. He scrambled up, ran to his bike, and screeched away.
Outside of Brenda’s window, amongst the rubbish that had fallen from the bin, lay Barry’s wallet.
Katherine dug her acrylic nails into the arms of the cold plastic chair. She tried to keep her freckled face motionless, but the tender glow across her cheeks and the top of her chest gave her away. David sprawled on his fine leather chair with his legs spread. The material across his crotch pulled taught displayed a well sized mound. He smirked. Taking pleasure in Katherine’s discomfort he cocked his head to the side, a wry grin stretched across his scrawny face.
‘You did say you wanted it, didn’t you?’ David said.
‘Not like this,’ Katherine replied. Her eyes flickered from his patronising stare to the zip on his trousers. She fumbled with her fingers and stood up, her heels clicked across the floor as she headed to the window. With her back turned to him she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. ‘I didn’t think it would be like this.’
He licked his thin lips as he eyed her up and down. His gaze halted at the slit at the top of her long skirt, desire glinted in his eyes.
‘That’s not all, Katherine.’
‘What? What do you mean that’s not all, David?’ She waited for more bad news.
He sauntered behind her. The delicate scent of her perfume, sweet lilies, filled his nostrils. He admired her long, auburn ponytail. As he breathed heavily on her bare neck she shuddered. David noticed and gently blew on the back of her neck.
Katherine was determined to remain angry, but her body had a mind of its own. Her flesh broke out in goose bumps and her head tilted so he had better access to her neck. His breath caressed her neck once again, this time it felt warmer than before, her back arched in response lifting her backside to him.
‘Do you want it?’ David whispered, brushing his lips across her neck.
Her body wanted to shout out yes. Beneath a pair of silky thongs her clit throbbed, begging to be touched the way her neck was being tenderly stroked. Her nipples hardened, poking out of her tight top. His mouth moved closer to her ear.
In a low tone he whispered, ‘I said, do you want it?’
Her mouth disobeyed her mind. ‘Yes.’
‘Good,’ he said, biting down on her earlobe, he pushed his hard-on against her left butt cheek. His balls tightened. He could not stand it any longer. She had teased him for too long now. He managed to last nearly a month without being this close to her. The only reason why he left it for as long was because she was the daughter of his ex-partner.
‘No!’ Katherine squeaked, trying to resist temptation. ‘David, stop.’ Her left eyelid twitched.
He ignored her. He brushed a loose strand of hair off her neck with his fingers, sweeping lightly across her skin. Her skin was soft under his lips.
He groaned deeply in his throat. ‘You want this as much as I do. Now be a good girl and be quiet.’ His hand slid down her side to her thigh, the other wrapped around her waist holding her firmly.
‘Please!’ Katherine managed to say, not knowing whether she meant him to continue or not. The kisses on her neck were more meaningful, his breathing faster. She could feel his penis lengthen against her butt cheek. She wanted to yell out fuck me, but instead she bit down on her lip. The hand on her thigh slid between the split on her skirt, his fingertips ran across the lace edgings of her stockings. He reached further, grasping the inside of her thigh. The back of his thumb stroked against her silky thong.
BEEP. BEEP.
‘God damn it!’ David snarled as he pulled at his beeper on his belt. He took note of the number and threw it on the desk. Katherine broke free from his arm.
‘David. No. Don’t come any closer. What do you mean that’s not all?’
‘Honey,’ he said, reaching out to put his arms around her waist, but she stepped back scowling at him. ‘You’re a fucking tease!’
‘And you’re a bastard.’
‘Keep it up. I dare you and you’ll be running back home jobless. Do you want the job or not? That is if you’re up to it. If not, then leave. You’re not cut out for this type of work or any type of work from the looks of it.’
Katherine wished she could leave, but things were not that simple. ‘I said I would do it. I’m not happy about it … I thought I had left those types of hours behind me. What’s the other thing?’
David smiled at her. ‘I’m your lover.’
‘What?’
‘I’m your lover.’ His words ripped through her body like poison. ‘I can’t send you out there alone. I’ll be popping in every now and again just to see how things are going.’
‘My lover! How am I supposed to do my job with you there? What will they say with you being there?’
‘They’ll be fine. I’m just a boyfriend visiting his girlfriend for a quick roll in the hay.’
This would be her first task for him. She was nervous enough without him spying on her and being a so called lover. She had to do it. If she walked out now, she would never be able to face him again. She had to be strong. Her job should be no problem; she had done that type of work before. However, faking a relationship, now that would take some doing, especially with a bastard like him.
‘I will be able to do it without you watching me,’ said Katherine. ‘I don’t need a babysitter.’
‘I’m not giving you a choice. Do it my way or not at all. It’s temporary, I’m sure you can manage that.’
‘Yes, I can manage that thank you. The job is fine.’
David smiled.
‘Just for the record David, I’m not happy with the arrangements. If anything happens—’
‘If anything happens I will sort it out. Do you understand, or do I have to draw you a bonnie little picture?’ he said raising his voice.
‘I was just trying to tell you that I can do it without you. How hard can it be, or do you not trust me?’
BEEP. BEEP.
David picked the bleeper up. ‘All right, give me a minute,’ he said to himself.
‘David, can I—’
‘Katherine, you will do it my way. If I tell you to do it bloody hopping, then you will do it bloody hopping. You know the basics. You agreed, so you will go through with it.’
David was furious. He became lost in his thoughts for a few moments, ‘How can she act so calm after what had just happened? A cold hearted woman. No wonder she’s still single.’ By the time he was thirty, he had settled down, and he was still with the Mrs Lewis after nearly fourteen years, some happy but others not so good. He pursued outside of his marriage for what he could not get anymore from his wife. After all, she had suggested that it would be better for both of them if he looked else where for his dirty needs. He hated being rejected; actually, he never really was rejected. If he wanted sex, he would get it. ‘This bitch of a tease refused me—she’ll regret it. I nearly had her. That is if this fucking bleeper left me alone, I would have been happy fucking Katherine on the desk.’
The phone rang. David frowned he knew it would be her. ‘Please Katherine, don’t fuck with me, just do your bloody job. You can leave now. I have important things to sort out. Here’s your file. Have a good read. You’ve only a week to remember it all.’ He paused and answered the phone, ‘Hello, yes I did. I was doing it. Hang on a moment, I’m with her now. Goodbye Katherine, I’ll see you later.’
Katherine snatched the file from him. She hated him. She hated the way her body ignored her thoughts when she was around him. Picking her handbag up she calmly swayed out of the small office slamming the door behind her. She stormed through the long corridor passing a couple of cubicles, where the onlookers grinned with disgust at her. She needed to calm down. She needed to get away from the cold hard stares. Peace and quiet. The only quiet place she could think of was the car park on the lower ground floor, alone in her car.
Katherine climbed into her blue mini cooper sports car on the verge of crying. She took three deep breaths and laid her head on the headrest closing her eyes. The look of him mad her feel sick, a thin, scrawny, six-foot man with dark-brown, receding hair and a face of a rat. Hands with abnormal long fingers, she imagined how they could easily reach every unknown crevice inside of a woman’s vagina. The thought of his hot sticky breath on the back of her neck made her pulse quicken. She squeezed her thighs together; she could still feel his hand on her inner thigh and his thumb brushing against her outer lips. The tip of her ponytail brushed her neck. Her nipples jutted out yearning to be twisted. Katherine slipped her hand inside the split of her skirt and lightly stroked her thighs. She eased her seat back a little so she could tilt her pelvis up to grasp at her cunt. Her breathing was out of control. She had to ease the ache in her body. She opened her eyes and looked around the car park. A cherry-red, classic, ford mustang convertible, with a cream, soft top was parked behind her and six other cars in the far corner. No one was in sight. She took a few deep breaths and smiled.
She squeezed her cunt, it throbbed back at her needing to be pleasured. Her mouth was dry. She stroked herself on top of her thongs. Her hand felt strange to her body, she thought of the way David touched her, softly caressing her flesh. She unbuttoned her top with her other hand, to have better access to her nipples. She licked her index finger and circled the tip of her nipple, and then she pinched it. Her breast felt firm, yearning to be held. Her hand slid further in-between the fabric clutching her breast, her long nails dug into her flesh sending sensations of delight to all of her sensitive parts. Her other hand whipped her thongs to the side. She slid her fingers in her shaven slit gently rubbing her clit. Her body tingled as she remembered every touch from David. The warm breath on her neck, the soft lips brushing her skin, those long strong fingers stroking her thigh and the thumb teasing her clit.
This was no good. She needed to be satisfied now; there was no time for soft caresses. The slight tingle she had running all over her cunt had now become a desperate ache. Her hand shook vigorously. She opened her legs wider; slipping her fingers inside, she slowly wriggled them. Then she began pounding her pussy with her hand, she was hot and wet. Her clit needed more work, her cunt could wait. Her middle finger tensed as she rubbed as fast as she could. Her hand ached with cramp. She was close. A moan slipped from her mouth as she squeezed harder at her breast. She twisted her erect nipple. The window beside her head had misted. She opened her eyes for a split second to make sure know one was there, a few more minutes that was all what she needed.
‘Ahh. Ohh fuck!’ she whimpered.
She flung her head back and pushed her breasts forward. A wave of pleasure swam through her body. Just a little bit more then she would feel better. Her cunt squelched in rhythm with her rubbing. She was on the edge. Her breathing was out of control; her legs flung wider, her left leg slammed into the hand brake. The cramp in her hand had travelled up her arm, but she could not stop; not yet, she had to have more. Her legs suddenly jammed shut and her body tensed, she jerked in her seat. Her hand squeezed automatically at her cunt, the juices oozed between her fingers. She sighed. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears.
The car felt stuffy so she opened her window a little. The misty windows slowly cleared. She slipped her thongs back into place and pushed her breast back into her bra. She sat her seat back up and pulled down her visor to check her hair.
There was a tap on her window and a very familiar male voice said, ‘Excuse me miss. But would you mind moving your car’s bumper off mine please.’