And his cock?
Holy Christ, his cock!
It was long and thick, the head was a blazing deep purple. His hand gripped it tightly, tugging away with lusty abandon. She stood there, staring at the sight, her nipples erect, her panties soaked. She watched him cum, his cream splattering all over the wet tile-work.
Annie remembered that moment, as she lay in the bath; her hand between her legs, her fingers rubbing against her clit. She had refrained from masturbating that Saturday, but she showed no restraint this morning. Her fantasies had been plagued by images of her son ever since that fateful day. She tried to resist. She tried to fight it. But he was so young. So handsome. So fucking hot.
Not that she’d do anything about it, of course. This weird obsession could be easily dismissed. Sure, she’d masturbate with a demented fury, imagining her son towering over her, cock in hand; imagining him between her legs, his dick powering its way back inside her; but it was just a relatively innocent distraction. It’s not like she was going act on those fantasies. She wasn’t going to fuck him. Parents didn’t do that sort of thing. That would be madness.
That’s what she told herself. But what Annie didn’t know, was that her illusions were about to be shattered.
4
A few weeks pass, and Ray is sat his behind his desk, at his company’s upscale offices downtown. He is a lawyer. A fairly well paid lawyer. Not a partner yet – that’s when you start earning the really big bucks – but he’s been getting plenty of hints. It’ll only be a matter of time, they tell him.
Ray specialises in corporate law. It’s not very sexy. Or very interesting, to be honest. But by fuck it can be lucrative. He imagined he once had dreams of being a high-powered defence attorney. Daydreaming of spending his time keeping the innocent out of jail, freeing those who had been wrongfully convicted. But instead he had ended up acting on behalf of rich corporate pricks, defending their right to make a shit ton of money; just as long as he got his share, of course.
The phone on his desk rings. An internal number. It’s a Saturday afternoon and the place should be empty, so the fact his phone is ringing should come as a surprise. But he knows exactly who is on the other end. He picks up, bringing the receiver to his ear.
“Hello.” He says.
“The next interviewee is here, Mr Clemence.” A female voice tells him.
“Okay. Send her in.”
A click, then a soft knock at the door to his office.
“Come in!” He says, loudly and with confidence.
The door opens and a young woman enters. No ordinary young woman. His daughter.
“Mr Clemence?” She ventures, timidly.
“Yes?”
“I’m Kourtney Greer. I’m here for interview. The personal assistant’s job?”
“Oh yes, please come in Ms Greer. Take a seat.”
Greer was Annie’s maiden name. They had chosen it randomly for their little game. Kim – or Kourtney – sauntered across the room and sat on the opposite side of the desk. If she was role-playing nervous job applicant, her natural sexual confidence betrayed her performance.
She was wearing what was supposed to be a business suit, but it was hardly suitable for a sober working environment. Although he supposed that was the point. The skirt was tight and short, and, as she crossed her legs, her stocking tops immediately became apparent. As did a slice of white, creamy thigh. Her jacket was open and the top few buttons of her blouse were undone. He could see the black lace of her bra. Her hair was up in a bun, and she was wearing a pair of spectacles. Kim had twenty-twenty vision, so the glasses were only there for effect. It was quite an effect, though.
He took a long time looking her up and down, shamelessly soaking up her voluptuous appearance, then he met her gaze.
“So, why do you want this job, Ms Greer?”
“Please, call me Kourtney.”
“Okay then, why do you want this job, Kourtney?”
“I have a hankering to learn some discipline.” She said, in a husky voice.
“Is that right?”
“Yes. I feel I’ve been too much of a free spirit. I think I need someone to take me in hand, show me who’s boss.”