The anteroom was noisy and reeked of desperation, but Sean endured it because his political future depended on it. He'd arrived early for his nine am appointment. It was already five past. He tapped his foot like a tweaked up junkie, still hyper from his early morning meeting with fellow competitor Heather to discuss the latest scandalous photos of their car park tryst. Discuss. Yeah. The scent of her flowing arousal was still fresh beneath his nostrils and he could swear she broke skin where her nails dug into his shoulders.
He shook his head and gazed around the room. The latest in a long line of flustered secretaries sat behind a cheap desk that was groaning under the weight of various stacks of paper. Sean had seen her once before. She was cute. Intensely fuckable. He'd like to unwrap her pinned-up brunette locks, guide her to a kneel and show her what a real man tasted like between those blush lips, her hair swishing across his shaft and balls as he shoved into her throat. Watching her take everything, eyes wide and watering. Just like he'd done with Heather the other night alongside her car at The Point. Just like she'd done barely an hour earlier while he was perched against his office desk, before traipsing downtown to sit in this hellhole.
He forced a smile, made eye contact and shared a raised eyebrow with the secretary then continued his survey of the room. Along one wood-panelled wall above where she sat were a series of framed photographs, mainly the proprietor of the law firm shaking hands with dignitaries and minor celebrities. Knowing Fast Eddie as Sean did, most were probably Photoshopped, but it looked impressive to the largely dishevelled clientele that occupied the room. Down and out. Awaiting their turn. Their shot at the big money Eddie promised for defending their seemingly hopeless cases.
When all out of options, this is where the people of the city ended up. Rock bottom and in his pocket.
The phone chirped. An irritating trill probably designed to guarantee it would be answered. Cutie-pie picked up wordlessly, listened a moment then replaced the receiver. She gave the faintest flick of her head from Sean to the door leading to the adjoining office. A regular. No announcement. Priority treatment.
He rose and stepped over a kid guzzling Kool-aid at his mom's feet and pressed through to Fast Eddie's domain.
More of the same wood panelling adorned all four walls of the low-rent unit, the main difference being a liquor cabinet and a large desk at one end, behind which sat the grinning form of Eddie in an enormous leather chair. He stood and extended a hand across the desk from the cuff of his snug-fitting Zara suit. "McCarthy. Good of you to drop by."
Sean took the proffered hand of his old friend as they shook. "Hey, Eddie. How's my favourite campaign manager?"
"Busy busy. You know how it is shooting fish in this bottomless barrel." He pointed his finger and mimed cocking his thumb as trigger release, then brought the fingertip to his lips and blew across it. "You?"
"Good. Yeah, good. Well, not so good. Might have a problem with the campaign."
Eddie rotated his palms forward by his side. Sean thought for a fleeting moment his friend was going to drone, "Ayyyy" like The Fonz. Instead he said, "That's why you pay top dollar for the best." He plonked himself down in his chair. It bounced under his weight. "Shoot, Amigo."
Sean thumbed the manila envelope he'd been carrying, suddenly nervous. He steeled himself, had to trust Eddie to get him out of this, and tossed the entire thing to the desk. It landed with a thump and spun to the lip. "Was gonna show you these last night but figured you'd be… out."
Eddie grinned as he unfolded the flap and tipped. "What can I say? The ladies like a particular piece of me."
The contents spilled onto the desk. High-gloss color photos. Lots of them. Eddie rifled through them, eyebrows arching, partial concern, partial amusement. "Niiice. Yeah. Especially like this one." He flipped it round, depicting Sean leaning back against Heather's car, hand on the back of her head as she engulfed his cock wearing just her heels. "Really shows off your baby blues." He carried on, sucked in breath. "Ohhh, she takes it like that too? Dirty bitch. Loan her to me would ya?"
Sean growled. "It's not a peep show, Eddie."
"Hehehe. You didn't say that when we were boning that Estonian waitress. Or Latvian? I forget." He paused in thought. "Remember high-fiving over her back as we spit-roasted the shit out of her? Fucking animal she was. All kinds of filthy."
Sean said nothing as Eddie continued to shuffle through the shots until he reached the end, letting out a whistle. "This it?"
Sean nodded.
"Not much of a problem."
Sean's spirits lifted. "It isn't?"
"No. It's a big fucking problem. A giant, whale-dicked, fuck-sandwich of a problem. What the fuck were you thinking, you moron?"
"I don't… Jesus, I don't fucking know." Sean wasn't used to being reprimanded and added in a smaller voice, "I wasn't thinking."
"Damn right you weren't. Your dick was thinking, your head wasn't nowhere to be seen. Fuck!" He tossed the photos onto the desk. "Who took 'em?"
Sean shrugged.
"You don't know? No note? No demands?"
Sean shook his head. "Nothing."
"Makes no sense."
"Heather got a note with her set. Two sets, actually. First had some shit about needing to do the right thing to avoid the shots appearing on the news."
"Anything else?"
Sean paused. "Yeah, it was signed 'One of your biggest fans'."
Eddie nodded. "Not much to go on. Second set?"
"More of the same. Note said instructions would follow today at ten."
"As in-" Eddie checked his glinting wristwatch, "-about an hour from now?"
"Yeah. What the fuck am I gonna do? What can we do?"
"Depends. Time's tight. Who else knows?"
"Just you, me and Heather, far as I know."
"Bob?"
"Don't think so."
"Keep it that way. Make sure your stupid slut muffin knows to keep it zipped, no matter what."
"Understood. I'll text her later."
"Do it now."
Sean faltered, then obediently fished for his phone, tapped out a text to Heather and sent it. He watched Eddie idly spinning to and fro in his swivel chair, fingers steepled, deep in thought until he leaned forward.
"Possible suspects?"
Sean shrugged again. "Could be anyone. Husband or daddy of an ex who wants a fast buck. Political smear campaign from a disgruntled voter. Fucked if I know."
Eddie gave a wry smile. "A long list then."
"Yeah," Sean exhaled hard. "Loooong list."
"I might know a guy who can help narrow it down."
"You do? Great."
"External help ain't cheap, though. Specially at short notice."
Sean sighed. "How did I know you were gonna say that. What's it gonna take?"
Eddie shrugged. "One guy to find out, one to clean up, minimum."
Sean rolled his eyes. "As if my operating expenses weren't skyrocketing already." He blew out a breath. "Wait. Clean up?"
His friend delivered a lopsided grin. "Best you don't know. Plausible deniability. The guy I'm thinking of is good with a shovel."
Sean winced. "Fuck. Fine." He pursed his lips. "Whatever it takes."
o0o
Heather sat at her kitchen table, fretting over yoghurt and fruit. She'd been unable to eat before her meeting with Sean. Now her pussy and jaw ached where he'd been. Could almost still feel his tongue probing and lapping before he took her over his desk. She forced a mouthful down. Had less than an hour to try and get some fuel in her adrenaline-charged body and make it to the office to intercept the next envelope before Trish found it.
Her phone buzzed on the table, doing a little twirling dance before coming to rest. She snatched it up and read the message. Sean, of course:
Don't fucking tell anyone. Not even Bob. Fast Eddie's on it.
Typical. Her future in the hands of a slimeball lawyer with the moral compass of driftwood.
How could she keep this from Bob? He was her anchor. So understanding. Sure, they had an open relationship, but it was built on trust. Trust that they'd tell each other with whom they had sex, so they could relive the experience together, hot and hard until they collapsed, perspiring and entangled and spent. She took a sip of lukewarm coffee, pondering, mind whirling, reminiscing.
It hadn't always been that way with Bob, but she'd learned how to fuck from an early age after babysitting his kids for years. Shortly after she and Trish broke up, Bob took her under his considerably skilled wing. Pampering her, making her feel special. Showering her with gifts, telling her how beautiful she was. The kind of special she couldn't get anywhere else. And she'd loved the attention, especially from a dashing man fifteen years her senior.
Even to an outsider such as Heather it was obvious he and Lisa's marriage wasn't going to last. Bob assured her it wasn't anything to do with Heather, and she believed him. Seventeen's an impressionable age. It was only as the world grew less black and white in college that she realised she may have been the catalyst, the accelerant and the explosion that tore Bob and Lisa apart. But by then it was too late.
The kids loved Heather, so stepping in to fill the void left by Lisa was relatively easy. They were calling her mom in no time after she returned from study and moved in full time. Heather never fathomed why Lisa never got custody or fought harder for it. She had access rights, but that was it, and seemed vaguely comfortable with the sporadic nature of the arrangement. She'd take the kids sometimes at weekends, which left Heather and Bob time to get to know one another better. More intimately.
Heather sipped her coffee. Poked at her yoghurt, forcing a few spoonfuls down. It tasted bland and featureless, like her future.
She worried that Bob would go ballistic if he learned of her indiscretion with Sean from a third party. Worse if the media broke the story, especially given there was very little love lost between the two men. And Bob was helping finance her candidacy.
Was there any point standing now? She'd effectively torpedoed her chances the moment she allowed Sean to seduce her at the party. To dance, to whisk her off, to make out at The Point overlooking the waterfront, then to climb out of the car. Why oh why did she climb out of the safety of the fucking car? To be secretly photographed in all manner of compromising positions, culminating in her political rival taking her ass over the fender of her Audi. Jesus!
She shivered as she remembered the strength of his cock ploughing inside her. How much she'd wanted it at the time. To be owned by his power. His unbridled masculinity. The irony of course was that it had been Bob who had unleashed such inner desires. Awakened her. Unlocked the door to her cage and melted the key.
He'd started slow. Tenderly. Lazy weekends without the kids, making her breakfast in bed, doting on her young body. He was an attentive lover. Took his time exploring her, lips mapping every curve of her sinewy form. Fingertips tracing her skin and leaving fire in their wake. Fire that gradually spread, burning hotter and hotter until Heather couldn't bear the torment. Thought she was going to burn up, consumed by passion.
She would arch her back and moan against his insistent caresses, loving the way his teeth would gradually be introduced. Playful little nibbles at her neck and shoulders would migrate and ascend the slope of a breast, lips enclosing her erect nipple, drawing it into his warm mouth like it belonged there. Grazing his teeth against each sensitive peak in turn would make her skin ignite, until Heather was a writhing mess of want beneath him.
Only when she was out of her mind with lust would he crawl over her body and enter her, their eyes locked. She'd wrap her legs around his torso and they'd rock together, her nails trailing over his back as he hammered into her drenched channel. He'd whisper how beautiful she looked when she came, how hard he was for her, how much he wanted to shoot inside her. Each sentence, each thrust would elevate her body until she was clawing at his back, the perspiration glistening on their skin as they both climaxed hard against one another.
Over time, he'd encouraged her to take the lead. The initiative. Until she found herself whispering in Bob's ear at first, ultimately snarling how much she wanted to fuck him as passion flourished. Rolling him over, mounting his body and riding him, head tipped back as he pawed and squeezed and rolled her bouncing tits in his palms. They'd fuck and sway and bite, her cries bouncing around the bedroom. She'd shove her hand between their bucking union, seeking her proud pearl and grinding it against her body, gasping as the need to climax overcame her.
It was moments like those that came to define the majority of her twenties. The floodgates were open and she took every opportunity to expand her sexual horizons. Bob was an excellent tutor. Patient. Attentive. Encouraging her to explore. To go further each time. Role play. Spanking. Anal.
Heather drained her coffee and brewed a second cup. God knows she was going to need it later when she had to face Trish or the media. Or Bob. Fuck, what a mess. Her hands shook as she poured and a few splashes of scalding liquid hit her hand. She recoiled, but instead of the first thought being pain, she flushed, sank into the seat, head in her hands, mind racing to that time Bob first introduced her to the delights of control.
He'd turned their bedroom into a warm sanctuary. Perfectly made four-poster. Soft music playing; some jazz that wouldn't normally be on her radar but seemed soulful and right under the circumstances. Candles flickered on the dresser, reflected off the oval mirror, bathing them both in dancing chiaroscuro.
Clothes had been laid out for her on the bed. Brand new lingerie. Expensive hold-ups, heels, bra, and panties. She'd looked at him and pointed to herself. He'd just nodded, sat down in the chair facing the foot of the bed, unfurling his tie loose to drape around his neck.
"Change here," he pointed to the space between the chair and the bed.
Used to being in control, and expecting him to let her ride him in the chair wearing the lingerie, Heather strode to the centre of the room. She unbuttoned her blouse slowly, tantalisingly and let it drift off her shoulders before parachuting to pool at her feet. Turning away from him, she wiggled her hips, hands in the waistband of her skirt as that joined the blouse.