I arrived home utterly exhausted after my first full day at Berman Bruce. I went straight to my bedroom and closed the door. I popped open the side button of my skirt, lowered the zip, cautiously eased the tight material over my bottom and allowed it to fall to the floor. The cheeks of my bottom were still smarting fiercely; a burning reminder of my disobedience. I positioned myself in front of the full length mirror and turned around. I caught my breath sharply as I saw the livid marks which Veronica’s hand had left on the cheeks of my bottom. My fingers moved down and then tentatively onto the tender flesh, releasing another sudden, exhilarating, searing pain which caused me to bite my bottom lip hard. It was clear to me that Veronica had intended to leave a painful and lasting reminder of her words, and her authority, and she had.

Something inside of me had begun to change, I knew, and I could no longer ignore it. Wild waves of unfamiliar feelings and emotions were building and drawing my body and its desires into uncharted waters. My first instinct upon seeing the smarting marks on my bottom were that I ought to be feeling ashamed. I began to realize, however, that I had lived all of my life to that point, in the overbearing shadow of an unseen mistress called guilt, and that she was now endeavoring to call me to obedience once more. She was all I had ever known. But where, I began to ask myself, had my faceless mistress ever taken me? The answer, of course, was nowhere that I felt I belonged. That fact, however, I knew would not prevent her trying unless and until I could finally exert the kind of control over her that I had felt Veronica exercise over me. I needed to change, but where to begin?

When I entered the reception at Berman Bruce the following morning, Helen Swan was busy trying to impose her presence. Dressed in a navy blue trouser suit and black heels, her sleek black hair was held obediently in an officious-looking chignon, and she was moving around the reception area like some kind of supercilious queen bee. She was one of those people whose face seemed to evade every attempt to place an accurate age on it, but I suspected that she was probably around thirty years old. It was clear from the thinly-veiled looks on the faces of the staff in the reception area that Helen Swan’s self-important and smug manner was tolerated for the sole reason that she occupied a door with a plate which included the words ‘Office Administrator’. From behind the reception desk, our eyes met and I immediately sensed a frosty hostility. As I walked past her, I continued to observe her discreetly as she began to berate the receptionist for how untidy her work area was, in an unnecessarily superior tone. Out of nowhere the word ‘bitch’ entered my head.

Just as I pressed the button for the lift, the doors slid open and Veronica stepped out, looking immaculately presented in a light, white skirt suit with an exquisitely scalloped jacket. My heart rate began to elevate inexplicably once more as I saw her. I couldn’t help but immediately contrast Veronica’s authentically powerful presence with the synthetic show of superficial authority that Helen Swan had been displaying just moments earlier.

“Good, you’ve arrived,” she said. “Something has come up unexpectedly in the Samantha Sutton case and I’ve just arranged to meet with her at her studio to discuss it. Come on.” I followed Veronica out of the building to the partners’ car park and got into her pristine, black MX-5, its glossy contours oozing its own, undeniable sensuality. I did not know very much about cars, but you didn’t need to in order to understand that this was significant luxury.

“It’s a beautiful car, Miss Hamilton,” I said, admiring the red leather interior as I sank into the plush passenger seat which seemed to immediately wrap its opulence around my body and caress it. Veronica turned to me and smiled.

“It is, isn’t it?” She handed me her black briefcase before starting the engine and folding the slender fingers of her right hand around the leather-wrapped steering wheel, and those of her left hand provocatively around the smooth, bulbous knob of the gear stick. “Inside the front pocket of my brief case you’ll find a statement that I received first thing this morning,” she continued. “I would like you to read it.” I opened the front pocket of the brief case and took out the document, which ran to four or five pages, as Veronica slipped the car into gear and eased smoothly off.

It was a statement which had been written by a woman named Faith Foster, who claimed that she had been seduced by Samantha Sutton whilst working on her first job as a model at a fashion show in London about a year earlier. She went on to allege that, following that seduction, she and Samantha carried on an intense and passionate sexual affair behind her husband’s back. By the time I had finished reading the statement we had left suburban Brighton behind and were heading north-west into the open and picturesque South Downs, a range of rolling, swelling chalk hills that stretch along south-east England. It was in an idyllic village in the Downs, some twenty miles from Brighton, where Samantha had her fashion studio. The quieter country roads that we were now on were bathed in bright, early morning sunshine.

“Right, Lucy,” said Veronica efficiently, “I would like you to give me your assessment of the case in the light of this new piece of evidence.” A curiously thrilling nervousness had continued to overcome me every time that Veronica spoke to me, from our very first meeting a few days earlier, and suddenly did so again. I enjoyed the way the rhythm of my heart began to accelerate and my body grew both tense and overcome. I had quickly come to learn that nothing about Veronica could be predicted, and that to try was futile.

“Something about Faith’s statement just doesn’t seem right, Miss Hamilton,” I said tentatively.

“Go on.”

“Well, Miss Hamilton, Faith is a young woman who is trying to break into a very competitive industry. I was wondering why on earth she would potentially risk harming her career before it has even really begun. It seems to me that Samantha Sutton has the power and connections to help Faith to realize her ambitions, and Adam Sutton has nothing at all, on the face of it, to offer her. Why would Faith even think about giving evidence against Samantha Sutton? What is in it for her?”

I looked across at Veronica, who remained looking at the road ahead of her.

“So why might she have provided the statement, do you think, Lucy?”

“Money, Miss Hamilton?” I suggested. Veronica turned her head briefly towards me and smiled, almost knowingly, before turning her attention once more to the road ahead.

“Money is a very seductive motive, certainly,” Veronica replied. “However, at this moment in time Adam Sutton has no money. Throughout the marriage he has lived like a parasite on Samantha’s success.” Something in Veronica’s tone suggested that she was feeding me thoughts to simply provoke me to think more abstractly.

“Is it possible that Faith thinks that if Adam Sutton was successful in the divorce proceedings, and manages to obtain the huge settlement he is seeking, he would then be able to pay her off, Miss Hamilton?”

Almost before the final words had slipped from my lips, Veronica’s left hand left its position resting on the gear knob and had moved onto my right knee. I felt her soft fingers spread a little, and her nails graze my skin. I swallowed hard. I could see that she was smiling wickedly.

“Lucy,” she said softly, “do you really think it is in any way likely that I am going to allow Adam Sutton to be successful in these divorce proceedings?” Her question, as clearly rhetorical as it was, almost compelled me to respond. I felt Veronica’s fingers teasing gently a little way up and down my thigh, just above my knee.

“No, Miss Hamilton,” I replied. “I don’t.”

I felt Veronica’s fingers slowly tease their way to the hem of my skirt and she began to gently slide it up my legs, slowly unveiling my thighs.

“You have gorgeous legs, Lucy,” she purred. “I think you need to be showing them off a little more, don’t you?”

“Do you think so, Miss Hamilton?”

“Yes I do,” she replied, continuing to draw the hem of my skirt up my thighs and brushing her fingers provocatively against them. I had always opted for a more modest skirt length, usually just above my knees, putting this down to my mother’s insistence, particularly during my teenage years, that I shouldn’t dress, as she put it, ‘like a tart’. Although she hadn’t been quite as condemnatory during my time at university, somehow I had continued to feel the overwhelming presence of the guilt-bearing, slightly puritanical ghosts of her words roaming through, and haunting, my head. At that moment, some of them broke free.

“My mother doesn’t like me wearing shorter skirts, Miss Hamilton,” I said. Veronica, totally unperturbed by this apparent spiritual challenge to her, continued to caress my inner thigh, stroking the silk-soft skin ever higher.

“Do you really think I care less what your mother thinks or likes, Lucy?” Veronica asked. I shook my head. “Your mother’s thoughts and likes are a complete irrelevance to me, Lucy. From now on, you are going to be following my instructions, not your mother’s. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Miss Hamilton,” I replied. I let out a soft, low moan as I felt Veronica’s long, slender fingers glide over the delicate fabric of my panties.

“Whose instructions are you going to follow, Lucy?” she teased.

“Yours, Miss Hamilton,” I replied, parting my legs a little under the tantalizing touch of her fingers.

“Now, take your panties off,” she ordered, her voice firm and insistent.

As though under some kind of hypnotic trance, I lifted my bottom from the seat and moved my hands under my skirt. With some difficulty I managed to work my knickers down my legs before taking them off.

“Good girl, Lucy,” said Veronica. “Now, pull your skirt down and tidy yourself up. We’ll soon be there.”

Within minutes we were pulling up outside Samantha Sutton’s studio; an enormous and impressive converted farmhouse on the edge of the picturesque village of Poynton. As I got out of the car and straightened my skirt, I felt the warm air move freely around my now bare sex, which once more had been teased to the edge of need. Veronica had taken my panties from me before getting out of the car, and had put them into her handbag.

Veronica rang the doorbell and we waited for a few moments.

“Lucy,” she said, “I have a task for you this morning.”

“Yes, Miss Hamilton?”

“During my telephone conversation with Samantha this morning, she told me that Emily is here for a few hours today doing a photographic shoot. You remember reading about her in Adam Sutton’s statement, don’t you?” I nodded. It would have been hard for me to forget. “Well, I want you to talk to her,” Veronica continued, “but very discreetly. She is unaware at the moment of what Adam Sutton has alleged about her and Samantha, and it is best that it stays that way for the time being. However, I want you to have a chat with her and see if you can obtain any information from her that may prove useful in the case. Do you think you can do that?”

“Yes, Miss Hamilton, I’m sure I can. I will be very discreet.”

“Good girl,” replied Veronica, smiling. I felt a kind of warm glow inside at the fact that Veronica was presenting me with the opportunity of doing something useful for her, and also that she was trusting me with it. In the short time I had known her, it had become apparent that Veronica was a woman who liked to be in full control of every aspect of her professional and personal life.

The door opened and we were immediately greeted by a strikingly attractive woman, whose tousled blonde hair flowed in golden waves over her shoulders. Her clear skin, almost free of make-up, seemed almost translucent in the morning sunlight. She was dressed in the most divine olive-green sleeveless dress which hugged her body like an attentive lover all the way down to the hemline at her mid-thigh. I immediately recognized the woman as Samantha Sutton. I had seen her photograph several times before in fashion magazines, but none of them had really done her justice. Veronica had told me she was in her early-forties, but it was hard to believe she was. She could easily have been thirty-five.

“Veronica, darling, how lovely to see you,” she said. “I am so glad you could come.” She then turned to me, and I was confronted with two blue, crystalline eyes that I thought would probably have sparkled in a darkened room. “And who have you brought with you?” she said, smiling.

“This is my assistant, Lucy,” replied Veronica.

“For a moment I thought you were bringing me another model to interview, Veronica,” she said teasingly, in a voice which seemed to be naturally low and husky. She held out her right hand towards me. “Hello, Lucy,” she said, “I’m Samantha Sutton, but please call me Samantha.” I took hold of her hand, which felt soft and warm in my own. She held it for several seconds.

“I am very pleased to meet you too, Samantha,” I replied, more than a little in awe.

Samantha invited us inside and took us through the building to her office at the rear. As soon as we entered the office, my mind took itself back to Adam Sutton’s statement. At the back of the office was a window, which, I assumed, was the window Adam Sutton claimed to have looked through when he first became aware of his wife’s infidelity. There, a few feet away, was Samantha’s desk, on which Adam Sutton claimed to have seen Samantha seducing Emily and teasing her into a state of wild desire. My mind was beginning to fill with all kind of erotic images. The tingling warmth between my legs was becoming insistent again, and I knew my sex was moistening deliciously once more.

We sat down at Samantha’s desk and Veronica removed the copy of Faith Foster’s statement from her briefcase. I noticed what I thought was a hint of flushing in Samantha’s cheeks, but could not be certain. Veronica read the statement to Samantha, who listened in unbroken silence until Veronica had finished.

“It’s all lies,” Samantha said in a manner that was far calmer than I would have expected.

“Did you meet Faith Foster at the fashion show in London last year, as she alleges, Samantha?” asked Veronica.

“Well, yes,” replied Samantha, “but to suggest I seduced her and then had an affair with her is pure fantasy on her part.”

“Why do you think she would say things like this, Samantha?”

“I don’t know. I am obviously still trying to take it in. This morning was the first time I had heard about this statement. My mind is still trying to process it.”

“Do you know what Faith Foster is doing now?” Veronica asked.

“I don’t know,” Samantha replied. “She did some work for me for a few months after the London show but we had something of a ‘fall-out’ and I haven’t heard anything from her, or about her, since.”

“Well, Adam has managed to find her and persuade her to give a statement, hasn’t he?” said Veronica, rhetorically. “Or, alternatively, she has found him!” Veronica’s line of thinking and questioning was making my head spin. “What kind of ‘fall-out’ was it, Samantha?”

“A few months ago I was preparing a new clothing line for a launch in Milan and wanted a ‘face’ for the launch. I chose Emily, and Faith was very upset about it. She came to see me and tried to persuade me to change my mind and use her instead. Faith is a highly ambitious young woman, but very headstrong. She left, saying she was going to London. I haven’t heard from her since.”

At that moment there was a knock on the door. It was Samantha’s receptionist, Kelly, who informed her that Emily was now on a break from her photographic shoot for half an hour.

“Perfect timing,” said Veronica, looking at Samantha. “As I mentioned on the phone this morning, Samantha, it would be useful if Lucy had an informal chat with Emily: all very discreetly, you understand.”

“Of course, Veronica. Whatever you think best.” It was the first time that I had seen anything like a nervous look cross Samantha’s face. My first thought was, why?

“Kelly, would you take Lucy to Studio C and introduce her to Emily, please?” I stood up, smiled politely at Samantha and followed Kelly out of the door of Samantha’s office, and along a corridor to a door at the end. Kelly knocked and waited for a response from within before entering.

The room appeared quite small; an impression enhanced by the sheer number of photographic lights and screens that it contained. In one corner of the room was a kind of ‘set’, made up to look like a lavish bedroom, whose principal feature was a magnificent four-poster bed. As we approached the set area, I could see a young, stunningly attractive woman, who looked no older than I was, with tresses of rampant dark hair and rich, olive skin sat in a chair and drinking a cup of black coffee.

“Emily?” said Kelly. “This is Lucy.” As she looked up and saw me, a wide, warm smile crossed Emily’s face and she stood up. She was wearing a brilliant white sleeveless summer dress held deliciously on her shoulders by spaghetti straps. The front of the dress was tight, revealing her cleavage and the contours of her full breasts perfectly.

“Hi, Lucy,” she gushed, as though we were old friends who had just met after a long absence. “My name is Emily. I’m pleased to meet you. Would you like a drink? I’m sure Kelly wouldn’t mind making one, would you Kelly?”

“No, no it’s fine,” I replied. “But thank you so much for offering.” Kelly then said her polite goodbyes and went back to the reception, leaving Emily and I alone.

“Come on,” Emily said enthusiastically. “Let’s sit over on the bed. It’s much more comfortable.” Like an exuberant teenager, she then bounded on to the bed and sank into the depth of the covers. I made my way over and perched on the end of the bed. Emily was not wrong; it was very comfortable.

“How is the shoot going?” I asked. “I imagine it is a lot of hard work.” Emily smiled, pulling her slender, olive legs sideways under her.

“Really well, thanks. It can be hard work, yes, but I really enjoy it,” she replied.

“What do you enjoy most?”

“The money,” she replied, almost immediately, laughing. “No, I’m only joking, Lucy. Yes, the money is good, but it is much more than that. It may sound a bit selfish or whatever, but I love the attention. Does that make sense?” I smiled. I had never really given it much thought.

“I suppose so,” I replied. “Is it as glamorous as people say it is?”

“Oh my god, Lucy,” she said, excitedly, reaching her hand over and placing onto my arm, “it is just amazing. I love it. I wouldn’t want to do anything else.”

“How did you get into it?” I asked. I could feel Emily’s fingers against my wrist. I also noticed that the hem of Emily’s dress had ridden up her thighs, exposing their smooth contours.

“Well,” she replied, “I had always wanted to be a model and about eighteen months ago found out that Samantha was looking for aspiring models for one of her new lines. I wrote to her and she invited me for an interview. I came, and...the rest is history!”

“What is it like, working for Samantha?” I asked

“She is amazing; truly amazing. I absolutely love her,” Emily gushed. She shuffled herself a little closer to me on the bed. “I know the law must be a lot of fun, but have you ever thought about becoming a model, Lucy. You are absolutely gorgeous.” I looked at her and felt myself blushing.

“God, no,” I replied. “I’d be no good in front of a camera.”

“You’d be perfect, Lucy. You just need to relax, and it is all really easy, and so, so enjoyable.” I looked into Emily’s pale-green eyes, which seemed to be darkening perceptibly. “When I first started, I was nervous, but Samantha made sure I relaxed. She is very...attentive.”

“It’s a shame about her marriage,” I said, trying to maintain focus on what Veronica had asked me to do.

“Well, if you ask me, she is better off without him. And, of course, he hadn’t ‘interested’ her for quite some time,” said Emily, coyly.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Emily replied, lowering her voice for no apparent reason beyond trying to create some artificial tension, “that her interest isn’t really in men.”

“Oh my god!” I said, attempting to feign surprise. “You mean, she’s a...”

“Yes!” interrupted Emily. “Couldn’t you tell when you met her?” I shook my head. Emily feigned a look of disbelief.

“She prefers the soft touch,” whispered Emily, beginning to stroke her fingers over my wrists and slightly up my arm under my jacket. “Some of us do.”

“You mean, you....”

“Yes,” Emily interrupted again. “I prefer the soft touch, too. Don’t you?”

My body was beginning to respond to Emily’s playful stroking and her provocatively whispered words. I knew that my mind was melting into desire once more, and I wasn’t sure whether anything that Emily had told me to that point was going to be in the slightest bit useful. Between my legs an urgent need was building. I was feeling warm and needy, and beginning to care less about discretion. I decided to ask the question that I knew needed an answer.

“Have you and Samantha ever...” Somehow, when it came to it, the words just seemed to dry up and disintegrate in my mouth.

“Have we ever what, Lucy?” I felt Lucy’s hand move from my lower arm and onto my leg. As she began to caress it softly, Emily moved her mouth to my ear. I could feel the warmth of her breath against it. “Have we ever fucked? Is that what you wanted to say?”

Emily’s words stole the breath from my body. Her hand slipped under the hem of my skirt, and I suddenly felt her lips like warm velvet around my earlobe, pulling on it playfully.

“Well, have you?” I whispered, letting out a little moan as I felt her lips release my earlobe and her moist tongue slide behind my ear.

“No, darling, we haven’t...more’s the pity. I once tried to encourage her to get into my panties at a party but that is the closest I ever got. She is very, very selective about the girls she fucks, Lucy. She does make me so...wet, though.”

Emily took my earlobe between her lips again and this time I felt her teeth nibbling it gently. I could feel the heat now beginning to rage between my legs and my sex moisten wonderfully. Emily slid her hand under my skirt and guided her fingers between my inner thighs. Her mouth was sucking and nibbling on my earlobe, and the warmth of her breath was causing a shimmer of electricity to radiate down my back and through my body.

Emily’s mouth moved from my ear to my neck, where she once again allowed her tongue to drift languidly over my soft skin. I tilted my head back and towards her slightly. Within seconds, her mouth was upon mine. It felt warm and demanding. I could feel the softness of her cheek against mine. Everything in my body was now beginning to feel as though it was raging out of control, and that all that mattered was the moment.

And then I felt it: Emily’s mouth upon mine. For the first time in my life my lips were meeting those of another woman, and the only response I could give was to part my lips a little and offer her my warm, wet mouth. She brought her lips, which seemed to have the texture of rose petals, to mine, and forced mine a little further apart. Suddenly, I felt her tongue slide deep into my mouth, and begin to swirl inside it. My own tongue responded involuntarily to this exquisite plundering, finding hers and dancing wantonly with it.

I looked into Emily’s eyes. They were like smouldering green flames, devouring my own in their seething intensity. A desperate need was burning through my body and melting like warm nectar from between my legs.

“Fuck, you are delicious,” moaned Emily, her own arousal now clearly in control of her. She kissed me again, and suddenly I felt her body move against mine. Slightly off balance, I fell back onto the bed with Emily on top of me, her tongue slithering within my mouth with a passion of the intensity I had never experienced before.

Before I knew it, Emily had slid down my body as I lay on my back and was between my legs. In one swift, purposeful movement she pushed my skirt up my legs and pushed her head between my inner thighs, forcing them open.

“God, you are such a sexy bitch,” I heard Emily moan. I realised that she had discovered that I was not wearing panties. I could tell she was now totally lost in her lust and my need, which seemed to have been building for days and which remained unfulfilled, was overwhelming me. I parted my legs a little wider.

Emily moved her mouth onto the silk-soft flesh of my inner thigh, and I felt her tongue slide up it towards me now soft, needy sex.

“Your scent is intoxicating,” moaned Emily between my legs. I arched my back a little and felt words beginning to build in my throat; words that needed to be said.

“Taste me!” I urged. “Do it! Taste me!”

I had not even got the last word out before I felt Emily’s slick tongue lap over my puffy labia and her warm mouth against the heat of my now desperate sex. I let out an involuntary moan of exquisite pleasure as her tongue slipped and slid over my increasingly wet, swollen lips. Suddenly I felt her tongue tense and press inside me. I reached my arms back over my head. My hands found the headboard, which consisted of a row of strong, mahogany rods. I gripped onto them tightly and pushed my hips forward, encouraging Emily’s tongue to drive deeper and devour my need.

I could not believe the sensations Emily’s tongue was producing as she lapped and swirled her tongue against the wet, velvet walls inside me. I then let out another loud moan as the tip of her tongue then flicked against my clit, sending a surge of exquisite pleasure up inside me. I draped my legs over Emily’s shoulders and began to grind myself against her hot mouth, urging her to bring me to climax, which I knew was now both imminent and inevitable.

Emily’s increasing moans and insistent tongue drove me on. Suddenly I felt my whole body begin to tense delightfully. I knew my climax was building to a crescendo and was not going to be denied. As my breathing became increasingly short and ragged, I then felt Emily press two fingers inside me as her tongue returned to tease my clit and drive me to the edge of exquisite ecstasy.

“Fuck my mouth, Lucy,” Emily urged. “Fuck it hard!”

Emily’s words were the catalyst to the final surrender to my body’s basic need. I gripped tightly onto the mahogany rods of the headboard behind me and arched my back still further, wantonly grinding myself against Emily’s hot mouth. Within seconds my body tensed and went into spasms as my climax broke over me like a violent desert storm on a sultry summer evening. I screamed out, over and over, as the dam of my lust broke and my warm juices flowed like a raging river between my legs and onto Emily’s tongue. My climax seemed to go on and on; wave after wave in a cycle of pleasure of a kind I had never known before, as Emily’s tongue lapped and licked until my body began to regain at least some level of composure.

“You are wonderful,” Emily purred, pulling herself up next to me and bringing her mouth to mine. I tasted myself on her lips and let out another moan. My entire body felt warm, sticky and drenched in sex.

I eventually slid my legs over the side of the bed and sat up. Emily went to her handbag, which was next to the chair on which she had been sitting when I first entered the studio and took out a pen and paper. She scribbled something on it before coming back to the bed and sitting next to me.

“Here,” she said, smiling.

“What is it?” I replied, opening up the folded piece of paper.

“It’s my phone number,” she said. “I would love for you to call me, Lucy. I want to see you again. And maybe I could persuade you to model. I just know you would be incredible.” I smiled at Emily and put the paper into my jacket pocket.

“Did you discover anything useful from your chat with Emily, Lucy?” Veronica asked as we headed back towards the centre of Brighton. She turned her head briefly towards me and I looked at her. I felt at that moment as though she somehow knew exactly what had happened between Emily and I a brief time earlier.

“I could be wrong, but I really don’t think she has had an affair with Samantha, Miss Hamilton.”

“I see,” Veronica replied. “And if you are right, what would that mean, Lucy?”

“I suppose it would mean that Adam Sutton is lying, Miss Hamilton.”

“Yes it would, Lucy.”

I could not, however, remove from my thoughts the strong feeling that there was far more to this case than met the eye, and that it inevitably had some interesting surprises yet to offer.

Copyright: All of my stories are written entirely by myself. Please do not copy or repost them.

Copyright 2015 claire2013: All Rights Reserved. This story may not be copied, reproduced or linked in any manner, without the express written permission of the author.