I have full permission from the author to post this free erotic story.
[intlink id=”108″ type=”post”]Find out more about Justine here[/intlink].
Everybody hated Alex. That was what I liked about him.
That made him worth knowing, didn’t it? Because if my colleagues, who love all the things I hate – (talent contests, sportswear, big ballads, Farrelly Brothers movies, Bacardi Breezers, sale shopping) – hate something, then perhaps that is something I might love. This was the fatally skewed logic that initially drew me towards Alex. If they hated him, as they did other things I had the taste for – (documentaries about tower blocks, black nail varnish, Kraftwerk, kitchen sink drama, vino collapso, Google Earth) – then he might just have that something I was looking for in a man. He was not mainstream. He was alternative.
At first, I had been with my colleagues in their instinctive and immediate loathing of him. Alternative was fair enough, but not when it was the alternative to bearable. He was everything they said he was – arrogant, patronising, creepy, sarcastic, lecherous and evil-looking. But then – although I hid it well in the open-plan slave-pit known as Nquirex Communications – so was I.
So I began to indulge my curiosity about him. I did not avoid him in the coffee boat like everyone else did. I returned his greetings. I caught and returned his furtive underbrow stares. I nodded in acknowledgement of his lipcurling smirks. I took the seat next to him in meetings. My colleagues were horrified.
‘He thinks you’re coming on to him!’ said Lisa. ‘Keep away!’
‘He isn’t a plague,’ I laughed her off.
‘Yes he is. He’s worse. Ugh. Do you know what he said to me in the coffee boat yesterday? “All right, gorgeous?” Ugh!’ She made realistic vomiting noises. I pointed out that Cliff in Accounts could have said the same thing and she would have been in raptures.
‘Shut up! That’s Cliff! I like him.’
‘Why? Because he’s better-looking? You don’t even know him – personality-wise, he could be just like Alex.’
‘No – you can just tell.’
‘What, by the way he looks? You’re so shallow!’
‘Listen, I don’t care if it makes me shallow. I’d rather tweeze my pubic hair out with pliers than go anywhere near that slimy tosser.’
The strength of her detestation was like bait to me. I became ever more fascinated by him. I pretended my computer was broken so he would come and fix it, sitting primly in my chair while he clicked at the mouse, leaning right over me and breathing heavily, making jeeringly indulgent remarks about my technological abilities.
‘Next time, think about switching it off and on again,’ he said, stopping short of ruffling my hair and calling me ‘dearie’ but coming so very, very close. He smiled toothily, his eyes narrowed as if he was picturing me naked.
‘I will,’ I said, faux-meekly. ‘I’ve never worked with computers before.’ I had. And now I had him where I wanted him, I made my move. Our faces were close, and I turned mine so that our noses almost bumped, my eyes wide and large as they could stretch. ‘You’re so good with them.’
His breath was interrupted, shortening a little. ‘Perhaps your boyfriend might be able to help you,’ he said. Ugh, classic chat-up stuff. His imagination might not be great, but at least he cut to the chase.
‘I don’t have a boyfriend,’ I said breathily, wondering if it would be overkill to pull my lower lip down with a girly finger.
‘Really? I can’t think why not.’ His hand, flat down on the desk, inched towards mine so that the fingertips touched. He looked like a starving man presented with a steak. It would have been so cruel to deny him. ‘You’re gorgeous.’ The way he said it was almost sinister, and that turned me on. Any second now he was going to sink his teeth into my jugular vein and eat me for dinner.
‘Oh. Thanks,’ I fluttered.
‘No need to thank me. But if you want, you can meet me after work in the Weavers.’
‘Don’t tell me you’re busy. Don’t give me an answer. I’ll be waiting.’
He brushed my fingers, stood up and stalked off in the strange, stiff way he had, looking over his shoulder at me for a final moustachiod-villain-style smoulder.
Shit! I thought. I didn’t really mean to go that far. But I’d done it now, and there was no way I could sit at home all evening thinking about Alex in the Weavers, giving up after three pints (I thought it would be three) and slouching defeatedly to the taxi rank. Or the kebab shop. Probably the kebab shop, on second thoughts.
‘Hey, Sally!’ Lisa called over as I was wrapping my scarf around my neck, trying to ignore the anarchy in my stomach at the thought of walking into the pub and finding Alex there. Maybe he would stand me up, I thought hopefully. ‘We’re going for one in the Weavers – do you want to come?’
Oh. My. God. That put the tin lid on it. There was no way I was going to be seen meeting Alex. I would be the office pariah forever.
‘Oh, um, I don’t know,’ I said lamely. ‘I’ve got some stuff to do.’
‘Oh, go on!’ Lisa rarely took no for an answer. ‘Megan wants to ask you about something. About that course you went on. She’s been put down to do it next. I said you’d come!’
‘I really can’t!’ I was protesting as Lisa grabbed an arm and propelled me to the door, telling me that it was just one and we’d be half an hour tops and Megan was really worried about the workload and needed reassurance so badly and Lindsey owed me a drink anyway so I wouldn’t even have to pay…
My nerves jangling and heart booming like an overloud car stereo, I walked through the door of the Weavers. At one table, Megan and Lindsey waved across, pointing at the drinks they had bought us in advance. At the bar, Alex nursed a pint of John Wayne Stinkweed, or whatever the real ale of the week was. His face lit and then darkened, and then paled and pinched when I went to sit with the girls.
I felt terrible. It must look as if I was intentionally humiliating him – standing him up in the most public and blatant way imaginable.
‘I just need to…go to the bar for something,’ I said faintly, unwrapping my scarf and dodging around my chair.
‘Eww, don’t go there, Sally! Look who’s there! The Predator!’ They burst into fits of giggles, looking over at him without abashment. Guiltily I tried to meet his eye. Oh God. He was coming over.
‘I’mgoingoutforacigarette,’ I babbled, almost sprinting to the side door, but Alex anticipated me, backing me into the table of agog work colleagues again and putting a hand on my shoulder.
‘I’m so glad you came,’ he said, his eyes glittering dangerously into mine. ‘I knew you would.’ He turned to the open-mouthed group behind us. ‘I’m going to have to relieve you of Sally’s charming company. She’s mine tonight. Goodbye.’
‘I didn’t make any promises!’ I yelped, mortified beyond belief, yet allowing Alex to lead me away from our audience and over to the bar. ‘It’s not…a DATE!’ I cried, hoping that my words would reach Lisa and co.
‘So what is it then, Sally?’ he asked coldly, installing me on a stool before draining his pint. ‘A bet? A joke? A chance to make me look like a twat?’
‘Not…none of those. Really. I…Lisa wouldn’t take no for an answer. I didn’t want them to know…’
‘Ah. You didn’t want them to know. Right, I get it now. Well, thanks for clearing it up for me. Goodnight.’
He galloped off on his high horse towards the door. I looked over at Lisa and her friends, who were pretending not to look, sipping delicately at their drinks and smirking. I could go to them…pretend it was a misunderstanding…take the piss out of Alex for half an hour…
I hopped off the stool and followed him.
‘Alex, listen.’ He was out in the street, smoking a cigarette as if he might bite the filter off.
‘Not laughing about me with your friends?’ he asked, expelling an angry column of smoke.
‘No. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. That was all a misunderstanding, Alex, seriously. I didn’t know they were going to be there…and they assumed I was going to have a drink with them…’
‘And you didn’t want to tell them about me. Because you’re ashamed.’
My shoulders slumped. He was right, of course.
‘They wouldn’t understand,’ I said. ‘They hate you.’
‘So do you.’
‘I don’t though. I don’t hate you. I don’t know you well enough to hate you.’
He ground the butt under his heel, giving me a vivid look.
‘Tell you what, Sally,’ he said. ‘Why don’t we kiss and make up?’
‘Yeah. And make up. If you really are sorry about all this crap. Come on. Put one right here.’ He tapped his lips with a finger. His expression was still a bit hostile. I was a little scared of him. I liked being a little scared of him. I tiptoed upwards and lightly touched his lips with mine.
‘Call that a kiss?’ he whispered scornfully into my ear. Then his hands were on my hips, holding me firmly in position, and he was doing it properly, real kissing, the kind I had forgotten about, where you forget your place in space and time and become instead a channel through which giddy sensation flows, filling you with it, addicting you to it, needing the connection to survive. I clasped my hands around the back of his neck and let him do what he wanted, because what he wanted was what I wanted: the slow burn from pleasure to desire to unassuageable need, and all transmitted by lips and tongues. How very well they did their work of communication. When Alex broke off, patting my bottom with a proprietorial hand, he was grinning like a Cheshire cat.
‘That was the best apology I ever had,’ he murmured, dabbing my earlobe with the tip of his tongue. ‘But I’m not finished with you yet. Now you’re going to do all of that, all over again, inside the pub.’
‘You mean…’ My brain cells had not quite caught up with my loins yet.
‘I mean, that bitch Lisa and her friends are going to get a show.’
‘Oh no, that’s not fair!’
‘They’re not fair. So you’re still ashamed of me, then?’
‘I still…don’t know you…’
‘You hate me?’
‘Come in then. I know you want more. I know you want it, Sally.’
His dirty, low-down croon broke me. I followed him, a noblewoman stepping up to the guillotine, into the Weavers. He was holding my hand. I heard a gasp, then another as he sat down in one of the booths along the opposite wall to them and pulled me down into his lap.
They watched every moment of my mouth yielding to his, of his hands all over me, of my hands clutching the sides of his face or grabbing his longish floppy hair. I heard their mock-vomiting noises when his tongue slid in and hysterical, shocked laughter when (I think) he looked up at them and smiled, holding my chin still before plunging back into my well-ravaged mouth. I thought, in my confusion, I was going to have to resign. But I also didn’t care. It was worth it. This was worth anything.
‘You buying a drink or have you mixed us up with a cheap hotel?’ asked the landlord lugubriously, clearing our table of empty glasses.
‘Sorry. We were just leaving,’ said Alex. ‘Weren’t we, Sally? My place? Or yours?’
‘Oh…’ I was disconnected from reality, floating on the memory of his tongue in my throat. I couldn’t end it here. My working life at Nquirex was over anyway. In for a penny… ‘Should be mine, I think.’ Safer that way.
He nodded, stroking damp hair from my face.
‘Yours it is.’
The walk home was slow, interrupted as it was by frequent shovings into walls or down alleyways for additional snogging and, towards the end of the journey, additional groping. Yards from my front door, he had me pinned to the brickwork, his hard lump of groin bruising my pelvic bone, my mouth almost numb from the constant rough possession, my knickers full of his fingers. There was no finesse to his technique, but the urgency of it swept all reservations away.
‘Let’s go in,’ I pleaded, fearful of being caught by the elderly neighbours or one of my flatmates. ‘It’s cold.’
‘Cold? You aren’t cold. Not by a long way.’ His teeth flashed, so close to me that they were just a whitish blur. For his coup de grace he applied them to my neck, sucking on it until my legs buckled. Now I definitely could never, ever go back to Nquirex. Not with a big blotchy red/purple gift from Alex on the side of my neck.
‘Please,’ I moaned.
‘Well, since you begged nicely.’ He laughed with delight, releasing me from the pinion and supporting me to the front door.
All was dark, so thankfully I was the first home. I bundled Alex upstairs without even bothering to switch on a light, grazing a radiator with my knuckles en route to make sure the erratic central heating had come on. Barely. It was cold, but I got the feeling we weren’t going to feel the frigidity of the air too keenly once we burst open my bedroom door and fell in a heap on the bed.
With coats and scarves still on, we resumed the outdoor activities, rolling around in a stew of arms and legs and wool and cold skin until I was squashed beneath him, his prisoner, my wrists clamped down and my legs immobilised by his.
‘That was a bad thing you did earlier,’ he said softly into my ear. ‘Standing me up at the Weavers in public.’
‘I didn’t mean to!’ I protested. ‘It was Lisa’s fault!’
‘Lisa’s fault? Well, Lisa isn’t here, is she? So you’re going to have to accept the full consequences for what happened.’
‘What do you mean?’ My breath shortened and I had a horrible dread. At least it might have been a horrible dread. It might equally have been a rapt anticipation. ‘I’m not a bad girl….honestly.’ I squirmed a little, invitation disguised as rebellion.
Of course, he saw this as a green light – as I intended.
‘Not a bad girl? Oh, I’m disappointed. All the same, Sally – you must pay for your misdeeds.’ He released me, kneeling up in the darkness, his silhouette wrapped up for winter, making it look gigantic. ‘Let’s have a light on.’
I reached over and clicked on the bedside lamp, enjoying the way it projected our enormous shadows on to the whitewashed walls. He was reared up above me, like a vampire about to make his strike. His face, usually pale, was pink with the cold and his eyes were bright. He looked like a man who couldn’t believe his luck, but was going to make the most of it regardless.
‘I think you’re overdressed,’ he said. ‘I know it’s cold but by the time I’m finished with you, you won’t need that coat.’
I unbuttoned and wriggled out of it, dropping it over the side of the bed. Now in my cheap black suit that sucked the static out of the dry office air and made my hair stand on end, I lay before him, awaiting his next command.
‘Shoes off. Tights off. Jacket off.’
I felt awkward and graceless, removing these items without leaving the bed, but Alex seemed to enjoy the spectacle, especially when I had to hitch up my tight pencil skirt to roll the tights down my legs. Now I was cold – just a thin shirt and a cheap skirt between my underwear and the chilly room. My nipples felt sore and I hugged my knees to my chest, brr-ing.
‘Want me to warm you up?’ asked Alex, removing his own coat and hanging it on the door, over my dressing gown.
I felt absurdly shy and could not answer, watching him approach, thinking how apt that Predator nickname really was. He reminded me of a big game hunter, slowly approaching with his net, ready to tangle me up and cart me off as a trophy.
Unconsciously, I backed away, shifting myself further up the bed, as if the pillows and the headboard could save me. Alex pounced, landing on the mattress on his knees, looming over me then pulling me up and, in a series of complicated manoeuvres, somehow managing to get me to the side of the bed, where he flipped me without too much trouble over the slightly shiny pinstripes that adorned his lap.
Well. It was novel. I had never inspected the carpet from this perspective and I noticed that a going-over with the hoover might not come amiss. Of more immediate concern, though, was the cultural memory associated with this position…head hanging one side…legs dangling the other…bottom in the direct line of fire. It didn’t take a genius to work it out…
‘You aren’t going to…?’ I couldn’t say the words.
‘Of course I am. We’ve established that you’re a bad girl. And that you did a bad thing. And that you need to be punished for it.’
‘Oh God!’ I was nervous. I had never done this before – had liked the idea, but been far too coy to broach the subject with past boyfriends. Though I had hinted like mad, it had always gone over their heads. But Alex, it seemed, needed no hints. He was…was he in tune with me, in a weird way? Would he have done this to any girl, or did he know I was a girl it would work with? And if so, how did he know that?
Questions were going to have to wait until later, because the tightly-stretched seat of my skirt fell suddenly prey to a rapid volley of smacks – quite light, but stingy and popping like firecrackers, causing me to express silent gratitude at the emptiness of the house.
‘You shouldn’t listen to your friends, Sally,’ he was saying as he spanked. ‘They don’t know what’s good for you. They aren’t your kind of people. Are they? Really?’
I supposed he was right. They were nice enough to banter with, but deep down we had nothing in common.
‘No. They’re alright though…’
The smacks got harder and I gritted my teeth.
‘They are not alright when they try to keep you away from me. You don’t belong to them, Sally. You don’t owe them anything.’
He paused to unzip the skirt and pull it down, baring my upper thighs and exposing my plain white cotton knickers to his salacious view.
‘If it weren’t for them, we could have done this months ago.’
He resumed his ministrations, slapping his palm down with alacrity against the almost-undefended territory of my now rather warm bum.
‘I didn’t know…you cared,’ I managed to hiss, wanting to kick my legs now, to try and lessen the advancing heat and pain.
‘I cared, Sally. I always cared. I always thought you looked interesting. I was interested. I was right to be interested. You’re a horny little pervert underneath the sober suits, aren’t you?’
‘No more than you!’ I exclaimed, for which trouble I got a pair of very hard smacks and my knickers yanked down to my knees.
‘Once I’ve got you nice and red,’ he said greedily, ‘I’m going to bend you over the bed and fuck you until you see that you could only belong to me.’
My bare skin began to roast and throb; he was merciless and thorough, making sure no vulnerable area went unspanked.
‘I’ll make you happy, Sally,’ he said, even as I howled and writhed and tried to shield my bum with a constantly-replaced hand. ‘I’ll keep you satisfied. I am the man for you.’
It excited me that my wails and moans did not deter him; his refusal to be swayed by my attempts at diversion made me want to believe him. I wanted a man I couldn’t play. I had always wanted that and never had it. I had had decent men and sensitive men and men who thought I would break if they squeezed too tight. Now I wanted an indecent man, a bad man, a man who would know where my limits were and take me there. Alex was certainly well on the way.
‘When you go into work tomorrow,’ he vowed, his hand never letting up, ‘you will be walking like a cowboy. You will be half-asleep from being kept up all night. You will be aching all over. You’ll have a sore backside and a sore pussy. You will be THE topic of office gossip. And I will have a great, big smile on my face.’
‘I’m not going back,’ I yelped. Surely he would have to stop soon.
‘Oh yes you are. You can’t give up a job just like that.’ Alex, sounding shocked, spanked my thighs for emphasis. ‘There’s a recession on, Sally. Don’t be silly, Sally.’
‘So you’re not resigning, do you understand? Or do I need to take off my belt?’
‘Oh! Oh no! OK! I won’t resign. I’ll stay.’
‘Good girl.’ He stopped. I breathed. The heat was enough to bathe us both and stand in for the radiator. I had never felt better.
When I went into work the next day, I was walking like a cowboy. I was half-asleep from being kept up all night. I was aching all over. I had a sore backside and a sore pussy. I was THE topic of office gossip. And it wasn’t just Alex with a great, big smile on his face. I had one too.
The girls came round in the end, after several weeks of treating me like an alien. ‘I suppose it’s true what they say,’ said Lisa over a make-up drink in the Weavers. ‘One man’s meat and all that.’ We descended into dirty giggles and Alex frowned his ‘Wait till I get you home’ frown from the bar.