Dirty Mr. Styles

She seemed mildly irritated but tried to hide behind playful.

"Did daddy enjoy mamma sucking on his wittle wanky, hmm?"

Morgan's eyes widened stupidly. His mouth gaped but no words would come. Dear fucking god, please let this be a dream...please...

Lena Gilbert chuckled, palmed her bristle dried hair and smiled.

"All right, you silly old thing. You've had enough loving for one day. It's time to get you dressed.." Lena sauntered out of the living room and headed down the hallway toward the bedrooms as if she owned the place.

"You've missed court this morning, Morgie." she called out. "Lucky for you, I was there to cover for you." Lena returned from the bedroom carrying a light tan suit and some underwear. She stopped by the easy char and draped it over the back, but tossed the underwear into his lap.

The garment landed on top of his hands, still tightly gripping the throw pillow against what was left of his manhood.

Morgan, speechless, glanced down at them and back up at her, completely and utterly tossed. The questions swirling over answers he absolutely, positively, did not want to know.

This isn't happening...dear, god...this isn't happening, he'd said aloud.

"Oh yes it is happening. You've overslept, Morgan." Lena said flatly. "The clerk was calling me bright and early at ten thirty this morning wondering where you were. I told her that you'd broken down and had to be towed back. Don't worry, darling, they've rescheduled and you're out of hot water." Lena smiled. Her aging yellow teeth clashed against her maroon lips.

Lost, Morgan shook his head, squinting with confusion.

"Why are you here? How did you get in here? This is highly inappropriate, Miss Gilbert. Highly!" Morgan clenched the pillow tighter.

Lena Gilbert frowned and then rolled her eyes.

"Well, I got worried, silly. I came right over to see about you. Door was open. I came in and see you sprawled out on the sofa, naked as a monkey's ass, little wanky poking right up. About to wake you up and well..."

Lena lowered her aging eyelids and blushed.

"You wanted to play daddy, you little rascal, begging me to perform oral sex on you. To be honest, darling, I've longed to do something raunchy like that to you since I met you. It's about time you finally came to your senses. Clearly, you need my assistance."

The very idea this woman had her mouth on his member filled him with abject nausea. Nichole must've left already, though he wasn't entirely sure how she'd gotten to the office or why she didn't wake him.

"Wh...where..." he swallowed. "Where is Nic-- Where is Miss Thomas?" he asked sharply, daring not move, terrified she would advance him.

"Who?"

"What?" Morgan's brow furrowed ever deeper as he glared at Lena Gilbert. "Miss Thomas...my personal assistant I just hired?"

Lena cocked her head again, tightened her lips into a thin, straight line and snorted. "Oh, that girl. She was outside waiting when I arrived. Since you never showed up, I sent her on her way. You don't need that girl, Morgan. You know, she was eight minutes late, herself."

"You what?"

Morgan began to shake his head as reality loomed.

"Outside waiting where? At the office?"

His hand absently moved to rub his eyes. Pieces swirling. Where the devil was his bathrobe? Dreading the answer, Morgan forced the question out of his mouth.

"What...what day is it?"

"Yes, silly. This morning. And it's Thursday. You've slept right through lunch. Are you okay? We really should get you dressed. Don't want to miss your two o'clock with Larry Richmond, do you?"

Lena picked up the suit and started toward him, her leathery, leering grin plastered to her leathery, leering face.

Morgan winced and slumped back onto the sofa, numb and dazed by the dark, twisted reality that had settled over his life like a storm cloud.

Thursday...

"Son of a bitch...son of a fucking...bitch..." he groaned.

Dirty Morgan Styles had been dreaming again.

.The End.