Divine Intervention Ch. 02

Author's note: For the purposes of characterisation and plot development you may wish firstly to familiarise with chapter one, though a brief synopsis is provided. Things take a dark turn in this sequel, hence the categorisation. Therefore, if scenes of reluctance, coercion and force are likely to cause upset, you may wish not to read on.

*

My name is Richey Davis and this is the continuing saga of the most amazing day of my entire life, a day in which nothing – so far – had gone wrong. It was as if some inexplicable kind of divine intervention had taken place overnight to right the wrongs of the previous 24 hours.

Dumped by my long term lover Debbie on Thursday night, Friday began with the discovery of an angel living next door. And my new neighbour Zara was no regular angel but one with the sort of devilish tendencies I could barely wait to uncover.

Wiped out at the card table on Thursday afternoon, the corresponding lunchtime had seen the losses retrieved with interest. Not only that, I'd gotten one over on arch nemesis, Ronnie Carver, the win made so much sweeter by the fact that he was Debbie's former husband. He'd been trying to split us up for ages and I suspected his bragging had prompted Debbie's decision to end the relationship. Well he'd succeeded, but who'd had the last laugh?

Then a few hours ago, by some strange twist of fate, I'd recovered my stolen car, a near vintage XR3i, the marque of the boy racer from which I'd evolved. Being back behind the wheel gave me such a buzz.

And, as if that wasn't enough, I'd just enjoyed the most mind blowing threesome imaginable with two uninhibited East European strippers. Taking turns, Saskia then Natalya sucked my cock raw, after which they performed a girl-on-girl show to savour. It was all I could do to drag myself away.

Not a bad start, it was the promise of what might lie ahead that caused goose-pimples to erupt all over my body and my groin to throb. My mind in overdrive, the time had arrived to up the ante and see just how far I could push the envelope.

* * *

The journey from Saskia's flat the outskirts of town was peppered with continual interruptions from her friend Natalya, the girl I'd selected to help with the next piece in the master plan. "Ree-chee, what you want from me?" she enquired in her East European whine. "Where you take me, Ree-chee?"

On and on she persisted until it became annoying and I was minded to silence her. Yet, desperate to keep her sweet, I didn't rise to the bait. For what I had in mind couldn't work without her. Biting my tongue, I staunched the urge to retaliate, thinking ahead to when this particular episode would be over, and the opportunity to move on to better things. Some eight and a half hours of the day remaining, that was a cheery thought.

But for now my mind was focused on Laurie Johnson and a bitter revenge. Johnson had been my line manager for a year or so until yesterday when he helped get me fired. The sort of boss that loved to talk the talk, like many power mongers he couldn't walk the walk. Transparent and full of bullshit, lies and hollow promises, I'd sussed him straight away.

It would be no boast to say that, with my negotiating skills and encyclopaedic knowledge of the business, I'd almost single-handedly made our department the most profitable in the organisation over the past twelve months. But did I see any of the proceeds? Did I fuck? Johnson took the plaudits and the bonuses as well, lining his own grubby pockets at my expense. Five per cent? That hardly covered my bar bill.

Unsurprisingly, that kick in the teeth six months ago coincided with my declining attitude. Once it became apparent that no matter how hard I tried or how many extra hours I put in, I was going to be overlooked, all enthusiasm ebbed away and naturally I started to slack. Silly things like turning up late in the morning, taking the odd long lunch and bad-mouthing the customers started to become commonplace.

Little did I know that my days at the firm were numbered, in any event. Unbeknown to me, my every move was being watched hawkishly and that the misdemeanours rigorously catalogued. Had I known, I might have jumped ship earlier.

Yesterday it finally came to a head. £200 down in The Crown during the lunchtime stint, I was hardly inclined dash back to the office. So I played on, ignoring the clock and chasing my losses. The only trouble was, by 2.30 the debt had doubled and I was in a foul mood.

Upon my grudging return to the office Johnson was waiting, his arms folded and face thunderous. Frogmarched unceremoniously down to HR like an AWOL soldier facing a court martial, the threat of "You're for the high jump this time, Davis," rang in my ears.

I could undoubtedly have bluffed my way out, issued a humbling apology and promised never to do it again. That way I might well have escaped with little worse than a verbal warning. But, so wound up at losing at cards and Johnson's supercilious attitude, I chose instead to deck the little gimp, utilising a sweet right hook. Johnson fell like a Portuguese footballer, clutching his bloodied nose.

That it happened right under the watchful eye of the MD gave me little mitigation. There was no excusing that kind of behaviour and I was sacked on the spot for gross misconduct. What made things worse, if that were possible, as I trudged away Johnson had made a miraculous recovery, sporting a huge grin. Like a mug I'd fallen for the oldest trick in the book.

One small consolation, however, being dismissed in that manner meant I could return to The Crown to chase my losses even further. Though, as you know, those losses had snowballed to £1000 before the day was out. When Ronnie Carver turned up the fateful hand I realised my relationship would soon be history too. It would be fair to say that yesterday hadn't been one of the better days of my life.

But, as the saying goes, that was then and this is now. 24 hours on and my luck had never more been healthy. The worm had turned and taking Carver for three grand had been oh so satisfying. Now it was Laurie Johnson's turn to feel my wrath.

* * *

As we headed across town to the industrial estate, a plan began to crystallise in my mind. Being Friday afternoon, Johnson was due to meet a broker in a few minutes. That presented me with the ideal opportunity. I'd always suspected these Friday afternoon 'business' calls were five-minute excuses to start the weekend early, but had never been able to prove it. "That's him," I mouthed cryptically across to Natalya as my former boss came out into the hot summer's day, eyes adjusting to the brightness.

"That's who?" she asked.

I really couldn't be arsed to explain, electing to speak in terms I knew she'd understand: sex and cash. Reaching into my pocket to extract £100, I stated: "Just do what you do best, darling."

Natalya nodded. It seemed she understood fully. "You want me to fuck that man, yah?"

"Spot on," I confirmed. "Do good job and I give you hundred more," I added, cursing that I'd been reduced to speaking like her.

Sure enough the broker visit was over in a jiffy, my hunch holding good. We trailed him at a safe distance to the local park, parking up and pursuing on foot. Johnson stopped to admire two teenaged girls playing tennis, issuing lecherous glances at their bare legs and jigglesome breasts. Happily married, he claimed, I'd always suspected from the manner in which he ogled the younger girls in the department, that good old Mr Johnson might be a sex pest. "Go to work," I whispered to Natalya.

The filthy fucker could hardly believe his luck when the half decent girl almost half his age took a seat on the same park bench. Natalya's tiny denim skirt had ridden half way up her thighs and immediately drew the first furtive glance and grin. But with Johnson still not prepared to make the first move, it needed Natalya's guile to make the breakthrough, 'accidentally' dropping her phone to the grass. Reaching down like the true gentleman he scooped it up, handing it back with an asinine grin. Natalya offered a pouted thank you, before engaging him in the first stilted lines of conversation.

Keeping a safe distance, I hoped Johnson would be stupid enough to fall for it. Natalya, it seemed, was a natural, the foreign accent and broken English making her appear easy prey for a man of Johnson's standing. Within minutes he was leading her off into the bushes.

Creeping closer, I ensured to capture it all on the videophone feature of my mobile, at the same time aiming to maintain Natalya's anonymity the best I could. It was Johnson's life I wanted to ruin, not hers, though knowing Natalya as I did she would probably get off on being filmed.

Crucially, the time, 15.46, was displayed. There could be no doubting that he was doing this during company time. As Johnson went to kiss her, Natalya lowered to her knees, wrestling with the zipper to his suit trousers. "Mmmm, you're a keen little slut, aren't you?" observed my ex-boss, surely unable to believe this incredible 'turn of events'.

Okay it was a honeytrap of the lowest kind, but did I care? Did I hell. He deserved everything that came his way and I could think of worse ways to go down.

Natalya fished out the shrivelled penis, working her lips around the swollen purple head, sucking eagerly and getting him hard. She stroked the stiffening shaft before undertaking a deft deepthroat manoeuvre, swallowing the entire length. Reaching into her hair, Johnson took a firm grip gave it a good hard tug. Natalya yelped and pulled back, the spittle-coated and erect manhood slipping clear. "Hey, none of the rough stuff, yah?"

That was a veiled challenge, if ever I'd heard one and Johnson issued a dark scowl. Used to getting his own way in all facets of life, he wasn't going to be spoken to in that manner by some cheap foreign tart. Raising a backhand he delivered a cruel slap across her face. Natalya cried out in pain and surprise, wobbling on her knees. As she went to stand, Johnson cuffed the back of her head, sending the disorientated girl face first into the undergrowth.

Trousers at his ankles, my furious former boss wasted no time in pinning his prey to the ground, his full weight on the back of her knees. Lifting up the denim miniskirt and after allowing a brief moment to admire her arse cheeks, he started fumbling with her panties, wrestling them down. Head unclouding, Natalya bucked and kicked out, trying her utmost to wriggle clear. Her steely determination elicited in Johnson a really ugly side rarely witnessed before and he slapped her around the arms and shoulders. "You fucking cheap little foreign whore," he spat as Natalya protested over and over to leave her alone. "You know you fucking want it, you filthy slut."

It wasn't entirely clear as I filmed the unfolding scene whether Natalya actually did want it or not. Her heightened squeals and desperate pleas for clemency carried an air of authenticity as Johnson struggled to force her thighs apart. It may be that she'd bitten off more than she could chew in trying to please me. The harder she fought back, the rougher and more foul-mouthed Johnson became.

With several warnings to shut the fuck up going unheeded, he lifted Natalya's head by the hair and rubbed her face in the dusty undergrowth, twigs snapping beneath. I watched as Natalya's fingernails scraped the surface and it was at that point that I feared things had seriously gone too far. I contemplated wading in to help the poor girl and finish off what I'd started yesterday with the stray punch. But that would have meant giving the game away and seen the whole carefully constructed plan disintegrate to little more than a minor humiliation of the man who'd cost me my career. No, I had to hold back and trust my instincts.

And those instincts were based upon what I recalled having heard from guys down the pub who'd been with Natalya. Apparently she had some rather unusual kinks and wasn't averse to a little rough play between the sheets. Some claimed she'd toyed with bondage and rape fantasies. Certainly she seemed to derive an odd thrill from walking home alone late at night after a shift in The Crown. This wasn't exactly the safest estate to be around, even in broad daylight.

That probably explained some of the exotic bruises she'd sported during the shedding of her clothes. And word had it she absolutely adored being tied up, being hit and bitten. Whilst those were the sorts of things most of the guys could cope with in small measures, they tended to run a mile when she asked to be held tightly by the neck during copulation.

I'd never quite understood that fetish but evidently it heightens the orgasm. And now, with Johnson of all people, her wish was coming true. Hands at her throat he squeezed purposefully whilst trying to silence her. I agonised over the right thing to do, becoming genuinely unsettled by my ex-boss' ferocity, desperately checking that her face wasn't turning purple yet. It was a tough call but I surmised that if she WAS genuinely in distress, knowing I was there watching, she'd have summoned me to help by now. So instead, and perhaps against my better judgement, I maintained my distance as she gasped and cried and struggled. I was mightily relieved when Johnson eased his grip.

It had the desired effect on at least one of them for he had become rock hard once more, stabbing with the bloated head between Natalya's legs. Clenching tight, the feisty East European denied his urge. Growing impatient, Johnson drew a penknife from his pocket, holding the blade to the girl's spine. Drenched in sweat and fear and feeling the cold sharp length of steel, immediately Natalya complied, parting her thighs. Johnson blew hard and slid in forcibly from behind. It wasn't clear whether the ability to impale in one easy thrust owed more to his hardness or Natalya's wetness. It was probably 50/50.

Biting her neck and drooling in her ear, he pumped purposefully downwards as Natalya laid spread-eagled and helpless, her tits crushed to the sun-dried ground. In and out he pumped brutishly for two minutes, during which he called her all manner of slut names. I looked on uneasily, struggling to believe the intensity of the attack. He was like a man possessed.

Natalya was reduced to issuing short whimpers, hands clenched into little fists, banging the ground. Gripping her neck once more, he tightened until she gagged, driving his cock deep and mercilessly. Pausing momentarily to wipe a paw across his soaked brow, Johnson spat: "You're so fucking wet, you're loving it, aren't you."

When Natalya failed to respond he lifted her by the collar and we both feared for a short moment he'd suffocated her. "Yes, oh God yes I love it," she panted.

I couldn't be sure whether she meant it or was trying to appease him. Again it was probably 50/50.

Johnson pressed back down and administered a series of short sharp thrusts, bringing himself to the verge of orgasm. With a pained grunt, his face contorted and he unloaded inside her, lying on top till every last drop had been milked. I felt sure Natalya stifled a cry for more, or was I just trying to excuse my complicity in the sorry episode?

Clambering to his knees, Johnson wiped his sticky cock head on her panties before lifting them back up her thighs and patting her bum. Natalya moaned under her breath, remaining motionless on the ground.

Standing to compose and pull up his trousers, my ex-boss glanced straight at the lens. He looked guilty as sin and genuinely appalled at the demons that had made him do that to the helpless girl. Dusting down, excuses were already slipping from his lips as the enormity of the situation dawned. "She came on to me, yeah the filthy slut was gagging for it," he whispered under his breath in an attempt to exonerate blame.

In my hiding place I found myself breathing equally as heavy, unable to believe my eyes or my luck for that reason. I'd only intended to catch him messing around in work hours, the 'rape' element a somewhat unexpected bonus. Jeez, was he for the high jump. Johnson stumbled past through the bushes, meeting the sunlight and starting to weep, a horrible strangled sound. "Oh God, what have I done?"

Wow. Even if my nasty little plan to get him fired didn't come to fruition, I imagined he'd be scarred for life by the incident and be beating himself up mentally for the rest of his sorry life. I almost felt pity. Almost. Well that'd teach the cunt to mess with me.

I fingered the phone, hesitating. A new pay-as-you-go model, bought cheaply off one of the crowd in the pub, I'd be amazed if anyone could ever trace it back to me. I looked down at Natalya, body quivering, breath heavy. Fuck you Johnson, I said to myself, firing off a copy of the video to the MD at the office and another to Johnson's home e-mail address, hoping his wife might be on the net. My work done, I'd let fate take its course.

As Natalya climbed to her feet, she sucked in the air through gritted teeth, looking sheepish and forlorn, before cracking a grin. "I do good, yah Ree-chee?"

I smiled back, a mix of satisfaction and relief. Her reaction told me ptreety much I needed to know and I doubted we'd need to get the police involved. "Yes, you did good, Natalya honey."

* * *

Dropping her back at her place on the other side of town, I counted out £400 more for a job well done. "Ah Ree-chee, you promise me much less than this, sweetie."

She gave me a warm kiss on the brow and I smiled, feeling benevolent yet suddenly moralistic. If only Johnson had done the same and shared the wealth among the deserving in his team, he wouldn't be in the mess he was in now. As she went to alight, Natalya enquired if we might go out some time.

Mulling it over, I enquired whether she'd like to come to the party with me tonight. It would be good to have some company in a strange environment and, from what I'd seen in the photos, Zara's friends were pretty strange. Based on her performance in the park, Natalya would doubtless fit in swimmingly.

If things worked as I hoped and Zara wanted me as much as I wanted her, I was quite sure Natalya could amuse herself elsewhere. It would be fair to say that I was looking forward to the party like nothing before and in my current run of good fortune, who could tell what might happen?

As I passed the house, I caught sight of Debbie's bratty redhead daughter, Shannon, in the lounge and immediately my good mood turned sour. There were further issues in need of resolution before playtime. I felt my teeth grind.

To be continued...