Hidden Depths

That day, a Friday in June, is emblazoned on my memory as though it were yesterday.

Quite what it was about Angie that made my skin tingle like a teenager's in love I could not say. I wondered later. Maybe there had been a sign. Maybe the source of that fatal attraction was something deep within me that recognized, even though it could not know, that she was different. All I knew at the time was that she turned my head every time her slim, almost boyish figure with its long slender legs and swan-like neck appeared in my field of view.

I tried, God knows. I knew the golden rule. 'Never in the office'. You could not win. Especially when the object of your desire is three levels below you in office seniority, and ten years your junior. Was this the onset of a mid-life crisis? Surely not yet? Mid thirties? Maybe a yearning of the animal in me that a miserable, failed marriage entered into at a too early age had not even stirred from slumber? Whatever it was, it was crazy.

I tried to put it out of my mind. I failed. My work suffered. This was noticed.

"Not like you, Ron," Pat, my manager, said, scowling, as she pored over the set of accounts I had just turned in for approval: accounts I had managed to mangle so badly even the most cursory glance could spot the errors.

I mumbled apologies. A bad day.

Pat was understanding.

"Everyone has one of those, Ron, from time to time," she said, handing back the file across her desk for me to correct. "Tomorrow will be fine."

But I knew it wouldn't be. I was smitten, caught. And helpless. I could not free my mind of her, and I could not make a move. Hell, the last thing I needed on my undistinguished record was an accusation of sexual harassment. It does not take much, these days. Condemned to ogle surreptitiously, to yearn, work became torture and off-work was no better. I had to break free. Quit? It seemed my only escape. In retrospect, it was my only escape.

I was about to hand in my resignation, I swear, when it happened. It was 5pm and the office was clearing. As always, I had a backlog. Rarely could I leave much before 7. I sensed her approach. I had been waiting for it, the last glance of the week at those elegant shoulders and trim ankles as she passed by on her way to the door.

Looking without appearing to look is as frustrating as it is distracting. So it was only after she had rounded the corner and was gone that I noticed the slip of paper that had appeared on my desk

A phone number. And beneath it, in neat handwriting 'If you dare'.

It seemed my heart would pound its way out of its moorings. So she had noticed. Of course she had noticed. How could she not. Probably everyone in the office had noticed. What did she mean 'If you dare'?

Of course, I called the number and set in motion events that would change my life for ever.

The address was in the hills above Pasadena in a secluded, upmarket neighborhood. The house was hidden. The curved driveway led from the road, disappearing mysteriously behind a tall hedge. From the road, nothing of the house or grounds could be seen. Not an address I would have associated with a humble office worker in a law firm. But the street was right, the number on the gate post was right. This must be the place. Of course, I was far too early so I drove around the block and parked by the roadside. My heart was still pounding and I found I was trembling.

"If you dare," she had said, after giving me the address. Her tone was even. Did I imagine an ominous tinge?

"Er - may I ask what you mean, Angie?" I had stammered in response.

"If you are afraid, do not come," she had replied, mysteriously.

Then the line went dead.

Fifteen minutes is a long time to wait in a car parked by the side of the road. Why did I feel so conspicuous, guilty? Why was I as nervous as a school kid on his first date? Was it six months in the wilderness, three dates, three total busts?

Thankfully I started up my Morgan, a collectors item, handbuilt in England, the only object of value that remained to me after the divorce, and only this because Meredith, my ex, hated it even more than she had come to hate me. I revved the engine, gaining courage from its throaty roar. Rounding the block I steered into the gravel driveway and reversed against the hedge into a slot between a blood red Cobra and a Toyota Celica.

On the stroke of nine, I pressed the buzzer. The door opened instantly, to reveal - an empty entrance hall. I hesitated. There was no sound. A small voice in my head told me to back off, to retreat to my Morgan and to run away. I disobeyed. Stepping forward, I crossed the threshold and entered the hall. The door closed soundlessly behind me. I whirled around.

It took my eye a long instant to recognize she was stark naked. Every man's fantasy, is it not -- the door opens and behind it is a totally nude woman. And not just any woman. Unwittingly, my errant eye scanned from the pink of her toenails, sunk into the pile of the carpet, up along slender limbs, to the cleft of her pubis, a hint of pink labial lips, up to linger on pert, pear-shaped breasts with nipples standing proudly erect, to that long elegant neck topped by the angelic face and short cropped hair I knew so well, the head that had so turned mine.

In every man's fantasy, the result is instant arousal. On the ground, though, as it were, the reality that evening was utter confusion. I am not sure my jaw actually dropped, but it felt like it had. I stood transfixed, unable to move or utter a sound.

Our eyes were joined now, hers quizzical, mine betraying my incomprehension.

"House rules, Ron," she said simply, standing quite still, her arms hanging limply at her sides.

I understood. 'If you dare' came to mind. Wordlessly, I began to unbutton my shirt, my eyes feeding on the peerless figure as though it were an apparition. A slight inclination of her head answered my unasked question. I draped my shirt over a chair in the corner. My slacks and boxers followed. Thank God for those hours in the training room, working off my frustrations on the machines. No golden beach boy, but not bad. No reason to be ashamed.

She had not moved as I undressed, but now, as I stood before her, she stepped towards me. Keeping eye contact, she ran a hand through the hair on my chest. I felt the touch of her breast on my upper arm.

"I knew you'd come," she said. As her eyes looked up into mine her hand had moved slowly down. Slim fingers with elegantly painted nails grazed my cock and balls, teasing. I moved as though to kiss her, but she recoiled just enough to say 'Not yet'.

"Stroke my back," she said.

Her skin felt like satin. I stroked as gently as I knew how. She nuzzled closer, her breast pressed into my chest, her left arm curled around my back, pressing me to her. The teasing continued. Life began to stir. Gently she massaged my shaft with her fingers, moving from base to tip, base to tip.

Gradually my nervousness evaporated, desire took its place.

"Now kiss me," she said.

She raised her lips to meet mine. Mouths joined, tongues entwined. She thrust her tongue deep inside my mouth, then out, then in. Her pubic bone pressed into the flesh of my upper thigh. Her hand tightened around my cock and began serious action.

She broke the kiss just long enough to say

"Don't come,"

then resumed with heightened passion, pressing her mouth into mine and pumping harder on my cock, now fully alive.

How long we remained thus joined I cannot say. It seemed forever. Long enough, at least, to raise the pollen in no uncertain way. The hand gripped my cock ever tighter, pumped ever faster. 'Don't come' was beginning to loom large in my consciousness. And Oh, how I yearned to grab her golden leg, raise it high and ram my throbbing dick into her pussy. But she pressed her groin tight into my thigh, blocking the roaming hand that sought a way between her legs. Her hand worked my cock with vigor, pumping steadily for several minutes, then pausing to squeeze my balls, then back to my cock, resuming the action, moving down and up from tip to base and base to tip until my entire member was on fire and my body began to shudder and jolt.

'Don't come', indeed! Was this some kind of a test? Would I obey? Could I obey? I felt the sap begin to rise and forced my groin muscles to relax. How long could I hold on? Perhaps she heard my inner groan. She stopped pumping and began to squeeze my balls and dig her nails into my ball bag.

Her tongue was still flicking urgently in and out of my mouth. The pumping resumed, steady, then ceased, only to begin again as she gripped my iron hard shaft with her nails, digging them in and moving up and down. Exquisite agony. Then back to pumping, ball squeezing, more nails, more and more. Her nails bit hard into the base of my shaft, then moved up in stages until they pressed into the underside of my cock head. More pumping. On and on she went, alternating fingers and nails, balls and cock.

"Don't come.' Dear God, how could I not? My body shook so much it was all I could do to maintain my stance.

Eventually, Angie withdrew her mouth from mine and stepped back. Her hand no longer pumped my cock, just stroked it gently and fondled my balls, taut and high in their sac. The sight of her angelic features, erect nipples in their pink beds and her naked pubis showing just a trace of sweat almost achieved what an age of hard cock action had not.

Recovering somewhat, I was about to say 'Quite a welcome', but she got in first.

"Ready to move on?" she asked, coquettishly.

"You bet," I replied, still quivering inside.

She beckoned, I followed. In eager anticipation.

I had assumed, of course, we were headed for a bedroom. Not so. The room was lit by candles arrayed in alcoves. A heady aroma hung in the air. As my eyes adjusted, they made out easy chairs, a sofa, some things I did not recognize adorning one wall -- and two naked girls!

Suddenly self-conscious, I held back. But Angie grabbed my swollen, fully erect member and dragged me behind it until it and I were standing before the sofa.

"Suzi and Mary," Angie said casually, as though introducing friends at a cocktail party.

Neither Suzi nor Mary said a word. They were both waif like with bodies that seemed unnaturally white. Their breasts were neat. Dark, pronounced, erect nipples protruded from the whiteness. They seemed uncomfortable. With a shock I realized they were gagged, bound together at the ankles and their hands were tied behind their backs. A faint buzzing sound in the room puzzled me -- until I spotted the vibrators that were embedded in Suzi's and Mary's vaginas.

'If you dare!' What the hell was I getting myself into?

"Suzi and Mary are slaves, Ron. Don't be misled by appearances. They are slaves by choice. They serve their mistress willingly."

"Their mistress?" I was looking at Angie incredulously. She laughed, lightly.

"No! Not me. It's not easy to gain the status of Mistress. Maybe I will be one day, maybe I won't. And maybe you will meet Mistress Oxana one day, and maybe you will not."

Ignoring the girls totally, Angie nuzzled up to me as she had in the hallway and said,

"Stroke my pussy."

She pressed her mouth into mine, and work on my cock resumed. Sharp nails ran up and down the underside of my shaft, explored every inch of my ball bag, nipping the skin and shaking to relax the sac Her legs had parted enough to let an exploratory middle finger ease along her crevice and between her full, moist pussy lips, sliding backwards and forwards and side to side, exploring, then moving outwards so my fingertip could circle her clit. She bit my lip gently as my finger in its passage brushed the head of her clit.

"Just there," she said. "Make me come."

Suzi and Mary looked on, eyes down. Slight movements of their groins betrayed their response to the vibrators.

Angie's hand had gripped my cock again and pumped with renewed vigor as my fingertip found the spot and pressed on her clit. Her legs parted further. I added an index finger and slid further, opening her up and entering her vagina.

"Out and in," she said, using her fingers on my cock to indicate how she wished to be stimulated, massaging the tip, then down to the base. Obediently, my fingers circled her clit, then moved into her vagina, deeper and deeper on every stroke. Her body began to move, shudder. She bit my lip again, hung onto it and began pumping furiously on my cock.

'Don't come," she panted, freeing her mouth briefly, as my fingers worked her clit from back to front, side to side, in a circle, pressing harder and harder.

'Don't come'. Holy Christ!

I plunged both fingers deep inside her and finger fucked her once, twice, thrice, then out and back to the clit, rubbing ever harder, then repeating the cycle as I felt her body tense. Her hand on my cock no longer pumped, just gripped, nails digging into the shaft.

"Aaarrghhh!" she exhaled as the first wave of her orgasm washed over her. Then her body shook from head to toe as wave followed wave. She clung to me, wrapping her arms around me, writhing as busy fingers milked her erect clit and dripping cunt until the waves became wavelets.

She was still.

"You've done that before," she said, breathlessly.

I did not dare tell her the truth. I had done it before, many times. But only in my dreams, to her.

"And you didn't come," she said, admiringly, stroking my throbbing erection tenderly. "Good."

If it seems weird that a meek, mild accountant hanging by a thread onto his miserable job, with a failed, virtually sexless marriage behind him and next to no experience outside of it, should in the brief space of half an hour transmogrify into a not bad imitation of a porn star, exhibiting himself in front of two hapless girls on a sofa, tied up and gagged, and with vibrators sticking out of their cunts, then all I can say is, you had to be there.

What in the cold light of day seems impossible, even mad, seemed at the time to be inevitable.

Whatever I had expected when I got out the Morgan and made my way to Acacia Heights, it was certainly nothing like this. What had I expected? A party? A candlelight dinner à deux? She had said nothing. Sure, I had hoped, vaguely to get laid. What guy who goes out on a date does not so hope? It's that hope, after all, that drives guys to go out on dates, to put up with all the chit chat, the nervous tension 'will she, won't she', the fear of rejection.

From the moment the door opened and I stepped into the hallway, from that moment on, everything that happened seemed to have been pre-ordained.

Angie recovered her composure rapidly. I had half-hoped, half-feared she would lay down on the carpet on her back, look up at me with those wicked eyes, open her luscious limbs wide exposing the deep red of a swollen vulva still quivering from its orgasm, and say,

"Fuck me."

And of course, if she had done this, then, Mary and Suzi notwithstanding, .....

But she did not.

Leaving me standing there, cock still throbbing, she bent over the girls, released them

from their restraints and removed their gags.

"Thank you, Miss," Suzi said, bowing her head meekly.

"Thank you, Miss," Mary said, bowing even more meekly.

"See what I have brought for us." Angie had returned to my side and her hand was on my cock.

"Suzi. You can be first to show your gratitude. And you know the rules."

"Yes, Miss."

And before I could say or do a thing, Suzi was kneeling at my feet, her hands behind her back. Soft lips closed deliciously around the head of my cock. I almost came there and then. But hung on, adjusting gradually to the sensation as my cock head disappeared into Suzi's mouth, then reappeared, a pink tongue circled my cock tip, then her mouth closed around the neck of my cock and slid down, a little further each time.

At the end of the downstroke she would pause and suck gently before moving back up to repeat the cycle.

For a while I watched as Suzi's lips and tongue explored my cock, her neat crop of red hair moving slowly up and down, her nipples standing out against the pure white of her thighs. The sight was thrilling, but too stimulating. Much more of this and I would surely shoot my load right down her throat. Angie had not said 'Don't come', but she did not need to. I was in heaven, and I intended to stay there.

But there was a problem where to look. On the sofa, Mary now lay back with her legs spread wide. The vibrator was gone revealing large petals of pink and rose, glistening in the candlelight. An absent hand massaged the petals, spreading them occasionally to allow a glimpse of the dark red cavern inside, pulling them back and up to reveal the perfect rosebud of a clit tip. As she stimulated herself, Mary sighed and moaned softly.

And to my right was Angie, spread in similar fashion in an overstuffed chair, sliding a vibrator in and out of her vagina beneath an erect clit. Our eyes met. Hers seemed to say, "This is what you wanted to see, isn't it. What was under the neat blouse and flared skirt you've been ogling in the office these past two months."

And everywhere else I looked mirrors reflected in the light of the candles one or more of these erotic visions.

What could I do? Close my eyes. I could not. I surrendered myself, bathed in a sea of ecstasy I had not dreamed could exist. My cock was on fire, my body began to shake in its stance. In a state of trance I heard Angie's voice. It seemed to come from a distance. I had not made out the words.

Suzi obviously had. She raised her head, freeing my burning cock, only to lower it again. I felt a tug at my ball bag, then a sudden sharp pain as one of my balls entered Suzi's mouth. She held it there trapped, then let it slip out partially, holding it between her lips before sucking it gently back in. She did this many times before switching to my other ball and repeating. Gradually the burning sensation in my cock subsided to a heavenly warmth. Accompanying this now was a sensation in my balls that I can only describe as an ache, though it was anything other than unpleasant. Suzi worked my balls one after the other until their sac had loosened sufficiently for her to take both balls in her mouth at once. She sucked harder now. The ache intensified.

At another command from the overstuffed chair, Suzi reverted to my cock. She began as previously until she had established a steady rhythm, but then changed the cycle. On the downstroke, she dug her teeth into my shaft and, sucking hard, released, only to dig in with her teeth again, a little lower down, hold, then again, until two thirds of my cock was in her mouth. And again, on the release, her teeth would scrape my shaft, then bite down in increments all the way to the tip. And each bite sent a throb of pain and pleasure that began in my cock and suffused my whole body with its warmth. I was breathing heavily now and threw my head back from time to time as the sensation of pain struck an instant before its concomitant pleasure.

Like most men, I had engaged copiously in masturbation, on one occasion challenging myself to masturbate non-stop through an entire weekend. So I was familiar with the myriad of ways stimulation of a penis activated the brain's pleasure centers. But this sensation, which on every stroke left my cock tingling in pain and pleasure as though it had been pricked by a thousand pins, was new. My body shuddered now every time Suzi's head released my cock, which sprang up as though grateful for the relief, only to search frantically for another dose.

I was no longer aware of my surroundings, of Mary and Angie, nubile and erotic as they may be, frigging themselves. My world was my penis and the waves that emanated from it causing involuntary movements, animalistic grunts -- that was it. The animal in me took over, was me......