Highly Successful Life Coach Abused Ch. 03

Author's Comments: All characters in this story are at least 18 years old and this is a work of fiction. The short submissions, form part of one mans journey in support of another and documented for his and your pleasure. I do digress on occasion as it is in development; all errors are mine. Suggestions and comments welcomed. I'm reminded these are sex stories, so please enjoy

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Highly successful life coach abused 3

Margaret had woken early on the Saturday morning, feeling that she had the situation under control, but accepting that she had absolutely no control over that man. She had hoped the sexual encounter would have given her an edge. She understood men and their needs, and she had chosen to kneel for him, on all fours and demean herself for very good reason.

Margaret had on reflection, very much enjoyed the unexpected tryst and had to admit that the very uncomplicated, impersonal and brutal, hard fucking she had received had been a much needed tonic and sexual release for her.

Opening her mobile, he had already messaged her, suggesting she courier the investment proposal to her accountant today, he had even included his full name and private home address details. Margaret wasn't even sure she had these details.

He expected the signed and completed documents by Monday, with the transfer of cleared funds to the iiConsultancy bank account the same day.

Whilst contemplating her next steps, she started to receive messages from friends and clients, Christ she thought, don't tell me he has already shared the file content? No, she thought to herself, just calm down a moment as that just wouldn't make any sense.

She then took a very unexpected call from one of her old premiership football clients. Margaret had listened in absolute shock, his apologies for his failure to keep in touch, not trusting anyone since his gambling habit had been exposed, and promising to appoint, continue the support and meet with her again very soon.

The calls continued throughout the morning, friends, family, colleagues, each one terribly shocked at the treatment of both her and her husband, named along with hundreds of high profile people, in a telephone hacking scandal that was promising to destroy a global media giant. Her husband, a highly respected figure in British Horseracing had also telephoned, horrified to have been targeted by the press in this way and promising litigation and that heads would most certainly swing.

The news coverage was astonishing, the PR team for the media giant was already promising a full and transparent investigation, accepting that substantive damages claims in the very near future, was an inevitability.

Only when Margaret had later entered her bedroom, and seen the embossed folder, was she reminded of her need to get the investment proposal to her accountant and quickly moving to the bottom line, the financial commitment required was £1.2 million. The exact sum that she had received for her many regretful breaches of confidences over the last decade.

She had signed the courier documentation and watched as the motorbike headed North to London. She placed a call to Novak, her accountant, apologising for disturbing his weekend, and explaining her need for the investment advice. Margaret had been taken aback by his reaction; the normally officious and obtuse accountant had quite humbly assured her that the matter would receive his immediate and personal attention. He had watched news reports and felt quite honoured that he had clients, worthy of such high profile press intrusion.

Paul and Brains watched the story unfold; leaked by their press contacts but not before they and a number of valued associates had organised to 'short' the shares at close of business on Friday. Current speculation that the shares could collapse by 25% or more, when the markets reopened, would make them all absolute bloody fortunes.

The investment from Mrs. Morrish would be a bonus, particularly as she must be wondering what was going on. She hadn't replied to the earlier message that Paul had sent. He wanted to follow up but Brains had said absolutely not, and to please leave her well alone.

Margaret had continued to field so many calls; offers of support for the foundation had come flooding in all afternoon and clients caught up in the scandal had intimated that any offer of money from the media group would also be donated to her charitable efforts.

Margaret had been so busy and so overwhelmed that she had almost forgotten about Paul and the investment in iiC until she took the late afternoon call from Novak.

He had seemed surprisingly bullish and excited asking where she had found the technology opportunity and in an attempt to remain as vague as possible under the circumstance, she had explained, that a valued client had made the introduction. Novak had expected nothing less, assuming incorrectly that she had no desire to break a client confidence.

All she could really remember about the conversation was his summary, and the brilliance of this highly tax efficient investment scheme; most of the reasoning, justifications, explanations and further plaudits had been completely lost on her. She had taken a very deep breath, and messaged Paul that her accountant had approved the investment and that the transfer of the funds would be on Monday, when she would visit Coutts bank on The Strand, in London.

Paul had passed the phone over to Brains, he read the message and nodded his approval. It would become very typical of Mrs. Margaret Morrish in the years ahead, to drop hints of her wealth and connections, favouring courteous and faintly aloof when reminded that she had spread her legs like the perfect slut for Paul on the very first afternoon they had met.

Brains had typed out the reply, instructing her to trim back her pubic hair tightly, and once the transfer has been completed, make her way south of the river to Battersea, the address will be sent on receipt of the funds. Her attendance would be expected for approximately one hour, allowing her to time to prepare for any planned social engagements that evening.

Paul read the reply, laughing that Brains hadn't even thanked her for the £1.2 million pounds sterling investment, and telling her to trim her fucking hairy bush was a masterstroke. He loved that the message was utterly dismissive of her. He pressed send.

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Margaret had arrived exactly as instructed and the funds had now arrived. As the very first investor in iiC she was soon to experience an unexpectedly savage and brutal fucking by Paul, who was in no mood for female sensitivities.

She had entered the Battersea property, and had been feeling just a little anxious as she had approached, as it looked completely derelict. Now inside, although warm, it was just a whitewashed shell of an old town house. Paul had told her to stand and wait, he was preparing her room. Such a rude brute, he hadn't even offered her a chair or a drink.

Margaret had convinced herself that this invitation was an investor meeting. But the reality was becoming very clear, and having trimmed her pubic hair last evening as instructed, she had not been able to resist playing with herself, enjoying two quite powerful orgasms, thinking of this animal fucking her again.

It was entirely her own fault, in a moment of madness and admittedly, slightly intoxicated at the end of a wonderful charity ball for injured jockeys, she had stupidly remarked that a particular clients terrible weakness for gambling would be his downfall. She had been overheard and to make matters worse, she had then trusted the bloody reporter. Now Paul had removed that terrible threat, but he still retained the evidence of her behaviour.

But she had felt a flush of excitement when the message and address had came through to her and now, standing alone and just waiting for him was a completely new sensation. She had submitted to him only a few days ago, kneeling on all fours and wanting him to use her and punish her and she then felt the sudden wetness between her legs.

He appeared at the foot of the stairs, taking her coat and throwing it on the floor, admiring her quite formal dress that she had taken particular care choosing, after all, it was an investors meeting she was attending.

He followed her up the stairs, directing her up two further flights of stairs, before pointing to a room. It was clean, warm with just a wooden futon and mattress on the floor with a leather holdall sitting alongside.

Margaret had been surprised that the sexual foreplay and mutual masturbation had started almost immediately and had escalated pleasantly. She had enjoyed being touched and her nipple pinched whilst being made to hold his hard cock. It felt wet on occasion and she had guessed he was leaking.

He roughly pulled down her underwear, with little care or appreciation. He instructed her to lie down on her back and spread her legs. In seconds he was lying on the floor, his mouth had closed over her shaven cunt and he savoured her taste and lovely wetness. She had such powerful thighs, he licked the crease either side of her cunt and lapped at the wetness around her lips, enjoying being able to see every inch of her now.

Paul loved these moments, massaging the cunt lips with his mouth and lips, pressing down on the clit and flicking it, watching it grow. He pressed open her legs and pushed them back to gain access to her tight little arse hole.

He pressed his tongue hard into her arse and wiggled it, letting one leg loose, his hand and fingers moved firmly over her very wet cunt. Paul knew she was resisting, determined to show him no pleasure, but her wetness and the swelling lips told him everything he needed to know.

He sat up now, she could see her juices and wetness all over his mouth, and he didn't seem to care. Margaret, had tried desperately not to show any pleasure, but the wetness was becoming uncontrollable and her bottom lifting, pressed her lips into his mouth. Her breathing was becoming louder.

She closed her eyes and her head was forced forward onto her chest, almost grunting in pleasure and delight as his fingers entered her and proceeded to finger fuck her mercifully. It was so unexpected after the feeling of his mouth and tongue in her arse and the slow, controlled sucking but this assault was truly explosive, she had stretched open her thighs for him, he was now sucking her clit and finger fucking her so brutally, she heard herself scream out in pure pleasure as she reached orgasm, coming over his thick, wet fingers.

Margaret kept her eyes closed, but her breathing was impossible to control as her body recovered, but Paul had other ideas. His open mouth closed down on all her wetness and the sudden and almost violent attack on her cunt and clit and lips with his mouth. He had her twitching and her arse tightening and she was feeling utter bliss, never having been sucked in this way ever, as she came for a second time, hearing herself moaning so loudly, screaming out, "Jesus Christ" as she experienced her second orgasm in a matter of minutes.