Leaning on the Lamppost

"I'm so sorry, you were very brave." She consoled him.

He turned and held her, pressing his hot, quivering cock against her stomach, whilst his fingers desperately clawed at the laces of the corset. There was a hungry urgency in his movements she had never felt from him before and as he laid her out on the floor and ripped off her panties, she saw the inflamed lust in his face. Barely waiting until she had got her leg free of the torn panties, he wrenched her thighs apart and entered her with an almost animal thrust that made her gasp. He put his hand under her buttocks and pulled her up onto his thrusting cock, while biting and sucking on her nipples with a ferocity that alarmed her almost as much as it excited her. She screamed and came in a shuddering orgasm that was still echoing in her ears as he cried out and filled her with the hottest gush of juice, she had ever felt.

Well, she thought wickedly, that worked!

As he lay collapsed on top of her, suddenly he was remorseful and apologetic.

"I'm so sorry, that was too rough I don't know what came over me."

She soothed him and then said with a cheeky grin as she cradled his head and stroked his hair.

"It was lovely. I KNOW what came over me!" she indicated the silvery stream leaking from between her legs.

"You cheeky little..." He laughed

"I ought to put you over my knee!"

"You know what that would lead to and you're no good to me now! Reckon I've got at least a good half hour's peace!" He lifted himself off her and they both surveyed the spent and sticky object limply hanging between his legs.

-----

SUNDAY

Lunch with the Smiths.

They sat side by side uncomfortably as the train rumbled out of Liverpool Street station on its way to Ilford. Nigel had dressed smartly, but casually, it was how his mum liked to see him. Stacey wore a demur knee length floral dress stockings and a little smart jacket. She looked very pretty, and Nigel felt an exclusive glow of pride as he sat next to her.

"I hope your mums got soft cushions on the seats!" Stacey observed with a grin.

"So, Nige, Stace has been telling me how you've both been promoted and are going to be working as a team" Nigel smiled weakly at his mum and shot a 'What the fuck?' look at Stacey, who just grinned, shrugged and turned back to Betty.

They were standing in the small kitchen of his parent's house as Betty put the chicken in the oven and Nigel peeled potatoes.

"We still have to thrash out the details..." Stacey winked at Nigel

"We're going to be partners! It will mean a lot more money!"

"What made you say that?" Nigel hissed at Stacey as they grabbed their jackets and prepared to go to the pub with his dad.

"Trust me, I have a plan! I love you!" Stacey almost casually dropped the 'L' word bombshell and Nigel stopped dead in his tracks, retreating into stunned silence as his brain struggled to process the rapid turn of events.

"It'll be ok. We'll talk later." she kissed him gently and looked at him with reassuring eyes he just couldn't resist.

They sat in the pub. Nigel sat nursing his customary pint of lager while Stacey matched his dad pint for pint, chatting away easily to him. Back home they ate the roast with Nigel feeling almost left out as Stacey entranced his mum and all but seduced his dad. Watching the football match that his dad had dredged up from the deepest recesses of the ancient TV set, Stacey swore at the referee, shouted advice to the blurry players on the screen and rose cheering in unison with his dad as the team they apparently both supported scored a winning goal in the dying minutes of the game.

Stacey skipped upstairs to the toilet and Harold in an uncharacteristically confidential manner turned to Nigel, and with a theatrical wink and a thumbs up announced.

"She's a Keeper!" Adding rather embarrassingly.

"Nice one son!"

Betty was also completely smitten and as they prepared to leave that evening took Nigel to one side and told him.

"She's lovely, absolutely adores you! Look after her, she's a treasure." Betty was already imagining grandchildren and Nigel felt completely railroaded.

-----

"So, what was that all that working as a team bullshit!" Nigel demanded indignantly as they got on the train. Stacey sat opposite him and smiled.

"WE are going to do a bank heist!" She announced enigmatically.

"What? With a sawn-off shot gun and a stocking over my head?" Nigel asked, incredulously. She had to be joking.

"No silly, but you can wrap my stockings around your head if you want!" she opened her legs and for the first time that day he noticed she wasn't wearing any underwear. He dropped to his knees, his head disappeared under her dress, and she sighed contentedly and eased herself forward onto his lapping tongue. Luckily, no one passed their seat until suddenly the ticket inspector called for tickets from the end of the carriage. Keeping her legs teasingly clamped around Nigel's head Stacey reached in her handbag and pulled out their two tickets, dropping one on the floor next to Nigel.

"There it is dear!" She breezily called to Nigel just as the ticket inspector reached them and Nigel's head emerged in the nick of time, and he picked up the ticket.

The ticket inspector looked suspicious but checked the tickets, and with an odd look at Nigel, moved on to the next group of seats.

Her deflection of his question lasted a while but finally she was pushed to explain her plan and he to grudgingly accept it might work. They had, she explained to go in as normal. Both of them would accept his promotion and just get on with it as though nothing had happened.

She explained with a serious authority in her voice that Nigel found scarily attractive.

"There's something not right about Terrence and George and the way they have surrounded themselves with such a close group of acolytes. They picked you over me because they assumed you could be controlled, now they're not so sure. There are rumours going around that they are skimming money from the bank and pulling the wool over Sir Reginald's eyes. He trusts them, he brought them in, knows their families and listens to their advice. I think Terrence in particular is manipulating his way to take over the bank when Sir Reginald steps down. George is just his sidekick and is probably the weak link.

"Go in and pretend Friday was no big deal. I'll see if there's any talk going around the office. People will know I was there with you on that night and will probably question me if they've heard anything"

She then explained what files he needed to look for and things to note down.

"If you come across Terrence or George, try not to show how you feel. We need dirt on those creeps!"

-----

MONDAY

The House.

As Monday dawned, they agreed to let the bank stew for a couple of days, all the better to see what crap floated to the surface. Graham phoned in sick and said he would be off for a couple of days. That gave them until Wednesday.

"So, show me your house!" She suddenly and enthusiastically asked, and when he agreed she packed a small bag, and they caught the train into town and from there to Tonbridge.

She was impressed. It was bigger than she expected with a separate kitchen, a little study, garden, a much larger bedroom, and a king-sized double bed!

"Nigel, you filthy old rogue! What floozies have you romped with in that?" she demanded to know.

"None yet! But hopefully very soon!" he said, and they stripped off and got straight down to romping happily under his big comfy quilt.

Later, as he went to the kitchen and started preparing dinner from his remarkably well stocked fridge, she suddenly asked.

"Can I use your phone? I need to phone Steve, my brother."

"Oh course. Your brother?" He hadn't even realised she had a brother.

"Yeah, he was in the army, something special. Does stuff like private security now. He's a bit secretive and quiet but he's tough bastard!"

They ate, went to bed, fucked per se, and planned their next move.

-----

TUESDAY

Lock, Stock.

Stacey stood tearfully in the lockup storage unit with Steve going through her dad's boxes of stuff. He'd been dead eighteen months now and neither of them could bear to part with anything although it was costing them a small fortune to store it all.

"Got it!" Announced Steve, brandishing the Enfield No 2-service revolver her dad had hidden under a pile of old army photos. He inspected it and nodded silently.

"That should do the trick!" Stacey said approvingly taking it and gingerly pushing it to the bottom of her sports bag.

-----

WEDNESDAY

Just Another Day at the Office.

It seemed like a million years had passed as Nigel stood in the lift up to the floor of his new office. People got in, people got out and it seemed as if they were all looking at him oddly. Just paranoia he told himself, after all, he'd only got drunk and had his trousers pulled down. It suddenly seemed as if it had been no big deal at all. Just a drunken prank.

The doors opened on his floor. Oh shit. There was Terrence and George and just down the corridor he spotted Rose in the distance, walking away. Did Terrence and George know what had happened after they'd left him? Did they care? Had word got around? Nigel started to sweat as George turned to him.

"Oh, there you are old chap, wondered what had happened to you, fancy a gander at your new office?"

Nigel braced himself and was determined to stay honest to his true self.

"Yeah, better have a butchers." He wasn't going to pander to them now Nigel thought.

Terrence turned and gave him a cold smile; he was not going to forget Friday evening either Nigel realised.

The receptionist on that floor gave him a curious look. Christ, did she know anything? This was going to be an awkward day he realised.

They walked down the corridor and George opened the door his new office. Nigel's heart stopped, bending over the desk sorting through some papers was

Rose!

"Not sure if you two have met; This is Rose, Rose Evans. She's going to be your secretary."

"Hello, pleased to meet you Sir, please don't hesitate to let me know if you want a hand with anything. I'll try to come as quickly as I can." She smiled knowingly and Nigel winced. It was all almost too unbearable. He missed Stacey's support and resolution. He wanted out of here. When he was eventually left alone, he began carefully sifting through the information in the filing cabinets and computer.

By lunch in the management cafeteria, he was almost settling down when a coldly efficient and unsmiling Stacey walked up to his table. She had returned to her stern business persona and was wearing a tight black pencil skirt, black tights, and a severe black jacket over a high-necked white shirt. She greeted him formally, handed him a file of papers and as he picked it up slipped him a small, folded piece of paper. "Thank you, Ms Brown." He forced himself to say and she nodded equally formally. "Enjoy your lunch Sir."

Back in his office he looked around cautiously and read the note.

"A lot of people know what Rose did, especially the women. Christine has been telling all. Sorry, must be horrible for you. Look into "Quaydev Ltd." They're a property development firm with a sizeable chunk of docklands property. T&G are handling the banks potential investment and are keeping it all very tight. They have a lot of fingers in a lot of pies. Be careful!

Love you madly. Fun tonight!! S"

He regretfully shredded the note and found the file marked Quaydev Ltd, scanned quickly through the numbers, photocopied it, and placed a copy in his briefcase before locking it securely.

Stacey caught up with him at Charing Cross station and with a shake of her head indicated he should sit some distance away from her on the train. As the train disgorged its passengers at Tonbridge, she caught up with him in the tunnel leading to the carpark and with a quick look around pushed him against the damp tunnel wall and smothered his lips with her mouth. His hand slid to grip her buttocks and with a gasp she thrust against him.

"Get a room, Granny!" A passing kid on a bike called out and they both giggled like teenagers and walked on.

She ran into the bedroom with indecent haste as they entered the house and as he followed eagerly, she pulled a bag out from under the bed and shooed him back into the living room. Perplexed he sat there until she emerged with a small brown paper bag from a well-known hardware store and pointed to the large screw eyes, he had screwed into the heavy oak beam that ran across the ceiling. These were used for hanging an old-fashioned laundry rack which he attached when he needed to dry clothes.

Silently she handed him two lengths of thick, strong sash cord. Realising her intent, he smiled and threaded them though the screw eyes. She reached behind her back and pulled something from the waistband of her skirt blushing slightly. Nervously she handed him a dark brown leather strap. It was about one and a half inch wide, fifteen inches long and just over an eighth of an inch thick. It was still warm from her body. She then submissively stretched her arms out to him and indicated the leather bracelets with attached metal rings that she now wore on each wrist. He threaded the rope through and slowly hoisted her arms high above her head and tied it so that her feet only just reached the floor.

"I've been bad. Please punish me, sir." She said softly in the voice she had used at work.

"And how many strokes do you think you deserve Ms Brown?" Nigel leapt enthusiastically into the role.

"Ten." Oh god. What had made her say that? she thought forcing herself to resist the temptation to backtrack.

"I think that sounds a little too soft, why don't we make it an even dozen? I wouldn't want you to think I'm letting you off easy. Do you think that's fair?" Nigel was amazed to hear himself say.

Yes, sir. Very fair. Thank you, sir." Stacey whimpered in trepidation.

With that he reached behind her and unzipped her pencil skirt pulling it down to her ankles and stood for a minute enjoying the view as she hung swaying and hobbled by its constriction. Satisfied at her discomfort he pulled down the tights to join the skirt.

He bent so that his face was in line with the plain white cotton panties, she always wore for work and sniffed at the conspicuous patch of wetness spreading across them from between her legs.

"I do believe this is arousing you! Do you enjoy pain Ms Brown, does it excite you?" Nigel was warming to this role a little too well Stacey was realising.

Yes, sir, both sir." Stacey felt herself squirming with terror and a thrilling anticipation.

"Well, then let's make this as enjoyable and exciting as we can!" Nigel made a swishing arc through the air with the strap, savouring the instinctive flinching and tightening of Stacey's stomach muscles.

Nigel disappeared behind her, and she could feel her buttocks desperately tensing to anticipate him.

The strap fell and Stacey cried out, God! It was so much more intense than his bare hand had been. She hung from the ropes as waves of flame engulfed her buttocks and were slowly beaten back by waves of arousal. Nigel's hand moved between her legs, pressing the sodden fabric of her panties into the wet flesh of her gash. She tried to grip it between her legs, mad for the feel of him and desperate to delay the next blow, but it slid elusively away.

Again, and agonisingly yet again, the strap fell, her buttocks felt like raw steak and her panties were a sodden rag, Sweat had soaked her shirt and her white lace bra showed through the wet cotton. She raised her head, imploring him, almost faint with desire for him.

"Only one more!" He announced. She'd lost count. She cursed; she'd convinced herself it was all over.

Slowly he peeled the panties down her legs, and she hung exposed, the burning of her buttocks betrayed by the raw pink flesh of her labia hanging between her legs moistly and expectantly.

It wasn't as if the panties had softened the blows, but the new sound of the leather slapping sharply against the sweat filmed skin just made it seem so much worse. She slumped and immediately he was with her, holding her, caressing, and soothing the flames on her bottom with the butterfly wing strokes of his fingertips. His mouth met hers, his fingers filled her, and she felt swamped with love.

"I love you so much" He whispered, "Thank you!"

-----

Quaydev Ltd had managed, through a mixture of clever negotiation, bullying and downright bribery to have secured a large area of land next to the Thames on the North side of the river. Its proximity to the City of London and the potential for development of its largely derelict and empty buildings meant it was going to make someone an awful lot of money. Quaydev had managed to get the planning permission, had the blueprints for the conversion, or demolition of the buildings. However, in the process it had run dangerously short of money. It was now in the process of looking for a bank to supply the capital to enable it to proceed to the next phase of the development.

It was, everyone realised, a no brainer. Any investment was sure to make millions for whichever bank invested, the only sticking point was the terms of the deal. Terrence and George had been negotiating with Quaydev on behalf of the bank for six months and seemed to be close to reaching an agreement. The terms were considerably more in Quaydev's favour that those offered by the other banks and Terrence and George had done rather nicely out of the negotiations.

It was all subtly done of course, only a team with Nigel's perspicacity with numbers and Stacey's uncanny intuition would have been able to cut through the obfuscated mountain of paperwork to find the rottenness buried within.

-----

THURSDAY

The Gig.

They agreed to stay at Stacey's flat on Thursday, subject to the now necessary restocking of her fridge. It was going to be a council of war and Nigel was going to meet Steve for the first time. When they arrived, they found Steve already there. He had opened her drop-leaf dining room table and on it spread a series of maps and photos. He introduced himself to Nigel, and they sized each other up. Steve was slightly shorter than Nigel but with a stocky muscular frame which suggested he could look after himself. He had a commanding presence and a confidence that Nigel found reassuring albeit a little intimidating. On his part Steve found Nigel quiet, thoughtful, and analytical. This was going to work.

Steve had spent the week trailing Terrence and George as they left the office for various meetings. He had a motorbike which he said simplified the job of following the two brightly coloured Porshes. They always went everywhere in separate cars which made them so much easier to spot. Steve on his motorbike was almost invisible to them and the helmet meant they never saw his face.

"Think I might have got something." Steve said pointing to a block bordered by a series of sideroads on the riverfront dead in the centre of the Quaydev site.

He indicated a photo showing the outside of a large warehouse with loading bays overlooking the river. "Been here three times." He pushed forward a blown-up photo taken with telephoto lens "Met this guy each time."

"Any idea who?" Nigel was amazed at the progress Steve had made

"John Cavendish! Works for Quaydev as a sort of negotiator, go between and sorter outer, greases the wheels of sleazy deals." Stacey had been busy too.

"Terrence and George are getting some sort of pay off from Quaydev to lower the amount of equity the bank takes in return for the loan." Nigel said, picturing pages of numbers scrolling through his head and now convinced he had read the scam. "A fraction of a percent siphoned off in shares or cash to them for 'brokering' the deal, on top of course, of the not insubstantial commission they will get from the bank"