The Lamb of London

Author's Note: This is a substantial reworking of one of the first stories I published on Literotica under the original title of 'All Three Holes' in the Anal category. That was more of a simple stroke piece, but this version adds more context to the story and, hopefully, fixes some rookie mistakes I made.

1.

Katie stood outside the building and took a deep breath. This was it -- decision time. Enter or don't enter. Once she stepped through this door, she would inevitably be swept along by a torrent of events. She only had the vaguest of ideas of what awaited her. It might not be absolutely impossible to extract herself from the whirlpool of whatever she was getting herself into, but it wouldn't be easy. Now was the last moment when she could simply walk away.

She was a country girl at heart. She'd grown up in the sticks and then gone to university on an out-of-town campus. Cities intimidated her. But this wasn't just a city, it was the City. The very heart of the capital. Everything around her was either made of glass and steel and rose forty stories or more up or else it was made of white stone, had a blue plaque, and had been constructed when Britain controlled half the globe.

She'd gotten out at the St Paul's Underground station and spent the next twenty minutes trying to find a door that should have only taken her five. Finally, she was here at the address from the email, after asking three different people. She didn't know what she'd been expecting. It was all rather nondescript -- if such a word could be used for a house in the most expensive area of one of the most expensive cities in the world. True, the door reminded her more of the entrance to 10 Downing Street than anything else, but still, the building it entered into was surprisingly low -- only three stories high and narrowly squeezed in a row of ten just like it.

She decided to inspect the door closer. She checked again the number and then turned to the intercom. There were three buttons but only one had a name-card next to it. It simply said 'Collins'. That was the point that had been made very clear to her. This was a house, a residence. Despite appearances, it was not a business. She was a visitor. Whatever she might be asked to do she was not an employee.

And she certainly wasn't going to get paid.

She rang the bell. She found her hand had shot out and pressed it before she could overthink the action.

The intercom crackled. "Collin's Residence," said a voice that sounded female.

"Katie," she said. "Katie Matherson. I...I'm expected."

"Come on in."

There was a click and the door opened a fraction.

She pushed her way in. The building didn't feel much like a home. It felt cold and had little signs of life. The floor was a cold hard pattern of black and white stone tiles. On the left side was a narrow staircase with a bronze rail that led its way upstairs. On the right side, a corridor with a few closed doors stretched towards the back of the building.

"Hello?" called out Katie.

She heard the echo of footsteps coming towards her down the hall and a tall woman with short-cut hair appeared in front of her - Susan. She relaxed a little at the sight of a friendly face. The older woman was dressed much as she had been at their meeting a week ago - like a woman who did business and who meant business.

"Ah, Katie," said Susan, checking her watch. "So glad you could come. I thought you might have gotten cold feet."

"Er, no," said Katie, her face betraying how true that statement had nearly been.

"Come through here," Susan said, indicating the first door. As they entered she turned the light on and then went over the curtains and pulled them to. The room contained a coat rack, a fireplace, and a simple one-person desk with a chair and nothing else. Hung on the coat rack there was a dry-cleaners bag folded over and a pair of lady's formal shoes was tucked neatly beside it.

"First, read and sign this contract. It's as we discussed."

Katie studied it. It was indeed the one she'd been sent over the Internet except now it had specific names and dates. It had many clauses. Most of them said, in a number of different ways, that anything that happened here today was not ever to be discussed with anyone.

Susan waited silently, with no visible impatience, as Katie read the whole thing again. When she reached the end, she picked up the pen and signed it. Just like with the buzzer, she did it quickly lest she not do it at all.

"You have your test results?" asked Susan.

Katie reached into her bag and handed over an envelope headed with the name of her doctor's little surgery on the top. Susan took the letter out, read it, and then put it back without comment.

She studied Katie carefully. "Your make-up will do. I will put your hair up."

She produced a scrunchie and a number of pins and quickly had Katie's long flowing hair pinned up in a bun.

"You can leave any belongings here or if you would prefer I can put them in our safe."

"No, it's fine," said Katie.

"In which case please get undressed."

"Now?" asked Katie.

"I'm afraid I need to check you don't have any recording devices on your person."

Katie pulled off her clothes. She'd been told not to pay any particular attention to what to wear but had come dressed for a job interview anyway. When she had stripped down completely, Susan looked her over. She indicated the dry-cleaning bag. "Put those on. Call for me when you are ready."

Susan left and Katie unzipped the bag, laying its contents out one by one. It was a complete change of clothes. The neutral white set of knickers, the matching bra, and the brown tights were still in the packets. They were from an exclusive brand that boasted supplies to the royal family dating back decades. The business suit, consisting of a short, but respectable skirt and a blouse and jacket had had the shop labels removed but was also clearly brand new and of the highest quality.

Katie dressed herself quickly. It all fit perfectly. She had sent Susan her measurements last week. There was no mirror. She felt good but hated not being sure. Susan would tell her if anything was amiss, surely.

She leaned her head out the door. "Er, ready," she said.

Susan came out of the neighbouring room and inspected her again. She pulled a case out of her pocket and produced a pair of glasses. She took off the ones that Katie was wearing and replaced them. The new version was considerably more old school, squarer, and with thick black rims, but the prescription was exactly the same. Susan brushed some hair out of her face and then, gently grabbing her by the shoulder pads, adjusted the jacket slightly.

"There you go," she said. "Please go up the stairs and knock on the first door at the top."

Katie started the walk up the stairs step by step. She still couldn't believe she was here. It had started about two months ago. She'd downloaded a dating app, and after being inundated with the usual bragging and pleading losers, struck up a conversation with a businessman thirty years her senior. Their conversation had been respectful, had mostly been cultured, and had led Katie to say, eventually, that what she was after was a sexual adventure with an older man of wealth.

They'd lingered on that part for a considerable while -- weeks, in fact. The point that needed to be established was that Katie liked the idea of wealth, old money even, but she wasn't actually after any of it. She just found the idea sexy.

And somehow she'd found herself typing that, if she was turned on enough, she would have very few limits.

They'd arranged a date at one of the most expensive sushi restaurants in Mayfair. Katie had almost left when Susan turned up, but she'd stayed for the food which looked exquisite, and to satisfy her curiosity about what was actually going on. Susan's explanation had led her here, to the top of these stairs today, just over three weeks later.

She found the first door on the landing. Her hand paused just in front of her. Her performance was about to begin. What sort of knock would her character give? She rapped on the door three times in clipped succession, loudly enough to be clearly audible.

"Enter," said a male voice from within.

The room was a museum to every posh office she had ever seen on T.V. dramas whether they were set today or a hundred years ago. Hard-backed leather chairs, a large mahogany desk, and bookshelves lined the walls that looked as though they should be dusty but were in fact cleaned scrupulously. Halfway across the room, there was a small round table with a couple of chairs and a whisky decanter and glasses in the middle. One of the few features that showed that she was still in the twenty-first century was a small flat-screen monitor and computer keyboard.

Behind the desk sat a man clearly in his sixties. He was balding and had a little extra weight, especially on his jowls. He was dressed impeccably. While he was not unpleasant to look at, he also wasn't attractive, though he might have been a decade or more ago. He was reading a paper copy of the Financial Times. This could only be Mr Collins.

Trying to remain in character and not letting her nerves get the better of her, Katie walked into the room in what she hoped was a forthright, confident business matter. She stopped a couple of feet from the desk and stood up as straight as she could.

Eventually, the man looked up from his newspaper. "You are?" he asked.

"Katie Matherson, sir," she replied. It had been years since she'd called anyone sir. Even her sixth-form teachers hadn't required it anymore. It came out naturally though.

"Okay," Mr. Collins replied. "Lift up your skirt."

"Err, sorry?" said Katie.

"Your skirt. Lift it up, please," he repeated levelly. He didn't show any irritation, but Katie guessed her choices were to lift her skirt up or leave. It wasn't something they were going to have a discussion about.

When she had complied, he showed no particular interest in what was underneath. Between her tights and the knickers underneath, there wasn't that much to actually see, although naturally she still felt exposed.

"Turn around," he said.

He hadn't specified whether she should halt at 180 degrees or continue into a full rotation. Katie stopped halfway to allow him to get a full glimpse of her rear.

While she was facing the other way, the phone rang. He answered it. "Yes, I had a look. The wording is fine. The figures are not. Shave another fifty million off and we can sign...Yes, by tomorrow noon please."

He put the phone down. "Okay, you can go."

Katie didn't know what to do. Turning around for confirmation seemed like an act of defiance. But that couldn't be it, could it?

He saw her hesitate. "Find Miss Tamworth downstairs, please."

Not a complete dismissal then. She was being sent back to Susan.

As she walked out of the room, she realized just how wet she was, though she didn't quite know why.

2.

Half an hour later and Katie was in her zone - that headspace during sex where all her stress and inhibitions had faded away and she was just letting herself be taken.

She'd sat in the cold room with the fireplace and then, after forty minutes, he'd called her in and told her to remain still. He'd stood up from his big mahogany desk, walked round the other side, and pulled down her tights and panties in one movement. As he reached between her legs, she was amazed to find the wetness she'd felt from her first visit was still there. He didn't seem to be.

"Good girl," was all he'd said as he bent her over the desk, unzipped, and entered her.

The only thing she was currently aware of was the growing warmth from her loins as Mr Collins pushed himself into her. The pleasure came in rhythmic waves, pushing her closer to losing her mind completely. She was no longer worried about whether she should or not, only focused on the climax, maybe still minutes away, but still somehow inevitable. She was giving herself to a man who was confident, successful, rich. He was also old enough to be her father and somehow this made it hotter in a way she'd struggle to explain. She had no doubt that her orgasm would be shattering and her moans started to take on a more insistent and encouraging tone.

Without warning he pulled out of her and she felt her euphoria diminish. All the doubts she had smothered came rushing in as she re-entered the real world. Why was she doing this? Allowing herself to be fucked by a man who she'd known for less than an hour. Hell, she didn't even know him. They hadn't yet had anything resembling a conversation. That wasn't the kind of girl she was. That shouldn't be the kind of girl she was.

Damn it! She didn't want her brain to be turned back on. It had been so good. Why wasn't he back inside her? Still bent over the desk, she looked around and saw him zip himself up, erection still clearly tenting his expensive suit.

"Mr Collins?" she asked.

"Get dressed," he said in the same level voice he always used. She found it strangely hard to resist his order even though this was the last thing she wanted. She pulled up her panties and tights and collected her skirt from the floor.

He picked up the phone and dialed a couple of digits -- someone on speed dial. "Hi Mandy, is Bill there...yes, I think you can interrupt them, this is important...Hi Bill. You want to pop by my private residence...It'll be worth your while...The Marston client? Bring him too, you must have been in negotiations all morning. Call it a break...okay great, see you in a few minutes." He put the phone down.

Katie found her face reddening. "I'll just go, should I?" she asked. This was the first time she'd said anything that wasn't a direct response to a question. It occurred to her that a real twenty-first-century girl should be laying into this cunt-tease for leaving her on the edge like this, but she found herself meek as a lamb. This man controlled billions of pounds, and the fates of whole conglomerates. She still wanted this old lion to devour her whole.

"Stay, please." He said, almost magnanimously. "Sit there. I'd appreciate it if you remain silent." He indicated the chair in the middle of the room. Katie obediently sat and started to nervously adjust her hair and clothes, trying to make herself look like less of a slut to anyone who came in. Of course, anyone who came in would know instantly what she had just been doing. How couldn't they?

Mr Collins returned to the contract he'd been reading just before he'd started to fuck her.

The intercom buzzed, and the secretary announced the visitors - Bill and Mr Sutcliff from the Marston account. The room was suddenly filled with a warmth that hadn't been there before. Mr Sutcliff (no, call me Peter) had met Mr Collins in the summer (yes, at the conference in Paris), but it had been a while, and, no, the deal wasn't finalized yet, but was close. The pleasantries continued for a couple of minutes and none of them included so much as a glance in Katie's direction from anyone. Finally, they reached a conclusion and Mr Collins clapped his hands together softly, as if to get down to business.

"So, Bill, I was in the middle of fucking Katie over there..." For a moment, the guests looked in her direction and then away. "...when I was hit by a thought. I never did repay you properly for Honolulu."

Bill raised his hands in friendly dismissal. "Come on! Honolulu was my treat. And if I recall correctly my way of repaying you for, where was it, Shanghai?"

"Singapore, I think you mean, and, while that was fun, it in no way compares to what we got up to in Hawaii. I've been racking my brains trying to find a way to match that ever since."

"Come on now," said Bill. "It's not a competition."

"Funnily enough," said Mr Collins. "That's almost exactly what I found myself thinking not fifteen minutes ago. I thought to myself, we're all friends. I can show my appreciation in smaller ways. Katie, could you stand up for us."

Katie wanted to curl up and die all of a sudden. Instead, she stood up. She felt two new sets of eyes run up and down her.

"Katie is one of Susan's finds," explained Bill. "You won't have met Susan, Peter. She's a former PA of mine, now a very good friend. She does some scouting for me on the side."

Peter raised an eyebrow.

"It was something Lambert said at the last Christmas party. Everyone's gone soft to listen to him. Too quick to pay for everything -- lost our taste for the hunt. At the time I dismissed it. Told him none of us have time to chase our tails round anymore. Then later it struck me - when I don't have time to do anything else, I delegate. Of course, this is not something you can actually pay someone to do, but friends help friends."

Katie's face was now bright red.

"So Katie here is not a professional?" said Peter with his eyes on her again. "Somehow I got that impression."

"Katie, please tell Mr Reed why you are here."

Katie hesitated.

"No need to overthink it. Just tell them what you told Susan you wanted to get from today."

"I wanted to fuck a billionaire," Katie said simply. She'd thought it was a game when she'd typed those words several weeks ago.

"And why did you feel that a billionaire would be interested in your company?" Mr Collins asked.

"Because I would have very few limits for the right man," Katie replied, again relying on past communications.

"Hell of a mission statement," said Peter, whistling through his teeth.

"Isn't it though?" Mr. Collins pulled a pen out of a fancy box on his desk and rotated a pad of notepaper so it faced outwards on the desk. "Be a sweetheart and write that down for us."

Katie looked confused.

"Indulge me," said Mr Collins.

She walked over to the desk. She'd never had the best penmanship and rarely used a fountain pen. She wrote as carefully as she could.

I want to fuck a billionaire and would have very few limits for the right man.

Having written it, she rotated the paper back to face Mr Collins and stepped away from the desk. Mr Collins took it and made a great show of inspecting the writing.

"It's a solid proposal, and one I accepted gladly, but I'd like to renegotiate," said Mr Collins. He took his pen and made three quick adjustments to it. He rotated it back. Katie started to make a play show of inspecting it, then gasped at the changes.

I want to fuck a billionaires and would have very few limits for the right manmen.

She looked round open-mouthed at the two other men in the room.

"Would you like to know the net worth of each of my guests?"

Katie regained her composure. "That...that will not be necessary," she said. Leaning forward she took the pen from Mr Collins's hand and signed her name under the altered document.

She couldn't believe herself. She should have walked out, of course she should. This was getting beyond a joke, beyond an adventure. She was starting to get scared, as much as what she might be capable of just as much as the men might be capable of.

"Katie, would you then be kind enough to show the gentleman that delectable posterior of yours?"

She was going to, wasn't she? Every suggestion she would follow just like a programmed automaton. She wished she knew why, but she simply wasn't capable of saying no. Still, there was no need to be in a hurry to say yes. At least pretend you're conflicted, she told herself.

"It's okay. We're all friends here. No need to be nervous," said Bill in what he probably thought was a comforting voice.

Katie stood up. She brushed past both men on her way to the middle of the room, pulled her skirt up and her panties back down, and bent over, grasping her ankles with her hands. What the hell, she suddenly thought, if she was doing this, she should do it in style. She turned around and winked, "Gentlemen. I await your favourable evaluation."