tagExhibitionist & VoyeurSandy Confidential Ch. 02

Sandy Confidential Ch. 02


I decided to tell more of my encounter with Sandy. It is a back-to-back romance so it takes time to develop. The previous story sets the background.


I had gone to her parents' house on a whim: a compulsion just to be close once again to the scene of my greatest passion. I had expected Sandy to be long gone; married off and immersed in a new life of married bliss.

But she was there, standing in front of me at her childhood bedroom door, inviting me to enter and repeat our act of passion of six months before. Her mother was downstairs, apparently content with her adult daughter's invitation to an apparent stranger to go upstairs.

There was too much to be explained before I could give rein to my sexual desires once more.

I followed her into her bedroom as bidden, but deliberately left the door ajar behind me. A quick fuck, I didn't want: this was far too important an issue to be reduced to a simple, physical act.

Sandy had confounded me the first time with her simultaneous vulnerability and directness. She was the woman after whom every office male lusted. She had been the butt of ribald humour of jealous men who wanted but couldn't ever have her. Yet, she had dressed provocatively, to enjoy male reactions to her enviable figure, and perhaps brought on herself the frustrated and hurtful taunts of those who desired but could never have her.

"So tell me all."

She stepped backwards with a seductive shrug of her shoulders and the air of a temptress, and ignored my command. She unbuttoned the shoulder of her tight crew neck sweater and lifted it off over her head. The bra beneath was black satin with enough lift to push her breasts together into a seductive cleavage. She lowered her eyes to regard me under hooded brows and dropped her hands to her waistband to unbutton the waist of her tight slacks.

"Please, don't' ... not yet," I pleaded. "This can't be a quick fuck for me. It has to mean more. You mentioned a baby. That's a serious proposition, not something to joke about."

Sandy sighed but continued to unbutton the waist of her slacks. Then she unzipped them and leaned forward to push them down her lean and shapely legs, always keeping eye contact with me. She raised one foot slowly to let the trouser fall from that leg, then slowly, seductively raised the other leg to step out of the slacks heaped at her feet. Whilst I looked on she deliberately folded them and turned to open and hang them in her wardrobe. I watched, fascinated at her round butt, with just a hint of her bottom crack showing above her low slung panties. My six months of deliberate celibacy since our last encounter reared up to mock me as I tried not to undress Sandy's slender, shapely body with my eyes. I couldn't help the erection now painfully constrained by my fashionably tight trousers.

Thankfully, Sandy understood my plea and pulled a dressing gown from its hanger. Once she had put it on it helped - to a point! It was a short, black silk, flower-patterned kimono tied at the waist. Her cleavage showed abundantly from the almost closed up front, and her legs were on display right up to the tops of her thighs. Her black satin panties were only just concealed by its very short hem. She looked gorgeously sexy now, in complete contrast to the respectably dressed figure I had seen in the street.

Sandy was acquiescing to my request to talk, but not making it easy for me to resist the impulse to tear off her clothes and get physical gratification. And that is what it would be: a physical release of six months' pent up frustration, rather than the expression of love I had felt on the previous - our first - occasion.

I was no longer content with an opportunity for some free sex, and I had been disturbed by Sandy's demeanour during our first physical encounter. She had forced the issue then and appeared to be totally driven by the sex rather than any feelings towards me. I was aware of, and constrained by the vulnerability I had sensed in Sandy even when she was in control. I knew Sandy's marriage to Jeff had failed within four days of her eve-of-wedding seduction of me, the motive for which I still didn't fully understand. I wasn't proud that I had succumbed to her seduction.

I like to be in control in seducing women, rather than being seduced by them. I can read the situation better when I am in control. I could not understand why a woman, by general consent, as desirable as Sandy would look twice at an anonymous man such as I. It had been a shock when she had unexpectedly thrown herself at me. I'm just not that lucky with stunning women, who could have the pick of alpha males like Jeff.

Now, I needed to understand just what had been going on that fateful Friday, and what it might mean for Sandy and me for the future, if anything at all.

Sandy sighed and sank onto her bed, and patted the space beside her to summon me to join her.

"Actually, you can flatter yourself, because you had a great impact on me that first time. I spent the week at home fretting over the wedding. I knew I didn't love Jeff, and he had hurt me deeply by sleeping with other women, just because I wouldn't let him make love to me before the wedding. I thought I could go through with the ceremony because of family expectations and the house we had signed up to buy between us.

Then I asked you round deliberately on the Friday, and everything changed. You see, you don't see what we women see. That's part of the attraction. We don't all want to live with vain studs who compete with us for attention. A real man is intelligent, interesting, caring, one who can make us feel like a lady. It's a bonus of he's good in bed as well."

"Why the 'us'?"

"Lots of women feel as I do: Theresa; the other girls in the office; my ex-school friends. Well, OK, not everybody. But I don't want to live a sham of a marriage where I never know what my husband is up to. I want a man I can trust, and who will want me for being me."

"Can you trust a man who screws a woman on the eve of her wedding?"

She said nothing; just stared at me.

"And love, what about that?"

She averted her gaze at that and seemed to be thinking. "In time, maybe ..."

There was the nub. I suspected Sandy wasn't capable of love, or maybe not able to express her emotions. That might explain her remote, ice maiden attitude in the office.

"I want more than that. Sandy, you are beautiful and sexy, but I don't know you. How can I love someone whom I don't understand, and who maybe doesn't love me."

She shrugged, and thought that over for a moment, before apparently making up her mind. "So make me love you. Teach me what love is. Later. Now I've been a good girl, for six months, so at least relieve my frustration."

She got up and closed the door, then stood up on the bed beside me. She must have recalled my confession of voyeuristic tendencies, because she undid the belt of her kimono suggestively.

I couldn't resist a repeat performance from her. I had decided to go with the flow again anyway, but I didn't object to a bonus striptease beforehand.

I got up and moved away from the bed and Sandy dropped to her knees and hit the button on the transistor radio on her bedside cabinet. The Radio One DJ was just doing an intro to 'How Deep Is Your Love' and Sandy immediately launched unsteadily into a raunchy dance to the sound of Bee Gees, on the bed.

I stood back to watch her show. At first, her gyrations were unconvincing, whether or not through embarrassment or reluctance I wasn't sure, so I unbuckled my trouser belt and eased my way out of my tight trousers. Sandy approved of that and responded with a more confidently raunchy routine. She had a genuine expression of desire on her face. When I had removed my tie and unbuttoned my shirt, she reciprocated by reaching behind her back for the clasp of her bra, all the time swaying her hips sensuously to the music. She let the straps fall from her shoulders but held the bra cups in place against her breasts as she kept to the gentle disco beat.

Her eyes never left mine. I realised she was waiting for my next move so I removed my shirt, leaving myself feeling awkward in only my tight briefs and socks. I removed my socks and Sandy rewarded me by dropping her bra cups from her breasts. She jutted them out proudly and stroked her nipples with her fingers whilst she waited for my next move, all the time holding my gaze with a sultry expression.

I studied the fullness of her breasts, which were wonderfully defying gravity. Her light brown aureoles jutted out like twin peaks, capped off with large, erect, cylindrical nipples. I had never noticed them as so prominent under her sweaters, probably now because she was aroused. I was mesmerised by the sight of them.

Sandy had me in a hypnotic spell and laughed delightedly at my obvious reaction to the sight of her almost naked body. She was toying with me. I squeezed my package trapped in my suddenly far too tight underpants. She began to massage her breasts with one hand whilst rubbing the index finger of her other hand on the mound of her pussy through her black satin hipster panties. I guessed that she could feel the wetness of her juices seeping through the material and was excited by it.

I got rid of my pants.

"Good boy," she breathed huskily and turned her back to me. She bent down keeping her legs straight, slightly apart, to give me a good view from behind of her pear-shaped pussy between her cheeks. She spread her legs further to let me see the exposed undersides of her breasts between her legs. She sure knew how to show off the full package. She stroked her nipples gently with her left hand whilst the fingers of her right hand pushed their way into her crotch to massage her clit.

The Bee Gees had plumbed the depths of their enquiry into love and the DJ's chattering broke into her performance.

I took my cue to move to the bed. On impulse I grabbed Sandy's hips with my hands, forcing my tongue between her taut butt cheeks in search of her pussy. She withdrew her fingers and bent almost double to steady her body with her hands on the bed.

My tongue found her vaginal opening and pushed its way inside her. She gasped with surprise and spread her legs wider apart to improve its access. I could taste her juices oozing out of her to encourage penetration. I wasn't ready for that yet, so I alternated thrusts of my tongue as deep as it would go inside her, with flicks across her clitoris. She wiggled her hips with pleasure.

I wanted to admire her bottom some more so motioned for her to make room for me to lie on the bed on my back with her on top facing my feet. She immediately sought out my penis with her mouth whilst I lay there admiring a close-up rear view of her pussy lips and clenched ass hole. I was in seventh heaven.

This was probably giving me more pleasure than Sandy so, reluctantly, I eased her onto her back, preparing to mount her 'missionarily'. She held me at bay with an upstretched palm against my chest and reached into the bedside drawer. She brought out the KY jelly.

"I was sore for days after our first fuck. It didn't help on my wedding night," she giggled.

She coated my erect penis with the cold jelly, then moved her fingers onto my balls for more arousing effect.

"You're so serenely beautiful," I confessed.

"What, not slutty and common?" she asked with mockingly raised eyebrows.

I studied her face staring up at me, her skin stretched taut across her high cheek bones. A new tidal wave of emotion swept through me. I was exhilarated and had an impulse to surprise her.

"Yes, you're a fucking whore," I announced as I thrust my stiff penis forcibly through the external folds of her inviting pussy and began to ram it in and out fast. She gasped loudly with the initial shock of this forced entry, and then cried "More, more, harder, harder."

The harder I thrust, the more she seemed to like it. I smacked her bottom whilst thrusting to see how she would react. It had the effect of hastening the build-up of my orgasm so I slowed down my thrusts.

"Yes, yes," she cried, more, more," urging me on.

Her positive reaction to my smacking her bottom reaction had surprised me, and I don't actually enjoy inflicting pain. Nevertheless, I withdrew my cock to avoid prematurely ejaculating and contented myself with admiring her bottom whilst I continued to smack her cheeks. She tensed her back after each slap and demanded yet more. I obliged but not with excessive force. The impacts were enough to make her pale butt cheeks red from my finger marks. Only our second fuck and I was discovering so much about Sandy's proclivities. My earlier sexual experiences had all been confined to groping and the missionary position. But my fantasises had had freer rein.

I resumed my penetration and thrust once more as deep inside her as I could. Almost immediately, she surrendered to a shuddering earthquake in her loins as an almost immediate, intense orgasm charged through her body. "Oh my G**," she cried.

I couldn't hold back either, and the relief from months of celibacy exploded down my shaft and high up into her belly. I rolled onto my back, exhausted by the impact of my climax.


"I'm sorry, I couldn't prevent myself," I apologised for losing control, when my heavy breathing had started to subside.

Sandy rolled on top of me and leaned up on her hands to study my face. "That was monumental!"

"Not mental?" I teased.

"No, you probably bruised my crutch with your thrust, and I probably won't be able to sit down tomorrow, but it was the most exquisite feeling. My body exploded."

"So, maybe you like the rough stuff?"

"Who knows?"

I pondered the implications of this. Here was this delicate, apparently innocent, beautiful creature, with flawless skin, and a seemingly perfect body. What was she doing, allowing me to fuck her roughly? She hadn't responded well to her husband's violence, but would she enjoy consensual rough sex? Even if she would, could I?


We talked for a long time, lying naked, side by side under the blankets. Sandy had been traumatised about her honeymoon and the realisation that her marriage was not going to work from the outset. She had resigned her job as much out of shame as out of a desire to escape from the toxic atmosphere in the office. She had started her own business doing the accounts for small businesses such as hairdressing salons, health shops, etc, wherever she felt safe, and well away from testosterone-filled environments. She had also obtained some freelance modelling assignments for a clothing catalogue.

I didn't need to fill her in on events in the office because Theresa had kept her informed. My friendship with Theresa had been rocky for a while after Sandy let slip to her at the wedding that she had seen me the day before. Theresa blamed me for destroying the marriage and had warned Sandy off seeing me again.

Sandy hadn't dated anyone since, and had apparently led a sheltered existence to the extent that her parents had become concerned about her mental state. She had told her mother about me; a difficult tale to tell given the events the night before her wedding. Her mother had been supportive because she hadn't liked Jeff. Her father had not taken it so well because he had donated her share of the deposit for the house. Anyway, he deemed nobody good enough for his daughter.

I had to know how she avoided sex when she was so clearly highly sexed.

"Partly my dildo and a vivid imagination," she replied with a smile. "Also, I'm very suspicious of men. You are only the second man I've let inside my precious pussy. One of my best kept secrets. I feel I can trust you, which is very rare."

We dressed and went down stairs to introduce me properly to her mother, June. She said how pleased she was that Sandy was dating again. I didn't mention that we hadn't arranged this encounter.

"You'd better go before Pappa gets home," June advised. "He doesn't see such things too clearly. I'll see you to the door." A cryptic comment which I made a mental note to check out with Sandy some other time.

Her mother and I left the lounge, leaving Sandy curled up on the couch.

"I'm worried about her" whispered June with a quick glance back to the lounge door. "She needs a good man to draw herself out of her shell. Are you a good man?" she asked rhetorically, gripping my shoulders again, and looking searchingly into my eyes.


I saw little of Sandy for the next few weeks. My father had fallen ill, then died suddenly from a stroke. My mother took it badly, and was showing signs of being unable to cope, despite only being in her late fifties. I decided to move back down south to be near her. That left lots of unresolved issues with Sandy, but I felt my mother needed me more for now.

I would have preferred a quiet departure from the job but Theresa had decided otherwise. She organised a surprise leaving do in the function room of a local pub. It coincided with the fortieth birthday of another colleague and it became a joint 'do'.

So I found myself surrounded by friends, hangers-on, and some of my more toxic adversaries who were buddies with my co-celebrant. The increasingly rowdy crowd had sung happy birthday to the other fellow, and now Theresa was waiting for the right moment for the leaving presentation to me. I dreaded it and the prospect of making a speech. The noise of the crowd was increasing as more pints and shorts were downed. Taped music played over a sound system but was mostly drowned out by the noise.

Then Nick loomed into view to square up to me; my old boss and adversary. Much the worse for too many pints of bitter, he seemed determined to give me his idea of an appropriate send-off. "I didn't come to see you off," he slurred, "but since I'm here anyway, I'd just like to say fuck off back down south, nancy boy. No hard feelings but good riddance"

Not much to misunderstand there then.

I had drunk very little alcohol so was in full possession of my faculties. I should have backed off but to do so would be to admit defeat to nauseous Nick. I stood my ground, uncertain what to do. Nick squared up to invite retaliation, with a silly leer on his face. Some wag began to chant "fight, fight" and drew other peoples' attention to this flare up. I was now the unwelcome centre of attention. I gently but firmly pushed Nick away. Already unsteady on his feet he fell as if pole axed.

A circle rapidly formed around us. I remember standing calmly over the dazed and spread-eagled form of my erstwhile tormentor. That should have been the end of it but one of Nick's buddies misread the situation and stepped in forcibly to push me away from Nick's prone form. Another pair of hands from behind me propelled me forward again. The mood was jocular rather than menacing. Onlookers probably saw it as a bit of fun, and two rival factions jostled each other, with mock aggression. The noise level increased and I looked around for a means of retreat. Suddenly, the circle parted to make a path for a senior manager, accompanied by Theresa, anxiously clutching several wrapped leaving gifts for the presentation which she placed in the arms of a bystander.

"I think we've all had a bit too much to drink," the manager admonished as the noise subsided, "so I think it's time to remember why we're here: to say goodbye to our esteemed colleague, Derek, who is off to pastures new. Can someone help Nick up; he seems to have fallen over."

Nick sat upright on the floor but didn't attempt to get up. Whether he felt cool sitting there or simply too drunk to stand wasn't clear. The group didn't close around him so he sat a little distance away facing the senior manager and me.

The manager pulled out a folded sheet of paper and proceeded to recite whimsically a potted history of my 'whirlwind' impact on the organisation, equally heavily laden with impossibly fictional achievements and allusions to the battle of the sexes in the office. He mused that it was often difficult to see whose side I had often been on. His well-judged wit made the speech a great success and there was much hilarity at the manager's performance.

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