I was in a conference call at the time. Four of us were huddled around a speakerphone in a tiny meeting room, as people from Belgium, Geneva, and Cincinnati contributed to what was quickly becoming a muddled disaster of a project. I was zoning out when my phone buzzed in my trouser pocket. I knew it was Rachel. I didn’t have to look at my phone, I just knew it was her.
Why always at work? I wondered. Maybe it was a power thing? Maybe she wanted to make me drop something important for her? Or maybe Rachel just knew that I’d be bored at work, more receptive to her temptations?
I slid my phone out and leaned back in my chair so my colleagues craning over the speakerphone wouldn’t see. Rachel had a habit of sending me the sort of photos that would make HR send me on a punishment training course before my desk chair had stopped spinning. I unlocked my phone and clicked on the message icon to open the conversation stream. There was only a single new message.
+You want to come round? My parents are out all day again. I’m bored. Come over and change that.+
I felt different this time. There was no anger at Rachel intruding into my life, no panic. I felt guilty, of course, but less now, too. Something about what had happened the last time we’d met, the drugs maybe, had made me feel a bond for Rachel, had broken down some of my resistance. I was bored at work too. Curious as well. Curious about what could happen next between us.
Mark looked up from the speakerphone and frowned as he saw me typing on my phone. I ignored him.
+Why would I want to do that?+
The icon at the bottom of the conversation showed Rachel was typing.
+Because you can do whatever you want to me.+
+Maybe I don’t want to do anything to you.+
Rachel’s follow-up came seconds later.
+Liar. I know you can’t stop thinking about us. Come over. Let’s see what happens next.+
I found I was sorely tempted. The truth was, I was growing deeply tired of my job. It had been exciting at first, prestigious and well paid. I’d been proud to work for the company I worked for. But after five years of it, I felt like I’d seen everything. Each day became the same as the last. I’d learned how inefficient and political the company was once the bullshit had worn off. I was rapidly souring towards my work and most of joyless colleagues. Leaving early this afternoon was the wrong thing to do. It put my career and my family at risk. But it was truly tempting.
My phone buzzed again.
+I go back to university in less than 3 weeks Joe. Take your chances+
I typed another message.
+I’ll think about it.+
I looked up and realised the meeting had come to a close. Mark switched the speaker phone off on the table in front of us as we all got to our feet. He nodded at my phone in my hand. “Something more important Joe?” He sounded disapproving. I knew he expected me to explain, to apologise.
“Yeah, I think so Mark,” I said, then I turned my back on him and marched out of the room before he could say anything else.
I knew what was coming next from Rachel. I went to the coffee bar on the ground floor of the building and sat in a corner with my back to the wall so no one would see the screen of my phone. I set my notebook out in front of me and pretended to work. My phone buzzed and juddered over the polished wooden table top a moment later.
It was a simple photo this time, less explicit than Rachel’s previous ones, but it got the point across. I saw what looked like bed covers around her, the bottom of her t-shirt, the hint of clothing around her lower thighs, framing her naked, magnificent derrière. She must have been lying flat on her bed, she must have pulled her trousers or shorts and underwear down. Rachel must have held the phone back and over herself to take the photo. The sight of her bared arse made my stomach tighten, my heart beat faster.
Rachel knew what she was doing. Her arse was glorious, perfect, irresistible. Heavenly. She was curved, she was thick, so pert and round each cheek was almost a perfect sphere. Her skin was pale and flawless, so radiant with health it glowed. Her thighs were slim below her buttocks, you could see how her waist tapered in above, it just made the thickness of her bottom all the more pronounced. Rachel’s thighs were parted a touch too, just the hint of her plump pussy peeking out from beneath the curves of her buttocks.
A message popped up below the photo.
+You want this? You can have it Joe.+
I wanted it. As soul-crushingly bored as I was though, I really couldn’t leave the office.
+Looks pretty good. Can’t leave work though.+
Rachel’s reply came seconds later.
+You can. You can do what you want Joe. Haven’t I shown you that?+
+Life isn’t so simple.+
+It is.+
My phone went dead for a minute, then another image appeared on the conversation feed. It resolved and I saw a similar picture to last time. Rachel face down on the bed, the phone held over her bared behind again. This time she’d reached back with her other hand though. This time she’d spread herself open with that hand on one cheek.
My semi-erect cock swelled all the way to full, throbbing hardness at the sight of her exposed like that. Rachel’s pussy was smooth, flushed, I could see she was wet. Her arsehole was exposed above it, a pale pink knot of muscle, her most intimate place displayed to me, offered to me. Rachel had managed to make it the central focus of the photo. I knew it wasn’t accidental. I appreciated the thought and skill she always put into the X-rated photos she sent me.
A text message popped up beneath the image.
+I know you want this. Come. Now.+
I felt a surge of excitement and need. All thoughts of work, of responsibility, of fidelity, were melting away under Rachel’s assault. I was bored. Bored to my core. The idea of going back to my desk and facing my emails filled me with quiet despair. The idea of talking to my colleagues filled me with dread. Fuck it. I got up and headed to my desk but not to work.
No one said a thing as I put my laptop away and gathered my bag and suit jacket. I marched out of the office with a confident stride. I didn’t get a single odd look. I’ve found if you do something fast and with conviction, people tend not to question you.
My phone vibrated again as I got in the car. A video this time. Rachel had never done that before; she was upping her game. I clicked to set it playing and saw Rachel was in the same position still; her beautiful arse dominating the shot. This time she wasn’t holding herself open with that free hand though. She was smacking herself with it. The video was a minute of her slapping her arse over and over with sharp, hard smacks of her open hand.
Another message followed the video.
+I can’t stop thinking about when you spanked me. Just not the same when I do it to myself. Come over and spank me. Please.+
I pulled out of the office car park and onto the main road. I drove fast through town. I replied to Rachel as I waited at a red light.
+Can’t. Really busy at work.+
I read Rachel’s reply at the next red light.
+Bastard. I’m bored. I’m horny. Come over. Fuck me. Spank me.+
I could picture Rachel perfectly. Frustrated, desperate, angry at me. Touching herself, slapping herself, but needing so much more. Getting herself more worked up as she yearned for me and what I could do to her. I didn’t reply again though as I drove. I wanted Rachel to stew in her desire and heat and frustration.
Driving to Rachel’s parents’ house was verging on relationship suicide. I knew that. If a neighbour saw me, they’d be bound to talk. A forty-year-old man seen going into the house, the only one home the nineteen-year-old daughter back from university for the summer. That wasn’t a good look. And of course, there was the chance that Rachel’s parents could come home early too. And heaven knows what they’d find me doing to their precious daughter. Their daughter who I’m sure they though was innocent and chaste. Who knew how they’d react? Just this one time though, I told myself. Just one act of madness.
I remembered the house from that first night with Rachel. I parked the car a couple of doorways down; I dashed to the house to get out of view as quickly as possible.
The doorbell chimed a song that might have been a hymn. I heard footsteps coming down stairs, then the door swung inwards.
Rachel’s mouth fell open as she saw me. She stood there and stared, a look of confusion creased her forehead and tightened the skin around her eyes. “What…”
“Shut up. Get inside,” I barked.
Rachel jumped, but it had the desired effect. I saw her eyes widen, her face began to flush right away. She stood back and I strode into the house.
“This can’t continue Rachel.” I spoke loudly; I put anger into my voice as she shut the door.
Rachel flinched. “What?”
“This pestering whilst I’m at work. I’m a busy man Rachel. I can’t sacrifice my time for some silly, horny little teenage girl.”
She looked hurt. “Wait… I…”
“I’m here to put an end to it.” I advanced on Rachel, I loomed over her. In her confusion, she actually stepped back away from me. “It’s time someone put you in your place.”
I saw the bewilderment in Rachel’s eyes. I saw fear with it. Then realisation dawned. Rachel allowed a faint smile to curl one side of her mouth up. She didn’t say anything, but she dropped her head to stare at her feet. Rachel held her hands together in front of herself like a shamefaced, regretful teenage girl. “I’m sorry. I know I’ve been bad.”
“I think you should show me your room. Don’t you?”
Rachel nodded. “This way,” she said in a quiet voice. I followed her to the stairs.
It was a hot summer’s day, Rachel was wearing a yellow t-shirt with a pink design on the front and a pair of close-fitting, hugging, black yoga pants. They were pulled tight across her arse, I could see the shape of her clearly as she bounced up the stairs in front of me. I relished the sight of her buttocks bobbing rhythmically as she climbed each step. A taste of what I’d be enjoying in a moment. Rachel wore a pain of blue cotton socks too. Always socks. Even in this heat. I wondered what that was about.