Warning: This is an erotic story and not for anyone under 18 nor those with a heart condition. You can see the chapter index here.
Pam Hardisty was at the end of a difficult day. When her friend Emily asked if she wanted to go out for dinner, she readily accepted. She pulled into the lot of Barney’s at 6:15 and struggled to find a parking space. She finally spied one at the far end of the lot and pulled in her Camry.
Emily was already at a table in the bar when Pam walked in.
“I need this tonight,” said Pam, sitting at the table.
“I’m sure you do,” replied Emily, “I can’t believe they gave Shae that promotion over you.”
Pam had been assistant comptroller for the last five years. At Earnest & Lowe for twelve. It was common knowledge she was promoted from “Tug” Lowe’s administrative assistant to assistant comptroller for her to “learn the ropes” and take over for him when he retired. While it wasn’t in stone, it was spoken of often. At least, in the first couple years.
Shae Reeder was brought on just two years out of college to be Tug’s new administrative assistant. She was competent enough, but she was young, and a bit flirty with the men. She enjoyed their attention. Her skirts we often too short, with high heels showing her young, fit legs.
It had been 10 years since Pam felt like she turned heads.
Pam had shown her how to do her job in her first months. She did well. She was smart, caught on quickly. Pam was willing to put up with Shae’s flirting as long as she did her job.
“I thought she was my friend, Em.”
Pam could see clearly now Shae’s plan stretched back years, maybe from the time she was hired. She excelled at everything Tug asked her to do. Then she became indispensable to Pam – helping her by often doing the heavy lifting when things became hectic. They both relied on her.
Pam would praise Shae to Tug, often commenting on how helpful and smart she was. She felt as if she were a mentor to the young girl.
All the while Shae was privately saying things to Tug about how overwhelming the job was for Pam, how she needed so much help.
Today, when Tug’s formal retirement was announced, along with his replacement, Shae got the job. Pam pretended to be happy as she willed back the tears.
Tug even reminded Pam of how much Shae would need her. “Shae will rely on you, just like I did, Pam. You guys will make a great team.”
“Reliable Pam,” that’s what people thought of her. Not smart, not pretty, not a leader, just “reliable.”
And Shae was young. Fifteen years younger than Pam.
“She is a snake,” replied Emily. Taking a sip of her wine.
“I don’t want to talk about it.” Monday Shae would be her boss.
“What can I get you?” the waiter had popped up without Pam noticing.
“I think I’ll start out with a martini, extra dirty,” answered Pam.
“Like a Catholic school girl” mouthed Emily, it was their joke.
“Another glass of wine, ma’am?”
“Actually, yes,” Emily replied. This was a good night to get buzzed with a hurting friend.
As Emily and Pam talked, they noticed a young couple, probably in their 20’s, at a booth in the corner. They sat close to each other, making out as if no one else were in the bar.
“That looks like fun,” remarked Emily, nodding to the couple.
“God, I haven’t been kissed like that in years,” said Pam, remembering her youth and feeling a longing she had dismissed. “I don’t miss being married, and I don’t want a relationship, but I could go for a good ‘workout’.”
When their waiter brought their meal, they were both buzzed. Pam took time to apprise him with her eyes, taking in his large arms, muscular build, strong jawline. When he walked away she didn’t mind staring at his round, firm butt.
“I could use some of that,” she remarked, only loud enough to for Emily to hear.
“You know, the first step is probably going on some dates, Pam.”
“Like I said, no relationship, Em. That’s where things get messy. I’m not good at relationships. I just want a roll in the hay on occasion.”
“How long has it been?” asked Emily. “It’s been over a year for me. I could use it.”
“Well,” Pam did the math out loud. “Two years since the divorce and then we didn’t actually have sex for the last five, so seven years or so.”
“Sista, that’s too long. We need to take a trip and go make out with some boys.”
It was almost 10pm by the time Pam walked Emily to her minivan and then made the long walk to her own car. As she sat down in the seat, she thought about the waiter, making a mental note to think about him again, later.
She placed her key in the ignition, then something caught her eye. In this deserted end of the parking lot she noticed an SUV. She could see somewhat clearly inside. The young couple from the bar were in the back, she could see the woman moving rhythmically up and down, while his hands hungrily fondled her breasts and flowed over her body.
Pam was transfixed.
Between the martinis, the talk, the waiter and the couple, her libido was in overdrive. Watching them, she began to rub herself through the thin fabric of her pants. As their thrusts became more intense, she undid her pants and slipped her fingers beneath her panties. She imagined being the woman, riding the waiter, feeling him hard inside her while his hands, lips and tongue worked over her body and breasts.
She moved her hand faster as they did, matching their movements.
When she came, she writhed involuntarily, crying out in pleasure. Once her pulsing had died down and she was able to move again, she hurriedly collected herself, wondering if the couple had heard her. It was the best orgasm in years.
When she got home, she dropped her things in the entryway and stripped before heading up to the bedroom. Just as she was plugging in her phone on the nightstand a text alerted.
“I saw you.” was all it said.
A shot of anxiety cleared any liquor blur Pam was feeling. Saw me? Someone was in the parking lot watching me? Oh, hell. She checked the number. (865) 555-9384. Not in her contacts and she didn’t recognize it.
Must be a wrong number and a weird coincidence, Pam consoled herself.
“You must have the wrong number,” typed Pam.
After five minutes with no reply, she assured herself it was most definitely a wrong number. She thought about the waiter and the couple once more before drifting off to sleep.
She was proud of her large collection of scarves.
She always beamed and couldn’t wait to tell him when one of her scarves was a hit at a business presentation. It was her personal style.
Their second weekend together – after weeks of talking, texting, flirting and one weekend where they left the bed only to eat – he had found one of her scarves discarded on the bedroom floor. They had put it to good use and she was both embarrassed and proud of the bruises on her wrists the next day at work.
Tonight he had a thing. He had promised himself he would be home by 8, in bed by 9 but had lingered. She had texted him earlier in the day, invading his thoughts, but he had pushed it aside. Now, at 10pm, long past both their bedtimes for a “school night,” she texted him again.
“Did you see the game? Go USA!” It was one of her plausibly deniable texts, the ones she sent when she was feeling a need for him but not wanting to say.
He had been missing her, missing her sex, since Thursday. The weekend had been filled with “activities”, but he found his mind wandering to the feel of her, the taste of her. Too often. At inappropriate times with inappropriate people.
“I am missing the warm movement of your body tonight…” he was clear, undeniable in his longing.
“My body is soft and in need of discipline.” Her reply made him shiver.
The topic faded as she retreated from the obvious sexual nature of her reply. They traded witty barbs. He still longed.
“Okay I have to close my eyes…” She was notorious for drifting off in the midst of conversation, so he was ready to close this one before she slumbered.
“I can’t believe you passed on the idea of sexting…you would have enjoyed it.”
“Did I pass? I would have or you would have?”
“I would have enjoyed letting your hands be my hands, letting my words take you to that place…I doubt you understand yet what I want from that…”
“What do you think I want?”
“You want me to trace your favorite places…”
“I would want you to do that, but that’s not what the payoff is for me. I want to control your release…know I have brought you to a place of no return…imagine the way you will be moving…the way my words make you respond…”
“You always control my release.”
From there he led her through a gradual build up. Imagining for both of them the fun of using her scarves to bind her hands and leg, to pin her tightly as he moved over her body.
Forty minutes and a thousand words later her release was intense and wonderful and accomplished from 100 miles away.
“But now I won’t have the best part.” she ended, “I just want to curl up with you and go to sleep.”
He smiled, surprisingly fulfilled, looking forward to experiencing her again in a less virtual way.
The text had come unexpectedly, out of the blue.
It was common: just some housekeeping. He was going to “run” a 5K in Chattanooga on Saturday and she wanted to join him. It would be nice to see her. He had been busy and not thinking about her much this week – business was good and that meant busy. Lots of writing. Lots of client phone calls.
But now, at 1am, as he lie in bed, her simple, mundane text had brought his attention back to her. He found himself longing to kiss her again, to feel his body pressed up against her.
It was how they began. Their first date was too cheesy to put into a book. They met the first time for dinner after 10 weeks of talking and texting, teasing, intimate talks about everything.
When he saw her for the first time, he was surprisingly smitten. He kissed her immediately.
During dinner he had slid his hand onto her thigh. She quivered. After dinner he walked her to her car. It was raining. He kissed her again. Deeply. Holding the umbrella, he pushed her against the wet car and kissed her again. And again. His suit jacket was soaked. His free hand found her breast through her clothes. She felt him grow against her thigh.
That was months ago.
Now, tonight, lying in his lonely bed, he longed to kiss her again. Everywhere.