BDSM House Calls of an Architect

"Yes, Ms. Brown," I whisper, my voice trembling.

"Pardon? What did you utter?"

"Yes, Ms. Brown," louder this time, but in my head the trembling remains.

She smiles, satisfied. "Very well. Now, let us commence."

She moves behind me, her hands clipping the rope to the collar around my neck. The sensation of being under her control sends a thrill through me, a mix of fear and helplessness and a strange comfort and trust in being owned and looked after. At least, I think she will look after me. She tugs gently on the rope, guiding me to stand. Then she leads me (literally - on a leash) through the glass doors and into the empty space where the new room would be built. The grass beneath my feet is slightly damp and tickly and the afternoon air close and prickly.

"This is where I want it," she whispers in my ear, her breath hot against my skin. "My new parlour. Private. Dark. Torturous."

I close my eyes, she orders that I open them. Her hands explore my body, her touch alternating between gentle and demanding. Investigating, sizing, pushing, prodding. Seeing what her specimen has to offer. I stand as still as I can. Every nerve in my body is alive, every sensation amplified. I don't know what will happen next, and I don't know if I am ready for it.

"This is about you knowing your place. Your rightful position. This is not about your pleasure, but rather an exploration of my needs. Do you comprehend?"

I swallow hard, nodding. My heart pounding in my chest, I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks. "Yes, Ms. Brown."

"Good boy. I can see you're a quick learner, Thomas," she says, her voice low and commanding.

"Your turn," she says suddenly, letting out a length of the rope in her hands.

"What? I mean, Sorry, Pardon? Ms. Brown," I correct myself quickly as her gaze shows how disappointed she is in me.

"You are here to take measurements. Proceed to measure, Thomas."

I look back into the room, at the bag James brought in from the car. Inside will be a tape measure, maybe an electronic measure, a pen, a notebook. My phone, with its useful camera, is in the pocket of my trousers hanging over the arm of an armchair.

"Oh. That's a shame, Thomas. It appears you have overlooked your essentials. Foolish Thomas." She pulls the rope back through her hands, so it is tight again. "Stupid Thomas." She tugs down on the rope, my body jolts and I drop to my knees.

"You are not such a quick learner after all. Demonstrate to me that you can perform even the most rudimentary tasks. Eat the grass."

I realise that asking a question at this point is not going to be well received, so I tentatively put my palms onto the damp grass and lower my face. The unmistakable smell fills my nostrils before my mouth gets close to the blades, which are sharper than you imagine them to be. They scrape against my chin and lips as I open my mouth to try and bite them. I discover that eating grass, which is attached to the earth, is not an easy thing to do. Biting doesn't really do much. I raise my head with little to show for it. I try again, wanting to do better. I bite and twist my head, pulling sideways and upwards. It has a better result; I manage to get some blades.

"Chew it and swallow, like my little calf. Thomas the cow," she laughs.

I repeat. This time I get a good clump, a mouthful to chew on. We've all probably eaten grass as a child at some point. As an adult it's an unusual sensation. The first thing you notice is the texture, it's coarse and fibrous, almost bristly against your tongue. As you bite down, there's a slight crunch, like snapping a green twig, followed by an earthy, raw taste that's surprisingly bitter. It's fresh and pungent, reminiscent of an unwashed vegetable pulled straight from the soil.

Chewing is an effort; the blades are resilient, fighting against my teeth, and as they break down, they release more of that green, plant-like essence. A faint, metallic aftertaste lingers.

Swallowing is strange; my throat seems to rebel slightly against the unfamiliar texture and taste, but once it's down, there's an odd satisfaction in having consumed something so primal and unprocessed.

There is nothing else in my mind other than wanting to do a good job at consuming this grass. I am focused; my mind is empty of anything else.

Ms. Brown circles me again. I'm naked, on all fours doing her work. I speed up worried that she will be disappointed again. As she steps behind me, she bends down and spreads my ass cheeks. Her fingers dig into the flesh. The sudden movement and sensation of the air shooting up my anus makes me yelp and lift my face.

"Continue to dine, little calf. I am merely measuring. Assessing what I have to work with," she releases my cheeks and stands up again. Continuing her circle.

After a minute or two more, she tugs the rope, and I instinctively struggle to my feet. Still chewing on the remaining blades in my mouth.

"Good boy, well done, maybe you are ready to progress to more complicated tasks."

Standing, the cooling air nips at my bare skin as Ms. Brown leads me back into the drawing room. The choker around my neck is firm but not uncomfortable, every tug sends a shiver of submission through my body. She walks in front of me, her heels clicking sharply against the wooden floor. The leather skirt so tight, I see the mounds of her buttocks bounce against the tops of her thighs. It's sensual, powerful, delicious.

She reaches for something on the table as she walks past. A small black box. It clicks open, revealing a sleek, shiny, silicone cock ring. My breath stops once again as she holds it up, the light glinting off its surface. She reaches out and tilts my chin up with a single finger. Her dark eyes bore into mine, unyielding.

"Put this on your pathetic little cock," she orders, placing it in my hands. I fumble awkwardly, my fingers trembling as I slip it over myself. I'm not hard, but I'm firm. The snug fit sends a jolt of sensation through me, and I stifle a groan. She watches me intently, her lips curling into a sly smile. "Comfortable?" she asks, though it wasn't really a question. I nod again, unsure if I trust my voice.

"Maybe that will make you grow to a proper man's size for me," she taps my cock and sniggers.

I've always been pleased with the size of my cock. It's long and thick, and bigger than other guys that I've seen in the tennis, or gym changing room, but maybe Ms. Brown is used to bigger. She is clearly not happy with mine. My head drops to the floor.

Her gaze lingers for a moment longer before she steps back. "Eyes up here, calf," she commands, snapping her fingers. I appear to have a new name. My gaze shoots back to hers. "You'll look at me when I tell you to, where I tell you to, you'll touch me when I tell you to, where I tell you to. Commence with my feet."

I look down. What am I supposed to do? She is wearing boots. How am I supposed to get to her feet? She sees my confusion, once again.

"Lick my boots, Thomas," she tugs at the rope again, bending me over.

I drop and the hardwood floor presses into my knees again, but I barely notice. I lick the side of her leather boot and instantly see my error. I groan in fear. I have licked grass all over her shiny black shoe. My tongue was still covered in tiny half eaten blades of grass.

"Oh, dear me, Thomas, you are indeed a source of considerable disappointment. What, pray tell, am I to do with you?"

She turns and walks to a side table, leaving me on all fours again, my eyes looking at her pleadingly. She returns with a decanter of water.

"Open One's mouth and stick out One's tongue," she commands, I instantly obey.

Standing above me she pours from the decanter. The water strikes my tongue and splashes across my face. It gets in my eyes, and up my nose. I lap and gurgle, trying to catch as much of the flow as I can, swallowing and spilling in equal quantities until she stops and returns the vessel to the table.

She doesn't return to me, but she retains the rope in her hands. She walks to one of the leather chairs, and settles herself within it. She reaches down to her feet and I'm sure her breasts will fall free from the restraining corset. I watch as her boots come off, revealing perfectly manicured toes with deep red polish. She sits back in the armchair, crossing one leg over the other, making sure I get a full view of her panties, before pulling the lead to bring me towards her. I crawl across like a dog through the wet pools of water on the floor.

"As you were unable to tend to my footwear, let us proceed. Attend to my feet with your tongue."

My focus is entirely on her as I lean forward, pressing my lips to the arch of her foot. She sighs. "That is not licking, use your tongue," she barks, and I obey eagerly.

I've been looking at her body since the moment we arrived and finally getting to taste her skin is intoxicating. I work my way from her heel to her toes, making sure I lick, but also sucking gently on each toe. Her moans are soft but encouraging, and I feel a surge of pride at being able to please her.

"Good," she murmurs, bending forward and running a hand through my hair.

I move my hand to grasp her foot.

"Did I say you could touch me, Thomas?" Strict, annoyed.

My mouth freezes, I immediately pull my hand back.

"Hands behind your back. No touching, Thomas, unless I instruct you to. Now move up with your mouth. My hands next."

I clasp my hands behind my back, and shift my lips to her outstretched hand, taking each finger into my mouth one by one. I've never sucked fingers before, the act feels oddly intimate. A part of our body that we take for granted, but is special, essential to everything we do. She watches me closely. When I reach her thumb, and greedily take it into my mouth, she closes her grip around my tongue, holding me in place.

"You're learning," she says approvingly. "But don't get too eager. Slow down. Make it last."

I nod, slowing my pace as I move to her other hand. Taking my time on each finger and thumb, my tongue and lips each playing their part to please her.

Her scent is everywhere now; subtle yet unmistakably her. It makes my head spin, and the ache between my legs grows almost unbearable. But I don't dare touch myself or ask for relief.

She removes her hand from my lips and gently pushes on my forehead, straightening me up. In silence she starts to unclasp her corset. Each time she undoes a small button it reveals more and more of her bare skin beneath. Her breasts suddenly explode outwards before bouncing down and sagging slightly against her ribs. Her breasts are so huge that there is no way gravity would not have had an effect. I can't help but stare. I think I might combust.

"Eye's here," she commands, pointing to her own eyes. "I inform you what you can look at."

I jolt upwards, guiltily.

She bends forwards again, this time holding her breasts out in front. "Take what's yours," she whispers.

Before I can do as she asks, she pulls my head forward, I latch onto her nipple, swirling my tongue around it. Her gasp is sharp, and her fingers tangle in my hair, keeping me close. I alternate between her breasts, teasing and sucking. I can't cover them all, the vastness of soft flesh pushes into my face, at times suffocating me, at times sliding from me, at all times intoxicating. I lunge, I kiss, I suck...

...I bite.

She slaps me on the cheek and pulls my head back with my hair.

"Calves don't bite their mothers, Thomas, understand?"

"Yes, Ms. Brown. Sorry, Ms. Brown."

"I do believe, it's time for a break," she says.

I am rampant for her. I want more of her breasts. I want to stay right here. But I don't dare protest, she pulls away, pushing me backwards with her foot, onto my heels, desperate and frustrated. She stands, gesturing toward James' bag lying on the floor.

"Measure the width of the far wall," she says, her tone businesslike. "Take photos. I want every detail documented." She loosens the grip on the rope, giving me freedom to go where I need.

I stare at her, bewildered. "Now?"

"Now, Thomas," she snaps, her eyes flashing. "Unless you'd rather I stop this altogether?"

I scramble to my feet, my body aching with need, my cock straining the cock ring, needing to burst. Instead, I grab the tools I need from the bag. The cold metal of the measuring tape in my hand, a stark contrast to the heat pooling in my groin, and I struggle to focus as I stretch it across the wall.

"Don't forget to record the measurements," she reminds me, leaning casually against the armchair. I fumble for the notepad, jotting down the numbers with shaky hands. The task feels endless; I want to get back to her; every glance at her only makes it more challenging. She lounges like a queen, like an empress, her lips curved in a knowing smirk.

The room is large, with high ceilings and ornate mouldings that would make any architect drool. Except I am drooling over other things.

When I finish the first set of measurements, she tightens her grip on the rope and calls me back. "Give me your mouth again," she commands, and I drop to my knees without hesitation. This time, as I lap at her nipples, she slides my face between her breasts and smothers me. The huge orbs holding me firmly as I struggle to lick and kiss at the same time as gasp for breath. She pops me out like a cork from a bottle, before pulling me back inside her cave. She smells of perfume and leather and... and... my mother?

I'm lost in her cleavage wanting to leave Architecture and graduate in licking her breasts. She pulls my head from one breast to the other, her groans making it clear when I am doing a good job. My tongue swirling and swishing, my lips grabbing and sucking. My eyes are getting dizzy from the closeness to her, and the heavy aroma of the heat between us. She suddenly yanks on the rope, pulling me from my pleasure, pulling me downwards.

I splutter and gasp as she guides me between her thighs. My eyes widen, not believing what is happening. I slide my tongue up her inner thigh, more bare flesh, before she rests my face on her silky, lace panties. The smell of her overpowering. I bury my face in her, driven by a primal need to please her. The taste of her overwhelming.

I poke my tongue into the material, seeking out her lips, seeking out her pussy. I slide my tongue up and down, feeling the hard nub of her clit against it. I push my tongue into her as far as the material will allow. My saliva mixing with her juices to form a dark patch on her panties. Her moans grow louder, her grip on my hair tighter, her breathing becomes ragged. I keep poking in and out, the material stretching, getting wetter. I keep poking, her moans growing stronger, her fingers tighter.

"Very good," she purrs, her voice thick with arousal. Then, suddenly, "Stop!" she commands, pulling me away from her. I look up, dazed and desperate, but she is shaking her head. "Not yet. Slow down. Make it last. More measurements. Outside this time."

I groan internally but obey, stumbling to my feet. The cycle repeats itself - measurements, photos, then back to serving her. Hands, feet, breasts, pussy. Each time, she brings herself closer to the brink only to pull away, leaving me throbbing and wanting. My cock is rock hard, protruding from me like a tent pole, but un-used, surplus to requirements. By the fourth or fifth round, I am shaking, my resolve fraying, I want to grab my aching cock and relieve the pain, relieve the pressure, relieve myself.

As I kneel before her again, she removes her panties and allows me to see her pussy for the first time. It's trimmed and neat but not shaved. She is proud of her womanhood. Her lips glisten from pussy juices, her clit and folds engorged. She pulls my head into her and my nostrils are filled by the strong smell of sex. Sweet and deep. Her pubic hair tickles my face. My tongue goes to work on the bulge of her clit, flicking and licking. My lips go to work on the folds of her pussy, lapping and sucking. Her hips press into me. Her hands pull my head into her. She begins to buck, her ass rising from the chair. I look up, her head is thrown back, her huge breasts rising and falling, her stomach pulling tight before relaxing, her neck stretched thin, her mouth wide pulling in air. I watch in awe as every movement I make with my mouth sends a shudder through her body. Her breasts heave, her stomach pulses, her head shakes. She moans and groans, there's a yelp as I suck hard on her clit.

I increase my speed sensing her body accepting the inevitable. My tongue dives inside her, dragging back within the insides of her pussy. I feel it tense and try and grip my tongue. I delve inside again to illicit the same response, this time she is ready and my tongue is gripped by her vice-like pussy walls. I swirl and poke against her resistance. Her breasts leap, her head shakes, her mouth opens wide. She releases my tongue, and I switch between clit and pussy, clit and pussy, clit and pussy. I feel more juices flowing into my mouth and down my chin as her thighs now grip me tighter. The moans are even louder, uncontrolled. She's close, I can sense it. I'm over-joyed. I want to fuck her, I need to fuck her, but this is not about me, this is about her. I ram my tongue in and out of her pussy, I swirl it, I stretch it. Gripping the sides of her pussy and drawing out the juices. She grabs my head tighter and tighter. Her thighs grip my face, tighter and tighter. I take a deep breath, inhaling her. Preparing to finish her.

I clamp my lips around her clit and suck with all my might. My tongue presses hard into the nub. She can't control her reaction, my face is squashed as she closes her thighs around my head. Her tits bounce wildly as she jumps around on the chair. I stay clamped to her, sucking with everything I have. Pushing my face deep into her. Her pussy pulses, her body convulses, she lets out a cry of pleasure, her body shuddering as she reaches her climax. Her thighs open and close as she jerks and jolts. I feel waves rock her, juices flow from her, and I hold on as she bucks and twists under my face. Her orgasm rips through her again and again. Her hands pull so tight on my hair that I let out a muffled scream with pain.

As she starts to recover, "Good boy," she breathes, her voice trembling. "Such a good boy."

My drenched face is exhausted. My tongue aches, my lips ache. My arms ache from being clasped behind me. She raises a leg, pressing her foot against my chest, and levers me back with it. She stands and looks down at me. I see droplets of her juice hanging from her pubic mound. I see her bright red pussy lips still pulsing. "Get dressed. You are done for today." She unclips the rope and strolls from the room.

The room falls into silence, the air heavy with the remnants of what has just transpired. How could she leave like that? It was incredible. How could she just leave? My hands tremble as I reach for the collar, untying it and laying it carefully on the table. My fingers are numb as I pick up my clothes, pulling them on piece by piece. My cock is tender from being deprived of what it needs. The cock ring still firmly in place, now so tight around my engorged penis, a persistent reminder of the torment Ms. Brown has subjected me to. That's right, I am her subject. Every movement sends a jolt of frustration through me, my body aching for release. I can't decide whether I hate it or love it. Who am I kidding? I know...

As I button my shirt, there she stands, in the doorway. Different from moments before. She isn't Ms. Brown anymore, not standing there. She is Harriet, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders, her smoky eyes soft yet piercing. Her leather trousers back in place, hugging her hips perfectly, and the champagne blouse clinging to her curves, those buttons undone just enough to tease. Her face is flushed, but she is completely composed.

"Thomas," she says, her voice smooth but devoid of the commanding edge of Ms Brown. "How are you feeling?"

I swallow hard, my throat dry. "Uh... good. I mean, great. I feel great... just... a little..."

"Frustrated?" she finishes for me, a small smirk playing at the corners of her lips. She steps closer, the sound of her heels will be embedded in my mind, clicking softly against the floor. "That is precisely what renders it so beguiling for you. To leave you yearning for more. Eager anticipation."

I nod, unable to find the words. My mind racing, torn between a sudden embarrassment in the conversation, of what I have become, and the undeniable truth: I had enjoyed it. I had loved it. All of it. Even the parts that make my face now burn with shame. I don't know where to look, what to do with myself.

Harriet tilts her head, studying me. "Tell me, Thomas. What did you like most? Be honest." The accent has slipped, just a little. This is the compassionate, down-to-earth Harriett, I've not seen up until this point.

I hesitate, my gaze dropping to the floor. "I... I liked all of it," I admit quietly. "The way you... you controlled everything, controlled me. Took charge. It felt... intense. Unlike anything I've ever experienced before."

She smiles, a genuine warmth in her expression. "Good. What else?"

"You are beautiful, sexy. I love your body,"

"Okay, less physical, Thomas, go deeper, what did your mind like?"

I look at her now. I cast my mind back to what I really felt, how I felt, eating grass in her garden, soiling her shoes, licking her feet, sucking her toes and fingers, lapping at her clit.

"The desire to please you. I liked the desire to please you. It pushed everything else out of my head. I, I want to please you." I look away again. Embarrassed by what I have just said.

"That's a very good start," she moves to sit on the edge of an ornate armchair, crossing her legs elegantly. "But tell me, what else interests you? If you care to return, there is much more we could explore. Bondage, sensory deprivation, impact play, penetration, spanking, sissification... I offer it all."

Butterflies hit me like a swarm of locusts. Out of excitement, fear, uncertainty. I'd heard of bondage, sure, even watched a bit online, but the idea of actually trying some of these things petrified me. I know earlier I tried to make out to Lauren that I'm a man of the world, but really, I'm a boy from a small village in leafy England.

"I... I don't know," I stammer. "Some of that sounds... extreme. I mean, I'm new to all this."

Harriet leans forward slightly, her cleavage catching the light, making my heart rage once more.

"But do you want more of 'all this'?" she says gently. Her eyebrows question me.

My mind is still reeling, but looking into her eyes, I feel safe. She will do things to me that will hurt, that will trouble me, that will push me beyond what I think I can take, but I feel safe with her.

The thought of submitting to her but pleasing her; the thought of being terrified and thrilled at the same time. I want to say yes, to dive headfirst into whatever she has planned.

I nod, "yes... I'd like to try more," I say finally, my voice barely above a whisper. "Just... maybe slowly. Not everything right away."

Harriet's smile widens. "Understandable. Baby steps. I look forward to it." She uncrosses her legs and stands, walking toward me with that confident stride of hers.

"But there's one thing we need to address first." Her gaze drops to my trousers, where the bulge is impossible to ignore. "You're clearly still suffering. And while I do enjoy a bit of torture, I think today has been... quite the introduction for you."

I feel my cheeks flush, but I don't argue. How could I? Every second of her proximity only heightens my desperation.

"So..." she continues, her tone softening, "...might we alleviate some of that tension?" She nods to my bulge. "Regard it as a reward for your compliance this afternoon," the accent naturally falls back into place.

"What... what do you mean?"

She's moved closer, her scent enveloping me. Her perfume, her body, her pussy. Enthralling. "I mean..." she says, her voice low and sultry "...that I'm going to let you cum. Right here. Right now. But only if you ask nicely."

I blink, my brain struggling to process her words, but I am desperate for them to be reality. "How do I ask... nicely?"

She chuckles, the sound that sent shivers down my spine. "Beg, Thomas. Beg. Tell me how much you need it."

The humiliation burns through me, but my desire burns through the humiliation. I am beyond caring about pride. "Please," I whisper, my voice cracking. "Please, Harriet, Ms. Brown ... I need it. You are everything to me. I can't... I can't take it anymore. My cock is ready to burst. I will do anything. Please let me cum. I want you to make me cum, please?"

Her eyes gleam with satisfaction. "Very good. Now, kneel."

I drop to my knees without hesitation, my heart pounding in my chest. She moves behind me, her fingers brushing against my shoulders and down my chest, before she unzips my trousers. I shudder as she frees my cock from the confines of my trousers and shorts, her touch firm, practiced, yet gentle.

"Hands behind your back, again" she instructs, and I comply immediately, clasping my wrists together. Her lips brush against the shell of my ear as she speaks, her breath warm. "No touching. No moving. Just... feel."

I nod, my entire body trembling with anticipation. Her hand wraps around my cock, I moan uncontrollably, the sensation overwhelming after hours of denial. My throbbing cock, clamped into the cock ring trapping the blood supply. She works me slowly at first, her grip tightening just enough to make me gasp.

"Is this what you needed?" she murmurs, her other hand trailing down my chest. "To be touched? To be taken care of?"

"Y-yes," I manage to choke out, my hips bucking instinctively. "God, yes..."

Her pace quickens, her movements precise and deliberate. Every stroke bringing me closer to the edge, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps. She pumps quickly, then slows down, her hand wrapping around my cock, her fingers playing with the tip as she glides her hand up and down. Her other hand comes round and cups my balls, holding them tightly. My cock is like a rock, the cock ring burning a circle around the base. I can feel her breasts pressed against my back, the heat of her body seeping into me. She teases the tip, sliding across the opening, a nail grazing me. She tightens her grip on my balls, she tightens her hand around my cock.

"That's it," she coaxes, her lips grazing my neck. "Let your cock feel it. Show me how much you want this."

I push my hips forwards, she should chastise me, I'm not allowed to move, but I think she is also carried away in the moment. She takes my cock in both hands, and I pump through it, fucking, fucking, fucking. She tightens both hands so my fore-skin grips and pulls back and forth. Suddenly I feel her lips on my ear, she kisses, she licks, she nibbles. The sensation a shock, an added stimulus. I pump harder, harder, harder. I know I'm close to the edge. She senses it too. She bites harder. Her fingers slip over the tip, swirling and stroking, the sensation is incredible. Her other hand jerks my cock back and forth. My pumps mixed with her hand sliding up and down. Her teeth biting my ear, her tongue flicking. My mind flashes back to her orgasm, her body jolting and jerking under my mouth. Her pussy lips soaking under my tongue. Her breasts bouncing up and down, her moans and groans.

With that image in my mind, and the ecstasy between my legs, I can't hold back any longer. With a cry, I erupt, shooting in the air, spurting over the floor, spilling over her hand as waves of pleasure crash through me. My vision blurs, my body shakes with the force of my release. Harriet holds me steady, milking me, her grip unyielding until the last tremor subsides.

When it's over, she releases me, stepping back to admire her handy-work. "Good boy," she purrs, wiping her hand clean with a handkerchief she produces from somewhere. Cum is pooled in front of me on the wooden floor. "Very good indeed, use your underwear to clean up."

I slump forward, my limbs weak and my mind blissfully blank. I manage a weak smile, my cheeks flushing. "Thank you, Ms. Brown."

She squats beside me, tilting my chin up to meet her gaze. "You performed admirably today, Thomas, you did well. However, bear in mind... this is only the beginning, a mere taster. Next time, we'll push further. Delve deeper."

I nod, too spent to respond. The build-up made the release so much more intense. More than I have ever felt before. My body feels like it has been wrung out and hung to dry, every nerve ending buzzing with residual pleasure and exhaustion.

I clean up, she helps me to my feet, and removes the cock ring, placing it on the side-table, taking something from another small box.

I redress, delicately putting my wet shorts in my pocket. She walks over to me for the last time, smoothing my rumpled clothes with exaggerated care.

"Now, go home," she says, her tone sophisticated and strict. She hands me a plain, shiny, black business card, with simply a telephone number on it in red script. Nothing to show what it refers to.

"Call if you deign to return, we shall discuss a discounted rate," her lips curl into a sly smile. "However, you shall need to earn it." With that she walks away from me, carefully selects a book from one of the bookcases, and seats herself in the armchair that, only very recently, I had pleasured her in.

"You may show yourself out," she says, without looking up from the book.

I stand in the grand drawing room, my thoughts still a mess. My cock still recovering, my whole body still recovering. Will I return? Can I bear not returning? But as I glance at my phone, reality comes crashing back. It was getting late, and I had no way home. James had left hours ago, and my car was still at the office.

Panic flares briefly before I think about my father's girlfriend. He would still be at the college he teaches at, but Claire works from home most days. I hesitate for a moment, then dial her number, my fingers nervous, trembling slightly. What would she think of me being stranded.

"Hey, Mac! Good first day?" Her voice is warm, laced with that professional cheerfulness she always carries. But she is out of breath, breathing heavily.

"Hi, Claire. Uh... Kind of. I need a favour," Harriet is seated in front of me. I'm embarrassed talking with her there, I try to keep my voice steady, though my heartbeat betrays me. "I'm stuck at a client's house..." Harriet looks up and raises an eyebrow. "...and I don't have a ride back. Do you think you could pick me up?"

There is a brief pause, and I can almost hear her flipping through her mental calendar. "Of course, sweetie... I'm at the gym, just finishing a workout...Send me the address... I'll leave in five, okay?"

Partial relief washes over me. "Thank you so much. I owe you one."

"Don't mention it.... See you soon!" The line clicks off, and I let out a breath I hadn't realised I was holding.

After dropping a pin, and sharing with Claire, with time to kill, I decide to double-check the measurements I had taken earlier. My mind had been... preoccupied during the initial survey, and I wasn't entirely sure I trusted the numbers I'd scribbled down. I grab the tape measure and begin retracing my steps, focusing intently on the task to distract myself from the seated Harriet and the lingering throbbing in my groin. Harriet looks up from time to time but says nothing.

Just as I am finishing up, there is a buzz from another room and Harriet rises.

"Your chariot has arrived," she proclaims.

I quickly gather my things (James' things) and head for the door, pausing to give a last look. I follow Harriet through the house once again, we retrace our steps from earlier in the day. At one point, she lifts a receiver and presses a button. I assume to open the front gate for Claire. I watch her walk, knowing what lies within the leather trousers this time. Feeling the desire rise within me once more.

As we enter the sitting room, the sound of tyres crunching on gravel outside pulls my attention toward the window. Claire's sleek BMW one Series rolls into view, its black exterior gleaming under the fading sunlight.

I look around, but Harriet - Ms. Brown -- has continued walking past the front door and disappeared into another room.

I practically bolt out of the door, my heart racing as I cross the driveway to Claire's car, her face breaking into a grin as I slide into the seat.

"Long day at the office?" she teases, her tone light but curious.

"You could say that," I mutter, buckling my seatbelt as she pulls away from the manor house.

Claire is dressed in workout gear - a fitted tank top that shows off her toned arms, thin waist, and shapely tits. Her blonde hair is tied up in a high ponytail, a few strands spilling across her face. She smells faintly of lavender and sweat, a mix that, in my current state of arousal, is inexplicably alluring. It doesn't help that the tight grey leggings she has on, hug her legs and I struggle not to look at her pussy as her legs work the pedals.

My mother and father split up when I was sixteen, they said they grew apart, but I'm not sure that there wasn't another man, or another woman involved. It wasn't a particularly amicable divorce, but I stayed out of it as much as I could. My father met Claire on a dating site, while I was away at University and they have been together for about two years. She is so out of my father's league, but what he lacks in looks, he makes up for in intelligence, sense of humour, and wealth -- he inherited a tidy sum from a rich Aunt. And (as Claire often jokes with us) 'you get to a certain age, and you can't be too picky'. Her 'certain age' is thirty seven, compared to my father's forty five.

"This place is amazing," she gushes. "How come you got stranded?" Glancing at me briefly before turning her attention to getting out of the grounds. Her words pull my gaze from her body.

"My new colleague, James, left me. His wife went into labour during the survey, so he had to leave. I er completed the er consultation." I glance back as we approach the gates, which sweep open automatically.

"Crazy. Really? Wow. That's a hell of a thing on your first day. How was it otherwise?" She continues as we swing out onto the main road.

I hesitate, trying to decide how much to share. "It was... eventful. I got a new ipad, met some co-workers, had a chicken salad sandwich, and accidentally parked in my boss's spot..."

She laughs, the sound warm and rich. "Oh no! That must've been mortifying. I can only imagine."

"Yeah, it was," I admit, rubbing the back of my neck, before thinking of the rest of the day and adjusting my crotch. "Plus, I didn't wear a tie and my car is now also stranded, at work."

She senses my sudden out-pouring of ridiculousness. "How about I drop you at work in the morning. Saves us heading back there now," she suggests. Claire is a project manager who contracts for large companies. From what I've seen so far, she always thinks clearly.

"Okay. That works. Thanks, Claire."

"No problem, anytime, sounds like quite the introduction to the working world," her tone still playful.

I nod, avoiding her gaze.

There were more details I chose to omit - like Launa, the pretty blonde receptionist I couldn't stop thinking about, or Harriet, Ms. Brown. Ms. Brown, Ms. Brown, Ms. Brown, who I wanted so desperately to see again, to please. I try my best to banish them from my mind. Those weren't exactly topics for casual conversation with my father's girlfriend.

"..and I think you look lovely, very handsome. You don't need a tie," she smiles.

I finally smile too, even laugh a little. We chat easily for the rest of the drive, Claire's presence soothing the lingering tension in my chest. By the time we pull up to the house, I feel almost normal again. But Claire has not been fooled. She kills the engine and turns to me, with concern on her face.

"You've been tense the whole journey, Mac." I look away. "You know..." she says, her voice dropping slightly, "...if you ever need someone to talk to about - anything, I'm here. Things you can't talk to your dad, or your mum, about. You know. If you need someone."

"Thanks," I say under my breath, looking out the side window. But then I realise I am being a dick. I look at her, "Thanks, Claire. First day, that's all. All good, really. All good." I say more confidently, smiling.

"Okay, great." Her hand brushes mine lightly. "But, let me know. Anything at all," she climbs out of the car, her hips swaying as she walks toward the front door. The leggings leaving nothing to the imagination.

I watch, my mind back into spinning mode. Was she implying what I thought she was? Or was I reading too much into it? My mind is full of lust and desire from today. I sit frozen for a moment, my pulse pounding in my ears. Maybe she can smell sex on me, my shorts in my pocket, perhaps it's floating around in the car, arousing both of us.

"Come on," she calls. "You can help me with dinner, before your dad gets home."

As I follow her inside, I tell myself, I'm definitely reading too much into it. Definitely...​