BDSM House Calls of an Architect

confessions of a window cleaner' type story following our protagonist, Thomas, as he learns the ropes at a small Architecture consultancy in England.

As always, all characters are of age and consent to the activities described, and unfortunately, none of this relates to actual people I know, but some may come from personal experience.
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*****​

My father drops me at the Gallagher & Holmes car park on his way to work. I'm excited but somewhat nervous about starting day two of my already eye-opening career at the small Architects' practice in leafy England.

My little car sits cold, lonely, in a correct spot, having been left there the day before when my colleague, James, abandoned me at a client's house to attend the birth of his child. Quite a good reason, I know, but still a bit overwhelming at the time. Little did I know that it was nowhere near as overwhelming as the experience that ensued with the client, Harriet, also known as Ms. Brown - My new, personal dominatrix - My own attentive domme! Overwhelming, all-consuming, extra-sensory - I give up on superlatives - it was by far the most surreal experience of my short twenty-three years on the planet. I can't wait for it to happen again, or can I? What would another session be like? It could be painful. It could be earth-shattering. It will be mind-blowing.

For now, her business card is tucked securely into my wallet. A decision for later.

If I'm honest, I was a little disappointed that my father announced he was dropping me at work, and it wouldn't be his girlfriend, Claire. Actually, if I'm really honest, I was devastated that it wasn't Claire. I had spent most of the previous evening with her. We started cooking dinner for the three of us, but when my father called to say he would be late home, she put the Mamma Mia soundtrack on at full volume, and despite my street-cred telling me to the contrary - my street-cred in fact screamed at me to stop - we sang and danced around the kitchen to the sounds of 'Super-Trouper' and 'Voulez-Vous' before putting the movie on the TV and re-living it all again.

By the time my father arrived home, our mouths hurt from smiling and singing, and our eyes were red from crying - both laughter and sorrow. Yeah, I blubber at films, so bite me!

I don't really know Claire. She and my father got together after I left for university, so I only saw her during the holidays, and even then, I was either sleeping or out with mates, so time with her had been limited. After last night, I wanted to rectify that immediately. Although, Christ only knows what my father would do to me if he knew the thoughts that were going through my mind. She was stunning to look at, a pleasure to be with, clever, funny, caring, thoughtful (yes, she had given me another banana as I left this morning for work), and, did I say, stunning?

Thirty-seven years old, nearly ten years younger than my father. Flowing blonde hair, well-defined cheekbones, sharp jawline, skin as smooth as silk, lightly sun-kissed, with just enough lines to show her experience and joy of life. Her eyes hold you like a baby - with care and attention. Her intelligence shines through her gaze - with a powerful hit of sexiness, which slaps you in the face when you look down at her lips. Full but natural, aching to be kissed.

Between dinner and the movie, to my initial disappointment, she ran upstairs to change from her gym gear. The gym gear that clung to her athletic body and large tits like a glove. The gym gear that showed the hint of a camel-toe. The gym gear that had my cock in a permanent state of arousal. But after showering, my concerns were unjustified as she reappeared in light silk pyjamas that hung and flowed around her body, giving glimpses of the treasures beneath. A carefully positioned cushion on the sofa spared my embarrassment throughout the evening as I stole looks at her, snuggled up in an armchair.

My thoughts were so wrong. So wrong. But my body didn't know that; it only reacted to what it saw and felt. My mind knew it was wrong, but it wished it didn't. This could turn into an infatuation if I wasn't careful.

Okay, returning to the here and now; The office. I'm super early. My father had to be at work for eight, and his college is thirty-five minutes from here. I'd protested, Claire had protested, but he insisted. 'Waste of petrol'; 'busy woman'; 'better things to do'; 'Mac's fault anyway'; all listed as reasons why I would travel with him this morning. He never once said it would be nice to spend time with me.

The car journey was quiet. I was tired from being up this early, he was exhausted from being overworked, and we never really talked much anyway, but mostly I was pissed off that he wasn't female, blonde and sexy.

As I'm dropped off, I mumble a 'thanks' like a moody teenager and extricate myself, my rucksack, and James' bag from my father's Volvo. I wander across the car park, interested that there is already a black BMW Three series, a white Fiat Five Hundred, and a silver Ford Focus keeping my car company. They're keen. I don't recognise any of them, which is unsurprising as I only know the owners of three cars from the office. I can deduce that neither the obnoxious Rob, my boss, Jeremy, nor the wife attending James are here yet. I doubt James will actually be in today.

I push lightly on the front door of the office, and it swings open. I don't need to hunt for the out-of-hours door and alarm codes I'd been given the day before. I sigh to myself that the beautiful Lauren is not there to greet me, as she had done yesterday. I trot through the empty office to my desk and drop the bags down. Looking over the courtyard, I can see someone sitting at a desk on the other side, but I can't quite make out who. I'm unlikely to remember their name from my whistlestop tour of the office on day one.

What shall I do now? I should start writing up my notes from the 'consultation' yesterday. I'll grab a coffee first. I wander back to the little kitchen area.

Then I remember that during my interviews, when they were selling the job to me, they told me there was an office gym in a barn to the side of the main building. I had planned to check it out and register for an introduction to the machines yesterday afternoon, but as we know, I ended up exercising in a completely different way. I'll kill some time and see if I can check it out now instead. I head back out the front door and down the far side of the office to investigate.

The gym is housed in another converted farm block, similar to the office, but about an eighth of the size. I press my face against the large windows that fill the gaps in the old stonework where barn doors would have been. The early morning sun lights up the brand-new, high-spec apparatus. Black and silver treadmills and exercise bikes stand idle, black dumbbells are neatly lined up, and dark yoga-style mats cover a highly polished wooden floor. It all stands empty, silent and untouched. There's a stillness to the scene. It's really impressive. Architects definitely get paid too much. Great!

I pull on the handle of one of the glass doors and am surprised as it swishes across. The air conditioning is cool and crisp. The faint scent of rubber and metal wafts over me; it's fresh, there's not yet any evidence of sweat and grime from heavy workouts. I wonder how much it actually gets used. I step inside to explore the facilities. I'm inspired to use it. I feel that buzz of the session, the adrenaline of achievement. And, with no one else around, it feels like it was made just for me, my own gym. Maybe being stuck out here in the middle of nowhere is not so bad after all.

Beyond the expensive equipment, there are a few doors at the far end from where I entered; I wonder if there's a sauna or steam room. That would really top it off. A new-years-resolution type enthusiasm makes me almost bounce across the space.

I push a door on the right, but it's locked. It might be a storage cupboard. I try the next door, with success.

As the door swings open, I sense people before I see or hear them. The sixth sense of someone else being around. The emptiness of the gym suddenly feels oppressive. I gingerly step forward into a changing room. It has dark wood flooring similar to the main gym, plush lockers surrounding a bench in the middle. A passageway leads away in front of me to the right; it must lead to showers, wash-rooms. Out of sight. I take another step inside; the door softly closes behind me. I feel like an intruder, out of place. I nearly try a cheery call to pierce the density of the atmosphere, but something stops me. I hear an unmistakable groan. A really unmistakable groan.

I should turn and go. I should. But would you? I stand still, holding my breath, judging whether I have been detected by whoever is there. There's another groan. I take that as a positive sign I have remained unnoticed. But then there's a decision to make. Do I go further? If I am seen, it could be disastrous. But I'm not doing anything wrong here. I'm the innocent party coming to the gym. But there's a risk. There's danger. Ms. Brown's voice enters my head and tells me I should embrace my fears, be confident, walk forward and discover what is there. She also tells me that I am pathetic, my cock is pitiful, and I don't deserve to be excited. But I am excited.

I slowly breathe out and then take a deep breath. Preparing myself for the unknown.

I step forward and carefully inch along the corridor. As I get closer to whatever action there is, a quieter, rhythmic slurping sound starts to come through, along with the louder, more sporadic groans I'd heard from the doorway. My mind tells me one thing. I surely can't be mistaken.

The end of the corridor is fast approaching; it has a left turn ahead. I ease myself up to it and imagine myself as a Private Detective. I poke one eye around the corner, hiding my body against the wall. There are four toilet cubicles ahead of me, all open and empty. A marble counter and washbasin are to my right. Hairdryers hang from hooks either side. The sounds are coming from behind me - the unmistakable sounds. Slurp, slurp, schlock.

"Mmmm, Mmmmm," a woman.

"Argh! Argh, Grrr," a man.

There is a wall and then an opening about six feet wide. In the recess, the floor changes to tiles; it's a shower area.

'Private Dick Mac' slides himself along the wall and carefully peers through the gap, holding his breath.

I take a quick look and snap my head back. I saw the shoulders of a naked man, diagonally across from me, turned away at an angle.

I look back, slowly, this time allowing my gaze to trace down his body. His shoulder blades, his back, his left buttock. It's here where my eyes stop. Knelt before him, fully dressed, is the office manager, head of HR, Sandra. Her blouse is unbuttoned, her white, practical bra pulled up, exposing a massive, pearly white pair of tits, with dark round areola. They hang from her shoulders like sacks. Her nipples are lighter and stand firm and proud. She has a black skirt that flows to her knees. Her hair is tied up, her eyes wide open, her mouth wide open as she slurps and sucks on the cock of this stranger. Her right-hand twists on his penis. I can just see the fingers of her left hand that have reached around, grabbing hold of the guy's ass.

I thought she looked slightly dishevelled yesterday from stress. If this is her early morning routine, then it makes perfect sense, but not due to stress.

Her eyes are looking up at him, no doubt watching his expression change as she licks and sucks him. I imagine his eyes opening and closing, his mouth opening and closing, his head bending back, his chest pulling forwards.

I can't help it. I take a deep breath in.

Sandra's eyes now flick to me. I see a flash of fear, a flash of recognition. A murmur of a pause in her activity. A millisecond where her head stops moving, her mouth stops moving, where her hand stops moving. She probably sees the same flash of fear in my eyes, the same flash of recognition. The stranger probably doesn't notice a thing, except that, after the pause, she suddenly takes more of him, speeds up, is more hungry for his cock.

Her eyes don't look away from me.

Her hand is twisting around him as her cheeks clamp on him. She suddenly pulls him out and slaps her cheek with his cock. Again and again. His red helmet pushed through his foreskin, striking her full, round cheek. She keeps pumping with her hand as she sucks on his balls. Her eyes don't look away from me.

His groans increase in number and volume. She grabs his other ass cheek and pulls him back into her mouth. Her lips wide, taking more and more. Her eyes wide, straining more and more, but not moving from mine.

"Ggchk. Ggchk. Ggchk," she gags on him.

"Ggchk. Ggchk. Ggchk," she pulls him out and spits on him.

"Ggchk. Ggchk. Ggchk," she takes him again, never moving her eyes from mine.

"Ggchk. Ggchk. Ggchk," again and again.

There's saliva pouring from her mouth, draining down and over her tits as she pulls him into her over and over. Her eyes are watering, her face and chest reddening. She can take no more; she lets him free, gasping for air. Her fingers pull long strands of saliva that hang between them, smothering his cock in them before she takes him again. Her eyes don't look away from me.

"Ggchk. Ggchk. Ggchk," she's a pro.

"Ggchk. Ggchk. Ggchk," she's amazing.

"Ggchk. Ggchk. Ggchk," she's insatiable.

His moans are now growls; he could break walnuts between his ass cheeks. He's thrusting into her mouth, impaling her throat. Her huge tits are bouncing up and down. Her rock-hard nipples strike against his thighs as he slams into her.

"Ggchk. Ggchk. Ggchk," her eyes still never move from mine as her head is thrown backwards with his thrusts.

Her throat is tight and wet, her tits are glistening with her own saliva.

There's an almighty grunt and a growl from the stranger, and his ass cheeks clench even tighter. I sense what is next. Sandra senses what is next. Her mouth goes crazy on him. His cock smashes into her mouth faster and faster. Her eyes don't look away from me.

Then I jolt uncontrollably in shock as she stops with him deep inside her throat. She is still. She has the audacity to wink at me. I see her cheeks and throat tense around him and her eyes flutter shut for an instant as she feels his cum shoot into her mouth. But quickly they are back open, fixed on me, as her throat gags and swallows, her cheeks expand before she can take down all of his seed. Some spills onto her lips, but she pushes it back in with a finger. Grabbing his cock, sucking and milking him dry. Her hands pump the last remains of his orgasm from him. His legs visibly shaking and wobbling. He grasps the wall to steady himself.

There is a glint in her eye as, in slow motion, she opens her mouth wide, lolls her tongue out and, little by little, she slides his cock free from her lips. He gasps as her tongue hits the sensitive tip of his cock. I see the watery, white remains of his cum in her mouth.

Her eyes drop to my trousers, and I look down at myself with horror as I see what she is looking at. My cock is pushing a massive tent in my trousers. It's shot out hard and is threatening to burst through.

I try to smooth it down. She pushes bubbles of cum out of her mouth with her tongue, before licking her lips. The stranger has hold of her head and is stroking her hair. I break the gaze and spin away. Running for cover. Needing to escape. Silently leaving the changing room from where I came. Glad that the gym is still empty of people. No one to see my red face, my panicked body, my hard cock.

Outside the gym, my breathing finally catches up with me, and I double over, inhaling deeply. My heart races, and my blood pumps as if I am on one of the treadmills, standing quietly behind me.

I'm still breathing deeply as I walk back to reception, but at least the tent has diminished to an acceptable bulge. I can't quite believe what just happened. I don't know what to think.

My mind panics again as I see Lauren unpacking a tote bag on her desk. I'm sure her beautiful eyes see my darkest secrets when I don't even have any. What will she see in my face right now?

"Oh, hi Mac. You came back then?" She looks up. Her cheery disposition and beaming smile make every sky seem clear.

"Yeah, um, yeah, I thought I'd try another day," I reply.

"You look a bit flushed, you alright?"

"Yeah, yeah. Just checked out the gym, that's all," the words come out without me thinking.

"I'm a lunchtime girl, every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. I'm no good at this time in the morning."

On the contrary, you are superb at this or any time of the day. Is what I think, but I just look at her.

Today, she is wearing a dark grey knitted jumper-dress type thing with a white stripe around the edges. It has an oversized gap where your head goes, which means it is pulled at an angle to show off one shoulder. It's a jumper. A simple enough jumper, but she looks sensational. Just enough skin on show to say 'Hello!' and demure enough to say professional. Her platinum blonde hair is tied up today in that style that somehow says oriental. Shards of hair sticking out at odd angles, with what look like chopsticks stuck through a mound on the back. It is physically impossible to style it, but if you could, you would want it to look precisely like Lauren has it. Black leggings poke out below the oversized jumper. I can see the bottoms of marvellous thighs and her knees. Oh, give me more!

"You should join me one day," she says.

My mind goes blank at the thought of seeing her in the gym.

"I don't have my kit," I stammer.

"But you said you've just been?" She gives me a puzzled expression.

"I was just, er, checking it out."

"In your suit?" She enquires.

"Yeah," I'm struggling to make any sense. "I got carried away."

"Anyway, it's Tuesday," she dismisses the confusion, her voice light and breezy again. "I told you, I go Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Maybe you want to go tomorrow?"

"Yeah, yeah, great." I am an absolute fool! I also wore a suit today for some reason. With a tie.

"Great. Are you heading past the kitchen?" Lauren asks.

I firmly believe she is still looking at me as if I am an idiot.

"Yeah, I think so," another stupid response. I should surely know if I am going past the kitchen.

She takes a large carton of milk from the tote bag. "Could you drop this off on your way?"

"Absolutely. Sure. Yeah."

I take it from her with a sheepish smile and walk through to the office, catching my breath again and swearing at myself for being me.

I drop off the milk, make myself a coffee and head to my desk. My mind keeps endlessly running the images from the gym in a loop. What a blow job. What a performance. What a fucking disaster. What will happen when I next see her? What trouble am I in?

I get my notes from Harriet's and browse my iPad. Trying to concentrate on the little work that I have. "Ggchk. Ggchk. Ggchk," rings in my ears. I shake my head and close my eyes. Her huge tits swing in front of me. It was Sandra. Homely, middle-aged Sandra. She was so good. So good. "Ggchk. Ggchk. Ggchk," fuck, fuck, fuck!

People are starting to turn up one by one or two by two. I give surreptitious glances, trying to recognise the stranger. With no joy. My heartbeat is slowly starting to recover.

Then, Sandra appears through the doors and my heartbeat shoots back up. She's on her own. Blouse firmly back in place, hair tied up, lipstick applied, not a sign of semen anywhere.

I keep my head down as if I haven't seen her, praying she will do the same. But she doesn't agree with my 'under-the-radar' approach.

"Hi Thomas, how are you this morning?"

How do you answer that?

"Er, good. Thanks, Sandra."

There was no way I was going to ask her how she was.

"Great. That's good," she places a Tesco carrier bag on her desk. "Jeremy's not here yet, let's grab his office for a quick chat, shall we?" It wasn't a request. She glides past me before I can respond.

My heartbeat now runs a marathon; my mind runs around like a demented chicken. Can she sack me? Surely, I didn't do anything wrong. Can she screw up my university degree? Fuck, if I lose this job, I won't qualify. Will I be reported? Will I be ridiculed as a peeping tom? No, I'm in the right here. Well, kind of. I could have walked out. Not watched. Fuck. What's she going to do?

This all goes through my mind in the three or so seconds it takes me to walk from my desk to Jeremy's office.

"Close the door behind you; there's a love," Sandra says as she sits at a round, glass breakout table with four chairs propped under it.

There is tasteful art around the room, a coat-stand, a dark wood desk, a blotter and a few folders, and a white and brown office chair behind it. To the side of Sandra, the large glass doors look out onto the courtyard. I desperately don't want to sit next to her, but in order to sit opposite her, I would have to walk all the way around the table, which would look odd. So, I am forced to slide in next to her. I don't dare catch her eye, so I look across the courtyard, watching people arriving at their desks, wishing I could turn back time.

She starts. I don't know how she has the courage to do it, but she dives straight in. I'm not sure I would have been able to.

"I wanted to have a little chat with you, Thomas because you have me at a bit of a disadvantage, Thomas. You saw things this morning, Thomas, you watched things this morning, Thomas, that maybe should not have happened."

I don't think my name has been said so many times in a sentence. If I wasn't so fucking scared, I would have laughed. But I am fucking scared. So fucking scared of where this is headed.

"As well as being held to account for my actions and having to uphold the highest standards as office manager here at Gallagher & Holmes, Thomas, I'm a happily married woman as well, and what you saw are not the actions of either of those aspects of my character. What you saw, Thomas, does not represent me in the way I would like you to see me."

Yes, I saw you. I can still see you. But I'm choosing the 'don't say anything unless you are asked a question' tact.

"I would like to clear the air between us, Thomas, and make sure that we are on a good footing for our professional relationship, Thomas. Do you think that is something that you would also like, Thomas?"

Why the hell does she keep saying my name so many times. Shit, that was a question. I had better answer her.

"Yes, Sandra. So, er, it wasn't your husband?"

WHAT ARE YOU DOING? My head yells at me. Why did you ask a question back? Just answer her questions. Don't elaborate. Make this go away. Quickly.

She focuses on me. "You didn't see who was with me?"

I keep my eyes forward.

"Only his back, and one and a half ass cheeks. Oh, and his cock, obviously."

Mac, you're being crazy now. That was absolutely unnecessary. A simple 'No' would have been fine.

However, I feel a slight change in her demeanour; my crazy candidness has helped her process things. The fact I don't know who the man is, helps.

"Well, it's probably for the best that it stays that way. That you don't know his identity."

I nod. I also think that is best, but I also think I really want to know. There were three cars in the car park. It can't be too difficult to work it out for 'Private Dick Mac'.

"But, how can I say this, Thomas? As well as my actions, you also took action or rather didn't take action. You could have left, Thomas. You didn't need to stay and watch. You could have walked away." There's a silent pause. My head drops down. I'm embarrassed.

"So we should talk about that Thomas. Was it because you enjoyed watching me, Thomas? I got the impression you enjoyed watching me." Her voice has dropped lower. Her face has moved toward me.

Before I can stop it, my head turns and nods. I see her eyes and her lips, and I get a flashback to the gym.

"I noticed how much," she looks through the glass table at my crotch. She's getting bolder.

"It looked impressive, Thomas,"

I look away again.

"There's no need to be embarrassed; it's only natural. I know I am good at it. I enjoy it. I love it, in fact."

She turns her body to me, her leg touches mine. I don't dare move away.​