BDSM House Calls of an Architect

"But, what this means, Thomas, coming back to the business at hand, is that we have to come to an agreement between the two of us that we are happy with. An agreement that enables us to have that professional relationship I mentioned."

She places her hand on my thigh. Fuck!

"Look at me, Thomas."

I do as instructed. The nervous energy exploding land-mines within me. I bite my lip and try and fix my eyes on hers.

"This is new to me, Thomas, I'm not sure what is best, but I'm willing to have a kind of trade-off if you like. Are you interested in resolving this?"

"Yes. Absolutely, yes. What do we do?"

I chastise myself again. No questions, Mac. Shut up.

"For your part. Do you think you can keep this between the two of us? Between just us two? Our little secret. You and me."

The words are delivered in a slow, monotone voice. Hypnotic. Sexy. It's actually turning me on. What the hell.

"Of course, yes..." I say. "...what about your um 'part'?"

For god's sake, Mac, shut up! Stop. Asking. Questions!

She smiles.

"I suggest that I have two parts, Thomas."

I have a flashback to her two parts bouncing up and down, covered in saliva.

"First part, whatever you do, whatever happens, over the course of your time working here, I will give you a glowing report, a personal recommendation back to your university. They will think you have been the best placement in the history of placements."

"Thank you," I say, and I can't help it, I actually smile a little.

"The second part, Thomas, the second part gets more interesting."

Her voice is slow and deep. Somehow alluring and dirty at the same time.

"Because I let myself down, I feel I must give more. But this offer is also because of how much you liked watching me. How much you liked it."

Her eyes, for an instant, flick down to my crotch again. She licks her top lip.

My face starts to redden. I want to look away, but Sandra has told me to look at her. Her hand is still on my thigh, and her leg is touching mine.

"I propose that I will inform you when the observed activity will happen again. On those days, I will be in the same position as this morning, so you can watch me. So you can again enjoy what I did to... to... to Mr X, who must remain our Mr X."

"I'm fine, honestly, I'm fine. You don't need to do that," I splutter.

"Don't be too quick to reject, Thomas. I saw how much you liked it."

She pauses. She looks through the table.

"And Thomas..." she pauses again, "...I liked you watching me."

My face is now scarlet. I've nearly bitten through my lip. My hands are shaking. She sees my obvious discomfort.

"Okay. Maybe I can insert a third clause. I want to make it up to you, Thomas; remove the embarrassment," she licks her lips again.

"I'll throw in a little extra just for you, Thomas. I get it - being your age comes with all sorts of... frustrations, thanks to all those hormones and the testosterone running wild, and I can see that I'm adding to those frustrations. So, consider this offer as a way of easing any tension I might've stirred up in you. When you need me to."

Is she offering me a hand job? A blow-job? Here? In Jeremy's office?

I must look blankly at her because she leans in closer. The words drip from her lips.

"I will make you cum, Thomas, whenever you need me to."

Fuck, fuck, fuck. What's happening? Despite my mind telling it not to, my penis uncurls in my jockey shorts. Fuck! Why do we have no control over our cocks!

"I'm fine, honestly, I'm fine. You don't need to do that," I repeat.

She leans forward. Her face is inches from mine. The pale white cleavage I saw earlier pops into view. I can't drag my eyes away. More movement in my pants. She slides her hand up my thigh. The tip of her finger strikes the tip of my cock. She holds it there for what seems like an eternity. I can feel my heart thumping in my ears.

Seconds feel like hours as my cock hardens against her finger, sliding against my thigh. My eyes catching her cleavage, returning to her face. Her face locked on mine. Expressionless.

"Okay, Thomas," she presses firmly before taking her hand from my thigh. "I understand. Have a think about clauses two and three. I think you will enjoy them if you let yourself. But for the moment, have we agreed on your part? And obviously, I agree to part one of my promise."

"Yes. Yes. Agreed, agreed." I sound like an idiot again. I'm starting to think I'm not cut out to survive in the working world. It's full of deviants.

"Good," she says abruptly, standing up and smoothing her skirt down. Now, I suggest you take a moment..." she nods at my trousers, "...before joining me back out at our desks, and we can carry on with our work."

I'm bright red. Once again, I am horrified that she has seen a response in my cock. And what's worse, this time, she has felt it too.

Before walking away, Sandra gives me a lovely, warm smile. I spot a 'Thank you' in there. Her shoulders relax ever so slightly, and I realise how tightly wound she must have been. Maybe she expected resistance; maybe she braced for exposure and ridicule. Instead, she has a way forward. I want to say something reassuring, but nothing would be acceptable. So I offer her a nod, a quiet acknowledgement. She exhales, a small, shaky breath, and relief flows through her body, exiting from her eyes. I suddenly feel for her as a person; I see the scared woman, a woman fearing for her job, a woman fearing for her marriage, rather than a big tittied, cum guzzling slut that had been in my mind until that point.
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***​

James' wife gave birth to a bouncing baby girl. I've never really understood what the bouncing refers to. Surely that's the last thing anyone wants. To my amazement, there's immediately a card going around the office for people to sign and give money. I'm amazed, not just at the swiftness of the card appearing, but that people have notes in purses and wallets. Who has cash handy? I inform them that I will sign and get some money tomorrow. I promptly discover that this is a crime equal to mur*er, or worse. Someone who signs a card for a colleague but doesn't pay at the same time must be flogged through the streets as a penance or burned at the stake. I therefore promise to get the money and sign the card the following day. This is acceptable to the card police, although not ideal. It means they have to wait for me before they can get the card to James. I don't even attempt to argue that I've only just met him. That seems like an argument I don't want to get into. During this whole episode, it's confirmed that James will be off for at least a week.

After our little chat in Jeremy's office, Sandra introduces me to my assigned 'buddy'.

"Charles is your man on the ground, so to speak. He is a colleague who has started recently and has gone through what you are going through. He can answer questions you might not want to bring to me or Jeremy and get you settled in. Charles, I'll leave Thomas in your capable hands." Sandra seems quite happy to offload me again today.

I realise I have met Charles very briefly the day before when he covered Lauren's lunch break at reception.

"Thanks Sandra, hun, no problem. Leave him to me." Charles watches with a kind of amusement as Sandra quickly disappears back to her desk.

"Okay, sweetie, let's grab a coffee; I'll fill you in on all the office drama and absolutely everything else you need to know."

"Sounds great, Charles," I turn towards the kitchen.

"Wrong way, gorgeous. We're going out!"

I twist back and follow Charles as he heads towards the reception, jogging slightly to catch him up.

"I'm taking young Thomas here to Betty's. Do you want anything, babes?" he asks Lauren as we pass her. She puts her hand over the phone's mouthpiece.

"Lucky you, I'm stuck here. Just the usual thanks," she smiles at us as we walk past. Well, Charles kind of sashays past her.

"See you soon, babes."

We turn left out of the door; I shiver at the thought of the gym and follow Charles along the edge of the car park towards some trees.

"Where are we going?" I ask, which doesn't seem unreasonable, as we seem to be heading into the wilderness.

"Patience, Honey. All will be revealed momentarily."

As we reach the trees, a slim path leads between them. Only about two feet wide, it's almost invisible. We move through and twist around a few spiralling chestnut trees, and before I know it, we pop out onto a gravel drive. A hundred metres down the makeshift road is, at first glance, a half-derelict building. It blends reclaimed materials, corrugated metal and natural wooden cladding. Framed glass windows, which may be from a bus or a coach, split it into two. I'm not sure any design work went into its construction, but it sure is ingenious. On the front wooden panel above the windows, in large black painted letters, it tells us exactly what it is. "Farm Shop and Cafe" No frills, just bang.

"Is this Betty's?" I ask.

"We've got a smart one here; no flies on you!"

Ms. Brown had said something very similar yesterday but had been truly disappointed in me.

Over a latte and a bacon sandwich, Charles first tells me that he is gay. A fact that was not being hidden from me, but I appreciate him telling me as I wasn't sure of the proper way to bring it up.

"Honey. Black, gay and proud. I find it easiest to get it out there. Otherwise, people are like, 'Did you watch Drag Race last night?' or like, 'OMG, I love Chihuahuas, don't you?' Like they are fucking Sherlock Holmes uncovering clues to my secret identity.

"Right, great. So, do you like Barbara Streisand?" I try to keep a straight face, but I fail.

"You can Fuck off," he tries to keep a straight face too but also fails. "Oh, and while we're talking stereotypes, I better warn you, I can be as camp as camp can be when I want to be, but I can also kick your ass if I want to," he says with a smile and a click of his fingers.

I nod in recognition and look around. "This place is a bit rough and ready."

"Hey, be careful who you're calling rough and ready," the voice comes flying from under the counter. I half expect a rock cake or scone to come through the air with it.

"But I love it," I shout back.

"Don't judge a book by its cover, ain't that right, Betty," Charles calls across.

"You would know, darlin'," Betty calls back, still under the counter.

"Touche, babes, Touche," he shouts back, smiling.

Charles works in the accounts team, is twenty-four, has been with G&H for five months and declares himself to be one of the three people in the building who knows everything that is going on. I wonder if this includes Sandra's secret and whether that has made the G&H news columns. I won't be the one to write it if it hasn't. Sandra's University deal is too valuable to jeopardise.

The other two people in the know are Lauren, who Charles describes as a sweetheart with not a bad bone in her body - which only adds to her overall superstar status in my mind, and my loins - and a lady called Florence, who is in Leo's team of Architects, who I haven't met yet, but apparently is a party animal, prosecco monster, and a real hun. Charles's words. Lauren and Charles meet for lunch on Tuesday and Thursday when she isn't in the gym to exchange gossip, Sandra covers reception on those days, and he covers for Lauren on the gym days. Florence joins them when she can but is often out and about or rushed off her feet with work.

"So honey, that's the basics. We're a bit pressed for time; someone will start to miss us, but darling Lauren believes you'd be a dazzling addition to our glamorous clique, and I don't disagree. Why don't you join us for lunch today, and we can try you out for size?"

"I'd be honoured. By the way, it's Mac; most people I know call me Mac."

"Honey, I don't call anyone by their proper names. It's far too difficult to remember people's goddam names. Mmm. I haven't thought of one for you yet," he looks at me intensely. "No, not coming to me yet. 'Honey' will do for now," he smiles.

Charles is a good-looking guy, Over six feet tall. He has a warm, confident expression and a relaxed posture. Neatly groomed hair and an immaculate complexion. Large, welcoming eyes. If I'm not mistaken, with the slight hint of mascara. A smile that matches the eyes to draw you into his world. He's wearing a well-fitted navy blue blazer over a crisp white button-down shirt. He is trim. Not muscular, not skinny, toned. His trousers are tailored above the ankle in a neutral charcoal shade, with no socks and a highly polished pair of brogues finishing the look.

"Did we need to get something for Lauren?" I ask.

"You're literally a Life-saver. Betty, Lauren wants her usual."

"Already here for you. I knew you'd forget."

I approach the counter. Betty has arisen from underneath and looks kind of how you would expect a farm shop worker to look, but she also has some surprises. As you can imagine, she is dressed in practical, casual clothes - a dark green, thin, overall-type jacket with a simple black polo shirt underneath. Faded, blue denim jeans hug a nice pair of hips. She has brown, curly, slightly tousled hair that hasn't seen a brush in days, maybe weeks, and rough hands that do a hard day's work every day. Absolutely no make-up. Absolutely no bra. The size of her breasts definitely need one, but they stand impressively proud in front of her despite the lack of support. She looks to be in her early thirties, and the age shows on her face through sun and wind damage. But despite the rugged countryside aesthetic, there's something about her features, her expression, or the way she carries herself that makes her unexpectedly pretty in a refreshing, unpretentious way. Kind eyes. Thin lips. Tight cheeks. Freckles. Her straightforward banter and the fact that she made Lauren her drink without us asking shows her in a very endearing light. My eyes probably linger on her for slightly too long before we leave; she raises her eyebrows as if to say, 'What?' I drop my gaze, pick up the drink from the counter and offer to pay.

"On the house," she says. "Tell Lauren to come see me soon. I miss her."

Something in her expression and the way she says the words strike me in the gut. Are Lauren and her? No! Lauren can't be. She musn't be. She musn't be.

I'm tempted to ask as Charles and I walk back, but I don't have the bravery. Or I don't want to know the answer. We wander back into reception in silence, and I hand Lauren the drink.

"Thanks, I'll get yours next time," she says.

"No need. A gift from Betty. She say's come see her soon, she misses you," I look for signs, anything that might tell me something. All I discover is that I'm an idiot. Well, all I confirm is that I'm an idiot. I'm doing exactly what Charles just told me not to. Idiotic. She is lovely.

"Ah, that's nice of her. Thanks. So, are you joining us for lunch?"

"We are trying him for size, Babes," Charles jumps in, "just for today, mind, let's see how he does."

"Great. Twelve-thirty if he hasn't told you," she adds.

"Come on, Honey," Charles takes my arm, "We have some 'buddying' to be getting along with."

"See you later," I smile at Lauren, but she is answering a call as I move away.

Sandra comes towards me at pace as I get through the door. Her breasts are out of control. What now?

"Thomas, I've been looking for you everywhere."

"Er, sorry, I was with Charles. You know, my buddy?"

"I know who Charles is. Jeremy wants to see you. Now!"

"What?"

"You heard me. He's in his office waiting." She looks ready to burst.

When I arrived at the office yesterday, a meeting with Jeremy would have been intimidating. Meeting the boss. Surely still interviewing me, really, checking if I'm as good as I said I was. The usual kind of intimidating, through. Natural when meeting the boss. As I currently walk down the office, the car park incident is at the front of my mind, but then the Ms Brown visit fights its way in, then the proposition from Sandra, then the fact I was out in a cafe with Charles instead of at my desk. What does he want? Am I in trouble already? Again!

I gently knock on the open door. "Hi, Jeremy. You wanted to see me?"

"Yes, Thomas, come on in, shut the door, take a seat."

Jeremy's a cool-looking guy. Impressively so. Greying at the temples and receding a little, but otherwise a swished back mop of dark brown hair. Short stubble across a strong jaw, and rimless glasses perched on his nose. Dressed all in black, smart shirt and jeans. Expensive watch poking out from the cuff. He must be about forty-five. He gives off that confidence of wealth, experience and being good at what he does.

He is writing something in a notepad, and pauses before taking his glasses off and looking up.

"Thomas. Thanks for popping in."

"That's okay. Sorry I wasn't around earlier."

"Not a problem. I just wanted to cover a couple of things with you. That's all. At the earliest opportunity."

He precedes to apologise for the car park incident - he is big enough to admit to acting childishly - and then he apologises for James leaving me at a cllent. Which was unacceptable, particularly on a first day.

"On the positive side, Thomas, you impressed Harriet. She called me afterwards to say what a charming, smart person you were."

I'm sure I'm starting to colour; my body has definitely risen in temperature by about a hundred degrees. What has Harriet said? What does he know? Fuck. How did they meet? Does he visit her? What does he like?

"She was confident that you could meet her requirements. However, you mustn't worry; I told her there would be a delay in getting back to her with ideas until James returns."

"Thanks. I'm glad she was pleased." I'm still unsure what he knows and doesn't know, but this appears to be going okay.

"While James is off, you can shadow Poppy, and I will also take some time to bring you into some of my things, too, if you're interested."

"Of course, that would be great."

"Super, Thomas." He pauses. He looks a little nervous about what he is about to say. He bites the arm of his glasses.

"Poppy is a wonderful Architect and an old friend, but she is eccentric. A character. Just go with her ways. She is really experienced, a lovely person and you'll learn a helluva lot from her."

"Okay, thanks. I'll bear that in mind. Thanks again for this opportunity, Mr Gallacher."

"Jeremy, please. You're not my bank manager," he smiles charmingly. "Good. Well, there's no time like the present. I'm meeting a client at twelve. Do you want to join?"

"Absolutely. Great, thank you."

That blows out lunch with Charles and Lauren, but I think this outbids them.

"Right. Let me bring you up to speed."

"Can I grab my iPad?"

"Sure."

I run out to Charles and apologise.

"Okay, boss, do what you have to do," Charles responds. I walk away, hoping 'boss' is not my new nickname.

I grab my iPad and spend the next three hours with Jeremy. We have lunch with the client, working through drawings and plans for a multi-box-within-a-box project, converting a listed warehouse building from the eighteen hundreds into a restaurant. It's super complex and really interesting. The way Jeremy has figured everything out is mind-boggling--rooms within rooms within rooms. The meeting goes very well. I don't contribute too much to the discussion, but I make myself useful by taking notes.

As I slump back at my desk, I start to feel good about myself. I write up the notes and send them through to Jeremy. Then I check my email. Then my heart stops. Then my stomach churns. I have three emails. Sitting right in the middle of the three, burning a hole in my retinas, is an email from Sandra with the subject line 'Early start tomorrow morning'. I glance across to her. She doesn't look at me. The email subject seems to glow on my screen. I don't want to click on it. But somehow, I do.

'Thomas,

I hope you can join me for an early start again tomorrow.

As discussed, I have arranged for a comprehensive session similar to the one you observed this morning. I feel you will get something from it.

Kind regards,
Sandra'

I stand up. My legs are weak. I sit back down. I stare at the screen again. I have to get away. I stand up again and stumble my way to the bathroom. I lock myself in a cubicle and hold my head in my hands. What the fuck am I going to do? What have I got myself into?

The rest of the afternoon passes in a bit of a blur. I don't respond to the email, talk to Sandra, or really do anything. At the end of the day, I get in my car and arrive home before realising I've driven anywhere.

My father is already home. Soon, Claire arrives back from the gym. After a short time longer, she calls that dinner is ready. Instead of having to make polite conversation with them both, I take it to my room. I spend the evening on TikTok, YouTube, and Netflix, restlessly bouncing from thing to thing. I still don't know what I am going to do. I'll go to bed and sleep on it.

I place my wallet on the bedside table as I undress, flopping onto my bed. I stare at the wallet. Ms Brown's card sits inside. I take it out, put it back, and look again. I type the number into my phone, hovering over the dial button. Eventually, I save it as a new contact. I don't know what I would say. The number shines out from the screen.

Instinctively, I scroll through to a live sex chat site. The screen brings up small boxes of women in empty rooms, their bodies on display, their movements deliberate, almost rehearsed. Waiting for the chime of coins to build to an acceptable level. A woman in Poland, her hair dark and her eyes sultry, whispers something in a strong guttural accent that I don't understand but know exactly what she says. Another in Amsterdam, her skin glowing under the harsh lighting, runs her hands over her curves. She has great tits. A nice smile. I see a little of Lauren in her, but not as beautiful, not as perfect. Not quite doing it for me tonight. And then there is a woman in Asia, the Philippines, maybe; her petite body looks smaller under her vast, enhanced breasts adorned with lace lingerie, her lips curving into a smile as she blows a kiss at the camera. I see a bit of Betty in her somehow. Her size, her frame. A friend enters the screen. They start kissing. They start playing. Toys appear. My cock responds. The lingerie comes off revealing large breasts on both of them as well as shaved pussys. They take it in turns to insert a sizeable red vibrator. Smiles. Kisses. Hands. Squeals. Moans. Groans. Legs spreading. Breasts sucked. Cute girls performing for me.

But it isn't enough. My mind keeps slipping away - Ms. Brown's voice echoing in my ears, "My little calf. Thomas the cow," as she makes me eat the grass. I could almost feel her hands on me again, her commanding and soothing touch. And then there is Sandra, kneeling in front of Mr X, her lips wrapped around him, her eyes locked on mine, daring me to look away. I didn't - I couldn't - and now the memory of it is seared into my brain, refusing to let go.

My hand drifts down to the waistband of my shorts, I push them down, freeing myself. I wrap my hand around my shaft and start to stroke. I take some tissue from my bedside table.

Lauren from reception floats into my thoughts next, her smooth complexion, her hair always styled just right, her body a blend of softness and strength. Then there is Claire; sitting downstairs; in her gym gear; her toned legs and the camel toe that had been impossible to ignore.

I'm hard now. My eyes close, listening to the girls on the screen, seeing my own images.

Ms. Brown, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders, breasts heaving, her leather trousers hugging her curves as she stands over me, her voice low and commanding. "Strip for me, Thomas," she orders, and I obey, the heat of her gaze making my skin burn. Her hands are on me, her touch firm and unyielding as she guides me to my knees.

But then it isn't just her - Sandra is there too, breasts bouncing, her lips brushing against my ear as she whispers, "Do you like watching me, Thomas? Do you like seeing me on my knees?" I can feel her breath on my skin as she assumes her position, hot and teasing. Her words make my cock twitch, but Ms Brown slaps it down.

"Baby calf can't be turned on. Bad, pathetic Thomas."

Lauren's face appears, laughing, her cheeks flushed, her lips parted as she leans closer. Her hands grab my hair, tugging gently as she whispers, "You've been watching me, haven't you? I've seen the way you look at me. Why don't you just ask me if you can fuck me, Thomas."

She throws my head back, and I fall to the floor. The three of them encircle me like witches.

And then Claire is there, her gym gear clinging to her body, her thighs brushing against me as she is the first to straddle me. She spreads her legs, I see that her leggings are crotchless. Her beautiful mound is over my cock, her moist pussy lips almost touching me. Her voice is soft but commanding, "You've been a naughty boy, Thomas. What would your father say if he knew you were having these thoughts. What would he say if he knew I was crouching over your cock?"

Their bodies merge together, a recipe of skin and heat and desire, and I am lost in the mixture, my hand moving faster, my breath coming in short, ragged gasps. My cock is rock hard in my hand. My fingers and palm playing with it's familiar contours. Ms Brown's hand replaces mine, squeezing and jerking. Sandra's mouth joins around me, her plump tits fighting their way free. Lauren's perfect body slides against me, her pert boobs released for my pleasure, Claire's pussy free from her leggings, tight and wet. Each woman flicks across my mind like a series of photos, making a collage of ecstasy. I can feel my release building, that familiar tension tight in my gut. I speed up and hold myself tighter. My balls tighten, I can feel the release, it's so close.

"I'll relieve you. Anytime," says Sandra.

"Cum for me, Thomas," Ms. Brown's voice commands." and I pump vigorously to obey. I feel Claire's wet pussy. I feel sandra's wet mouth. My cock pumps, my hips buck as I spill my seed onto the tissue in front of me. My body trembles, and my legs kick as waves of pleasure wash over me. I hear each woman congratulating me.

When it's over, I lay there, my chest heaving, my mind still reeling. I feel cheap, dirty, but satisfied. The images are still there, floating at the edges of my mind, but the intensity has faded, leaving me with a strange sense of emptiness. My head clears. The email floats back in.

Then my body tenses and my eyes snap to the bedroom door. Did I hear the creak of floorboards? Was someone outside the door? I fumble for my phone and shut down the Asian girls. I lie still. I wait. Listening. Eyes on storks, ridiculously straining to hear. Any sound. Anything. Shit. I curse myself for not wearing earphones. Shit.

After a minute or two, I've heard nothing. I toss the tissue into the bin and pull my boxers back up, my body still tingling from the aftershocks. Tentatively I move to the en-suite to clean my teeth. Was someone there? Had my father heard me jerking off? Had Claire!

I look at myself in the mirror. My mind is scrambled.

All the while I can't shake the feeling. My brain still knows it has a decision to make. I can't forget the email. It's not going away.

I move back to the bed and lie down. I set my alarm for six in the morning. I'll make a decision then. I can sleep on it. I pull the covers over me and settle down for what I know will be a sleepless night.
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