By Margo Perry  (margo707 AT rogers DOT com)
Copyright 2003 by Margo Perry, all rights reserved.

George Mayors stared down at the open file on his desk and the name ‘Peter Martins’ blazed accusingly back up at him. Exhausted and depressed after his wife’s prolonged illness and death two years ago, he’d begun plans to extricate himself from the day to day workings of his company. That he had Peter to turn the reins over to was a godsend; he’d been his right hand man and friend for years. So why was George sitting here considering offering the job to Andrew Stone, his head designer and team’s driving force and inspiration? Why would he knowingly undermine his own company and certainly lose his best friend in the bargain? He knew why and the reason made him sick. There’s no fool like an old fool, that’s why, he thought. His stomach was churning badly. He grabbed his ulcer pills from his jacket pocket and downed two without water. Sweat trickled from his armpits, staining his freshly pressed shirt, and anxiety was pulling a tight band across his chest.

He slapped Peter’s file shut as if to shut out the swarm of images that were stirring, in equal proportions, his present dreadful guilt and memories of last night’s depraved pleasure. He checked his watch: 10:45 AM. Time was running out. He’d have to do something, but what? George’s problem was that, even in this morning’s light, greater than his fear about what would happen if he didn’t respond to what amounted to blackmail, was the dark and desperate hope that if he did there might be more, more of her. And she, the source of all his pain and pleasure, was Ruby Stone, Mrs. Andrew Stone.

“Oh God,” George groaned. The very thought of her made his cock hard and his balls tingle with need.

Life was all about timing, he thought, absently massaging the bulge in his pants. If only he’d gone home early. But he hadn’t; he’d stayed until about 9:30 PM planning to get home in time for some late news, a drink or two and a bite to eat. He felt like pizza so he called in the order, picked up his briefcase and turned on his cell. It rang before he reached the office door.

“Hello.”

“Hi Mr. Mayors, it’s Ruby Stone here, Andrew’s wife, and I was wondering if I might have a quick word? It’s very important.”

“Mrs. Stone, I’m just leaving my office. Call me tomorrow. I should be in at about 8:30.”

“I need to talk to you tonight,” she insisted. “I could be right over.”

“Actually tonight is not convenient. I’m on my way home.”

“You’re at 97 Overlea, right? Please, let me meet you there. I won’t take up much of your time. Please.”

She spoke with a breathy drawl that was lazy, sexy and disarmingly casual; dangerously casual, George amended, because she was as persistent as a stalker. And Andrew was such a laid back guy. Strange mix, he thought.

“Alright, I’ll give you a few minutes,” George acquiesced, as much out of curiosity as anything. “See you soon.”

George had never met the woman. About a year ago, after the spring showing, Andrew had gone on a Mediterranean cruise for a little R & R and returned with a bride. The office rumor mill ran rampant with stories, dubious facts and ‘I figure’s’. She was apparently stunningly beautiful. At their annual international sales meeting – George had missed it – Ruby had apparently had all the guys eating out of her cleavage and willing to sell the family jewels just for her amusement. Of course, all the women hated her and felt sorry for Andrew, assuming that it was only a matter of time before she broke his heart and ruined his life completely. George chuckled nervously. He had just invited this woman to his house and he had no idea what she wanted. He felt a rush of heady excitement and some long forgotten urgency coursed through his body. Tread carefully, warned the voice in his head.

This, whatever it was, shouldn’t take long, George thought, as he opened up and turned on his house lights. He felt like a drink but that would have to wait, but not for long. He had just placed his pizza in the oven to stay warm when his doorbell rang.

George opened the door to the most arresting beauty he’d ever seen in the flesh. Ruby Stone’s thick mop of dark hair curled about her face, falling over her magnificently large breasts and down her back to her waist. Her mutating greenish, grayish, bluish marbles of eyes glistened out of an olive complexion and examined him daringly from top to bottom and back again. George blushed. Her perfect lips were slightly parted as if poised for a kiss.

“Mrs. Stone?”

“Ruby. Call me Ruby.”

“Yes, Ruby. Please, come in.”

Ruby Stone swept through the door and George felt her female energy pass through him. With a model’s flair, she undid the one button that collared her purple cape around her swan-like neck and held it out to George with laughing impatience.

“Lovely home,” she said, moving through the foyer and into the living room. “Warm, comfortable. Your wife must have been a lovely woman. You can tell by just looking around. You must miss her.”

To hear Ruby Stone speaking so highly of his conservative Jackie was the height of irony. His wife would have disliked and mistrusted this brazen woman.

“I do miss her,” George said, as he hung Ruby’s cape in the hall closet, his voice trailing after her.

Ruby was seated on the couch, her shapely legs demurely crossed at the ankles, her black wrap-around skirt and matching soft wool sweater covering what George imagined were the inestimable treasures of a combined goddess and slut. While classic in design, her outfit was, according to social standards, at least one or two sizes too small and the heels of her pumps were inches higher than was fashionable.

“A drink would be nice.”

She had plucked the desire right out of George’s head.

“What would you like?”

“Scotch if you have it.”

“I do.”

George crossed the room to the liquor cabinet and pulled out a bottle of Chivas.

“Rocks and just a splash,” she demanded before he could even ask.

George was beginning to feel out of control and a part of him liked it. It felt new and reckless and he felt younger than he’d felt in a long time. He grabbed the ice bucket and went out into the kitchen. His first apartment came to mind and the time he’d invited Jackie in for a drink. She’d been a virgin and very much in love with George. George, having lost his virginity to a distant cousin five years earlier, was totally in control that night. Interesting that he should be thinking about that experience now. Even stranger that he was relating to how Jackie had felt: nervous, unsure of what was about to happen, excited and afraid. Ruby Stone had walked into his house and usurped proprietorship. She was totally in control. He didn’t know why she was here or what she wanted and he hadn’t asked. He felt like a servant in his own home.

Ruby had poured two doubles before George got back. She held out the glasses and George obediently dropped two cubes in each, before setting the ice bucket down. She carefully dribbled a few drops of bottled water into the glasses as if water were a rare preserve.

“Let’s sit,” she said.

Ruby moved toward the couch, hypnotizing George with a wanton sway of round hips that spoke much louder than words. George couldn’t remember when last he’d felt that tightening in his balls as if his youth was trapped there, in all its proud horniness, waiting to be set free. And he was suddenly afraid. Ruby had driven Jackie’s spirit from the house and his professional reality from his mind. He tried to think of Andrew, this woman’s husband and his colleague, but he couldn’t concentrate. Her nearness was too immediate, her magnetic attractiveness so overpowering as to annihilate anything in its path. George followed Ruby, watching her pendulous breasts peek right and left, an aftershock swaying in the wake of her sensuous gait. He followed longing for the moment when she’d turn to sit and he’d see those huge breasts in devastatingly alluring silhouette. And when she did, she did it slowly, seductively because she knew the effect she was having on him and George rediscovered the horniness of his youth. His cock throbbed, goosebumps prickled his skin and, by the time he sat beside her, he no longer cared why she’d come. He only hoped she’d stay for an hour or a day or a week. He only knew that he’d do anything, give up anything to hang on to the way he felt, this incredibly alive feeling that he’d given up hoping to ever feel again.

“To us,” Ruby said, holding up her glass. “To us and a perfect dance of a deal. You’re going to give your chair to Andrew. I want to travel and enjoy life while I’m still young. I can’t do that if Andrew is stuck in the design room drawing exquisite suits for rich men. I want him to wear the suits. Be the rich man. Assuming your presidency will accomplish that and you know he’ll be good at it.”

George’s glass froze in time and space. What was this woman talking about? What was she was suggesting? George plunked his glass onto the coffee table, his cock and fantasies drowning in his pool of wretched indignation.

“Impossible,” he blurted out. “Andrew is our top designer and besides, I long ago decided to give the position to Peter Martins. He started as part of the sales team when I started this company and he deserves to be president now. He’ll be retiring soon enough and Andrew is how old? He has plenty of time and right now, I need him exactly where he is!”

“His designs have made this firm and he can be replaced from within. His team will carry on. I want this. We want this.”

“You can’t have it.”

“Okay, enough talk,” Ruby said softly.

“Then put that out of your mind,” George said, as firmly as he could manage.

“I will, if you can put me out of yours.”

Ruby dipped her finger inside her glass. George noticed the length of her red-lacquered nail, the pout of her mouth and the whiteness of her perfectly even teeth, as she finger-painted the scotch over her lips. George knew he should get up, escape now, but stayed when she dipped again, leaning forward to smooth the cool liquid over his. He felt invaded when she manipulated her finger inside his mouth. Embarrassed when he felt his erection straining against his pants. Condemned when his tongue began to circle and probe, his teeth began to nibble and his head began to bob and weave as he mouth fucked her finger.

“Please, Oh God,” George moaned. “I’m so . . .”

“Horny, George? Is that what you’re trying to say?”

Ruby had taken her finger from George’s mouth. She slipped one leg over his and her skirt fell open to reveal her smooth thighs, rising out of black silk stockings, and her black garter belt. She twisted in toward George, her now smoldering eyes locked into his. She took hold of her large breasts, moving them in slow circles and, at the same time, twisting her long nipples.

“Do you like these, George? Would you like to see more?”

“I can’t do what you ask,” George whimpered. “Sorry but I just can’t.”

“Then get up and go, Sweetie Pie,” Ruby said, her voice steel draped in satin, “or we’ll play let’s make a deal.”

She held George’s gaze. He didn’t move. She took hold of his tie, pulling him into her and began unbuttoning his shirt.

He had to get up. Her tits were so close. George noticed the stain that had spread over his dark trousers. He reached for her.

Ruby caught his hand, a devilish giggle tinkling out of her.

“Is this what you want?”

She captured his other hand and led them both to her breasts. George lifted and squeezed them reverently. He couldn’t believe how soft they were, how rubbery they were, how heavy they were, how heavenly they were.

“That feels good, Georgie,” Ruby cooed. “You’re making me feel so good!”

She was fingering her pussy, her head thrown back and her one knee pressing firmly into George’s crotch. She grabbed his head with her free hand and pulled him into her cleavage. George gasped from the sudden lack of air and the uncontrollable vortex that approaching orgasm was pulling him into.

“George,” Ruby panted. “Look at me, Georgie.”

She climbed off him, turned away, and bent over the coffee table, her ass in his face. The smell of her pussy mixed with the smell of scotch intoxicated him. George rubbed his engorged cock through his pants, as Ruby lifted the table, moving it out of the way.

“Take it out for me, Georgie. Take it out.”

George panted and blushed. It was as if she had eyes in the back of her head, eyes that could see through flesh and blood and bone into his very soul. He had to obey. He eased his hips forward, carefully unzipping his pants and releasing his cock, which pulsed and wept with excitement.

Ruby stood in front of George, her thumb in her mouth, her head tilted, her body shifting from foot to foot like an innocent little girl. She caressed her nose with her forefinger as she suckled her thumb like a sulky little girl. She moved her thumb in and out of her mouth like a very bad little girl. George was in the me-zone, delivering the pleasure to his cock that only he could give, in perfect rhythm, with a perfect touch.

“Wait,” Ruby said, rushing to kneel before him.

She took his hand from his cock and spit gobs of saliva into his palm. She blew bubbles and dribbled more.

“Warm and wet, just like my pussy,” she said proudly, placing his hand back on his cock and moving away.

Ruby stood in front of George, took hold of the edges of her sweater and began to strip it over her bulky breasts, shoulder and head. Her bra was a satin strapless work of art. She tossed her sweater onto the floor. She undid something at the side of her waist, a button or clasp, and her skirt fell to the floor. And there she stood. George’s ultimate fantasy in her high-heeled pumps, stockings, garter belt and bra; his perfect clichèd seductress come to life. He gasped as a gob of fluid spurted onto his moving knuckles.

“Oh my,” Ruby said. “I want some of that Georgie. Stop stroking that beautiful beast. Leave some for me!”

George stopped, placing his arms at his sides. It hurt. His cock and balls ached for attention.

“Take off your pants George. Take off all your clothes. Get naked for me, Georgie.”

George stood, expecting to be embarrassed at having to undress in front of this strange woman but it was too late for that. His only concern was at the purple rage with which his cock lurched, wanting to be inside her so much that he thought it would explode into a hundred orgasms all at once. And that embarrassment was lost in the fear that he would and at any minute now. Naked, he sat down again.

Ruby stood in front of George, wiggling out of her panties. She leaned over, dug inside her bra to free her breasts. They poured over the satin and down her torso, burying much of the material beneath their mass.

“Please hurry,” George pleaded. He could feel his needs whirling out of control. Soon he wouldn’t care. “Hurry.”

“Hold on, baby,” Ruby whispered, as she climbed over him, guiding his cock, kissing it with her wet pussy lips.

George burrowed into her cleavage. He felt warmth and liquid and muscles grabbing and squeezing his cock. He could feel the fleshy walls of her cunt rubbing wet and warm. He felt like his head, neck and shoulders, torso and belly, legs and feet, all of him, had been sucked into his cock and she’d drawn it and him into her cunt, into her pussy. And he wasn’t safe there because she was sucking the life out of him and it felt too good. He wasn’t safe there because she was rubbing him too hard, too fast or too slow. And he felt so good that he had stopped breathing inside the cavern of her flesh. And when she leaned back just a bit, raising onto her knees, just a bit, he could breathe again and add his greedy rhythm to hers. He could smell them burning, melting together as they fucked their way, screaming and panting into perfect white and searing bliss. They came and came and came.

Ruby held his spent and naked body in her arms, against her warm and welcoming bosom until waves of fatigue and then sleep washed over him. Later, she smoothed his hair until he opened his eyes to see her fully dressed and smiling down at him.

“I’m leaving now,” she whispered. “Lock up after me.”

And she was gone.

George locked the door and then went to the kitchen and turned off the oven. The clock read 4:00 AM. George dropped the ruined pizza on top of the stove. He needed to get back to sleep.

In the morning, he noticed the note propped against one of the nearly untouched glasses of scotch: “I’ll give you a call around noon. Let’s do it again. Soon.”

That’s all she had to say.

George Mayors shoved back his chair as if the memories crowding his mind had spilled into the room, thickening the air to a claustrophobic density. He began pacing the room but he couldn’t order his thoughts.

He had to give the job to Peter. It was the right thing to do. He had to give the job to Andrew. By his actions, he’d agreed to Ruby’s terms. In other words, life as he’d known it was over.

The ringing phone interrupted his internal and futile ramblings. It was his secretary.

“It’s 11:10, Mr. Mayors, and you have Mr. Martins down for 11:15. Shall I call him up?”

“No, call design and have Andrew come up.”

George sat down heavily behind his desk. He felt broken like he’d fragmented himself. He knew that what he was about to do wouldn’t work for the company or himself. But he’d had a taste of something young and new, devastatingly erotic and addictive and, no matter what the consequences, he wanted to taste it again and soon. Nothing else seemed to matter.

He heard a gentle knock and Andrew sauntered into the room. He was a tall, lean muscled and carelessly handsome man who seemed comfortable in his skin and perfectly adapted to life around him. Today, he was making George feel old, worn out and jaded.

“Good morning, George,” Andrew said, smiling and shooting his arm across the desk to shake hands.

“How’s it going Andrew? Have a seat.” He seemed a happy man and George wondered guiltily whether the change in lifestyle, looking at shows instead of preparing for his own, would rob him of this happiness, the sense of satisfaction he exuded. But there was no turning back now.

“I have a proposal for you,” George said. “You know I’m going to retire and I’m looking for somebody to take my place. I think you’re the man. I know . . .”

“You’re kidding, right?” Andrew broke in. “Me do your job?”

“No, I’m not kidding. Your designs have given us the status we needed to top the field and you deserve the promotion. There’s a substantial raise and perks involved.”

Andrew was looking at George quizzically. “What’s wrong with Peter Martins and who do you think is going to take over my job?”

George stared at him blankly.

“There aren’t enough dollars or perks in the world to make me give up designing. What’s wrong with you, George?”

George sighed.

“Look, unless I’m fired from design, in fact even if I am, I absolutely decline your offer. I don’t know what’s going on here but it’s not a good thing. How could you think that I’d want this job, whatever it is?” His blue eyes glared with frosty contempt as he waited.

“I had to offer. You’ve earned the opportunity,” George said, sounding as weak as watered water.

“Why? I wasn’t even on the short list. Why are you making this ridiculous offer now? Never mind! Let’s bottom-line this. We’re really busy with the new line and I need to get back to work. Any objections?”

Andrew stood up and glared down at George. “Are we done?”

George realized that an ultimatum was on the table. “We’re done,” he said.

Andrew shook his head, a frown furrowing his brow, as he escaped gratefully from the room.

The phone rang again at 11:59 AM.

George Mayors picked up the phone on the first ring.

“Good morning,” George said.

“I have bad news: Andrew turned down the job.”

He was surprised at her calm.

“He’s quite adamant,” George said, “and I have to fill the position.”

He wasn’t surprised at her confidence.

“Okay, I’ll give you tonight but I’ll have to announce tomorrow. Talk to you then.”

George hung up the phone. It would take a miracle to change Andrew’s mind, but no one knew better that he that Ruby was a miracle. And while he was worried about poor Andrew’s future, all he felt about what he was in for tonight was envy . . . deep, pure and all-consuming envy.