This story deals with themes of coercion and reluctance against a background of female domination. If you think you might be offended please try a different story.
Missing the Signs
Chapter 1
It was Friday night and the bar was buzzing. The last deal of the day had yielded ten grand straight profit and life was sweet.
The only downer was the fact that there was just the three of us. Eighteen months earlier we had been 'the gang of twelve' but the trading floor slowly took its toll. One or two had moved on, some had moved upwards, at thirty-three I was almost an old stager.
Of course, a few had settled down into steady relationships, two had married, and now they had different priorities.
I had always told myself that all that could wait until I reached my mid thirties but I did have regrets about Juliette.
She was everything I wanted in a woman; an outrageously good looking blonde with a Cambridge degree, destined for the top. She also enjoyed my love of sports and that extended to her athleticism in the bedroom.
We had been together for almost six months when I took fright. She asked me to move in with her and suddenly everything seemed so grown up. I left her in bed that morning and by the same evening I was getting drunk with the boys and boasting about how I had dumped her.
I ran into her a few days later at an inter-departmental meeting. Apart from the formal courtesies she did not say a single word to me and when I caught her eye her cold stare made me feel like a total shit.
I desperately wanted to ask her to take me back but the truth was that I was too much of a coward to face up to her and was frightened of having my ego bruised if she refused.
I downed my beer, thought 'to hell with it', and cast my eye around the bar. It was all the usual city types but in one corner there was a group of younger people who looked like students. I would have thought that this particular bar would be a little too pricey for them but they seemed to be at ease and enjoying themselves.
There was one girl in the group that stood out. Normally, she would have slipped beneath my radar, in her case quite literally. I stand six foot three in my stockinged feet and she could not have been much over five foot one or two.
She looked incredibly young but the bar had a strict door policy so she must have been at least eighteen. She had a lovely face and was wearing very minimal makeup. Her blue eyes looked large and innocent and she was flashing a delightful one hundred watt smile.
She had a slim build but, from what I could see, she was nicely proportioned. She was wearing tight jeans but what really caught my eye was her scooped neck tee shirt.
She had fabulous breasts; not large, but deliciously firm and unfettered and her nipples were straining the thin blue cotton.
There were other girls in the bar, much more my usual type, and I had already picked up one or two positive signals, but my eyes kept on flitting back to the group in the corner.
Mindful of the ribbing I would get from my friends, if they suspected me of ogling someone quite so young, I turned my back on the group and rejoined the general hilarity.
"Do you like them?"
I turned as someone nudged my back. She was behind me at the bar, not looking at me but attracting the attention of the barman by waving a couple of banknotes. This, of itself, was unusual as most of the crowd would be running a tab and charging it to their cards.
"Sorry, were you speaking to me?"
"Yes I was. I asked if you liked them. You've been staring at my tits all evening."
I was flummoxed. In the normal course of events I would have played jack the lad and offered to pay for a better look but there was something disarming about her. I found myself complementing her and blustering an apology.
"You can buy me dinner."
"You mean now?"
"Not now dimbo, I'm with my friends. You look as though you flash the cash, you can take me somewhere swanky. Let me have your business card and I'll give you a call."
And that was it. Unusually for me I respected her privacy and averted my gaze for the rest of the evening but, over the next few days, I felt peculiarly on edge.
I even turned down an invitation for drinks with Mandy which, in reality, meant an invitation for some boisterous casual sex.
By the following Saturday I had gone without sex for eight days, which counts as a serious dry spell in my book,
I was showering, getting ready for a serious session at the local rugby club bar and determined to get myself back on track, when she called.
"It's me Zoe."
"I'm sorry..?"
"Zoe, the girl with the tits."
For reasons I could not explain to myself I immediately felt flustered.
"I'm at a loose end tonight. Do you want to buy me that dinner?"
Less than sixty seconds later I put the phone down not quite believing that it had happened. She had asked me to surprise her and so I suggested 'Taipan' the new Asian fusion restaurant. In the event I had to call in a very serious favour to get a table there on a crowed Saturday night.
I arrived on time but she was nearly twenty minutes late and a sizable bribe was needed to keep the table open. I was at the bar when there was a sudden subtle change in the background murmur. She was at the door searching and smiled when her eyes lighted on me.
She was wearing a black cocktail dress which was more 'haute rue' than haute couture but she made it look stunning. It displayed her breasts to great advantage but it was also cut well above the knee allowing me to appreciate just how nice her legs were. She still looked youthful but now she retained an air of refinement.
Over dinner she told me more about herself and our worlds could not have been more different. She was the black sheep of the family and had been thrown out by her parents. She was now living with a friend and filling in with odd jobs whilst she decided what she wanted to do for the long term.
She asked me a lot about my job and then ribbed me by suggesting that I was very much an establishment figure. I was tempted to counter by telling her about my excesses but it did not seem right somehow. It was like talking to a younger sister and I think one or two of the other diners had drawn that conclusion about us.
After the meal she suggested a club and I was strongly tempted to refuse. My hormones were raging and the temptation to take her back to my place was incredible but, rarely for me, my conscience got the upper hand.
I could not disappoint her but, once we were finished at the club, I decided that I would end to our fledgling relationship.
The club itself came as a surprise. It was a bar with a Latin house band and a modest dance floor on which a few couples were putting together some frighteningly professional moves.
When Zoe dragged me out to dance I tried to refuse. I do not like dancing at the best of times and with my body builders physique Latin was most certainly not my thing.
She teased me coquettishly, calling me a spoilsport, and I surrendered for just one dance.
I have no idea what it was but it did not really matter. As I shambled around Zoe danced mercurially. I could not take my eyes off of her as she slinked her body using her breasts and her pert backside to devastating effect. By the time she closed with me for some more intimate moves I had a raging erection which I had no way of hiding.
She teased me mercilessly turning her back and spooning up against me laughing the whole time. At the end of the first dance I was perspiring but she insisted on remaining on the floor.
We, or I should perhaps say she, danced for the better part of hour in which time my erection refused to wilt. In the end I insisted on returning to the bar to avert the imminent danger of coming in my pants.
The urge to get her into bed was greater than ever but, through it all, she was still possessed of a spirit of innocence. I ordered a cab and dropped her off at her modest flat set above a shop before returning home and the lonely pleasures of my own right hand.
I determined to put the whole thing down to experience and get on with my life but, over the next day or two, I found myself distracted and she was constantly in my thoughts. Rather bizarrely, whilst I knew where she lived, I did not know her telephone number.
The bank was laying on a black tie event at the local race course and, for a fleeting moment, I was tempted to invite her if only to show her how the other half lived. Common sense, or perhaps cowardice, prevailed and I thumbed through my address book to find an escort more appropriate to the occasion.
I was actually dressed, ready to go, when she phoned. She had two tickets for a fringe theatre production and asked if I was interested. I do not know why I did it but I feigned a headache and cried off of the black tie even knowing that it would count against me.
I changed into chinos and a rugger shirt and made my way out to the suburbs.
The 'theatre' was a room over a pub and the production was an English translation of a Hungarian play about the Countess Bathory. I was contemplating being bored rigid, and thought I had made a dreadful mistake, but Zoe was as exuberant as ever.
As it turned out the performance verged on the pornographic. The story of 'The Blood Countess' set the scene for a lot of gratuitous nudity and the sexual sadism was almost too well enacted. I felt sure that this was not what Zoe envisaged, and I felt embarrassed for her, but I was having problems of my own again using my cheap programme to cover my burgeoning erection.
For the second 'date' in a row I dropped her home and then took my own pleasure.
This time I did take her phone number but it just made things worse than ever. I knew that I should simply walk away but the temptation to phone was almost overwhelming. For the first time in my life I found myself masturbating over a real person rather than some anonymous porn but it simply made me feel sordid.
After a few days I caved it but it seemed that she had a very lively schedule and she could not meet up until almost a week later. I wanted to talk and suggested a pub. She gave me the name of a place a little further out than I would normally go but I went along with it.
