Hedonist

Chapter 4: Taking care of business.

My new job was all that I had hoped for. It was for a long established investment bank. Old fashioned, in that it was still in the city of London, very close to The Bank of England. The chairman was a Duke! He had resisted the temptation to follow other banks when they moved to Docklands. I had my own spacious office and plenty of interesting work.

I had been there about a month when I was summoned to the Chairman's office. Had I done something wrong? I was shown straight in to his office by his Secretary.

The chairman, Sir Charles, stood when I entered and waved me to a chair.

"I hear that you have settled in nicely. Coffee?" he asked.

"I think so, and yes please to the coffee." I replied.

He poured the coffee himself and brought the steaming cup to me, then sat on the edge of the desk.

"I would like you to do something for me." He continued.

"Yes, of course." I replied.

If he had asked me to drop my knickers and bend over his desk, I am not sure how I would have reacted. But that was not the plan. He indicated a large-ish briefcase. Attaché case style.

"I would like you to take that to my son Alexander. In Paris."

How odd. Why could that not be done by a courier? But a trip to Paris sounded good.

"Certainly," I replied, may I ask what it contains?"

He smiled. "Five million Euros"

I spilled the coffee. I felt as though a cold hand had been thrust into me and gripped my stomach. I was speechless. Sir Charles explained:

"Sometimes a bank like ours has to make deals 'off the record'. This is one such deal. It will have to go today, there is a Eurostar train which will take you there directly. You may return straight away, or stay in Paris over the weekend, at our expense of course. A little bonus for you."

As a fairly senior employee, I had to keep a 'crisis kit' at the bank. This comprised a change of underwear, a clean blouse, necessary toiletries, and my passport. I had nobody at home who would miss me, nothing to stop me from being a female James Bond for a few days. Today was Thursday. Friday and Saturday in Paris, then a train back on Sunday afternoon. Why not? I said that I would.

"But that is a great deal of money, and you are putting a great deal of trust in a new employee."

"You have been thoroughly vetted. The only other senior staff that I would trust are married. Although they would agree to the task, they have families to consider." Sir Charles explained.

I nodded my agreement. How would I recognise Alexander?

"He will recognise you. As I said, you have been thoroughly vetted. My secretary will arrange the ticket. If you decide to stay over, the hotel also. She will give you some money for the trip and a company credit card, use it to buy more clothes and whatever else you need for your stay. The train leaves in just over an hour. Keep the case with you at all times, even when you have to 'pay a visit.' Enjoy Paris."

Thirty minutes later, I was being driven to St. Pancras in Sir Charles' Mercedes.

The journey went without a hitch. Customs were not interested in my bag of money, which I could not have opened anyway, there was a combination lock and I did not know the numbers. The bag was larger than my own personal possessions bag, but still surprisingly small. Almost before I could catch my breath, I was standing on the concourse of Paris, Gare du Nord. Feeling very vulnerable.

A voice beside me said;

"Clare?"

I turned to the source of the voice. There in front of me stood my mystery lover from Liverpool. For the second time that day, my stomach was gripped by that cold fist.

"I'm Alex Copemore. Sir Charles is my father."

***

He took the case and steered me, on very wobbly legs, to a coffee bar. I was in shock. I heaped sugar into the cappuccino ordered for me.

"I can't stay," said Alex, indicated the money. "I have to do something with this. Take a taxi to the hotel, put everything on the card. Meet me in the bar at seven tomorrow, have dinner with me at least. That's all. No pressure. If you decide to take the next train home I will never mention our previous meeting. But at least have dinner with me."

He grinned. "Don't sit AT the bar though."

He stood, kissed me on the cheek and was gone. I had not spoken a word. Of course I had hoped for an 'adventure' or two in Paris. But him! I could think of no other man who I would rather have in my arms, in my bed, between my thighs pumping torrents of aristocratic come into my commoner's cunt. But however appealing the prospect, there were complications.

He was a colleague. My boss in fact, but still a colleague. I had made it a rule never to fuck a colleague, not to mix business with pleasure. And the bank also had rules about fraternisation. Opening my legs to him, again, could mean the end of my career at the bank. I had twenty-six hours to make up my mind.

Twenty six hours later I was waiting for him in the hotel bar. I still had not decided. I would listen to what he thought about the situation. I had spent the day shopping. Shopping in Paris, in April, with someone else's credit card! There was trust! In fact I used it sparingly, using my own money to buy masses of clothes and associated frippery. I was dressed ready for a night of sex. My body was saying yes, my brain, no. Under the black dress was black underwear, trimmed with coffee-coloured lace. See-through hipster shorts, and of course stockings and suspenders.

My heart missed several beats when he walked up to me and again, chastely kissing my cheek. Over the meal, I have no recollection of eating it, I explained my situation.

"Your own rules are your decision," he said, "but I am a director of the bank, if anything happens to my father, the bank will be mine. The rules are what I make them. Whatever you decide, your job is safe. As for me, I would resign my position just to be able to kiss your cunt again."

My kissable cunt decided for me.

"Take me to bed." I simpered.

We stood side by side, not speaking, not touching, waiting for the lift. Nor did we touch in the lift. It seemed surreal. We both knew what was going to happen once we were behind closed doors, but we treated each other like strangers. In the room, his room, Alex (at last my mystery lover had a name) took me in his arms and kissed me. It was a lovers kiss, not a 'quick, get your knickers off' kiss. Only the pressure of a rigid column of flesh against my belly betrayed his passion. The wet gusset of my knickers betrayed mine, but he was not aware of that. Yet.

We broke the kiss, he removed his jacket and I slipped out of my dress to reveal my new sexy underwear. We kissed again, this time he pushed me back against the side of the bed and I fell across it. He knelt at the side of the bed, spread my legs, pressed his face against my crutch and inhaled, sniffing me like a dog. It was unbelievably erotic, completely animal.

Then he opened his mouth wide, placed it over the entire of my crutch and gently breathed his hot breath into my moist gash, inflating it like a balloon. I cried out it surprise, what an amazing sensation, truly a blow job.

He sucked me off like this, through the filmy mesh of my knickers. I could feel every kiss, every nibble, every stroke of his skilful tongue. He was unable to penetrate me with his tongue, but I did not need it. The pressure on my clit, combined with the mind blowing thought of being orally serviced while still clothed, brought me off very quickly.

After finishing me off so deliciously, he stood and removed his shirt and pants. His erection strained against the front of his shorts. I lifted my backside up off the bed and removed my soaking wet knickers. Doing so, I noticed that the room curtains were still open. The window was at the side of the bed, the side that my head was resting.

"Curtains." I ordered.

He looked up, postponed removing his last clothing, and came around my side to shut out the outside world. Private now, he pulled his shorts down, revealing at last his pumped up organ. I licked my lips at the thought of gulping it down my throat, but he chose to deny me that pleasure for a little while longer. He knelt again, this time at my head end and kissed my other mouth, then moved to my tits, sucking hard on each nipple before returning his lips to mine. Against my lips, he said quietly;

"Touch yourself. Let me taste you on your fingers."

I did as he asked, pushed my left middle finger up my slippery hole and offered the wet digit to his mouth. He sucked it clean an demanded more. Two fingers this time and again he feasted on my juice.

"More, more." He demanded.

This time I wiped my fingers across my own lips, he kissed them clean with his own. Then I transferred my essence to each nipple in turn. He cleaned each, lovingly. Each time I reached into my cunt for more juice, I lingered, enjoying my self-penetration. I realised that this was his intention, for me to masturbate for both our pleasures. The bastard had brought me here to fuck me, but was making me wank myself off!

I was happy to comply. I stopped feeding him and used both hands to satisfy myself, the fingers of one hand thrust deep up my fuck-hole, the middle finger of the other hand to massage my oily pleasure-bud to a screaming orgasm. Now I gave him both hands to suck clean.

"Now take it from the source." I suggested.

He moved slowly down my body, paused to kiss and lick whichever morsel he chose, until his mouth was at last on my gaping maw. His quivering prick hovered above my mouth. I reached up and took it gratefully into my cock-hungry mouth, sucking him deep. As he sucked my only partially sated pussy. I fed on his meat, using all my skill to please him. Very soon. Too soon, I sensed that his own climax was close. My next one was some way off, but I had had two already. This was for him. I held tightly onto his shaft to prevent his escape and sucked hard. His thick spunk erupted into the back of my throat, spurt after powerful spurt jetting into my mouth. He must have been saving it for me, there was a huge amount of the earthy, salty tasting delicacy. I drank it down gratefully.

Spent now. At least for the time being, he climbed onto the bed. I removed my stockings and sussies, and lay alongside, snuggling up very close.

"So," I said teasingly. "Daddy's a Dook?"

Alex smiled his crooked smile and nodded.

"What does that make you." I continued.

"Nothing."

"Nothing? The son of a Duke must have some kind of title?"

"It's complicated." He said.

I gently took the very tip of his damp foreskin between finger and thumb and used it to lift his limp prick, letting it fall back onto his belly.

"We have time." I quipped.

He sighed and began the explanation:

"Yes, my father is a Duke. An inherited title which he hates. He believes that a man should be judged by his deeds, not his inheritance. But he is sensible enough to acknowledge that the wealth that came with the title, comes in handy. And that there are many people who do believe in the so-called 'aristocracy'. So he uses the title as a means to give him leverage as a businessman.

He was the second son of the previous Duke. He, the previous Duke, was killed in an air crash, along with his first son, my uncle. This is not the first time that what is called; 'The Copemore curse.' has struck the family. In fact my father is the longest surviving Duke since the title was bestowed. He is sixty, all the Copemores look older than their years.

I too, am the second son. I have an older brother, Charles junior. He is called a Marquis, he will inherit the title from our father. I am allowed to call myself 'Lord Copemore'. But I only use the title to get theatre tickets an tables in good restaurants. I'm just Alex."

It took a while to absorb all this information. All the time, I had been coaxing his droopy weapon back to being a cannon. I said;

"And I thought that I was about to be injected by aristocratic spunk. I'm disappointed."

"It's not inferior." He replied. "On your back common wench, prepare yourself to receive the royal sceptre."

He entered me with ease and what seemed like familiarity. He was above me like this for the entire fuck, which was long and loving, and ended with him inducing another mega-come in me, right from deep inside. Only then did he anoint my cervix with yet more precious fluid.

We both fell asleep then. I awoke several times, I was not used to having anyone in my bed for anything other than sex. I eventually got up to pee. It was light outside. When I returned from the bathroom, Alex, still asleep, had rolled onto his back. The sheet had slipped off. He was naked. I knelt at his feet, sitting back on my heels. He was beautiful. How could that little wrinkled sausage give so much pleasure, I wondered. And what were these super-nova orgasms which he, and only he seemed able to produce in me. I could only assume that they were the 'vaginal orgasms' that I had heard about. Perhaps I had only ever had 'clitoral orgasms'? Who cared? I would take them as they came.

I found myself aroused at the thought. I was juicing freely. Alex was still sleeping. My fingers slid down to my junction. Another little wank could do no harm.

Of course it was not just a little one. Eyes closed, picturing Alex' lovely cock doing the fucking, I finger fucked myself to a big one.

When I opened my eyes and they swam slowly into focus, I found myself looking at a fully erect prick, not a limp one. I looked up at his face. He was smiling his crooked smile, his grey eyes twinkling in the early morning light.

"You were watching!" I accused. "I thought that you were asleep."

He lunged for me but I avoided him.

"Payback time." I informed him. "I've shown you mine, now you show me yours."

He raised his eyebrows. "You want me to masturbate?" He asked.

"Yes. And no faking. I want to see it squirt."

If only men could fake it. I know that some women do. I do not. I come for my own pleasure, my lovers come for theirs. At least, that was the case so far. No commitment, just selfish gratification. A woman can fake orgasm because she does not ejaculate. I know that some women claim that they do, but I am not convinced. Ejaculation is the only thing that I envy in a man. I do not experience penis-envy. As the old joke says; With what I have between my legs, I can have as many pricks as I want. If only on loan!

He had started his ministrations. With a firm, right hand grip, he stroked the loose skin sheath up and down his shaft, his purple tip showing more on each down stroke. Faster and faster he moved, until his hand was a blur. Then, with a grunt, he erupted. Four, five, six jets of warm, pearly come leapt out at me, splashing on my thighs. The last weak spurts running lava like, down his punished shaft onto his gripping fingers. I clapped his efforts. I love to see spunk leap. Alex had not disappointed.

He reached for me but I avoided him.

"Later," I said, "I'm hungry."

We had the classic French breakfast -- warm croissants, with apricot jam, washed down by coffee, served farmhouse style, in large handle-less cups, like soup bowls. We spent the day doing touristy things. He was wonderful company. We ate out that evening, at a small restaurant in Montparnasse. No tourists there, locals only. We taxied back to the hotel and were in bed quite early.

We kissed and cuddled for ages, building up to what promised to be more spectacular fucking. Eventually, Alex declared;

"If I don't get to fuck you very soon, I'm going to lose it."

I rolled onto my back, lifted and spread my legs, pulled my pussy wide open with my fingers and replied;

"All yours."

He placed a long kiss on my clit and said;

"Turn over, I want to make love to your back."

I obeyed, lying face down with my legs widespread. He pushed my legs together and starting at the soles of my feet, did just what he said; made love to my back. He stroked, massaged, kissed and licked every square centimetre of exposed flesh. When he reached my neck, he started back down again. He spent a long time kissing my buttocks, then pushed his tongue into the cleavage, questing for the tight bud of my anus, which he penetrated deeply with his tongue.

I wanted more of this and spread my legs to afford better access. He feasted on my arse-hole, kissing, licking and sucking at the tight valve until I could stand it no more. Alex sensed my impatience and turned his attention to my neglected cunt, repeating the treatment on this other hole, but occasionally moving back to the tighter one to swirl his clever tongue around it. He seemed to be avoiding my yearning clit. Perhaps he could not reach it in this position? But no. Anticipating my need yet again, he suddenly sucked the quivering bud between his lips and sucked hard. I came uncontrollably.

I felt him kneel between my thighs and pushed back and up to facilitate entry. He pressed his tip against my anus and pushed. No lubricant this time. And none needed. He slipped effortlessly into my rectum, paused for me to get used to his presence, then began to bugger me with considerable force. He did not last long, soon I could feel his seed jetting into my intestines.

He rested a while, his bulk heavy on me, then began to gently thrust again. He had lost none of his hardness, could he come again so soon? His actions answered my unspoken question. He pulled his prong from my ravished arsehole and replaced it up my dribbling cunt. This time he placed his legs outside mine and forced them closed, so that I was clamped tight around his cock. This was how he fucked me for a second time, stroking deep into my welcoming centre.

This time it took much longer for him to reach his pleasure peak. In fact I reached mine first, then he quickly pulled out and straddled my prone body. I turned my head to see what was happening. He was furiously wanking his wet prick. As I watched, he came with a roar, spitting spunk the entire length of me, from arse to neck.

I don't remember falling asleep. I awoke after an hour or so, needing to pee and to remove our sticky juices from my lower regions. It seemed comfortable now, having someone else in my bed and I slept well until it was light. I gently pulled the covers off Alex, just to admire his fine body. On an impulse, I leaned forward and took his soft prick into my mouth, swirling my tongue around it, able to take the entire thing into my mouth. I could taste his spunk and my own cunt-juice on it and I revelled in it.

Soon, it began to swell inside my mouth, until I could contain it no longer. I looked up at Alex' face. He was awake.

"The worlds finest alarm clock." He said sleepily.

He pulled me on top of him and we cuddled this way, his hands kneading the cheeks of my arse. I reached down and fed his erection into my wet slit. He began to push up into my body.

"No," I commanded, "let me fuck you."

He obliged, I did all the moving, working myself off against him. After my come, he tried to roll me over so that he was on top, but I resisted. Gripping his wrists, I used my weight to pin him to the bed and rammed myself against his hardness. I was wanking him with my cunt. He came powerfully, sending spurts of his precious stuff pulsing into me. When I had drained him, I released his wrists and leaned down to kiss him. I murmured into his ear:

"Perhaps some time, I will tie you to the bed and milk you for every drop."

"I will hold you to your promise." He replied. "There is going to be a next time then?"

I did not answer. He was the best man I had ever met. I felt that I could trust him completely. If he wanted to tie me up, blindfold me and use me for his pleasure, he could. It would be my pleasure also. Was I in love?

Today was Sunday. We had seats booked on an afternoon train, but we had time to spend a little more time enjoying Paris. We went to the Louvre. It's free on Sundays, so it was crowded with Parisians. We pretended that we were locals, enjoying the throng, speaking only French.