To all my readers: I would like to apologize for taking so long in posting this chapter. Some things came up that resulted in not having internet. I hope this new chapter was worth the wait and I assure you chapter four is well under way.
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Michael tried to focus on his work, but the figures in front of him just seemed to melt into one black, blotchy mess. Out of the chaos emerged an image; a perfect replica of the strange woman's face, or at least as perfect as he could remember it. How could he be so entranced by one human being? What was it about this female that seemed so different than the others he had taken? It was enough to drive him half-way to madness. He flung the papers down onto the desk out of frustration.
Punching the button on his desk, he spoke into his little speaker. "Stacy, would you come in here a minute?" A moment's silence crackled over the intercom before her voice responded, thick with lust. "Be right there, Mr. Sanchez."
He resisted the urge to cringe in disgust at the sound of her overly eager voice. 'What a whore,' he thought as the door creaked open and the afore-mentioned whore walked in. Her steps were on the verge of bouncing, causing her over-sized breasts to bob within the minimal confines of her blouse, tugging at the restraining material. Her hips swayed a little too determinedly in her tight black skirt that barely covered her round ass. Her slick, tan legs crossed with each step, as if she was strutting in as a queen.
Michael glared at her over the desk, twirling a pen in his fingers. She came close and sat on the edge of the desk, her skirt coming up, revealing the string of her panties. She drew abstract images with her finger tip on the desk-top as she curled her over-painted lips into a seductive smile and her eyes, half-closed, stared at him.
"You rang?" Her voice grated on his ears, but he needed some form of release so he could finish the day's work without incident. He continued glaring at her, letting tension build before his hand suddenly flashed out, jabbing her hip with the sharp tip of his pen. Letting out a little screech of surprise and horror, Stacy jumped off the desk and backed up a bit. She rubbed the offended portion of her body, staring at him in disbelief.
"Strip," he commanded in a low voice. She huffed as if insulted, but her eyes changed from offended to a glinting satisfaction as she began unbuttoning her blouse, her breasts all but spilling out of the scrap of fabric she had the nerve to call a bra. This she unclasped at the front and let it fall on top of her blouse. As her breasts flung free of their prison, she reached up, massaging them slowly, her eyes closing as she lifted one unnaturally swollen mound to her lips, running her tongue over the nipple, pulling it into her mouth with a moan as she teased the other with her thumb.
Michael growled with impatience and Stacy opened her eyes slowly, smirking as she lifted her skirt just enough to hook the strings of her panties, pulling them off, but making sure to keep her pussy hidden from him. Finally sick of the whore's games, Michael rose, walking slowly toward her for effect. She continued smiling, standing there as if to defy him. Only when his hand flew out, tangling tightly in her hair and yanking on it harshly did the fear finally register in her eyes. However, it was only a brief flicker as he pressed her tight against the desk, burying his face between her monstrous breasts, licking, kissing, and suckling along the sensitive flesh.
Without even an attempt at foreplay, he yanked his belt open and let his pants fall a little, his already eager cock jumping up. Stacy reached down, curling her manicured fingers around the stiff member, stroking it gently, her eyes sparking with determination. Michael groaned and quickly swatted her hand away, wrenching her legs open. He plunged into her, covering her mouth at the last minute to muffle her cry of pain. He grunted as she bit his hand, but other than that, paid her no mind as he began thrusting in and out, dragging his cock through her body as if she were nothing more than an item of pleasure, meant to bring him what he needed.
It only took him a moment to finish with her and leave her gasping, and on the verge of tears. He re-fastened his pants and looked out the window. While his body's appetite had momentarily been sated, his mind still yearned for that stranger and so, in utter defeat, he muttered to have Stacy close up the office early; he was going home.
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Emma looked dejectedly into the mirror as Charles fussed in the background, plucking and rejecting item after item from her closet. She rolled her eyes turning her rolling stool around to face him. He'd been rifling through her wardrobe for the past twenty minutes with no luck and her dresser sat dejectedly in the corner, a rumpled heap of dark hues reflecting her professional personality. Unfortunately, that made it a perfect target for Charles' off-the-wall fashion "advice".
"Now where did it go," the muffled voice of the desperate editor came from the closet. Emma tilted her head, furrowing her brow in question. "I know you had it in here. I saw it just last month when we went to that benefit dinner with the editor in chief."
That was the advantage and disadvantage to being part of a small company; everybody knew everybody. You didn't do anything without someone hearing about it and spreading it across the entire floor. Emma loved the tight-knit effect of family with the space of a career to keep meddlers out of her life, for the most part. Charles seemed to be the one exception, but it was a distraction she rather appreciated at times. Although, at the moment, as he backed out of her closet, clutching something tightly as if he had found Jason's Golden Fleece, she questioned just what about the man made her feel so close to him.
The article he had secured was, indeed, gold, but not nearly as humble as a golden pelt. Charles held up the gown and Emma groaned, remembering the man who had bought it for her; a rather self-adoring upper-class prick who had been the master-mind behind a lot of the flashy dresses and jewelry she had collected and later thrown away. Apparently she had missed a piece.
"You can't be serious," she said, half begging him to laugh and throw the dress aside as if he had meant it as a cruel jab. However, he laid it out on the bed, motioning for her to adorn it as he scooted her away from the vanity and began rummaging through her drawers for suitable accessories. Cringing as if the garment would bite her, Emma snatched it loathingly and headed for her bathroom.
The fabric slid over her hips like liquid gold and hugged her form as if caressing it. As much as she hated admitting it, she felt down-right sexy as she stood before her full length mirror, turning to see the dipping back that left much of her skin visible. The neckline fell low in a V-neck, exaggerating her cleavage and enhancing the size of her average breasts. The gown tapered down with her torso into her waist and back out into her hips, accentuating her hour-glass figure. Though the gown swished across the floor, there was a long slit that came up the right side to about her mid-thigh, making elegant movement still a possibility rather than a thing of the past.
Ducking under her sink for a brief moment, Emma pulled up an old, scarred box. Flipping it open, she pulled out a string of pearls her great grandmother had given her on her sixteenth birthday, and a matching pair of droplet earrings. After fastening all the jewelry into place, she took a deep breath and stepped out of the bathroom into the soft lamplight of her bedroom where Charles' sudden shock was almost palpable.
Emma felt heat rush to her cheeks as she did a little pirouette to show off their craftsmanship. Slowly, her friend rose to walk towards her and run a finger over the pearls at her throat. He fingered the earrings just as gently and then let his gaze wander down her figure, taking in every curve, every softened edge. Emma clasped her hands together and lifted them up to rest under her chin, as if hiding her body behind her forearms and fists.
"C'mon, Charlie," she said, a nervous laugh spilling over her lips. "You're going to have me convinced you switched teams."
