Piers pushed himself away from his desk with a sigh. He stretched his back to try and ease the dull ache that had built up from being sat there for so long. A quick glance at his discrete, gold watch told him that Angela, his wife, would probably kill him when he got home. He sighed again.
"Well, at least it's bloody finished now," he muttered to himself as he gathered up the papers that were strewn across his desk. A quick shuffle into the flimsy, plastic folder and then he placed them in the wall safe that was built in to the wall of his large corner office. He was just putting on his raincoat when the door opened and one of his colleagues, Gloria Swandale strode in. She was startled by his presence and jumped slightly when she saw him.
At Piers' look of polite enquiry she said, "Sorry Toffee. You made me jump, I thought everyone had gone home, otherwise I would have knocked."
His name was actually Piers Toffington-Smythe, but his old prep school nickname had followed him though Cambridge University, the British Bar Association, Crown Courts and finally over the Atlantic to the New York Firm of Bader, Bader, Van Buren and Jones. Even his wife, Angela addressed him so, either that or Toffee Nose if she was in a playful mood. He also always knew when he was in trouble. If Angela ever called him Piers then he would run for cover.
He had been employed by one of the old, established firms and had made a name for himself as a devastatingly effective defence lawyer, firmly in the mould of the old school. Best of all, in his own opinion, he had met the love of his life when he was working at the Old Bailey in London. Angela was from a different social stratum than his, and Piers' friends had warned him that it would never work. They were wrong. His parents had not been very pleased and his mother in particular had kicked up quite a fuss.
Piers had been forced to warn them not to make him choose between his parents and his fiancée unless they were truly prepared for the consequences. It had taken a while, but his parents finally resigned themselves to a daughter-in-law who was not quite their-sort-of-people. Calm and reserved at all times in public. Always immaculately turned out in a dark double-breasted suit and University tie, with the plummy accent that is indicative of a private education in only the most select of schools. To all intents and purposes he looked the archetypal British snob. The appearance was deceptive. He was a down-to-earth man never who judged on first appearances and was far from a snob.
He grinned and asked in his deep, mellow voice, "It's okay. What do you want?"
Gloria strode across to his desk and dropped some paperwork in his in tray.
"I've just finished up on Barnwell v Barnwell. You said you wanted to look over the casework before it was filed."
"Oh, yes, of course. Thank you. Well I can't hang about. Angie's already going to kill me. Bye." With that he hurried from the room and headed down to the underground parking area to his car.
Gloria remained in his office. She still could hear his accent and it grated on her. The way he pronounced 'e' instead of 'a'," she shuddered as she recalled the way he had said, "Thank you."
She looked around the office at the rows of shelves filled with the books of law that were his reference library. The print of Constable's Haywain that covered the safe. She knew it concealed a safe, all of the partners had one. She herself was not yet a partner, Gloria had been hoping for it and indeed had been in the frame to be offered, however that old fool Van Buren had come across Toffington-Smythe during a professional visit to the United Kingdom and after one thing and another, she had been passed over.
It stung.
"Limey bastard," she muttered as she looked around, "This should have been my office."
She ran her slim and perfectly manicured finger along the edge of the mahogany desk and then slipped behind it to sit in his burgundy, leather chair.
Gloria decided that she would take a very keen interest in Piers Toffington-Smythe. A little bit of digging and who knew what a person could find. Especially one as adept as she was, and with all the contacts she had. After all, as her father had once told her, you can never know too much.
Piers pulled his BMW sedan into the parking spot outside the large suburb home he shared with Angie. As he walked up to the front door, he was struck once more by the differences between his life here in America and back home. The sale of his West End Flat had almost covered the entire cost of this colonial style, 4 bedroomed house. And what a house it was. Not only that, he was still amazed at how everything seemed so much bigger here. Houses, cars, personalities, everything.
He entered the door and called out, "I'm home. Sorry I'm late." As he hung his coat on the polished wooden hat-stand that stood just inside the front door, Angela came through from the kitchen. She was not happy.
"Toffee, it's after nine. Dinner's ruined."
He leaned towards her and gave her a perfunctory kiss on the cheek, "I know, I'm sorry. But I had to get the Fuji-com paperwork done."
She softened slightly, "Well, okay. But you work too hard. I haven't seen much of you these past few days."
Piers twisted his neck from side to side and stretched his back once again as he answered, "Well, it's done now. So we'll be able to see more of each other now."
His brown eyes held a cheeky glint as he pulled Angela into a hug and whispered, "Much more. Forget dinner, I've got a better idea." His hand touched her chin and he moved her face up to his for a gentle kiss. Angela allowed the kiss to continue for a moment before she pulled away slightly, "In that case, I won't forget dinner. You'd best eat, you'll need to keep your strength up. Come on I'll make you a sandwich."
She led him into the kitchen and sat him down at the breakfast bar. He watched her as she prepared his food. Angela was in his opinion, perfect. Just over five feet tall, blonde cropped hair and a slim, lithe figure. Legs that were long for her height leading to a small, rounded backside. Slim-waisted with small but beautifully formed breasts. Her eyes tinkled bright blue when she was happy and he loved that. Although they shined even brighter when she was angry and he loved that as well.
Piers smiled to himself, although he found her beautiful in her ire, it was a double edged sword. She rarely got angry and if she did, then it was always for good reason. Even though he outweighed her by about 30 pounds, and all of that well toned muscle he still wouldn't cross swords with her. She was a Nordic Valkyrie, but in perfect miniature.
After chomping his way through a huge Bologna sandwich, he swigged the last of his mineral water and gave a tiny burp, "Scuse me. That was lovely. Now come here, I fancy a bit of dessert."
Piers grabbed her hand and pulled her firmly into an embrace, to which Angela submitted easily.
They kissed, gently at first, and Angela felt herself warming in her husband's arms as his kiss increased in vigour, and she felt his hands slide down her back to firmly grip her round buttocks. Her own hands did not remain idle for long. She reached up to gently hold the back of his neck as they kissed and slowly pushed her soft tongue between his lips, moaning as she did. The vibration this sent into Piers' jaw sent a tingle down his spine, as she knew it would.
His kneading of her buttocks became increasingly forceful as she allowed her free hand to travel down his body and rub the growing bulge in his trousers. In return, he released her left buttock and started to rub her crotch, causing her dress to ride up slightly at the front as the material bunched between his hand and it's increasingly warm and wet target.
Angela moaned softly once more.
Piers stood up sharply, breaking the kiss and turning her round, bent her over the breakfast bar surface. He flipped her dress up so that her buttocks, encased in thin, white cotton panties were open to his view. He paused a moment to look at the sexual delight in front of him and rubbed his finger up and down the dark patch of moisture that stained Angela's knickers.
As she felt his finger brush along her swollen pussy lips, it caused a small shudder in her loins. She closed her eyes and rested her head on her crossed arms, "Now," she whispered, "I need it now."
Piers didn't even bother to pull her knickers off, he merely held them to one side, while he unzipped his fly and struggled to release his hard prick from his trousers. Once free, he placed the head of his cock at her entrance and slowly pushed it in. He loved the feel of her tight pussy and he loved the way her hot lips opened like a flower to allow him entrance. He wallowed in the silken trap of her womanhood as every inch of his rigid cock slipped inside.
Angela gurgled deep in her throat as she felt her pussy accept him and the joy that she experienced as the bottom side of his prick slid across her hard clitoris made her almost cry out.
Once he was firmly embedded to the hilt of his thick, seven inches, Piers took a firm hold of Angela's hips and began a steady, powerful stroke. Sliding out, almost to the tip before slamming his hardness back inside again. As he thrust in and out of Angela's soaking channel, she felt the air pushed out of her, and not just with the power of his lovemaking.
No, not lovemaking. Fucking.
He was fucking her like an animal, and she loved it. As the sensations in her hot, pussy started to increase in both presence and pleasure, she found herself unable to contain her lust. She was desperate to come and she was desperate to feel Piers come inside her. She started to push back against him with each of his inward strokes, so that his groin small against her out thrust backside. She could hear him behind her grunting and his climax started to build and she felt him thrusting even harder into her boiling love hole.
The waves of heat radiating from her pussy were signalling her imminent release, and as she fought to stop her legs from buckling underneath her, through gritted teeth she snarled, "Now! Now! I'm coming.... Toffee, You're making me come... Oh God... Ogodogodogod!"
