Can You Hear Me Now 2

Leigh Wingate was a woman obsessed - a woman plunging headlong into a new exciting double-life with eager (although not-quite-reckless) abandon. The last few months had left her giddy as a schoolgirl, caught up in a mad whirlwind, although slightly uneasy about what was happening so fast all around her. In her more sober moments, Leigh told herself that this was all too crazy, dangerous even, yet she managed to talk herself into thinking she could handle things; could carefully compartmentalize her work life and the secret home life she shared with this beautiful boy, her two worlds clearly defined, and kept neatly separated.

In the glass tower that served as Decko's corporate offices, her co-workers watched the crisp blonde striding the halls; a self-confident female executive clearly on her way up the corporate ladder. They thought of her as one of those independent, strong-minded woman; a sharp businesswoman, smartly-dressed with an engaging smile and easy social grace - a woman who would go far. But what they didn't know, would never suspect, was that that same night, once she stepped through her front door and into the arms of young lover, she would melt to become putty in his hands. For behind closed doors, this mature sophisticated woman would soften into a pliant sex kitten, a willingly submissive girl-toy for a guy almost half her age, yet one who could be so surprising masterful - a strong, virile, manly lover. The kind of man that was so rare today, she thought with an inner sigh.

But it was getting harder and harder. In spite of her best efforts, little by little, the line that divided Leigh's two worlds began to crumble. Thinking back on it, she decided it had begun with his phone calls. The first time he called her at work, she had been caught off guard; at once surprised, excited and vaguely resentful to find him intruding into her private office. But the sound of his voice instantly softened things, brought a flood of images of the night before: the frenzied lovemaking on the tangled sheets, their hot sweaty bodies clasped together and she raged out of control, attacking, impaling herself on his stiffly jutting penis, clasping his hard wiggling body to strain against his with that burning urgency in her loins; wrapping her long legs around his thrusting hips to pull him in, drawing him even deeper into her core with the banshee screech of a desperate cat in heat. The mere sound of his voice brought it all back to her with a powerful rush, igniting a surge of arousal that left her weak in the knees.

She was pleased, happily excited that he should call, yet a voice of caution in some tiny part of her brain, led her to politely but firmly suggest he not call her at work in the future. There was an ominous silence, a hollow pause, and then, still without another word from him - an ominous hiss at the other end of the phone.

When she got home that night, he was waiting for her at the door. She barely got her coat off before he had grabbed her and turned her over his knee. Before she knew what was happening, she had been abruptly upended and found herself on the receiving end of a decisive hand-spanking crisply delivered to her frantic skirted bottom. Afterwards he sat her down on her still warm and tender behind, and made it plain to her that she was never, never to tell him what to do again.

There were to be new rules. In the future, she was to keep her cell phone with her constantly; he wanted to be able to call her whenever he felt like it. She was not to turn it off, no matter where she was, or what she was doing. It must always be on; ready for his call. And she would answer the phone, promptly and with the proper respect.

The calls began coming the next day: calls that always left her unhinged, vaguely distracted and all a-tingle. Sometime they came at the worst possible time; a crease of momentarily annoyance would shoot across her brow, but the warm tingly feeling soon came over her and wiped out that and everything else, leaving her with a smile on her lips.

For a while he seemed to enjoy this new game - toying with her by interrupting her at work on a whim. But after a few days of this, he suddenly changed the rules again. Now, she was to call him. He would specify the time of day. There could be no excuses; he expected the call, and it must be made precisely on time! If she was at a meeting scheduled, she had to postpone it; if sitting in one at the appointed time, she had to find an excuse to get to the ladies room, or back to privacy of her office.

Such disconcerting calls were bad enough, but things threatened to escalate when he began to take a particular interest in what she was wearing that day when she went to work.

Even before he came to dominate so much of her life, he would make suggestions about the way he wanted to see her dress. She had nice legs, he said; he liked seeing them. She should show them off more often. He didn't like pants on women. In the future he wanted her only wearing skirts, narrow fitted skirts, pantyhose or nylons with her usual business suits. And high heeled pumps; he wanted her in heels. But it didn't end there.

Deciding he would improve her wardrobe, he promptly took matters into his own hands. He would spend his free time during the day at her place, surfing the internet, placing orders with her credit card for all sorts of skimpy lacy things for her to wear. One day a pile of packages was waiting to greet her when she came home from a busy day at the office. After supper that night, Leigh was made to put on a fashion show for her most appreciative male audience of one.

The grinning lad would lazily sprawl out on the center of the sofa, his eager eyes following the attractive blonde as she pranced about in nylons and high heels, provocatively dressed in some scanty little number he had chosen. She well remembered the exciting feel of the slippery camisole made of shiny metallic satin that hung just to the top of her hips from delicate shoulder straps that looped her shoulders. The outfit came with matching panties, but he insisted they come off before she started parading back and forth across the carpet in front of him, holding herself erect, shoulders back and chin high, proudly poised like some fashion model strutting her stuff on the catwalk. Troy applauded. He loved it!

The next day, while he was watching her getting dressed, he stopped her. Today, she was to dress for the office -without underwear! Like all of his increasingly outrageous demands, this one was made in a casual, offhanded manner, and with that little smile of his. But there was no doubt, she realized with a shiver - they were words to be obeyed. Knowing she was walking around without panties that first day made her feel sexy enough, but it was the feel of the slippery chemise he had bought her as it rubbed over her needy breasts that drove her to distraction, got her wet, and kept her simmering all day.

Her breasts might be small, but they were delightfully firm and pliant. They jutted out in hard defiance, pressing against the restraining jacket that hugged her trim form from layered hips to the high-buttoned tunic collar. There were only two people who would know that under that buttoned-up business suit she wore nothing but that slippery silk chemise - a half-under-slip that was so exiting next to her skin. She would be kept more-or-less constantly aware of the satiny lining underneath the tightly buttoned-up jacket, subtly teasing her hardening nipples during work till her body was tingling with excitement.

Incredibly horny, she could hardly wait for lunchtime when she would quickly lock the door of her office, assuring their privacy while with trembling fingers she punched his number into her cell phone. Her heart was racing as she waited, swallowed down the sense of simmering excitement. At his voice, so commandingly quiet and sure, she would let herself fall back in her big leather chair, giving herself in total surrender to his masterful command.

The orders he gave her were casual, almost nonchalant; offhanded orders - he never for a moment doubted: they would be obeyed. And obey she would. He told her what he wanted her to do, and she did it - frantically unbuttoning, slipping a hand inside her jacket to cup herself and urgently squeeze a wonderfully pliant handful of soft warm flesh under its cover of thin silk.

He made her tell him everything, exactly what she was doing as she gently kneaded her pliant breast, playing with herself, feeling herself up at the command of her young lover who held a phone to his ear so he could hear her labored breathing from the house on the hill across the city.

The End