Lewis looked at the message on his phone and sniggered with egotistical satisfaction at the thought of Mrs P (as he'd called her in his contact listing) wanting him so badly she couldn't wait until 5:30 that evening. He read and re-read "Forget 5:30. Be at the office rear door 12:35," until the bulge in his trousers got so uncomfortable that he decided to try to calm down.
Emma Payton had spent all of the previous evening thinking about what Lewis had told her, and how he hadn't sounded at all upset by the way two of her friends had turned him into some sort of compliant plaything. She hadn't been able to work out if he'd actually liked being used, took it as a compliment that two middle-aged women would find him so desirable, or was now conditioned to it, but it hadn't taken her long to realise that she could probably do absolutely anything she wanted with him.
She'd taken an hour or two thinking about the pictures he'd confessed to posing for and decided that both her friends had different reasons. Claire had made Lewis wear three lots of underwear, so she'd probably enjoyed humiliating him, and the blackmail possibly an afterthought. Rachel had only made him pose briefly, so it probably hadn't turned her on, but that she'd felt the need to do it at all meant Lewis was wrong about Claire sharing her pictures. Emma laughed out loud at the realisation Lewis must have talked himself into being used by a second woman, just as he had with her, and then wondered if he was really that stupid or actually wanted older women to use him. It took her about a minute to decide that it didn't matter what he wanted. She wanted his pretty face between her legs, just like it had been three months earlier, only this time it was going to be down there for much, much longer.
He left a note for his mother who'd gone out to help a friend for the day not to expect him home, left her to assume that he would be working in the cafe which casually employed him during busy periods as a short order cook, ran all the way to Emma Payton's single storey office building, and sat on a wall to the rear wondering why Mrs P had given him such a precise time until exactly 12:34.
Lewis Carter then walked across the car park, knocked gently on the red door he'd seen the evening before, and stared open-mouthed at the stunning 43-year-old womwn who answered. He'd never seen Emman Payton in her full make-up, with her hair tied back and wearing such an obviously expensive all-black outfit of pencil skirt, silk blouse and high-heeled calf-length leather boots with bright gold zips up the sides.
"Come in," she grinned, "We're all alone and the front blinds are down so nobody can see in."
He instinctively reached towards her, but she patted his hands away, "No, I wanted you to come round because of a fantasy I've had for years, and thought you might help me to make it real." Lewis shrugged, half expecting a suggestion that he put on some of her underwear so she could take embarassing pictures of him in the office to use as unnecessary blackmail in the future, but she just smirked, "I've always wanted a man to go down on me at work. Under my desk if you know what I mean? Would you? I'll make it up to you later."
Lewis Carter didn't mind in the slightest. He'd spent 18 hours thinking about putting his head between her lithe, toned thighs, showing her how much better he'd gotten since the last time, and dreaming about what she'd do in return. He immediately knelt down at her feet, and shuffled backwards into the small space under her desk. "Are you comfortable?" she asked rhetorically, as Lewis shook his head and grinned in reply, "Not really, but I don't mind."
