My new boss is an ice-cold bitch. Normally it would be up to Mr Charles to deal with her and the other directors, but Mr Charles retired early for health reasons and Karen is on maternity leave. That has left me as the most senior person on site, and Ms Wainwright clearly would rather be anywhere else.
As a warehouse worker who got herself promoted to marketing in exchange for a regular spanking from Mr Charles, I'm something of a fish out of water. I can't exactly explain to Ms Wainwright that my real job these days is flirting with potential customers. Not when most of my dealings with her have been via Zoom, or in the company of others.
"I need those numbers, Emily," she demands as I struggle with Karen's computer and wish things could be simple again.
Ms Wainwright is in her early forties, I would say. Her husband is also a director, and I know they happily pay themselves each four times my salary, which hardly seems fair considering how little effort they put into managing the business. As far as I know, they have no children, just a luxurious barn conversion out in the country, an apartment in town, and a yacht.
Her long, dark hair is always styled and immaculate, and she's always elegantly dressed in designer clothes. I can't help thinking her sex life must suck for her to act like such a bitch to others.
If anyone deserves to be a victim of the mischievous magic of my piercings, it's the Wainwrights, and it's been days now since I last had a chance to use them. The restless itch to fuck has built to the point where I'm likely to start kissing and fucking random strangers on the street, and I really don't want to be like that.
"I'm sorry, Ms Wainwright," I lie. "I only have them on paper, and I'm not entirely sure it's the right paper. Perhaps you could come in and take a look?"
She sighs irritably. "I'll ask Geoffrey to stop by later." The call ends abruptly.
I smile. That will actually work out better for me.
Geoffrey is not my type. He's short (shorter than me!), half bald, overweight, and if I weren't so fucking horny the thought of kissing him would probably make me sick. But I do, and when I do, the rush I get from the flow of magic makes me dizzy. He turns up in his black Lexus just after five o'clock, the warehouse staff busy closing down the operation, and I meet him outside, at his car. Not giving myself time to think, I lean in to kiss him the moment he steps out.
He recoils in shock, his face contorted with rage, but I know my tongue piercing touched his lips, and I watch with curiosity as the anger slowly gives way to confusion. "Why did you do that?" he demands, his accent posh and educated.
The cold aloofness in his air thaws as he regards me. "Not that I would complain if you did it again, but perhaps somewhere more private?"
My tongue piercing seduces. I have two other piercings too, gifts from a goddess in a pizza restaurant. They give me power, but it's a power that must be used or it will drive me crazy. Literally. It's a gift I'm grateful for because it gave me my girlfriend Jenna, but the cruelty of the gift is that it drives me always to seek new victims to corrupt with its manipulative magic.
I kiss him again, mostly to distract myself from the urgent hunger to do more. His tongue is in my mouth, forceful, playful, curious about the piercing that has already worked its mischief. "Do you love your wife, Mr Wainwright?" I ask.
His lips twist with displeasure. "I did, once. But ours was a marriage of convenience. Alexandra's father built this company from the ground. I had the family money and connections to take it from a small local operation and make it competitive on a national level. Alexandra only ever cared about the money."
There was pride in this short speech, and bitterness too. His eyes flash with anger. "Alexandra only ever cared about the money," he repeats. "Never for me. So no, I don't love my wife, Emily. I find affection elsewhere these days, and as long as I don't flaunt it, Alexandra pretends not to know."
His eyes narrow with sharp suspicion. "I don't know what you want from me, but you're a fool if you think you can get me to divorce Alexandra."
I shake my head. "I don't want you to divorce her." I bring my lips to his ear and whisper as seductively as I can, "I just want your tongue in my ass."
Geoffrey laughs loudly. "Then we really do need to find somewhere more private."
"Is there enough room in your car?"
He grins as he opens the back door. "More than enough - but it won't be just my tongue in your ass."
Naturally. And I really don't care. As long as he touches my anal piercing, the steel ring that loops through and about my sphincter, I don't care whether it's his tongue, fingers or cock in me. Well, that's not entirely true. The thought of a hard cock filling me has that tight little muscle clenching in anticipation.
I always wear a dress and high heels these days. It simplifies matters, even if I do miss the comfort of jeans and trainers. I climb into the luxurious car and kneel on the seat, hitching up my dress to offer Geoffrey my bare behind.
"How delightful," he murmurs, closing the door behind him. It's very quiet within, and the windows are tinted - but not so much that I can't see out, and others in. His hands find my cheeks, massaging them, spreading them to see the target. I'm wearing a red lace thong that he tugs aside.
A gasp of surprise. "What do you have here?" he says, his fingers instinctively pressing against the steel.
The abrupt release of magical tension is almost orgasmic. Geoffrey snatches his hands away. "That feels..." He stares at his fingers with a confused expression.
I swivel round to face him. He's mine, now. He touched the piercing. "Geoffrey," I say, "take me to your home. I want you to tie up Alexandra, gag her, make her watch you fuck my ass... and then make her lick your cum from my ass. If she struggles or complains, ignore her. I promise you she'll thank you afterwards."
