10

The Crystal Palace

by Simon Underfoot

Copyright 2024; all rights reserved

Chapter 9

I read through my notes from the dossier a final time, feeling like a movie villain preparing for the final showdown with his arch nemesis super spy.

Gillian McIntyre, age forty-four

Vice President of Sales for The Lemar Group, with the firm four years

Previously Head of Procurement for D.D. Marks, a local department store chain specializing in upper middle class female fashion

B.S. in Industrial Engineering; MBA in Sales & Marketing

Divorced twice with a twenty year old daughter from her first marriage named Phoebe; believed to be unattached

Past partners tended toward tall, muscular men younger than herself

Sexual preferences not known

"Nervous?"

I looked up into Kristine's haunting eyes and shivered, the way I often did, an odd mixture of longing and regret at what could be and yet never would. With a sigh I set down my pad. "I'm not sure. Anxious, I guess, but that's roughly the same thing. You?"

"Not at all. Negotiating is literally my favorite thing in the world."

"Better than sex?" I teased. She had a voracious appetite and Mia and I had been hard pressed to keep up in the week since she'd started working with us.

"Different," she couched, at which I quirked a brow. Unperturbed, she smiled, the Cheshire version that meant there was some underlying meaning to her statement that she might choose to tell me someday... if I earned it.

After a few seconds looking into her enchanting eyes, I acquiesced and stood, then shrugged on my jacket. The suit was black with faint red pinstripes, my tie carmine. Kristine's attire matched mine, a tailored business suit with a mid thigh skirt and white blouse, but the highlight was the deeply red square peeking from the jacket pocket, an obvious nod to my condition. "You look amazing."

She stood there, meeting my eyes, and smiled. 'I know,' they said. A ding from my phone interrupted our standoff and I glanced down; I'm sure I frowned.

"Something wrong?"

"Steve's on his way up with our guest... and her daughter."

Our eyes met again, but there was no smoldering tension this time -- Kristine was fully focused on the problem at hand. "It's a bargaining tactic of some kind, but I don't know what it might be. She was referred to you by Bethany DiVincenzo, so she obviously knows what to expect when she gets here." Kristine shook her head, frustration evident in the pucker of her painted crimson lips.

"I --"

"Wait!" Her sudden exclamation caught us both off guard. "Sorry, Joe, I didn't meant to interrupt." Strictly speaking, that was definitely not true, but it was more interesting that she'd apologized at all, a first in our still growing relationship. "Go over and have Mia hook you up to an IV. I'll greet them and see what's going on while you listen. If they're playing a game of some kind, I'll send them on their way, or maybe have them go see Ms. Welles." Virginia was the one person that I knew intimidated Kristine, so I smiled seeing the ever-so-slight evil gleam in her eye. "It should give us the edge back."

"But why an IV?"

The gleam grew. "If they still want to haggle, you can tell them you were just getting yourself prepared for an extended 'negotiating session.'" She air quoted the final two words as her smile erupted, gleeful and wicked.

I would just as soon have met our prospective clients head-on, but showing trust in Kristine was important; plus, her plan sounded like more fun. Behind the privacy curtain and laying on the medical couch, I smiled up at Mia, who bent down to give me a light kiss. "Kristine's something else," she whispered in my ear, then winked. A minor prick and saline began entering my arm.

"I think I'm starting to understand her," I replied softly. "Let's get through today, then the three of us can sit down tomorrow.

"Otherwise, is everything ready?"

Mia looked around as she nodded, her eyes hopping between various items laid out upon a silver tray or the counter on which it rested. "I was just finishing my prep."

Steve's knock sounded -- a tap, then two more.

Kristine greeted the two visitors warmly, though with less than her usual gusto, and led them over to my desk. She apologized that I was indisposed for the moment, but could she offer them something to drink? Yes, we had white wine, a very mild

Pinot Grigio

from upstate New York or a stronger

Sauvignon Blanc

from California. Steve was soon sent to retrieve three glasses of the former, and upon a moment's reflection, "Perhaps you should just bring the bottle."

It was interesting listening to Kristine spar with the rich, confident voice of our prospective client; the woman was like a skilled fencer, easily parrying each interrogatory thrust. Over the course of about ten minutes, Kristine's milder vocal facade began to fade as she increased the directness of her inquiries.

In the end, it was simple: our guests were unwilling to discuss any business dealings without me present. Defeated for the moment, Kristine relented, poured some more wine, and turned the conversation to local politics.

Mia tapped my shoulder and pointed to the now empty bag and I nodded. A minute later she had me ready to go, complete with red vet wrap around my forearm. A good luck kiss on my cheek and I was released to the wild, but not until I'd rolled up my second sleeve, loosened my tie, and unbuttoned the top of my shirt -- it'd worked with Bethany, so I figured, 'why not?'

The curtain slid back with the satisfying scrape of metal rings on a metal rod, halting conversation across the room immediately. I was glad to have the few seconds it took to cross the space to prepare myself as all three women stood to receive me.

I knew Gillian McIntyre was attractive in a general sense, but the picture in my file failed to capture the natural, almost effortless elegance she exuded, even from afar. There was something about the poise in her posture and expression combined with the way she'd allowed herself to age gracefully that had me walking a little taller as I neared. "My apology for keeping you waiting, Ms. McIntyre," I said, taking her hand.

She leaned in to be closer to my ear. "Gillian, please." I could barely hear her cracked whisper above the background hum of the ventilation. "And this is my daughter, Phoebe."

Where the mother was lovely, the daughter was pretty, though somewhat plain. Wide cheeks, a soft chin, and irises the color of milk chocolate. Unlike her mother, who was dressed impeccably in a very high end suit, the younger McIntyre's outfit was less formal: tan slacks, a cream pullover blouse with a scoop neck, and a fairly boxy navy blazer. "Hello, Phoebe, I'm Joe." Her smile was a bit nervous and her rich voice broke just a bit when she replied, unlike during the back and forth with Kristine.

I pulled my chair around the desk so there wouldn't be any barriers between the four of us and eased myself back, mentally preparing. "Again, I'm sorry for the delay," I said to Gillian. "When we heard that Phoebe would be joining, we thought it worthwhile to ensure I was properly hydrated, just in case." I pointed to the bandage on my arm and looked to the daughter, who blushed ferociously, nearly matching my tie. Phoebe took a calming breath while trying not to let us see, which was quite charming.

"Thank you, Joe, and my mother is sorry for the abrupt change. Her voice started to go last night and she asked me to come speak for her just this morning when it went entirely. Hopefully that isn't a problem?"

"I'm sure we can make it work." I offered both of the women a calm smile. Then I waited.

The silence started to feel very loud as seconds slowly marched by. I looked back and forth between them, and even over at Kristine, before once again picking up their gazes. I forced my leg to stay still and my hands not to fidget, though I tilted my head from one side to the other every so often.

Gillian finally let out a small sigh and nodded to her daughter, but she didn't look upset.

"There are several excellent accounting organizations here in the city, Joe." Phoebe's tone was perhaps a little too harsh for the opening salvo, but I didn't hold it against her -- she'd been pulled into the discussion with very little notice and probably knew almost nothing about me or the firm.

"Of course," I responded, relieved to actually be starting the negotiation in earnest, "but ours is unique, as you know. I assume that's why Gillian asked for the meeting..." I met the older woman's eyes, but she was in game mode and didn't smile back.

"Your hourly rates are too high, and there are serious concerns about the long-term prospects of your firm."

"The rates are negotiable. As for the other point, what gives you pause?" I was truly curious -- so far as I knew, the books were solid -- we're an accounting firm after all.

"Well... you."

"Huh." I sat back in my chair and folded my arms, lips pursed. "I'm sorry, Phoebe, but I don't follow."

She looked to her Mom and some silent communication took place. "I don't know how to put this without being blunt, but if the firm is so desperate for business that they need to hire a --" She stopped herself before saying something truly offensive, but I'd gotten the gist.

"One moment." Back around my desk, I opened a drawer and pulled out my still framed accounting license and corresponding diploma, setting them on the desk for them to see. On the latter,

Summa Cum Laude

was prominently written. "I do understand your concern, but I've been with the firm for several years. Furthermore, as you are likely aware, the majority of our colleagues are women. To be hired into such an atmosphere was... not easy. I hope you can at least accept that I'm an excellent accountant and a reasonably intelligent guy in general.

"As for this," I continued, gesturing at my tie, "the firm didn't know I was Afflicted until recently. The promotion to my current position was not so much desperate as opportunistic." I let the words hang for a short while. "Have I allayed your concern?"

The women looked at each other and after another silent dialogue, Phoebe asked if she could have a few minutes to discuss how to proceed with her mother. "Of course," I replied, then led Kristine over to the bed.

"I want her."

"Who?"

"Phoebe." The look in Kristine's eyes was fierce, but it wasn't directed at me; she was peeking over my shoulder at our two guests. "Affect her, but don't let her cum. I want her begging."

"Kristine."

She didn't respond, fixated as she was with the woman behind me.

"Kristine," I said a little more firmly, placing a finger under her chin and guiding her attention back to me. "This is my game." Now I caught the full ire, and inflamed as she was, I was tempted to back down. Except this was my domain, absolutely. I'd intended to play this out in a couple days with Mia, but I was following a hunch. "On your knees."

"Joe --" Panic. Just a hint, but it was there in the corners of her eyes, the hitch in her breath. "Not in front of her."

"It's your choice," I replied quietly, leaning close. "If you want to be part of this negotiation, you'll follow my lead." I straightened. "Or you can head home for the day and I'll catch you up tomorrow with what happened. No pressure from me. No consequences for you. Like I said, totally your choice."

Her nose wrinkled in frustration and her nostrils flared. Seeing her slowly lower herself to her knees was thrilling.

"Ankles crossed and fold your hands in your lap." Kristine glared, then complied like a good girl, so I smiled down at her. "You look gorgeous." I turned away before she could respond, but not before I saw her cheeks flush red in embarrassment. I walked slowly back to mother and daughter.

Phoebe's mouth was open slightly, staring at Kristine, who was meeting her gaze defiantly. I made a show of looking back at my employee, then frowned dramatically. "Eyes down, Kristine." Another glare came my way before she complied. "Good girl." Praising her aloud made Kristine flush brighter, even as she muttered angrily under her breath. I turned back to my opponents. "Do you need more time or are you ready to resume?"

Gillian appeared pensive, but still had her game face on; the look Phoebe gave me, on the other hand, was incredulous, so I gave her my confused, concerned expression. "Is everything okay?"

"Why is she kneeling on the floor?"

"Yeah, sorry about that," I replied with a faux grimace. "She's a bit frustrated with how the negotiation is going and asked me to... well... it doesn't really matter just now. The bigger point is that you're stuck with me. Hopefully that's acceptable?" I was hamming it up a bit, which they obviously knew, because I finally saw Gillian's lovely grin.

Getting back into character and letting out a frustrated sigh, Phoebe got us started again. "Charles and Sons offered rates fourteen percent below your standard." I nodded. She stared at me for more than thirty seconds. "Well?"

"Well what?" Now it was Phoebe's eyes that narrowed.

"What is your counter proposal?" Her tone was curt, the words clipped.

I shrugged. "I don't have one."

She paused, put off by either my audacity or ignorance. "But a competitor is undercutting you... by a lot."

"Listen, Phoebe," I said in an intentionally familiar way, "if you really want to go with Charles and Sons, there's really nothing we can do to stop you. They're priced low because their execution is poor and their customer service is terrible. You know this, of course, or you would have already accepted their offer. Michelard or PBG would have been better comparisons, and we're competitive with both of them."

"Barely," she scoffed. "Your base fee is still a point and a half higher than either."

"All told, I'd say that's a bargain."

"For what?"

My shrug this time was confident, accompanied by a smirk as I leaned back in my chair.

"You've got to be kidding -- we're talking over a hundred thousand dollars more per year over the life of the contract." I nodded smugly and she folded her arms. "Nobody's that good."

Rising, I held out my hand to Gillian, who looked at me curiously as I pulled her to her feet. "How about a demonstration... on the house?" My offer took her sideways and now it was the mother gawping at me. I stepped close, scarcely a hands breadth between our chests. "I promise to be gentle," I whispered into her ear.

"Mom," Phoebe protested, but Gillian was looking at me. Her smile returned and I leaned in, kissing her lips gently.

There was no urgency, nor really any passion. It felt like kissing a friend rather than a lover, but as she relaxed into the kiss I felt her perspective shift. Her lips became firmer and she pushed forward, pressing her breasts against me. When her tongue tasted mine I moved my hand to the base of her neck, rubbing gently as the other found her hip and pulled her closer.

When we broke it was with smiles, though hers faltered as a wave of dizziness passed over her.

"Mom?" Phoebe was there in a moment, holding her shoulders as I backed away. It seemed Gillian was quite sensitive to my pheromones.

Waving off her daughter's concern, Gillian held out a hand to me and offered a less hesitant smile; I was soon leading her to the bed, leaving Phoebe to watch after, stunned. With Gillian settled, I returned to Kristine, still kneeling where I'd left her. Rather than help her up, I stepped out of my pants, presenting her with my phallus. "Get me ready."

Yes, it was dehumanizing, but that was the point -- to take away her control. I got another glare, but Kristine was soon sliding on and off my cock, occasionally adding in her teeth to discipline me. I let it go once, but the second time I backed away. "Behave or I'll send you home." Even after so short a time sucking me, the juice had already started to work its magic; if Kristine left, it would mean several hours trying and failing to get relief.

"I will," she replied urgently, more docilely than I'd yet heard her say anything.

Letting out a long-suffering sigh I stepped forward again. Her resumed effort was much better, trying to get enough juice from me to get off, but that wasn't part of the plan. Fully hard, I backed away again, then squatted down. "You are amazing." I held her eyes for some time, smiling, until she looked away shyly, blushing once again. "I'm going to give you a mouthful of juice... you can either swallow it and hope it's enough to make you cum, or you can crawl over and see if Phoebe wants it." Kristine's eyes got wide and she shook her head vigorously. "You wanted Phoebe," I said in response. "Think about her, affected, unable to get relief. She doesn't know what it's like, but you do. You can hold out, keep your wits... and when you can't take any more, when your heart's hammering and your pussy's on fire, drag her back to me. I'll fuck you till you're barely conscious, then let her suck my juice out of your cunt." I stood, the picture getting to me. "Open."

There was no hesitation and I pushed between her lips, quickly filling her mouth with the increased juice dripping from my cock. Then I was off to Gillian who welcomed me with open arms and spread legs, having doffed her clothing while I dealt with my protege. She was much more receptive this time, meeting my passion with her own, and I enjoyed the feeling of rubbing the underside of my prick against her gash, coating her tummy and lower half with juice.

"I'm ready," she whispered hoarsely between kisses and I raised up, then seated myself on the first try, courtesy of her guiding hand. My long, slow strokes were met with a tilt of her pelvis, telling me her favorite angle. An adjustment and she settled back, letting me do the work. Half a minute later she started to growl deep in her throat, the sound a rhythmic thing as our hips came together. The volume increased and I lifted so I could watch her bliss.

It started with her legs, which began shaking, then progressed up to her chest where her breathing became irregular. Tremors started at her hands, then raced up her arms and to her shoulders. The groan stopped as she sucked in a great breath. A long moment, motionless, then all at once she cried with a ragged, nearly silent scream as her back arched more than any woman I'd ever fucked, bridging on her head and her hips, her fat nipples fountaining milk in opposite directions as her entire body shook, displacing me in the process.

My absurd cock, angry, red, and aching to fill her, was pouring out a stream of juice that absolutely coated her spasming cunt and gaping asshole. Still she tried to scream, arching harder, raising up on her toes now that my weight wasn't holding her back. The pitch rose somehow, shrill and piercing just at the edge of hearing, then she toppled to her side where a torrent of fluid poured from her suddenly relaxed quim.

Amazed, lightheaded, I stumbled from the bed. "Mia!" I didn't wait, but instead moved unsteadily to where I hoped to find Phoebe and Kristine. They were by my desk, on the floor, locked in an aggressive sixty-nine, humping, slurping, fingering as they fought to be on top. Stumbling forward, I fell to my knees, grabbed the hips in front of me, and pushed into a very tight box, displacing a mouth in the process. Then I was cumming, my cock pulsing in time with the pounding in my ears. A passenger to my own pleasure, all I could do was hold on, which became harder when my jizz set her off, shaking beneath me. We rode it out together, still joined, until she finally sagged.

Exhausted, I pushed myself backward, looking down just in time to see my spend cascade out of a bright red pussy and into Kristine's waiting mouth. 'Wrong pussy,' I thought just as her delayed orgasm erupted.