Author's Notes: This story is erotic fantasy written by Etaski. I reserve the right to be listed as the author of this story, wherever it is posted. If found posted anywhere except Literotica.com with this note attached, this story is posted without my permission. © Etaski 2010
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"So now, as an infallible way of making little ease great ease, I began to contract a quantity of debt—"
"Are you available?"
She'd been trying to read Dickens in the library, trying anything to better her mind and she'd heard he was good, when the man spoke to her.
It had been a while since she heard the familiar timbre of command and it immediately caused a surge of tension and want within her chest. As she had been left to pace the opulent mansion for three days now, it seemed he'd been ignoring her, gone or otherwise busy with his business.
The business she had helped him build.
He had an old-fashioned library among the many rooms here. Even though she knew most of the books were there just for show—just so his clients could look in awe at the matching hardcover set, dark shelves, and clean lines of his study wrapped around large, expensive oak furniture— the very thought of herself reading and knowing one of his books better than he did was satisfying.
It was something, anyhow. Something that meant she still had a mind of her own. So she told herself.
But then he'd say something to her and break her concentration almost immediately.
"Andrea, are you available?" he asked again more slowly as if she hadn't understood him the first time, hazel-green eyes clearly mocking her though his tanned face was irritatingly neutral. He was holding a squat glass of amber liquid on the rocks in one hand; he was missing his suit coat, but still wore his fine linen shirt, wine red tie, dark grey slacks and polished dress shoes.
He cut a fine figure. They both knew the true answer to his question: she was always available.
She closed the book, along with her expectations for finishing it, and set it down on the coffee table. She smiled at him and stood up, smoothing the China blue satin dress that fit close to her torso and trim waist, hugging womanly hips and thighs and ending in a small flare at her knees.
"Yes, always," she replied, and still it caused that small tick in her jaw, that slight waver to her smile, to have to say it out loud. "What do you need?"
He pointed casually to a spot on the rug; it was a stylized sunburst amid Arabic geometric designs, and in a central spot right in front of his big, oak desk, surrounded by ornate lamps, a writing table, and a few interview chairs facing the desk. She obediently walked to the spot in strap-back heels that matched the blue of her dress, her posture of that intangible, elegant quality, as if she'd gone through finishing school.
Andrea waited until he'd loosened his tie, glanced at her, then chin-nodded a bit impatiently for her to kneel down before she did. The carpet was plush beneath her knees, which was one small favor, and she fidgeted briefly with her tight dress again, trying to keep it smooth and in good order after getting down in front of him.
Her dress had sleeves that held only tentatively to her shoulders, revealing an appealing expanse of pale, smooth skin, and a lot of cleavage. He always smiled looking down at her breasts, lifted and pressed together; sometimes he slipped a single finger down between them, rubbing gently in and out in a playful hint of what was to come.
He didn't do that tonight; he took a breath and ran a hand through short, very dark brown hair before letting it out. He looked kind of tired. "Well? What are you waiting for?"
She swallowed, noticed her mouth was already salivating, and reached to loosen his two-hundred-dollar belt, unclasping and lowering the zipper on even more expensive, grey dress slacks. The fact that he was wearing a pair of navy-colored, men's bikini briefs didn't surprise her. She could already see the well-groomed trail of dark hair leading beneath the low-slung fabric. They fit very well and the elastic band didn't resist too much as she pulled them down with one hand, carefully withdrawing both his semi-erect cock and his scrotum as well.
Her bare hand touching him caused faster swelling and he breathed out quietly, seeming to being to relax. She heard a soft slurp as he took a drink of cognac and he touched her black hair encouragingly as she jerked him once, twice, then parted her lightly painted lips to take him deep into her mouth.
He sighed louder, his buttocks flexing as he pushed in far as he could go, as she started suckling him. "Always the good sword-swallower, eh, Andrea? You remember the first time you went down on me?"
She kept her eyes closed, not wanting to remember. He hadn't even opened his own pants back then...she had. Why had she thought acquiescing to do it then would have spared her more of this humiliation in the future?
He'd certainly proven her wrong on that, systematically pushing her boundaries further and further over several months until she had lifted her shirt and lowered her panties for him, until she had felt him tear her hymen and felt his semen dripping out of her after he was done. Even later she had found herself on all fours in his father's place, him balls-deep and reaming out her asshole as she became a pillow-biter.
He kept pushing and taking everything, one by one, because she'd felt she had no choice but to let him.
Well...she truly had no choice, now, unless she wanted to go to jail right along with him if she didn't help protect them.
Wet slurps and sucks and a squelching noise accompanied her work as he moaned softly, a different kind of tension quivering along his frame as he had to lean back against his desk. He was close...
There was a knock on the door.
"Fuck," he hissed quietly, immediately irritated and reached to grab the back of her neck to hold her mouth on him in case she'd been about to pull off. "Goddammit..."
He set down his cognac.
"What is it?" he asked with raised voice.
"It's Mr. Garrity, boss," said a brusque, podgy voice through the thick wooden door. "He came back to talk business."
