Author's note: For the purposes of characterisation and plot development you may wish firstly to familiarise with chapter one, though a brief synopsis is provided. Things take a dark turn in this sequel, hence the categorisation. Therefore, if scenes of reluctance, coercion and force are likely to cause upset, you may wish not to read on.
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My name is Richey Davis and this is the continuing saga of the most amazing day of my entire life, a day in which nothing – so far – had gone wrong. It was as if some inexplicable kind of divine intervention had taken place overnight to right the wrongs of the previous 24 hours.
Dumped by my long term lover Debbie on Thursday night, Friday began with the discovery of an angel living next door. And my new neighbour Zara was no regular angel but one with the sort of devilish tendencies I could barely wait to uncover.
Wiped out at the card table on Thursday afternoon, the corresponding lunchtime had seen the losses retrieved with interest. Not only that, I'd gotten one over on arch nemesis, Ronnie Carver, the win made so much sweeter by the fact that he was Debbie's former husband. He'd been trying to split us up for ages and I suspected his bragging had prompted Debbie's decision to end the relationship. Well he'd succeeded, but who'd had the last laugh?
Then a few hours ago, by some strange twist of fate, I'd recovered my stolen car, a near vintage XR3i, the marque of the boy racer from which I'd evolved. Being back behind the wheel gave me such a buzz.
And, as if that wasn't enough, I'd just enjoyed the most mind blowing threesome imaginable with two uninhibited East European strippers. Taking turns, Saskia then Natalya sucked my cock raw, after which they performed a girl-on-girl show to savour. It was all I could do to drag myself away.
Not a bad start, it was the promise of what might lie ahead that caused goose-pimples to erupt all over my body and my groin to throb. My mind in overdrive, the time had arrived to up the ante and see just how far I could push the envelope.
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The journey from Saskia's flat the outskirts of town was peppered with continual interruptions from her friend Natalya, the girl I'd selected to help with the next piece in the master plan. "Ree-chee, what you want from me?" she enquired in her East European whine. "Where you take me, Ree-chee?"
On and on she persisted until it became annoying and I was minded to silence her. Yet, desperate to keep her sweet, I didn't rise to the bait. For what I had in mind couldn't work without her. Biting my tongue, I staunched the urge to retaliate, thinking ahead to when this particular episode would be over, and the opportunity to move on to better things. Some eight and a half hours of the day remaining, that was a cheery thought.
But for now my mind was focused on Laurie Johnson and a bitter revenge. Johnson had been my line manager for a year or so until yesterday when he helped get me fired. The sort of boss that loved to talk the talk, like many power mongers he couldn't walk the walk. Transparent and full of bullshit, lies and hollow promises, I'd sussed him straight away.
It would be no boast to say that, with my negotiating skills and encyclopaedic knowledge of the business, I'd almost single-handedly made our department the most profitable in the organisation over the past twelve months. But did I see any of the proceeds? Did I fuck? Johnson took the plaudits and the bonuses as well, lining his own grubby pockets at my expense. Five per cent? That hardly covered my bar bill.
Unsurprisingly, that kick in the teeth six months ago coincided with my declining attitude. Once it became apparent that no matter how hard I tried or how many extra hours I put in, I was going to be overlooked, all enthusiasm ebbed away and naturally I started to slack. Silly things like turning up late in the morning, taking the odd long lunch and bad-mouthing the customers started to become commonplace.
Little did I know that my days at the firm were numbered, in any event. Unbeknown to me, my every move was being watched hawkishly and that the misdemeanours rigorously catalogued. Had I known, I might have jumped ship earlier.
Yesterday it finally came to a head. £200 down in The Crown during the lunchtime stint, I was hardly inclined dash back to the office. So I played on, ignoring the clock and chasing my losses. The only trouble was, by 2.30 the debt had doubled and I was in a foul mood.
Upon my grudging return to the office Johnson was waiting, his arms folded and face thunderous. Frogmarched unceremoniously down to HR like an AWOL soldier facing a court martial, the threat of "You're for the high jump this time, Davis," rang in my ears.
I could undoubtedly have bluffed my way out, issued a humbling apology and promised never to do it again. That way I might well have escaped with little worse than a verbal warning. But, so wound up at losing at cards and Johnson's supercilious attitude, I chose instead to deck the little gimp, utilising a sweet right hook. Johnson fell like a Portuguese footballer, clutching his bloodied nose.
That it happened right under the watchful eye of the MD gave me little mitigation. There was no excusing that kind of behaviour and I was sacked on the spot for gross misconduct. What made things worse, if that were possible, as I trudged away Johnson had made a miraculous recovery, sporting a huge grin. Like a mug I'd fallen for the oldest trick in the book.
One small consolation, however, being dismissed in that manner meant I could return to The Crown to chase my losses even further. Though, as you know, those losses had snowballed to £1000 before the day was out. When Ronnie Carver turned up the fateful hand I realised my relationship would soon be history too. It would be fair to say that yesterday hadn't been one of the better days of my life.
