Little Blac Dress

There might have been a more delicious way to wake up, but to that Aaron Debeney had yet to be introduced. The sucking started in his dreams, slow, wet and rhythmic. Gradually his mind unwrapped itself from swathes of sleep. Fully conscious he found himself bone-hard and the sensation ongoing. Apparently the weekend had arrived.

Peering under the duvet he saw a familiar platinum-blonde head bobbing industriously. He could not help but admire the architecture of his own manhood, as those pink satin lips slid back and forth over the swollen head.

"You've such a beautiful cock," she often told him, and after all the regulation concerns on that subject during his teens, it was gratifying to find himself more than adequate. Yes, he did look robust, more so with Carly's mouth moulding itself around the engorged glans. Her pretty eyes flicked upwards and regarded him naughtily. In the marine blue of her dilating pupils he could see the pleasure she took in his enjoyment.

She let him go and, still eyeing him, trailed her pointed tongue in a glistening path from the cleft of his balls to his erection's tip. "Sorry," she said with the sexiest penitence she could muster, "I've done it again. Taken advantage of your Saturday morning hard-on."

"I'll forgive you completely if you sit on it," he replied, assuming a generous tone.

Her face displayed lip-chewing desire to make amends. Shrugging the duvet off her shoulders, she slinked her bare, lissom form over his thighs and straddled his pelvis.

"That'd be my absolute pleasure," she said huskily, as she drew up the tight-sprung length from his stomach and teased its head up and down her slit's wet protrusion.

Aaron's whole body tightened in anticipation of their union. He stared up at the subtle undulations of Carly's body as she hovered there, toying with him against her slick opening. Sunlight was shafting onto her through the split in the curtains, showing off the golden-brown of her gym-taut body, the precocious upturn of nipples on high, firm breasts, that punky hair and the expression of loving arousal on her face. She was a splash of colour in his drab white-collar existence.

"Sit on me, sweetheart," he breathed.

Carly Temple slotted the bulged head of Aaron's prick inside herself and descended smoothly, luxuriously all the way down onto him, loving the sense of him filling her up. She bottomed out, resting her ass on his pelvis, basking for a moment in the snug fit of his cock inside her cunt. The blissed-out expression on his face made her smile. It mirrored her own deep satisfaction. He gripped her slim hips and she began to grind on him with gentle insistence.

A snug fit all round, she thought, as she leaned low over him to kiss his rising mouth. She ran fingers through his sleep-tousled hair and brushed the tips over his face's strong contours, continuing to rotate herself on him. His eyelashes brushed her cheeks for a moment. Then she pushed his head back onto the pillow and raised herself so she could enjoy his penetration more fully.

She had sworn she would never date any of the men who frequented her local gym -- preeners and leerers, the pack of them -- but she had broken her rule for a quietly charming financial planner called Aaron. And now he was her sweet, solicitous boy, one who never made her feel anything less than cherished. Especially now, when he stared with a type of wonder into her eyes and clutched her hips and drove upwards, slow and searching, into her moist depths.

She rode the blissful waves of his thrusting, feeling warm and stretched-out and sexy-as-fuck. She palmed her breasts in a state of advanced arousal, letting her fingers curl shut so she could tug deliciously on her nipples. She knew Aaron would enjoy the visual; he loved it when she gave herself over to the approaching ecstasy. It fired him up every time, made him thrust more insistently like now, pushing towards his own fulfilment.

Their bodies worked in perfect sync, locked at the junction of their hips, her steady flow of juices lubricating his cock's passage in and out of her tight channel. She rocked on him gently, one hand continuing to knead a breast while the other dropped down to move on her clitoris. He supported her with his hands and drove deep with groaning thrusts, initially slow, but quickening as their excitement mounted.

"God - God - Baby..." he was moaning, and she responded with a yearning, "Ohh - ohh - ohh..." The sun warmed them as they locked stares and fucked their way to a mutual crescendo.

"Come with me sweetheart, come with me..."

"Ohh - ohh - ohh - ohh -"

"Come with me - Oh god -"

"Ohhh fuck - fuck -"

He burst inside her with a guttural roar and she thrashed and gushed in response, keening her morning ecstasy. Their joy was protracted and intense and when it ended she subsided onto his chest and lay panting, her head resting against his.

"Love you," she said softly, when she had regained her breath.

"Love you too, babe." He kissed her forehead and she bit him playfully on the nose and they stared smiling into each other's eyes, terribly pleased with themselves.

"So am I forgiven for taking advantage?" she inquired.

"Of course you are." He kissed her face. "Until next time. Then I'll have to make you do penance all over again. You're my Saturday sinner."

"And Sunday," she reminded him.

"And Sunday. I reckon I could suffer your morning sinfulness all week long."

"I can't stop over every night," she said with an apologetic shrug. "I'd never get my washing done."

"Who said anything about stopping over?" He gazed at her frankly and her eyes widened.

"You mean... You think we should..."

"It's just a thought." He stroked her face. "Something that occurred to me. But look, don't fret about it if it's too sudden. I like having you around, that's all. Guess I thought it might be good to make the arrangement more permanent."

She beamed, more pleased than fazed. "Look, I've got to go and shower. I've that meeting with Miranda. But..." She brushed her face against his. "... Hold that thought and we'll talk it over tonight, okay? You can get me drunk and pleasure me beyond my wildest imaginings and then ask me again... and who knows what I'll say?" They smirked conspiratorially and she set about disconnecting their stickily adhered loins.

Aaron drifted post-coitally in and out of slumber as Carly was showering, her singing and the splash of water filtering pleasantly into his waking dreams. With one eye open he observed her wriggle her dainty self into designer ripped jeans and T-shirt. It was almost as erotic as watching her strip.

"So what does Miranda want with you?" he asked from among the sheets. "I thought you were done with her forever."

"I think," Carly said with a slight hesitation as she laced her feet into her trainers, "she wants to pass on a few tips before I take over at the branch. She said she'd buy me lunch. She doesn't have to. She's really busy right now what with her having been promoted too. It's nice of her."

"I didn't know she did 'nice'. Sure she's not going to hit on you again?"

"You wish." Carly smiled wryly and continued chatting as she vanished into the bathroom to primp. "You absolutely love that story. I can read your evil mind any time I mention it. Tell me you haven't had a whole lads' mag fantasy going on since I first told you."

"I haven't!" He protested his innocence loudly to the bathroom door. "I'm not sharing you with anyone, and that includes the predatory Miranda."

"Look, she was - she was drunk at the time and it was never mentioned again. It was more a joke than anything." Carly found herself strangely uncomfortable with the subject (her memories of the evening's latter part were sketchy at best) and made a rapid conversational detour. "Anyway it wasn't me she was getting predatory towards at the Vanguard Christmas do."

"Come off it..."

"She took quite a shine to you, babe. I felt like clinging on twice as hard as usual."

"No danger," he said. "Not even my type."

"Come on," Carly protested, returning into the bedroom and slinging on her mini leather jacket. She pursued her subject, unable to help herself. "You're not blind, Miranda's sexy as hell. You telling me you'd have turned her down if you'd been single?"

"She's more scary than sexy."

Carly raised an eyebrow, unconvinced.

"Seriously. No interest. That woman would eat either one of us alive after mating."

Carly was visibly gratified by his response. She dashed over to give her sheet-swaddled boyfriend a parting kiss. "Well we are both such tasty snacks." They lingered at each other's lips a moment.

"What say I take you out somewhere nice tonight?" he said, pulling her clothed self down onto his naked one.

"So we can have that talk?" she purred.

"Yeah. You can - can - what's the word? - premier that little black dress of yours. I know you must be dying for the chance. You haven't even let me see it on you yet."

She hesitated, that warm expression clouding slightly.

"Everything okay?"

"No - Yes, yes, everything's fine." She recovered swiftly from whatever had afflicted her and hugged him farewell, whispering in his ear as she did. "Yeah, I'd love to wear it. And I'd love you to take it off me - very, very slowly."

"God, is this my lucky weekend or what?"

"Check the calendar, babe. It says Aaron's Lucky Weekend. Bye."

~~~~

Had Aaron known it, Carly was not as chipper about the Miranda meet as she'd tried to make out. All the while she walked to the Tube station, all the ride on the Underground to Charing Cross, Carly was reliving that single act three weeks prior. It wasn't like she had a habit. Nor was she likely to establish one, what with the guilt and fear she had been swallowing down every waking hour since. Those were about the only feelings she hadn't shared with Aaron in the six months since meeting him.

Her parents had brought her up to work for everything she owned and so she had never felt dissatisfaction with her material lot. Not until the moment she laid eyes on that sexy garment. Picked it up to feel the soft, glossy fabric and draped it down herself before the shop's full-length mirror. It was like looking at someone else, someone rich and glamorous and at ease with both. Someone who felt the confidence Carly always had to fake. There, in the glass, was a young woman who had left her mousy teens behind her. Carly had blossomed, so her friends constantly told her, into a young woman, sexy and vibrant. Aaron was as lucky to be dating her as she him, they insisted. He'd be a fool to look around him like her previous boyfriend had done; his girlfriend was a catch. Well maybe in this damn dress she would actually start to believe it.

The thought of wearing the exquisite number to Kanaloa or Chinawhite, carrying it off with her proud boy by her side... She could be anyone wearing it. Hell, she could be Miranda. A covetousness that she'd never known before awakened inside her. Three months' hard saving would scarcely have brought it within her reach. But one act of madness had done. There was still an adrenalin-fuelled thudding within her chest as she recalled the moment.

Carly had never quite found the courage to wear her dress. Its dubious acquisition was poisoning her enjoyment. Yet Miranda French's demeanour had not altered, except to mellow into something like friendship as their working relationship had drawn towards its end. Carly was home free. There was no reversing what she had done. It was time to forget and enjoy. Wear it out on the town with the boy who had just suggested she move in with him. Her heart thrilled, driving away the last of her negativity.

Miranda was waiting for her in the Cellar Gaston wine bar on the junction of The Strand and Savoy Street.

"Carly." She waved across the busy lunchtime crowd and rose to greet her with a brief Continental peck on both cheeks. "So glad you could make it."

The dark pinstripe of Miranda's jacket and skirt set ablaze her red-satin top and its matching crimson lipstick. Curls of rich chestnut hair tumbled about her shoulders and her dark hazel eyes fixed on Carly, drawing her in. Everything in her bearing suggested a woman on the professional ascent.

"What can I get you to drink?" There was nothing more unnerving than usual in her tone as they took their seats, only the same briskness with which Miranda attacked the rest of life. She was using precious time from her final day's oversight of the branch, after all, to dispense whichever pearls of wisdom she deemed apposite. Carly relaxed and opted for a glass of house white.

"I was very pleased when you were offered the promotion," Miranda said, and Carly sensed warmth in her cut crystal articulation. "I did suggest you in the first place."

"I can't thank you enough for..."

"Good to know I'm leaving the branch in safe hands. Especially since I'm now overseeing it and half a dozen others."

I'm still your boss.

That was the clear subtext, but Carly appreciated the compliment nonetheless. "I simply feel you could benefit from some of my experience," Miranda went on.

"Yes, of course. Any advice you can give me will be..."

"I've had to identify the pitfalls all by myself of working in retail and believe me I can save you a good deal of grief."

So it went throughout lunch, Carly assuming the role of student at her mistress' feet, Miranda expanding on relations with staff and senior management, recognising and playing different types of customer, dealing with the accountants...

"Much of this is common sense," she concluded, pushing aside her empty veal platter.

"Yet it still bears saying."

"I know."

"This most of all..." Miranda's wine glass dangled between her palms. Her deepening stare drew back Carly's waning attention. "Never trust any of the junior staff. Never let your guard down, not even if their efficiency and apparent dedication tempt you to do so."

"Right, I'll remember."

"Like when you're puzzled by a discrepancy in the figures, Carly, and your explorations into the matter lead you to the purchase of an expensive cocktail dress. And no it's not a hypothetical, I'm talking about three Saturdays ago. You remember? Oh... Judging from that change in expression you do."

Carly felt the blood depart her face. Her confidence was never at its height in this woman's presence and now she felt reduced to a naughty child. "Miranda, I don't know what..."

"Oh please. Don't even try that route." Miranda's mock-sympathy was withering. "You're not that quick on your feet. Adept enough at your job, true, but--and I hope I'm not being unnecessarily cruel here - you're not as bright as you think you are."

Carly's stomach churned as Miranda's full inquisitory stare was turned upon her. In desperation she tried another tack, one deliberately different from the subservient tone she adopted naturally in her boss's presence. "Look, Miranda, whatever you're thinking, it's nonsense. You're under some... some misapprehension and I really think you need to go sort it out. Thanks very much for lunch, but I'm meeting Aaron and..."

"Scratch that, sweetheart, you're going nowhere." Miranda's stare was as level as a sniper's, her words quietly crushing. "You're on my schedule now and if you want a way out of this then so's your boyfriend. Now you hear me out and then we can decide where we want to take things."

Carly listened and quailed as Miranda shared her findings, her mind grasping ineffectually for some get-out clause. Fear mounted as her list of options grew short. There was nothing she could say in her defence. She had worked so very hard for what degree of success she had achieved in Vanguard, only to jeopardise it all with one impulsive act.

"So," Miranda said, having laid out the situation's facts, - the checking and double-checking, the damned eye-witness account - "the only question which needs answering is how much you value your career."

Carly hated how pathetic and forlorn she must appear before this woman. "Look, Miranda," she said, her voice faltering, "what do you want me to do?"

Miranda smiled on her like an older sister, albeit it with something less than familial lurking underneath. "Poor pretty Carly. It's much too public here to talk about what I want. Let me pay up and we can go somewhere more... conducive to the conversation we need to have." She reached over and stroked her fingers feather-light across the younger girl's hand. Carly's body was overtaken by a frisson of nipple-hardening horror as her choice became clear. "And then that lovely guy of yours can join us there."

The thought jolted Carly back into proactivity. She was unsure of Miranda's precise intentions, but outraged nonetheless. "No no no - no, you mustn't tell Aaron. Whatever you're thinking, please don't bring him into this."

"I'm not, Carly," Miranda said sweetly. "You're going to bring him in. And you're going to make sure he plays along with my little game."

"No - no, he's not. Don't involve him. I'll - Dammit, I'll go along with whatever you want, but please, please keep him out. I know I don't deserve it, but don't let him know, I'm begging you."

Miranda shook her head sadly. "He's going to know, sweetheart, take that as a given." She produced a clutch of digital photo prints from her inside breast pocket and like a gambler with a winning hand threw them down on the table. "But he doesn't need to know about these."

Carly recoiled from the images on display. She had no recollection of what they portrayed, any of them. In one, she and Miranda were crushed close on a living-room sofa, mouths locked like lovers on a movie poster. Then, same location - the boss attached vampirically to her willing neck, Carly's head thrown back in aching response. Another - her protruding tongue teasing Miranda's lips, her hand gently cradling the branch manager's full breast through her blouse.

Who knew what encouragements, perhaps from the photographer, had fuelled this interaction? She could guess which evening it had been - Miranda's dinner party, the invitation to which had so surprised her. The one with the over-indulgence and her boss's flirtation, which she'd been sure she had laughingly deflected. The one after which she had awoken back on her own sofa, hungover with the latter part of the evening a blank. But now uncomfortable memories were seeping through from her subconscious.

"You and tequila," Miranda said, shaking her head. "Dangerous combination. Oh, it started as a dare, but after what was captured in these photographs Alexis put the camera away. She said we looked such a hot couple we should have some privacy. We went to my room."

"No - no." Carly was panicking. "Nothing happened. It was a joke, that's all. Messing about. I'd remember anything else."

"Are you sure?" Miranda eyed her intently. "I remember it all very clearly. Such a hot and eager fuck. So wet and messy on my fingers. And so noisy. The other guests will tell tales of everything they heard. So, I'd be very careful what you say to loverboy."

Carly stared at her tormentor terrified and appalled. She was so confused she could tell no longer what was truth and what was lies.

~~~~

Aaron was midway through the Spurs-Chelsea game and on his second can of lager when he answered the unregistered number on the landline. It was Carly. Her distraught voice jolted him out of his Saturday afternoon stupor.

"Aaron, babe, I need you to listen. I'm in trouble." She could scarcely speak through the tears. "I've got myself in such a lot of trouble..."

"Sweetheart, calm down." His heart was pounding with worry. "Calm down and tell me what the matter is. Where are you?"

"Listen, please listen!" He had never heard her like this before, so fraught and insistent. "I can't tell you everything now, but I need you to do everything I say, please babe? Please?"