Hard Bargains: A Mischief Erotica Collection

‘I’ll take it,’ I whispered.

Sam rose stiffly from the stool and went to stand, at Shona’s direction, in the corner, his hands clasped over his striped bottom, kneading it compulsively.

As for me, I replaced him, the room swooping around me as I positioned myself as correctly as I could, my cheap net petticoats flaring out around my upthrust bottom.

Shona scooped them up clear of the target area, leaving it bared and ready.

‘No knickers, Vix – did you forget?’ She stroked the naked curves, making me tingle.

‘No, ma’am,’ I admitted.

‘You did it deliberately? Well, you certainly do deserve this then. Just the one stroke, to give you a taste. Hold tight.’

I held tight. In the corner, Sam twisted his neck to look at me, despite orders, and I looked steadily back at him, glad to have a witness.

Shona tapped the thin shaft of wood against the centre of my bottom, lightly, consideringly, sizing up her tactics.

I clung tighter and uttered a silent prayer. Just do it.

With a swish and a thwick, the stroke landed. I waited for it to hurt, thinking perhaps this was all a con and it didn’t really, but true knowledge followed, with an unbelievable burn.

‘Oh, my God!’ I wailed, clutching the long line of pain in both hands.

‘That’s what horny little maids get,’ said an amused Shona. ‘Don’t forget it. Sam, would you go to the bathroom and freshen up for a minute or two?’

Sam, rather reluctantly, shuffled off, retrieving a pair of clean boxer shorts from his backpack en route.

Shona took my hands away from my bum and traced the stripe with a gloved fingertip.

‘Are you OK?’ she asked, leaning down to whisper into my ear.

I nodded.

‘God, that hurt,’ I said. ‘But I kind of liked it.’

‘Naughty girl.’ She kissed the hollow under my earlobe, making me flutter all over. ‘Listen, I’ve got another half-hour with Sam, but why don’t you go and wait for me in your bedroom.’

I looked at her, my pulse quickening.

‘Really?’

‘Yes, really. And look in the second drawer down. There’s a strap-on. Might as well take it with you.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

I did as I was told, took out the strap-on and went to wait for my new sex life to begin.

A Deal to Be Struck (#ue9941b39-55f2-5d72-9154-c68593e4da87)

Willow Sears (#ue9941b39-55f2-5d72-9154-c68593e4da87)

It’s the eyes. It must be his eyes. Pure white whites around centres as rich and gleaming as dark chocolate melting in a pan. Or maybe it’s the cheeks, with that constant hint of a blush upon them to show his innocence; the skin below smooth and slightly tanned to lessen the contrast, to make him look more adventurer than out-and-out choirboy. A nice adventurer, though. Above all that is what he will be: nice. A sweet soul who instinctively puts others before his own interests, his happiness dependent upon yours. A gentle giant with strong, lithe limbs to wrap around you when safety or comfort is needed. A body and mind to shape to your exact whim. In short, perfect. Pity, then, that somebody has beaten me to it.

I could have punched his wedding ring in the face when I spotted it. I mean, how dare someone get in and close the deal before I’d even had a chance to make my pitch? So, OK, maybe he’s not quite my type for the long haul. I’m not sure anyone fits that particular bill. After all, these techie guys do tend to veer heavily towards the dull side. Even his boyish innocence might come to grate after a while. But he is definitely my type for the short or mid haul. He’s certainly the type to get my juices and imagination flowing; he’s already having quite an effect in that way. A nice wavy thatch of dark-brown hair to run your fingers through. A bright smile and eyes to melt in. Tall and athletic, with real shoulders on him – I bet he used to row for his college. And you don’t have a body like that and not have some serious credentials in the underwear department.

I should stop teasing myself by looking his way. I’ve caught his eye a couple of times. He even gave me a little smile and a shy nod the last time. But that ring won’t just disappear and, ruthless as I can be, the husband-baiting game is not one I choose to play. A cheetah I might be but a cheater I am not. It’s not like there aren’t plenty of other men to gawp at, this being our annual company knees-up. It’s being held in one of the very swankiest hotels in the capital, with an internationally famous recording artist laid on for a performance later – a treat befitting a young, driven, successful team like ours. The mood is right, the hair is down and the drink is flowing. There must be any number of unattached young bucks ripe for the picking. And yet all I can see is him.

He must be a techie. He doesn’t look geeky enough but he is surely too nice to be management, and I know all of the sales team and he isn’t one of us. In theory I should be impervious to him and he shouldn’t want to give me the time of day. Our company sells computing platforms with bespoke software to big business. It is highly lucrative and highly competitive. The techies generally don’t like the salesforce as we make product promises to clients that the tech guys then have to keep. And we don’t like the tech guys because we bring in the orders that pay the wages, give them exciting new projects with lots of lovely techie problems to solve, and all they do is bitch about it. I’m sure they don’t hate us quite so much when they’ve got us in the privacy of their own minds and their stiff cocks in their hands, but they’d never concede this point to us.

He does look like he wants to make contact, as awkward in these social situations as he might be. He seems lost, standing there on the very periphery of a group of jabbering techno-geeks, all presumably shoehorning as much dull shit as can be factored into any sentence before the next guy wades in. Kudos to him for not wanting to join in. I’m purposefully scanning the room back and forth – sexual predator that I am when the mood takes me – as if waiting to find someone worthy to talk to, or worthy of taking me to bed tonight. It gives me an excuse to keep catching his eye and making that adorable blush burn a little redder. The more I look at him, the more that warm glow inside me grows. Why on earth did he have to do such a silly thing as go and get married?

Uh-oh – I spy Meredith lurking near him, giving him the once-over. She is the meanest, the most ruthless of us all. I’ve no doubt she would scrunch up any marriage and toss it away just for the momentary triumph. Not that Mr Adorably Innocent need worry. From the few encounters I’ve had with Meredith, she seems only to have eyes for other women. She seems to especially have the hots for me. I mean, it’s not the idea of other women I’m against; I’ve never much thought about the pros and cons. And it’s not that she isn’t very attractive with her shown-off curves, her red hair/cream skin combo and her delicious smell. But I just couldn’t give her the double satisfaction. She’d use it against me, and the rivalry between us is too fierce for gifts like that.

She is a cheetah like me. That’s what they call us. In the mouths of some it is said with pride, in others’ with disparagement. Our company makes no bones about using younger, more attractive females to spearhead their sales team. They give no shits about sexism, and neither do I. Together we will utilise all the firepower at our disposal to get a signature on the dotted line. So cheetahs we are, since we are too young to be cougars. We are lithe and gorgeous, deadly if a little delicate. We are intelligent, driven, always hungry. We burst upon our prey and run it into the ground. Shock and awe, that’s us. We’d be lawyers if we had that particular qualification.

She spies me and spreads into one of her could-eat-you smiles, like she always sends my way. She doesn’t care a jot that I know she lusts after me. I think she sees it as a power over me, something to keep me squirming, mind-jumbled and off-guard. I’m sure she thinks that after each of our meetings I run straight into hiding to give myself a furious rub at the thought of her seducing me. Yeah, well, she can stick that smugness right up her round derrière. It’s only ever happened once. Here she comes. Half-exposed creamy bosom at the ready, she prowls towards me as if I’m just another client-prey.

‘Seen anyone you fancy?’ she says, presenting me with that cleavage. She knows I can’t help but look. It’s a first point to her but I can come back stronger, keeping my eyes where they are as if mesmerised by her ample titty delights, this time apparently unable to resist her charms.

‘Indeed I have,’ I reply coyly, drinking in the sight of her lovely smooth skin to the point where she must think she has me. Then, with perfect timing, I look up, not into her green eyes but across to Mr Adorably Innocent. ‘Him.’

She follows my gaze but keeps that little smile on her face. She doesn’t want me to know I had her insides tumbling just a little that time.

She says, ‘What, the short, speccy chap with the face like a pissed squirrel?’

‘No, the tall, handsome chap with the adorable eyes and cheeks.’

‘And a shirt that looks like my father’s pyjamas.’

‘And fabulous shoulders. And no doubt a cock to have you slavering.’

‘No doubt. And a wedding ring, I see.’

I can’t deny it. Every time he lifts his champagne glass to his lips that mocking gold band is displayed once more.

‘Yes, and a wedding ring.’

I can’t help but sound like the wind has gone a little from my sails.

‘Not that that should be any bar to your conquest,’ she says, breezily. ‘Although didn’t you once tell me that any woman who targeted a married man must be some kind of destructive bitch who can only validate her own worth by stealing the prize from the arms of a defeated wife?’

‘Something like that,’ I concede. ‘Married couples do seem like very soft targets. And it can’t say much for your self-worth if you are so scared of finding someone who will commit to you that you choose someone who has already committed elsewhere.’

It does sound a bit lame when said out loud. We two trample over all-comers for a living. We have frantic lives unsuited to steady, stable relationships – here one minute, there the next, away often. We work hard, so when we get to play we do it hard, fast and loose. Most of my pleasure comes from people I will not know for very long, maybe only for one night or two, so it can seem a touch foolish to avoid husbands just because I am not the one they choose to go home to. But I have my principles. I want to be first best, not second best. Always. He is gorgeous though, I cannot deny it. Just my type – a type so very rare to find, one my instincts tell me I must not let go a-begging.

‘Yet still you are sizing him up,’ Meredith says, archly.

He is looking at me now, holding my gaze shyly but for longer. And it is me he is looking at, not her. He doesn’t even cast the most fleeting of glances her way. That has my blood fizzing with triumph. I could almost cast aside my rules about husbands just to seduce him in front of my rival and shove it down her throat.