“Call me Suzy.....”
Finally I had caught him out.
I worked long hours in the city. I managed an office while he sat at home doing nothing all day. It would have been nice once in a while to find my dinner cooked or the house in a semi-decent state, but no, “he was an author” or “he was just resting”. Any excuse for him to spend all day tap-tapping at his computer. He never let me read any of his work so God knows what he was doing up there.
Today I had caught him. Today he had gone out (no doubt to the pub spending my money) and he had left his computer turned on. Literary genius or complete layabout? Now was the time to find out.
There was nothing on the screen except his screensaver, flashing colours in the hope that his computer wouldn’t explode. Luckily, I knew a little about how these things work, so I went straight to his document files, where a wealth of possibilities awaited me.
I opened a file named BE and was amazed to see my darling had been working on some amateur pornography. He thought that it was so important that he had given himself a pen name: Downing Street. Now, I was not completely unaware of the existence of pornographic literature, having snuck myself the odd erotic romance from WH Smiths. I was aware that this world was a world of pseudonyms, but they were usually better than that.
I started to read.
The tale told of an intellectual women that, through certain circumstances, had a personality change. She went from being a challenging women with her own personality to a walking male fantasy of a sex bomb. I won’t go into the details, but let’s just say that this story had no appreciation of women as strong individuals or independent minds. I snorted with contempt and went on to see what else my beloved had written. There were dozens of stories along a similar line, set in schools, offices, etc., etc.
I read them all. Then I read them all again.
I was startled to see that the night had bled the day dry when I got to the end of the last story. My darling still hadn’t returned and I was dying for my bed. I decided to read the stories again to see if they had any redeeming value. Just one more time before bed.
I woke up late. I had not woken up late for a long while. My head seemed to be in someone else’s body. I felt like someone had been using my mouth as an ashtray. Had I been drinking? I must have had a hell of a lot because I couldn’t remember anything.
Shit, I was late for work. I pulled on my clothes, dashed out the door, and headed to the office. I was in such a hurry that I broke a heel. And it totally slipped my mind that I had woken up alone.
I left a note for my secretary to sort my shoes out and settled down to a hard day’s work. I had reports to file, but I couldn’t seem to concentrate on anything. Every time I started to look at the spreadsheets on my computer, I could feel a headache starting to come on. Maybe I needed new glasses. I phoned and made an appointment to see my optician later that day.
I also had a horrible itch between my legs. Every time I shifted position a little my panties seemed to rub. Eventually it got to be unbearable so I had to remove them. With some little semblance of comfort in my life I decided to read the Sunday Times.
I flicked through the pages, looking at the events in the world and the business reports. Every time I started to read though, my eyes saw stars. I was thinking that maybe I was having a reaction to the news type, because every time I started to read the cartoons everything seemed to be all right. It was maybe the colours; and the cartoons were rather funny.
I was distracted from re-reading Garfield by a knock at my door. It was my secretary, Audrey, with a box. She smiled at me in a funny little way and left the box on my desk. She asked me if I would like a drink of coffee. I wasn’t in the mood for coffee right then so I asked for a glass of lemonade instead. Audrey said that would be fine and went out to fix my drink.
I opened the box and couldn’t believe my eyes.
Inside the box were the highest pair of heels I had ever seen. They must have been 6″ at least. They were short, black ankle boots. The soles had been raised a little to compensate for the enormous height of the spikes. At that moment Audrey returned with my drink.
“What the hell are these?” I barked.
“What you asked for, Miss Samoto.”
“Audrey, I asked you to get me some new shoes for the office, not something for fancy dress.”
“Your note was very specific, Miss Samoto.”
With this she produced a memo from her pocket:
“Audrey, broke my damn shoes on the way to work, please pop out and fetch some more for me, money no object. Please make them as high-heeled and feminine as possible, see if the rubber shop down the road has anything sexy
....thanks, Suzanne”
“Did I misunderstand, Miss Samoto?", Audrey asked, perturbed. I was embarrassed and ashamed. I really must have been drinking last night.
“No Audrey. I’m sorry, I just wasn’t expecting anything this... nice,” I replied.
Audrey smiled at me, but I could see I had upset her. I knew I had to make amends. “Anything else, Miss Samoto?” she asked. I saw my chance.
“Audrey, please call me Suzanne. You have worked for me for an age and it’s time we made it less formal.”
“Yes Miss Sam... Suzanne.”
“Better still, call me Suzy.”
When Audrey left I looked again at the cute shoes. They were a little out of the ordinary and I knew that I would have a hell of a job walking in them. But they looked like they had cost a fortune, so I could at least try them on. After struggling for a while I eventually got them laced up and dared to stand in them.
I was amazed at how I felt. They made me feel ten years younger. They made me feel very feminine. They made me feel—happy.
I felt like I could manage a little work so I logged onto the computer. I had only checked my E-mail and sent a few messages before the headaches returned. I needed to relax.
I started to file my nails. The clear varnish was starting to chip, as I had not had time to re-apply it that morning. I wrote a little memo to Audrey to fetch me some more and put my high-heeled feet on the table so I could relax. Without thinking I knocked over my lemonade and found that it was fizzing all over my Chanel suit.
“Shit shit shit!” I muttered. I stood up and tried to shake myself dry but it was to no avail. I couldn’t spend another six hours at work like this. Note to Audrey....
I spent the next few hours reading through the style section of the Times. Well I say reading, but I looked at the pictures a lot more than I read. It saved my head from hurting. There was an article about hairstyles in there that caught my interest. My hair was shoulder length and very straight. I had been wanting to change it for a while. I was looking for something that would suit me.
Maybe a bob? Nothing in the magazine seemed to take my fancy. The styles all seemed too formal, some almost boyish. I put the newspaper down and picked up the phone. Maybe I should go to a new hairdresser. Mine was very efficient and stylish, but maybe someone else could give me a new perspective on what would be a good look for me. The only ones I could find listed seemed to be at the cheaper end of the market, but I thought what the hell and phoned the first one I came to. I made an appointment for later that day, just after the optician.
The next thing I knew there was a knock on the door. Without waiting, Martin Killeen, a slimy little bastard from Accounts, came in. He was utterly repulsive; all the girls in the office avoided him like the plague. He had never been to my office before.
“What?” I asked him, wanting to get rid of him as soon as possible.
“You wanted to see me.”
“I did not.”
“I received an E-mail this morning saying you did. A rather bizarre one that seems to have been sent to most of the lower grade staff. To tell you the truth, we were all a little puzzled. There are no layoffs are there?”
“I never sent you any E-mail; you must be mistaken.”
“I have a copy here. It says to come and see you and ask you if you would like a hot dog....”
I opened my eyes. I must have fallen asleep. I had the funniest taste in my mouth, kind of slimy and salty. I drank what was left of the lemonade to remove the taste, only to find myself getting hungry for it again once it had gone. I looked at the clock and realised it was 2:30. Where had the last three hours gone? Shit, it was nearly time for my optician’s appointment.
I stood up. I was shocked to realise that I had on the shortest latex skirt that I had ever seen. This wasn’t mine! No time to worry about that now. I picked up my handbag, paused a moment to re-do my lipstick, and ran out the door.
Rush, rush. The afternoon was just blurring by. My eyes were still growing used to the new contact lenses in my eyes. Coloured ones no less, changing my eyes from a dull hazel to the deepest blue. I dashed into the hairdressers’ and told them I had an appointment. The hairdresser approached me, looking at me a little strangely.
“What can I do for you today Miss?”
“Oh I just want my hair prettied up, something to please my clients.”
The hairdresser nodded at me. “I know just what clients want in girls like you.”
She went to work.
I looked in the fetish shop window. My mouth actually started to water at some of the things on display. I caught a glimpse of myself and was very pleased with how well blonde, teased hair suited me. Why hadn’t I done this before? I reached into my pocket and felt for my credit card. The card had a $5000 limit on it, but at the moment my balance was clear. What was I thinking? Credit cards are for spending on, not emergencies. Spending was exactly what I intended to do as I walked through the door.
One hour later, I was through. The bags in my hand were heavy and I really couldn’t be bothered to go to back to work that afternoon. In fact, I wasn’t really enjoying my job at all.
As I walked home I saw a “help wanted” sign in a local cafe. That job looked lovely. No stupid computers. No silly thinking about anything but looking pretty. Lots of men asking for “hot dogs”. I would start tomorrow.
I collapsed onto my bed at home. All this shopping and admiring myself had made me real horny. It had been like an itch that i could not scratch for the whole of the day. Now I intended to make up for lost time. Apart from the fact that it made me look great, the micro skirt I had on granted easy access to my pussy; the fact that I had no panties on also helped. I realised that if I sat the right way i could expose myself to whoever wished to look. Must try that tommorow. I peeled of my top and after struggling for a while with my bra realised it wasnt really worth wearing one any more: what was the point?. I stroked my nipples and started to think that my tits werent really big enough to show of the kind of clothing I planned to wear from now on. I had money in the bank and I knew a good plastic surgeon who would soon fix that. The bigger the better, I was young and the idea of being a pair of breasts on legs was surely something I was born to. The very thought of it made me feel a lot happier and so my hands moved down to my pussy.........
...........half an hour later I was going crazy. I had rubbed and I had rubbed. I had raided the fridge for something thick to fill me and then I had rubbed some more. I just got hotter and hotter and didnt seem to be able to climax. I kept trying and trying, but whenever I was on the verge, my hands found a life of their own and moved away from my aching clitoris. As soon as the pre-organsmic tension had faded they were mine again to command. Eventually I just gave up and lay back on the bed, biting my lip and shuddering in frustration.
As I lay there things started to become clear. I wasnt born to pleasure myself. I had been put on this earth to pleasure others. How on earth could I do that when I kept draining my own sexual energy selfishly? My place in life was to make myself as pretty as possible, make sure everything was done for my darling and to keep myself ready and willing for the male populations needs. How silly of me. I giggled a little, checked to make sure I looked ok in the mirror and then gently and with a greater purpose started to once again rub my pussy.
“I’m home.” My darling walked through the door.
He looked at me with a smile and sat down to eat the dinner that I had prepared for him. “Thank you Suzy, this looks lovely.”
He shot me an admiring glance in my latex maid’s outfit. It made me feel sexy. To know my darling liked it made it all the better.
“May I have my dinner now please?” I asked him, awaiting his permission.
“Of course you may, Suzy.”
He smiled at me as I crawled under the table, unzipped him, and began to fill my mouth....