Going Up and Going Down (16 page)

“Slower, ease
off. I’m getting too hot and eager…eager to spill my spunk.”

He lifted his
back off the bed, and grabbing under my arms, hauled me up his body, my probing
tongue licking his body throughout the movement, from his pubic bone through
his navel and up to his chest. He pulled me upwards until my pussy was at the
tip of his cock and then eased me back down and onto it in one deft move. We
both groaned at the same time. It felt awesome and every nerve was throbbing
within my hole. My need was making me light headed.

“Your fanny is
deliciously wet and exciting and it feels so tight and hot around my cock. Fuck
it now, let that sweet syrup flow.” I pushed my pubic bone downwards and the
feel of his muscle inside me was amazing – tight, stinging and throbbing. I
moved with ease, ever the accomplished rider, I sat on his stiffness, and
feeling the pleasure of every inch as my vagina rubbed at it abrasively, my
clit being massaged against his pubic bone. He bit hard into my neck, and then
my shoulder as I rode him roughly, giving everything I had, putting it all into
getting my reward and it was there, ready to explode, his bites making me gasp
in pleasure and in pain.

I came, more
explosively this time, so much wetness. He reached down to where his cock
entered me and felt around its hardness with his finger. It was so sensitised
down there, just the touch of his finger on the lips of my labia sent me
soaring to new heights. I was breathing heavily and could feel that my body was
aglow with warmth and wetness.

“Is that good,
Helen - me fucking you? You have so much syrup in such a short time. When were
you last fucked?” I was totally incapable of answering - breathless and still
shaking from my orgasm.

“It doesn’t
really matter. You’re enjoying yourself. I’m coated in your syrup.” He rolled
me over onto my back and as he did so, I lost contact with his throbbing cock.
It was his turn to go down on me and he thrust his tongue into my newly
acquired wetness and tasted.

“So sweet,
baby! So sweet, as I knew you would be. I knew you would taste good and you
didn’t disappoint.”

His tongue was
moving wonderfully inside me and I didn’t know when this orgasm was going to
cease, it was so intense. Then the tongue was gone, and he eased himself up my
body, and his cock found its target again. The stinging tightness - that
feeling of being fucked by something so hard and thick! I gripped my fanny
around his muscle and squeezed each time he thrust into me, and it felt so
good. It was hot and…I had almost forgotten what it felt like to be fucked…I
loved it. He was getting faster, thrusting harder and he was biting at my neck
again, then my shoulder. The nibbling and the hard thrusting was driving me
into a new frenzy, my body tensed, so taut I was being driven crazy, I could
feel myself going cross-eyed and I didn’t know what to do with myself. My nails
were digging into his back as I exploded again. He pulled out quickly and said
urgently,

“Quick, - onto
your knees!” I squeezed my fanny tight around his tool as he rammed it in from
behind and it tipped him over the edge. He threw his head back, gritted his
teeth, and shouted out in his ultimate pleasure. It took his breathing ten
minutes to calm.

When he finally
lifted his weight from my body, I felt his wetness rush out and spill between
my thighs. I was still shaking uncontrollably, but I jumped off the bed in a
hurry when the reality hit me.

I showered in
such a rush, desperate to get back to work should somebody be looking for me.
He sat and watched me towel myself dry and put my slightly crumpled uniform
back on.

“You could do
well for yourself, Helen. You love to be fucked, and you certainly know how to
pleasure a man. I know some men, wealthy men who…well, would pay lots of money
to fuck you and be fucked back as good as you do. Men who need total
discretion. I would pay you again. Don’t let this be a one-off. Give me your
number - I’ll get you some clients. Are you interested in being rich, Helen?”

I was staggered
by what he was suggesting – enjoy being fucked and get paid for it. I was also
trying to come to terms with what I’d just done – prostituted myself whilst I
was at work. I could feel my face flushing with guilt.

“I…I’m not sure,
Simon. I shouldn’t have done that – it was out of character…I…there are freaks
out there. I don’t want to be in any danger. I shouldn’t, can’t.”

“I can almost
swear to you that any person I give your number to will not be a freak. They
will pay you well, no question of it, and you will not be in any danger. Give
me your mobile number, Helen - I’ll get you the work and I’ll tell them you’re
called…Kat, Cougar, Puma or something equally ridiculous.” He laughed at his
little joke and paused in his laughter a second, waiting for my reaction.

More at ease
now that I was dressed and ready for work, I smiled vaguely and jotted down my
mobile number as he passed me the cash. I stuffed it safely down the front of
my tights and we said our goodbyes.

I don’t know
how I managed to get through the rest of my duties. Every time I caught sight
of myself in a mirror my face looked crimson. I imagined that everybody was
staring at me, wondering what crime I had just committed. One thing I did
realise – if I went ahead with this ridiculous suggestion of Simon’s, I would
be able to have a sex life when I wanted, earn fantastic money and I didn’t
need to fall in love. But the biggest bonus for me, I wouldn’t have my heart
broken ever again – no more hurt. It was that handsome bonus that persuaded me
it was the right thing to do.

I cried every
day, but my initial disbelief had progressed towards acceptance and the
anti-depressants were doing their job. I still hadn’t been able to face going
over to my parents’ house to sort anything. I had asked Anthony to go and fetch
a list of the things I wanted – mainly some of their personal effects and the
family photograph albums. That was all I wanted. The estate agent I called had
the house on the market and was confident of a quick sale. Hopefully, I would
soon be able to arrange for the furniture to go to auction. Mum’s car had already
been sold by a local garage.

On the Saturday
morning, a few days after Simon had brought about my initiation into the world
of prostitution, I was having a well earned lie-in for once. (Work, along with
its big surprise, had been hectic all week). I’d been downstairs, made myself a
pot of coffee and toast and was back in bed having a quiet read, amongst plenty
of tears for my parents, and mixed feelings about dipping my toes into the
sordid sex trade. Whilst I was partly disgusted with myself at my last two
rampant sex sessions with Alex and Simon, I had found both experiences very
dirty, but exhilarating. I felt twinges and dampness just thinking about them
again.

I heard
Anthony’s bedroom door open and close and was surprised to hear him tapping on
my bedroom door,

“Helen, are you
awake?”

My peace and
thoughts disturbed, I sighed,

“Yes, I’m
awake.”

There were a
few moments of hesitation from him, maybe pondering what he was going to say.

“Can you come
downstairs soon, please? There’s…there’s…some things I need to...to…tell you.
Things you need to know that can’t wait any longer.” He sounded on edge, tired.

I started
panicking, wondering what the hell was going on now. I sensed from his voice
that it would be things I didn’t want to hear.

I felt a
sinking feeling in my stomach. Did I really want to know?

“Helen…?”

“Okay. Yes.
I’ll be down in five minutes.”

He was still in
his dressing gown sat in his favourite armchair, a fresh pot of coffee on the
table and an empty cup, so I poured one for myself and sat at the edge of the
settee, feeling tense.

“Well?”

He took a few
sips of his coffee, then gazed down into his cup, avoiding my eye, and mumbled,

“I haven’t been
sleeping well lately, and last night, not at all.”

This news
didn’t move me in the slightest and feeling rather smart- arsed, I remarked
“Well, unfortunately I’m not your G.P. but it could be down to the many things
on your conscience.”

He scowled at
me, evidently affronted.

“Don’t you
ever
let things drop, Helen?”

I felt like
bloody slapping him. He was riling me before I even knew what else was coming
in my direction. Did he really expect to be off the hook? He obviously had
things he wanted to say, he had such a frustrated look on his face, so I
decided to keep quiet and let him speak.

“Go ahead then.
You want to explain why you’re not sleeping I presume?”

His face was
red, he’d put down his coffee cup and was fiddling with and picking at his
finger nails.

“I’ve wanted to
tell you before now, Helen. I didn’t think you could cope with it on top of
your grief. You’ve had more than enough to deal with.”

I couldn’t
disagree with that, but he’d been the cause of everything except the death of
my parents.

He took a
minute or two to compose himself and finally looked directly at me.

“The business
is finished, Helen. The bank has called the official receiver in.”

I stood up,
started pacing the room. I felt as if I’d been hit with a sledge-hammer. It
must be wrong, my father wouldn’t let...

“My dad’s business?
Finished? You…He…”

I couldn’t take
it in. Then it hit me even more quickly, like a wrecking ball. I could feel my
anger building and I unleashed it at him in an instant.

“My father’s
business, ruined! HE’S ONLY BEEN DEAD THREE FUCKING MONTHS AND YOU’VE MANAGED
TO FUCK IT ALL UP IN THAT SHORT SPACE OF TIME? EVERYTHING HE FUCKING WORKED
FOR! GET…”

“Helen…NO! It’s
been…” But I was relentless in my fury.

“WHAT WOULD MY
DAD SAY IF HE KNEW? HE FUCKING TRUSTED YOU! YOU BASTARD!”

I was shaking
with rage. Of all the things he’d done, even to me, this was by far the worst -
destroying Dad’s business. Something that I had hoped would live on forever…something
Dad had started from scratch and built up over the years, and now that had died
with him! Such an overwhelming sadness just crept up on me and rendered me
speechless as I let that thought sink in.

Taking
advantage of my silence, Anthony, who was still sat down, leaned forward and
held his hands up as if he could calm me.

“Helen! Helen!
Ken knew about it. It hasn’t just happened overnight, or without his knowledge!
He knew! It’s been going on for months now.”

I glared at him
angrily. Was this something else he thought he could talk his way out of? If he
was hoping to pacify me, he’d have to do better than that!

“Helen, sit
down! Let me explain! You’re an accountant, Helen, for fuck’s sake! You should
know that businesses don’t just fail overnight!”

I started
pacing again, refusing to do as he’d told me by sitting down. I was feeling
violent towards him. He was my father’s finance director, in a position of
trust, how could he have let this happen?

“COME ON THEN,
ANTHONY, EXPLAIN IT TO ME! HOW THE FUCK DID YOU LET IT HAPPEN?” I bellowed. I
was losing control.

Throughout the
next half hour, I heard the whole story. I’d finally calmed down enough to hear
him out. Ten or eleven months ago, Anthony had found out through some business
contact, that two smaller advertising companies were about to go into
administration. Keen to help build up my father’s business even further,
Anthony had seen the opportunity to gain more clients as one not to be missed.
He convinced my father to look into the matter further and they had gone
together to meetings with the receivers for both businesses. Persuaded by
Anthony’s cash-flow forecasts for the next five years, Dad had agreed to
purchase both companies for a pittance, along with their liabilities.

They had taken
a big risk and it had failed. The trade creditors had unanimously agreed to
bear with them, receiving an agreed figure per month, pleased to be getting
more than the expected nine pence in the pound the receiver would have paid.
However, by the time the PAYE and VAT liabilities had been settled for both
failed businesses, which had far exceeded Anthony’s predictions, the company
bank had started putting pressure on Dad. The expected new portfolio of clients
had never materialised. Those clients, obviously suspecting that taking on all
the liabilities of two failed companies would cripple Dad’s business, had taken
their business elsewhere.

“Ken was
desperate to save the business, Helen. We’ve both been worried for months. On
the day of the accident, he had made an appointment for us to see the bank. He
was going to ask them to increase the overdraft or if they would accept their
house as security for a loan.”

My head was
going round in circles, trying to fathom who had been to blame in all this.
Anthony; for telling my father about the two businesses. Or subsequently; his
worthless cash-flow forecasts. Or Dad and his stupidity - stupidity for placing
his trust in Anthony and his judgements. I couldn’t think straight in my fury
and as if to add insult to injury, he added,

“That’s why
I’ve been behaving like an arsehole these last few months, Helen. The worry, I
couldn’t take it anymore!”

He finally
tipped me over the edge with his words. I picked up the nearest thing to me, a
heavy glass paperweight, and flung it at him with as much force as I could
muster. He ducked and it went smashing through the lounge window.

Within ten
minutes of dodging my missile, Anthony was dressed and gone. I didn’t trust
myself to do or say anything else. I was livid. I’d shot off upstairs with a
bottle of wine before he’d left, determined to drink myself into oblivion.

I lay on the
bed trying to get a grip, but it wasn’t easy. I tried to work things out in my
mind. I couldn’t understand how Dad had been so taken in by Anthony, so much so
that he’d even pushed me towards him, thinking he was perfect husband material.
I started blaming myself. If only I have told Dad months ago – about the rent
boy, the rape, the gang bang and the cocaine. It could have prevented all this…and
probably my parents’ deaths. All the worry had caused Dad’s heart attack, I
knew that. But hadn’t Anthony just said it was the worry that had made him
behave badly? So that must mean the businesses were taken over before Anthony’s
scandalous behaviour. Why hadn’t Dad asked me, a qualified accountant, to
produce cash-flow figures for him? Anthony had a degree in design. That’s why
he’d started working for my father. He had very little knowledge of accounts
other than what he’d picked up from Dad. What the hell had my father been
thinking of, making him Finance Director? I went over everything – every
conversation I could recall over the last nine to ten months, sifting through
to ask myself if there was anything, any words that I should have picked up on
that would have given some indication.

I came up with
nothing.

I woke up at
ten minutes to four, my mobile was ringing. My eyes searched for the bottle of
wine first – it was still more than half full. I remembered finishing the first
glass and there was still half a glassful remaining of the second one I’d
poured. Not quite the oblivion I’d been hoping for. I sighed and answered the
call.

“Hello? Helen
Pawson.”

“Helen? Hello,
it’s Simon speaking. You remember?”

I sat bolt
upright, suddenly alert. How could I forget? I’d never be able to forget.

“Yes, I
remember, Simon!”

“Have you
thought any more about my suggestion?”

I trembled,
knowing where this conversation was heading, but not quite sure yet what my
final decision would be.

“Yes, I have
thought about it, but I’ve had quite a few other things to think about as well.
What answers do you want from me?”

“As I said,
Helen, I can get you some clients, good ones that I can vouch for. I have a
gentleman who wants to meet you in the next few days, you can do it at the
hotel, nobody will know. Can I give him your number?”

It was going
way too fast for my liking. The thought of uncomplicated sex was very
attractive to me but there were some little matters that needed to be discussed
before I would even consider it.

“Have you considered
my safety? These people could be…”

He interrupted
sharply,

“He’s hardly
going to murder you in a hotel room, Helen. Come on!”

He was starting
to piss me off, being too presumptuous.

“I work there,
Simon, it’s not a brothel. I won’t be able to meet people there indefinitely.”

“Well then, you
call me before each and every meeting - let me know where and when. That should
put your mind at rest.”

He seemed to
have all the answers ready. I wondered why he was so eager for me to do this, but
then I had another thought.

“So what’s in
it for you then? Have you always cherished some weird ambition to be a pimp?”

He didn’t
really strike me as that type, but there had to be something – some reason he
wanted me to be a hooker. I held my breath as I waited for his reply.

“As if! Helen,
I don’t want your money, I promise.”

I swirled my
remaining wine around in its glass, listening dubiously at his attempts to
sound convincing.

“Then why,
Simon? You’re being too pushy.”

He hesitated as
if thinking of a valid excuse.

“Well, for one
thing, I’d quite like to see some of my clients
and
acquaintances stay
out of the divorce courts and keep their names out of the nationals. It will
end up that way for some of them if you don’t go ahead with this…”

He stopped at
that point and he had my attention, fully, but something else was coming. He
needed a little more prompting though,

“So why, Simon?
What
is
in it for you? There has to be!”

Finally! It
dawned on me the split second before his reply.

“I get to have
you for free, three or four times a year – think of it as my commission.”

I didn’t need
to give my answer too much thought. I had
my
own needs to think about.
My mouth was already watering; I needed it so much,

“Okay, that’s a
fair request. So, yes! Give this…erm…gentleman my number then, Simon.”

Hell, I was
feeling horny all of a sudden – wonderful, dirty sex to look forward to, my
heart rate was speeding away.

“Just a minute,
Helen! One more thing you need to be made aware of! If ever you should decide
to talk about what you did with your clients, and their names – a word of
warning, you’re the one that will come out of it all looking bad, not my
clients!”

Within twenty
minutes my first client had called me. He had booked to stay at the hotel and
would be checking in on the following Wednesday afternoon. He gave me his name,
told me what he expected from me, and gave firm instructions as to what I was
to wear. I would have to go shopping.