Seduce Me (2 page)

‘But you really wanted some nude photos, right?'

‘Well, how do you feel about that, then Olga?'

She knew exactly how she felt. She got off the bike, reached back and unhooked the bra in full view of the men. She shrugged out of the shoulder straps and uncovered her breasts. She knew the sight of her bare
titten
was having an effect on the men by the silly looks and open mouths. She let her breasts swing and jiggle as she laid the bra over a chair back. Then she gave the guys a side view as she bent over to push her panties down over her hips and thighs. She stepped out nude, stooped to tidy her clothing for a moment (giving them an eyeful of her bottom) then turned back to the men. ‘Does that answer the question, Boss?'

The laughter relaxed everyone and the photo shoot continued like a dream. Bill would be getting all the shots they were ever likely to need of her on her own with the bike.

The shoot was going so well. Olga was happy, gorgeously naked and relaxed. Andy was watching agog as she sported herself on the tandem, but Bill was secretly worried about how he would get the pictures he really needed – the ones spelling out exactly how the bike was to be used by a couple. Would Olga go that far?

‘How do you feel about Andy coming into the frame now?'

She looked very bright – glowing with the exercise, and obviously enjoying her exhibitionism.

Her breasts rose and fell a little with excitement. ‘Don't worry Bill. I know what pictures you need. I'd like to try that, but just the one step at a time … see how it feels, Yes?'

‘You are a trouper, Olga! Now, Andy, keep your shirt and jeans on. You can be the guy who has just fitted the extra parts to make the bike a tandem. Now get on and just ride behind her, holding the handlebars …'

There was Andy, pedalling behind the naked girl in the viewfinder, emphasising her nudity and vulnerability. ‘Oh, that's great! Fantastic!' Bill worked the shutter continuously.

‘OK, Andy, while she keeps riding, slowly take off your set of handlebars. The intermediate shots will show how it's done… Yes. That's it. Now you have to hold on to her lovely waist. That's it Olga, work that bottom around!'

This is where we go beyond Glamour, he thought. He knew he was asking a lot of her – intimate contact with a man she hardly knew, while being photographed by another she knew only slightly better.

‘Now, Olga, if you're ready, I'd like to take things a stage further – or we can take a break right now if you like?'

‘No …' she breathed, ‘I'd like to keep going.'

‘Great. Now things get a little more overt. Olga, say “stop” at any time you don't feel completely comfortable with what I suggest …'

She smiled back at him, her full lips parted. He felt a rush of desire. Hey, what was going on here? She just fancied Andy, didn't she?

‘OK then. Raise your hands, Andy; just touch the underside of Olga's breasts. Oooh that's it! Keep reacting like that, girl; head back, shake those tits from side to side. Stroke them, Andy … feel them a little more. Grab them. Raise your arms Olga, if you can, while he … ahhh! Wow, Olga; they are lovely! Perfect. Don't touch them for a moment, Andy, while I get a few shots in … lovely! Beautiful! OK Andy, caress them gently … hey, don't squeeze them out of shape, let the camera see her nipples … Yes. Lovely; keep them moving, keep everything moving … That pedalling action sure works well…'

‘Hey what about him – he still has all the clothes on!'

‘Yes, Olga, that's the idea, it creates a power imbalance – although
you
hold the real power!' Bill couldn't get over the look of her naked. Without her knickers, her white thighs seemed to flow on up into her hips and waist – a continuous line up to her lifted breasts. And there was Andy, the lucky dog, touching and feeling her body – not as if it were his – but because she was letting a man do what had to be done to such a woman. ‘We have a totally beautiful, totally nude woman riding on the front of our tandem; and a fully dressed man close behind. He is touching, caressing, feeling and squeezing her tits, her body – all over – as she rides … and she is loving it, revelling …, perhaps wanting …'

‘Yes – I want Andy in the front!'

‘OK then.'

The couple swapped around. She pulled his shirt off over his head, and then reached forward.

As Bill zoomed in he could hardly believe what he saw through the viewfinder. Olga had unzipped Andy, and had him all the way out. He was pedalling madly, his legs akimbo.

‘Shall I keep on taking pictures? Olga?'

‘Yes … It is OK …'

‘Ahh … don't bother to … ahh … ask me then!' panted Andy

Bill smiled, but kept snapping away, watching her massaging Andy's shaft. These pictures could not go in any normal brochure, he thought.

She stopped pedalling herself and went round to Andy's far side. She pulled off his jeans raising each leg as she did. He rode on naked as her mouth went down on him.

Bill took charge. ‘Come round and do it from this side, Olga. I want to see your bottom as you bend over him.'

He moved in closer, photographing her breasts as they squashed rhythmically against Andy's thighs.

‘Olga … when you're ready … Olga …'

She raised her head and looked at him with sleepy eyes. Her lips were wet and swollen with lust. Breasts swinging, her hand still held Andy's long cock. ‘Yes, Bill?'

‘Olga, I want you on the front of the bike again and Andy on the back – we have to show the final stage.'

Behind her again, Andy immediately had a clearance problem with her saddle. He removed it while she held her backside high. She began to pedal and her bare bottom rocked from side to side. Andy's straining cock seemed to be reaching right up to where it was designed to go, while her broad cheeks edged lower …

It seemed that the couple were going to couple anyway.

‘That's it, Olga, let yourself sink back nice and slowly onto him …'

Olga did and Andy slipped smoothly up into her, all the way. She looked at Bill through half closed eyes as she groaned.

‘Oooh, ahhh … Andy … start the pedalling!'

Andy pedalled slowly, the action sending him in and out of the woman at a measured pace. ‘Now Bill, put down that camera and you come here now … put down the camera!' He did as she told him. ‘Now you feel my
titten
as Andy pedals and fucks me.'

Bill took her big, pointed breasts in his hands, and felt their weight and movement as Andy rhythmically thrust up into her. She kissed Bill and opened her mouth to his tongue. He felt her hands working at his zipper and the wonderful release of his confined cock into her hands.

She transferred her wet lips down and took him all the way into her mouth while he tumbled and kneaded her breasts, and Andy still pedalled on, thrusting into her.

Not a small man, Bill couldn't believe how much of him Olga could take in, but she did, somehow.

Inevitably, Andy started to come into her, but she kept working on Bill, with just a few muffled groans.

As he finished, Andy stopped pedalling and slipped out of Olga.

‘Andy, off please. Now, hurry! Bill! You take Andy's place behind! Quick!'

‘Eh, what? Me?'

‘Yes, you Bill, now I want you inside me.
Schnell!'

He kicked off his trousers and mounted the warm saddle just vacated by Andy; her broad bottom hovered invitingly above his lap. ‘OK, Olga.'

She slid easily down, enveloping him like a tight, gloved hand. ‘Ohhh! Now pedal, Bill, pedal!' Bill pedalled for all he was worth, and she began to howl out her orgasm, her inner muscles squeezing his slippery cock. Bill seemed to go on and on, thrusting into her, pedalling the virtual miles away. Maybe this was what she needed. Andy might be a bit younger and more spectacular but Bill had the staying power. She was still crying out when Bill finally climaxed, shooting his own wetness deep inside her.

Swallow Fitness' new brochure showing the company's nubile young board member, Olga Schulz posing nude on a
tandem
exercise bike with a clothed man behind her has caused quite a stir in the industry. CEO Bill Henderson, confirms that since the launch of the patented machine, and its controversial advertising, they have been swamped with orders.

Fitness Trade Magazine
understands that a number of competitors have looked into producing a similar machine to cash in on the boom, but the manufacturing patents, held by Ms Schultz appear watertight. For the time being, Swallow Fitness hold a lucrative monopoly in a new and intriguing sector of the fitness equipment market.

Olga put down the article and glanced lovingly at the original bike that now had pride of place in her office, conveniently between her fellow directors' offices. It was nearly time for them to ride her.

She smiled wryly, wondering how that
Fitness Trade
journalist would report the extraordinary board meetings of Swallow Fitness UK Limited.

Yes, Tim
by Sommer Marsden

“Fu-uh-uck,” I hissed. I dragged the word out while trying to back my SUV up without crashing into anything. Or killing anyone. “Please do not let me kill a worker,” I sighed, inching backwards. I was completely blind. I did not want to end my day with manslaughter.

“Ho!” I slammed the break so hard I shot forward. The cans rattled and shifted in the back of my vehicle. The smell of old soda and beer made my stomach roll over. It was a cloying scent that would linger for days.

A face appeared at the door and I started. I pushed the button and the window whined. “Sorry. I can't see sh--crap. I didn't flatten anyone, did I?”

He gave me a small but friendly grin. “Nope. And you didn't dent your truck. That's the main thing. Pop the back for me?”

His face was long and lean. Weathered without being aged. Prematurely silvery hair that had once been blond it seemed. His eyes were the colour of steel and his lips were thin without being pinchy. Overall, a handsome face that made me feel calmer. I read his name tag. Tim.

“Sure. No problem.”

I hit the button and heard the back door disengage. I opened the door and it thunked the concrete wall. I was a tad close. “Shit.” Now I had dented it. I sucked in my breath and squeezed between the wall and the SUV. Once around back, I started to unload the huge bags of crushed cans into a pile.

My small company collected cans from the employees. We kept all the cans from our modest business meetings. Held weekly, they were small but generated a surprising amount of recycling. One of my design clients went through a six pack of diet soda per meeting. I figured by the time I had finished her Zen-meets-punk-rock bathroom, she'd make up roughly a third of our can collection.

Every month I cashed in the cans and the proceeds went to a local charity. It was my small way of giving back to the community and doing something positive with the people who worked for me.

“– gonna get ruined.” Tim was staring at me. What had he said?

“I … uh … what!?” I shouted. The place was possibly the noisiest place I had ever been and that included the circus and the rock quarry during blasting.

“I said, your shoes are gonna get ruined!” he yelled as a huge machine spilled a waterfall of aluminium into a giant bin below. Imagine if it rained rocks. And wrenches. With a few hammers for effect. I shoved my fingers in my ears and cringed. How could he hear at all? I'm surprised they weren't all deaf.

“It's fine! They're old!” I said and jumped when a huge boom filled the warehouse.

He laughed and guided me to the open bay. His hand on me made me feel warm. I looked again at his face. Nice face. Warm, friendly face. His hand was clean but busted up from working with metal all day. It looked out of place and completely right on my brown suede coat. “Your coat will get ruined in there, too. You've never been here, I take it?”

I shook my head. Somehow my gaze had become pinned to his lips. Pale pink. So pink they almost looked like he had lipstick on. Completely incongruous with his masculine appearance. I found myself shifting a little bit at the thought of those lips coming down on mine. On my lips. On my belly. On my hipbones. My thong rubbed over my now swollen clit at just the right moment and I sucked in a breath.

“It's OK. It's old,” I breathed. And tried to tear my gaze from his mouth. I managed to do it. My eyes fell upon his grey Dickies jacket and the wide chest underneath. Lean and tall, Tim was what I looked for in a man. No excess. Every muscle, every ounce put to good use.

“Still. Don't want to ruin something perfectly nice and useable. No waste. Remember?” he said and winked. His big hand slid up my forearm and rested at my elbow. He held my arm that way. Somehow completely proper and completely irreverent at the same time. Heat shot through my arm, up into my chest and flushed my cheeks what I could only assume was a cherry red.

“Right. I'm sorry. I didn't realize that they shouldn't be in so many bags. My assistant Tammy usually brings them.” As I was explaining, a worker was ripping open all the little grocery sacks that held the cans.

“It's fine. Really. That's what we get paid to do. Right?” Another wink and a squeeze of my elbow.

I felt more than my cheeks flush and my breath caught in my throat.

“Listen to boss man,” said a laughing voice. I turned to see a smiling Mexican man. He had a lilting accent and an easy grin. “That's what we get paid to do. You da man. You talk like one of us.”

“I am one of you,” Tim said. He smiled at his worker and then at me. It was clear this was good natured ribbing.

“Yeah, yeah. You wield the whip.”

“Yes. I am a whip-wielder. I am brutal,” Tim said. But when he said it, his face was a bit more serious and he squeezed my arm a little. I didn't take it as a threat. But I wasn't stupid. He held a strength and a serious nature that was thinly veiled behind that easy smile.

“I'm sure you are,” I laughed. OK. I tittered because I was suddenly nervous. And I wanted him. I could kid myself and waste the time or I could admit it. I chose the latter. I very much wanted to have Tim fuck me senseless. Whip or no whip.

“Fucking rich bitches thinking we got nothing better to do,” said the other man. It was clear by the look on Tim's face that this was not good-natured ribbing and not OK.

“Peter, you can go to my office. I'll finish up.”

Rich bitch? I nearly laughed. I had scrimped and saved to become independent. Eaten more peanut butter sandwiches and Ramen noodles than I cared to remember. The smell of Shrimp noodles still made me gag. I flustered and clenched my fists. Then I covered my ears and yelped as Tim pulled a lever and another river of cans rained down from the sky.

When it was done, I did the only thing I could think to do. I was pissed and hurt and oddly attracted to him. So I worked. I opened bag after bag and handed them to Tim who dumped them in the sorter. On my final squat I felt a nice icy breeze and realized my white lace thong was not peeking, but popping up over my waistband. Probably half my ass was visible. I patted it with my hand as my throat seemed to close. Dear Christ. I had mooned him more times than I could count.

“I'm sorry. I was enjoying the view too much to speak up.” And there was that grin again. Ready. Slow. Sensuous.

I wanted to smack him. I wanted to kiss him. Shove my hands in his grey-silver hair and see what those lips really felt like. I wanted to scream. Instead I said, “How much did it come to?”

His grey eyes probed and I hid my embarrassment. I had spent years polishing myself and here I was, smelly, sticky, with my ass hanging out. I had been called a fucking rich bitch, which was a riot. I was abnormally attracted to the owner and all I wanted was to go home and take a shower. And drink a bottle of vodka. Alright, a few drinks. Not a whole bottle. Hopefully.

“Let's see.” He tapped the computer. Somewhere in the building a huge bash sounded. I read the sections. Copper, Iron, Lead, Aluminium. Anything to keep my eyes off of Tim. “Fifty two pounds. Name?” His eyes slipped over me, showing his interest.

“Jessie. Jessie McCarthy,” I stammered.

He hit the print icon and the printer spat out an invoice. “Sign this and …” he stopped and smiled. The corners of his eyes crinkled in the most appealing way and I wished for the warmth and solidity of his hand on my arm again. “… and follow me, I guess because Lana is gone.”

I looked at my watch. It was five already. After five, actually. “I'm sorry. You're closed.”

“Spoiled,” said Peter as he sauntered out. He looked pretty proud of himself. “I waited in your office but you never came. And now it's quitting time. So, I'm leaving. Unless you want to pay me overtime to rip me a new asshole.”

Tim scowled. “I want you in on time and back in my office in the morning.”

“Yep.” Peter started to stomp off but Tim put a hand on his arm.

“You owe the lady an apology,” he said.

I wanted to say he didn't. To tell him to never mind. The look on Tim's face told me not to. Hush, it said. Be quiet and let me do this.

“I'm sorry,” Peter ground out.

I nodded.

But he kept talking. “I'm sorry that you're spoiled and rich and that you had to come in here and smell us and hear us and be around us working folk.”

My father was a janitor. My mother picked crabs for a buck an hour to earn extra money. I had baby sat and delivered newspapers to add to the family income all through school. Spoiled was so far removed from me that it wasn't funny.

“You can clear out your locker, Peter,” Tim growled.

Peter nodded, laughed and spat at my feet. “Gladly. Plenty of jobs out there for a low life like me.” And then he was gone.

“I have to go.”

He nodded and didn't argue. “Come on and get your money first. Don't forget that.”

“Right. Sorry.”

“No. I'm sorry. He's an asshole and I'm damn ashamed that someone like that could work for me. And you're not spoiled. Anyone who's worked an honest day can tell that. He's just too hung up on what he doesn't have to see what's around him.”

“How did you know?” I asked. “That I'm not rich. Never have been.”

“Cause the rich women do not squat down and help slit open disgusting smelly bags of cans. Here you go. Twenty-five dollars and twenty cents.” He handed me the money and his fingers brushed my palm. Lingered. Traced the lines of my hand. “Enjoy it.”

“Not me,”

“Who then?” His eyebrow went up with the question and my stomach seemed to bottom out.

“Someone who might need it more,” I said but then said no more.

I stopped for a latte. At the counter, I noticed the boy who was grinding the beans. His eyes, the colour of storm clouds. Not dead-on but close. His eyes made me think of Tim. I remembered how hot my skin felt when he looked me over the way he had. How they didn't seem to miss a thing. The feel of his gaze had been almost like being touched physically. I shuddered.

“You OK, Jessie?” Amy asked. She handed me my usual and I chugged a sip. It scalded like hell but I needed the fix.

“Nope. I am a spaz. I am sure of it. Now, will you do me a huge favour and make another one of these and toss some biscotti in a bag?” I handed her a twenty. “And keep the change.”

“Oh, big spender,” Amy said, working a liquid miracle with her petite hands. Within a minute I was holding another warm concoction.

“Yeah. Just call me Rockefeller, toots,” I said and nearly ran to the car.

I expected to have to hunt for him, but he was the only one still at the recycling center. My heart stuttered when I looked at him. Serious face, big hands. I went wet between the legs when he gave me that slow grin.

“You're back.”

“I am. Here.” I handed him the coffee and shook my head. Very smooth.

“Thanks.” Tim sniffed it and then laughed. “Vanilla?”

“Yeah. I shoulda realized it's kind of girly,” I said. “Maybe just regular coffee. Or espresso.” I shrugged.

“No. I like vanilla. I like coffee period.”

Then he set the cup on the work station and touched me. With one finger. He slid his finger up my arm to my shoulder. He paused while I tried to breathe. Then he traced the line from my shoulder to my clavicle. My skin felt like it was on fire.

“I … uh …”

“Listen. You should have stuck around. About Peter,” Tim leaned in and smelled me. Inhaled me like I was an elusive scent.

“Mmm?” I could feel his breath on my neck and my nipples went tight. Sensitive.

“He hates everybody. Even old Joe. A regular. Joe who has about five dollars in his bank account and one tooth. And it's not even a good tooth,” he whispered and pressed his lips to the slope of my throat.

A bubble of laughter escaped me. My pussy was thumping now. A pulse that kept time with my briskly beating heart. God I wanted him in me. Some part of him. Tongue, finger, cock. All of the above. I couldn't remember wanting that bad. Needing. Seeing a man and thinking,
I have to have him
. I looked at Tim again and fisted my hands to keep from stroking him through this work pants.

“That's terrible.”

“That he hates everyone?”

“No. That Joe's one tooth isn't even a good tooth.”

“Ah,” Tim said and slid his finger below the waistband of my jeans. His skin seemed to brand me. Heat and want flickered through me wickedly. My knees felt ready to sag. “Come on, girl,” he said and took my coffee from me. I let him. Then he snagged my two wrists in his one hand and led me. I went willingly. I would have gone anywhere he tugged me. We walked through the door marked OFFICE and he shut the door. The click sounded loud in the tangible silence.

“I don't normally do this,” I blurted. I don't know why. I wanted to explain.

“I'm not in the habit, either,” he said. Then he started popping the buttons of my white blouse without a word. “I want you out of all this.”

His work scarred hands worked against the crisp white cotton. The buttons like little pearls in his big fingers. “Yes, Tim” I agreed.

I shucked the shirt like it was smothering me. His fingers worked over my plain white bra, gently pulled down a cup and released a nipple to the cool air. Then his tongue captured it and the warmth was shocking. “Fuck. You are gorgeous.”

I grabbed his head with my hands but he snagged my wrists again and pinned my arms above my head. Against the shelf that held folders and boxes and ledgers. I liked the feel of being at his mercy. It made my cunt frantic. All I wanted was for him to fuck me. However he wanted. It didn't matter to me. Just the sensation of it was all I asked for. Just that. Nothing else.

His other hand tugged at my jeans. Wrangled my zipper. Pushed at them until they obeyed and slid down over my hips as I wriggled to help them along. His lips never left me. They nipped at my mouth, slid over my throat and my shoulders. Rolled hot circles around my exposed breast. I pushed into him. Seeking and finding heat and his hardness. I wanted to tug at his pants. Find what was waiting beneath the stiff utilitarian fabric, but he held me fast with his big hand.