Chapter 1 – Early Signs

Thursday 8th October 2015

Edinburgh

After graduation, both my girlfriend, Deborah, and I were lucky enough to land jobs and we were ecstatic. We’d only been seeing each other during the final three months before leaving university and we agreed that if we both got work locally, we’d consider renting accommodation together. As long as our relationship was still on an even keel it seemed like the logical thing to do. It didn’t take long for us to discover why people used that phrase, ‘the best laid plans of mice and men’. The ink was hardly dry on our minimum six-month rental agreement when the rug was pulled from under both of us. We’d been living in the house for almost two weeks.

A hostile takeover of the design company left Deborah with the choice of accepting a position in the Glasgow studio, or looking for another job. Ever practical, she said it would be easier to become accustomed to commuting than looking for another well-paid job in her line of work. And so, within a couple of weeks of our start into the real world, Deborah was setting off most mornings to catch an early train, west from Edinburgh to Glasgow.

The publishing company that took me on was on George Street in Edinburgh so I could catch a bus, cycle or walk, depending on my mood, the weather, and, of course, when I dragged myself out of bed. In all honesty, I’d never been lazy, so a three-mile walk was no big deal. I had to prove myself so instead of proof-reading and editing, I was given a short list of new clients who needed the whole support treatment. I would have to do the usual tasks but also address and assist with such things as formatting and how to decide on a good title and cover design.

For me, everything in the garden was rosey, at least for two months, and then a financial crisis hit us at the company. Certain criteria had to be met for any of us to hold onto our jobs, and I was keen to meet whatever needs the company had. Two of the editors were not happy to work from home and took a financial package to move on. One woman took early retirement. A couple of other people had personal circumstances which would have left them in trouble if they lost their jobs so the boss said he’d work hard at keeping them onboard. To facilitate his plan I was one of the two recent arrivals but the only one who agreed to work from home.

Philip said, “You’ve helped save other people’s jobs and our future in the short term, Sam. For me, that makes you an asset and you’ll find that I reward my assets.”

And so, my three-mile walk to and from work every day was reduced to one day a week, and I was told I would get most of my assignments via email. This arrangement would ensure that the company maintained a reasonable client base, and I had enough to occupy me on a daily basis.

The truth of the matter was that neither Deborah nor I were overjoyed about the relatively rapid change of our change of circumstances, but the minor sacrifices we were prepared to make meant that we kept our jobs. It was important to both of us because otherwise we couldn’t afford the nice two-bedroomed house we’d rented.

*

I started my day as usual with a coffee and went through my emails. A new client name came up with a brief message from Philip. The author he was passing on for me to handle was not only a new name on our listings but also new to the erotica genre. The boss had been happy with the client’s query letter and his advice to me was to take it slow and try to get inside the author’s head—it would help me understand his motivation and through this, his style. I vaguely recalled on my creative writing course, I’d laughed when the tutor said that the psychology of an author was where the lines of success and failure were drawn.

I intended to keep right on top of my work so I sent a reply to Philip to assure him that I’d give the new client the best service I could. I opened the attachments and apart from the manuscript there was the author’s letter of introduction to whoever the editor might be.

“I understand that by using a pseudonym to write erotica then that will mean that I may appear afraid of anyone finding out that I write the stuff, or I have other genres out there and I want to keep the naughty topics away from the mainstream work.”

Of the four paragraphs in the message it was that one which caught my eye, and I had to agree with the author’s theory.

I sipped my coffee and flicked down through screens until I found the synopsis. A smile crept over my lips as I saw where this story was supposed to take the reader. I’d dealt with erotica a couple of times on my course to give me an idea of what to expect but this was different. This was a real live author seeking help with a manuscript that dealt with topics regarded as ‘kinky’. I finished reading and as I selected Download I moved my chair—to adjust my cock.

My printer was loaded and ready to go, and the economy ink tanks were topped up so I hit the Print button and while the manuscript was churned out, I reread the synopsis from the screen.

“I think I’m going to enjoy working with you, Amanda.”

On paper, the story worked out to be a fistful, at two hundred and fifty A4 pages. I separated the first three chapters, and went to sit in a comfy chair in the large conservatory which overlooked the rear garden. I had a fresh coffee, my red pen, and I was ready to get to work. In normal circumstances, I might look up occasionally and watch the birds but the story had me reading and rereading some parts. I didn’t reread because of errors, but because it was so engrossing. By lunchtime I’d been aroused three times. In the middle of the afternoon instead of taking a break for coffee and a walk in the rear garden I almost went upstairs for a pull.

*

I organised dinner and at half-past six, I heard the front door open and close. “Perfect timing.”

“It smells delicious,” Deborah said as she strode in and leant forward to brush her lips on mine.

“Casserole,” I said. “I hope it tastes as good as it smells.”

“If you were a girl you’d be a domestic goddess—making beds, dealing with laundry, shopping, and now cooking things beyond snack meals.”

“I just want to pull my weight.”

“Pulling your weight—with an athletic physique like yours. Are you sure you’re not taking a cheap shot at my size?”

I kissed her. “You’ve got a beautiful figure, and the only big thing about you is your rather impressive chest. And as for those amazing long and shapely legs—what’s not to like?”

“You say the sweetest things. Do I have time to shower and change before we eat?”

“Yes, take your time and wash away the stresses of the day.”

I watched Deborah glide gracefully through the living room in her high-heels. Her shoulder-length auburn hair shone and bounced with health at each step and as I looked at her I was gazing at my perfect woman. Yes, I was attracted to attractive women of all shapes and sizes, but Deborah’s figure and great legs really gave me a buzz.

*

We finished our meal and went into the living room to relax.

“Sam, that meal was delicious.”

“Thank you. Apart from what I said earlier about pulling my weight, I suppose in some ways it’s an advantage to have one of us working from home.”

“There is another plus that comes to mind.”

“Really?”

“Yes, of course.” She arched an eyebrow. “After a long, hard day and then a tiresome train journey I might sometimes want to just lie back and not work too hard when we make love.”

“How does that make my position an advantage?”

“It means when we go to bed, I can relax completely and let you lick me into a frenzy or pound into my pussy with your cock. Either way I get a great orgasm and you get to release all your juices.”

I grinned and adjusted the growing bulge in my jeans. “You’re making me sound like a sex slave.” I gazed at her lounging in a dark blue mini-dress with a low-cut neck. I was treated to a view of her deep cleavage and much of her thighs.

“I bet you like the thought of being a sex slave.” She glanced down at my hand. “In fact, if you were to stand and drop your jeans I reckon you’d have a hard-on.”

“Don’t be silly.”

“Go on then—prove me wrong … I’m demanding to see your cock.” She smiled.

“What—”

“Show me that this little chat isn’t arousing you.” She was on her feet and across the room in a few seconds—far too quick for me to react.

I gasped and worried my lower lip as Deborah lifted my hand with one of hers and then took a hold of the stiff bulge in my jeans.

“Oh my goodness, Sam. There was me thinking that after three months we didn’t have any sexy secrets left to discover.”

“I was thinking about what you said about licking you into a frenzy—”

“I’m sure you were,” she said as she undid my jeans and pulled down the zipper. “Now, if you were honest about the notion of being a sex slave I might have to repay that honesty.” She reached up and tugged at the waist of my jeans.

“I … I—”

“Lift those cute buttocks for me, you naughty boy.”

 I raised my hips and my jeans were whipped down and off my legs. I glanced at my boxers and sure enough, there was no way my arousal was going to fade now. I swallowed hard.

“And lift again, my kinky one.” Deborah tugged my boxers down and they joined my jeans. “T-shirt off, but I’ll let you keep the white socks on—they’re sexy.”

She knelt between my parted legs and leant forward. “If I kiss the wet tip of you cock I’ll expect to hear an admission or I’ll have to abandon this and sit down again.” She looked up at me as she reached forward with the tip of her tongue and teased my cock.

I didn’t care if it was true or not, I’d avoided having a wank all day and I really needed release. “Okay, okay, I admit … I’d like to … I’d like to be your sex slave.”

“Mmm.” She smiled at me before kissing the tip of my throbbing cock, and then she licked the pre-cum before kissing and sucking the circumcised head. “I want to know something else.” Deborah slipped her glossy red lips over the head and bobbed up and down several times, sucking gently. “What would you be prepared to do for me … as my sex slave?”

“Anything,” I gasped. I had to shoot my load so desperately. “I’d do anything you asked.”

“That’s the correct answer.” She took me in her mouth again and as she sucked and moved her head up and down I imagined the detailed scenes from the manuscript I’d been reading all day. I could usually last a while even when Deborah was giving me a blowjob, but I’d been excited on and off all day. I couldn’t hold back.

Deborah wrapped the slender fingers of her right hand around my shaft and gently stroked me as she sucked. When she slipped her left hand down under my balls I automatically raised myself again to give her finger access to my hole. She teased my anus with a fingertip as she sucked and stroked, but while she did, she looked up at me from under her long dark lashes.

“I’m gonna come … Deborah … fuck … I’m—”

She pushed the tip of her finger against my hole and sucked hard while also squeezing my balls and I was a lost cause.

“Oh … fuck … yes, yes, yesss—” I jerked my hips as I felt the rush of my juices. While I spurted cum into her mouth I panted like an animal and gripped the armrests of my chair. The sensation of having my cock drained by this beautiful woman was incredible. I was still trying to control my breathing while I watched her suck and lick my shrinking cock.

Deborah sat back on her ankles. “I wanted you to know what it was like to have absolute power over someone. Was that little demonstration okay for you my sex slave?”

“Yes, it was amazing.”

She licked her lips and a strange expression played over her features as she leant on my bare thighs and stood gracefully. “I know we were joking, my darling, but I have a feeling that there might be something in this sex slave idea.” She winked before she returned to her chair.

I quickly pulled on my boxers, jeans and T-shirt. I looked across the room at Deborah but I wasn’t sure if her expression was amusement or she was scheming. Either way I wasn’t asking.

***