Little Black Dress - Part 1 free porn video

There might have been a more delicious way to wake up, but to that Aaron Debeney had yet to be introduced. The sucking started in his dreams, slow, wet and rhythmic. Gradually his mind unwrapped itself from swathes of sleep. Fully conscious he found himself bone-hard and the sensation ongoing. Apparently the weekend had arrived.

Peering under the duvet he saw a familiar platinum-blonde head bobbing industriously. He could not help but admire the architecture of his own manhood, as those pink satin lips slid back and forth over the swollen head.

“You’ve such a beautiful cock,” she often told him, and after all the regulation concerns on that subject during his teens, it was gratifying to find himself more than adequate. Yes, he did look robust, more so with Carly’s mouth moulding itself around the engorged glans. Her pretty eyes flicked upwards and regarded him naughtily. In the marine blue of her dilating pupils he could see the pleasure she took in his enjoyment.

She let him go and, still eyeing him, trailed her pointed tongue in a glistening path from the cleft of his balls to his erection’s tip. “Sorry,” she said with the sexiest penitence she could muster, “I’ve done it again. Taken advantage of your Saturday morning hard-on.”

“I’ll forgive you completely if you sit on it,” he replied, assuming a generous tone.

Her face displayed lip-chewing desire to make amends. Shrugging the duvet off her shoulders, she slinked her bare, lissom form over his thighs and straddled his pelvis.

“That’d be my absolute pleasure,” she said huskily, as she drew up the tight-sprung length from his stomach and teased its head up and down her slit’s wet protrusion.

Aaron’s whole body tightened in anticipation of their union. He stared up at the subtle undulations of Carly’s body as she hovered there, toying with him against her slick opening. Sunlight was shafting onto her through the split in the curtains, showing off the golden-brown of her gym-taut body, the precocious upturn of nipples on high, firm breasts, that punky hair and the expression of loving arousal on her face. She was a splash of colour in his drab white-collar existence.

“Sit on me, sweetheart,” he breathed.

Carly Temple slotted the bulged head of Aaron’s prick inside herself and descended smoothly, luxuriously all the way down onto him, loving the sense of him filling her up. She bottomed out, resting her ass on his pelvis, basking for a moment in the snug fit of his cock inside her cunt. The blissed-out expression on his face made her smile. It mirrored her own deep satisfaction. He gripped her slim hips and she began to grind on him with gentle insistence.

A snug fit all round, she thought, as she leaned low over him to kiss his rising mouth. She ran fingers through his sleep-tousled hair and brushed the tips over his face’s strong contours, continuing to rotate herself on him. His eyelashes brushed her cheeks for a moment. Then she pushed his head back onto the pillow and raised herself so she could enjoy his penetration more fully.

She had sworn she would never date any of the men who frequented her local gym — preeners and leerers, the pack of them — but she had broken her rule for a quietly charming financial planner called Aaron. And now he was her sweet, solicitous boy, one who never made her feel anything less than cherished. Especially now, when he stared with a type of wonder into her eyes and clutched her hips and drove upwards, slow and searching, into her moist depths.

She rode the blissful waves of his thrusting, feeling warm and stretched-out and sexy-as-fuck. She palmed her breasts in a state of advanced arousal, letting her fingers curl shut so she could tug deliciously on her nipples. She knew Aaron would enjoy the visual; he loved it when she gave herself over to the approaching ecstasy. It fired him up every time, made him thrust more insistently like now, pushing towards his own fulfilment.

Their bodies worked in perfect sync, locked at the junction of their hips, her steady flow of juices lubricating his cock’s passage in and out of her tight channel. She rocked on him gently, one hand continuing to knead a breast while the other dropped down to move on her clitoris. He supported her with his hands and drove deep with groaning thrusts, initially slow, but quickening as their excitement mounted.

“God - God - Baby…” he was moaning, and she responded with a yearning, “Ohh – ohh - ohh …” The sun warmed them as they locked stares and fucked their way to a mutual crescendo.

“Come with me sweetheart, come with me …”

“Ohh - ohh - ohh - ohh -”

“Come with me - Oh god -”

“Ohhh fuck - fuck -”

He burst inside her with a guttural roar and she thrashed and gushed in response, keening her morning ecstasy. Their joy was protracted and intense and when it ended she subsided onto his chest and lay panting, her head resting against his.

“Love you,” she said softly, when she had regained her breath.

“Love you too, babe.” He kissed her forehead and she bit him playfully on the nose and they stared smiling into each other’s eyes, terribly pleased with themselves.

“So am I forgiven for taking advantage?” she inquired.

“Of course you are.” He kissed her face. “Until next time. Then I’ll have to make you do penance all over again. You’re my Saturday sinner.”

“And Sunday,” she reminded him.

“And Sunday. I reckon I could suffer your morning sinfulness all week long.”

“I can’t stop over every night,” she said with an apologetic shrug. “I’d never get my washing done.”

“Who said anything about stopping over?” He gazed at her frankly and her eyes widened.

“You mean… You think we should…”

“It’s just a thought.” He stroked her face. “Something that occurred to me. But look, don’t fret about it if it’s too sudden. I like having you around, that’s all. Guess I thought it might be good to make the arrangement more permanent.”

She beamed, more pleased than fazed. “Look, I’ve got to go and shower. I’ve that meeting with Miranda. But …” She brushed her face against his. “… Hold that thought and we’ll talk it over tonight, okay? You can get me drunk and pleasure me beyond my wildest imaginings and then ask me again … and who knows what I’ll say?” They smirked conspiratorially and she set about disconnecting their stickily adhered loins.

Aaron drifted post-coitally in and out of slumber as Carly was showering, her singing and the splash of water filtering pleasantly into his waking dreams. With one eye open he observed her wriggle her dainty self into designer ripped jeans and T-shirt. It was almost as erotic as watching her strip.

“So what does Miranda want with you?” he asked from among the sheets. “I thought you were done with her forever.”

“I think,” Carly said with a slight hesitation as she laced her feet into her trainers, “she wants to pass on a few tips before I take over at the branch. She said she’d buy me lunch. She doesn’t have to. She’s really busy right now what with her having been promoted too. It’s nice of her.”

“I didn’t know she did ‘nice’. Sure she’s not going to hit on you again?”

“You wish.” Carly smiled wryly and continued chatting as she vanished into the bathroom to primp. “You absolutely love that story. I can read your evil mind any time I mention it. Tell me you haven’t had a whole lads’ mag fantasy going on since I first told you.”

“I haven’t!” He protested his innocence loudly to the bathroom door. “I’m not sharing you with anyone, and that includes the predatory Miranda.”

“Look, she was - she was drunk at the time and it was never mentioned again. It was more a joke than anything.” Carly found herself strangely uncomfortable with the subject (her memories of the evening’s latter part were sketchy at best) and made a rapid conversational detour. “Anyway it wasn’t me she was getting predatory towards at the Vanguard Christmas do.”

“Come off it …”

“She took quite a shine to you, babe. I felt like clinging on twice as hard as usual.”

“No danger,” he said. “Not even my type.”

“Come on,” Carly protested, returning into the bedroom and slinging on her mini leather jacket. She pursued her subject, unable to help herself. “You’re not blind, Miranda’s sexy as hell. You telling me you’d have turned her down if you’d been single?”

“She’s more scary than sexy.”

Carly raised an eyebrow, unconvinced.

“Seriously. No interest. That woman would eat either one of us alive after mating.”

Carly was visibly gratified by his response. She dashed over to give her sheet-swaddled boyfriend a parting kiss. “Well we are both such tasty snacks.” They lingered at each other’s lips a moment.

“What say I take you out somewhere nice tonight?” he said, pulling her clothed self down onto his naked one.

“So we can have that talk?” she purred.

“Yeah. You can – can - what’s the word? - premier that little black dress of yours. I know you must be dying for the chance. You haven’t even let me see it on you yet.”

She hesitated, that warm expression clouding slightly.

“Everything okay?”

“No - Yes, yes, everything’s fine.” She recovered swiftly from whatever had afflicted her and hugged him farewell, whispering in his ear as she did. “Yeah, I’d love to wear it. And I’d love you to take it off me – very, very slowly.”

“God, is this my lucky weekend or what?”

“Check the calendar, babe. It says Aaron’s Lucky Weekend. Bye.”

*

Had Aaron known it, Carly was not as chipper about the Miranda meet as she’d tried to make out. All the while she walked to the Tube station, all the ride on the Underground to Charing Cross, Carly was reliving that single act three weeks prior. It wasn’t like she had a habit. Nor was she likely to establish one, what with the guilt and fear she had been swallowing down every waking hour since. Those were about the only feelings she hadn’t shared with Aaron in the six months since meeting him.

Her parents had brought her up to work for everything she owned and so she had never felt dissatisfaction with her material lot. Not until the moment she laid eyes on that sexy garment. Picked it up to feel the soft, glossy fabric and draped it down herself before the shop’s full-length mirror. It was like looking at someone else, someone rich and glamorous and at ease with both. Someone who felt the confidence Carly always had to fake. There, in the glass, was a young woman who had left her mousy teens behind her. Carly had blossomed, so her friends constantly told her, into a young woman, sexy and vibrant. Aaron was as lucky to be dating her as she him, they insisted. He’d be a fool to look around him like her previous boyfriend had done; his girlfriend was a catch. Well maybe in this damn dress she would actually start to believe it.

The thought of wearing the exquisite number to Kanaloa or Chinawhite, carrying it off with her proud boy by her side… She could be anyone wearing it. Hell, she could be Miranda. A covetousness that she’d never known before awakened inside her. Three months’ hard saving would scarcely have brought it within her reach. But one act of madness had done. There was still an adrenalin-fuelled thudding within her chest as she recalled the moment.

Carly had never quite found the courage to wear her dress. Its dubious acquisition was poisoning her enjoyment. Yet Miranda French’s demeanour had not altered, except to mellow into something like friendship as their working relationship had drawn towards its end. Carly was home free. There was no reversing what she had done. It was time to forget and enjoy. Wear it out on the town with the boy who had just suggested she move in with him. Her heart thrilled, driving away the last of her negativity.

Miranda was waiting for her in the Cellar Gaston wine bar on the junction of The Strand and Savoy Street.

“Carly.” She waved across the busy lunchtime crowd and rose to greet her with a brief Continental peck on both cheeks. “So glad you could make it.”

The dark pinstripe of Miranda’s jacket and skirt set ablaze her red-satin top and its matching crimson lipstick. Curls of rich chestnut hair tumbled about her shoulders and her dark hazel eyes fixed on Carly, drawing her in. Everything in her bearing suggested a woman on the professional ascent.

“What can I get you to drink?” There was nothing more unnerving than usual in her tone as they took their seats, only the same briskness with which Miranda attacked the rest of life. She was using precious time from her final day’s oversight of the branch, after all, to dispense whichever pearls of wisdom she deemed apposite. Carly relaxed and opted for a glass of house white.

“I was very pleased when you were offered the promotion,” Miranda said, and Carly sensed warmth in her cut crystal articulation. “I did suggest you in the first place.”

“I can’t thank you enough for …”

“Good to know I’m leaving the branch in safe hands. Especially since I’m now overseeing it and half a dozen others.” I’m still your boss. That was the clear subtext, but Carly appreciated the compliment nonetheless. “I simply feel you could benefit from some of my experience,” Miranda went on.

“Yes, of course. Any advice you can give me will be …”

“I’ve had to identify the pitfalls all by myself of working in retail and believe me I can save you a good deal of grief.”

So it went throughout lunch, Carly assuming the role of student at her mistress’ feet, Miranda expanding on relations with staff and senior management, recognising and playing different types of customer, dealing with the accountants ...

“Much of this is common sense,” she concluded, pushing aside her empty veal platter.

“Yet it still bears saying.”

“I know.”

“This most of all …” Miranda’s wine glass dangled between her palms. Her deepening stare drew back Carly’s waning attention. “Never trust any of the junior staff. Never let your guard down, not even if their efficiency and apparent dedication tempt you to do so.”

“Right, I'll remember.”

“Like when you’re puzzled by a discrepancy in the figures, Carly, and your explorations into the matter lead you to the purchase of an expensive cocktail dress. And no it’s not a hypothetical, I’m talking about three Saturdays ago. You remember? Oh … Judging from that change in expression you do.”

Carly felt the blood depart her face. Her confidence was never at its height in this woman’s presence and now she felt reduced to a naughty child. “Miranda, I don’t know what …”

“Oh please. Don’t even try that route.” Miranda’s mock-sympathy was withering. “You’re not that quick on your feet. Adept enough at your job, true, but—and I hope I’m not being unnecessarily cruel here - you’re not as bright as you think you are.”

Carly’s stomach churned as Miranda’s full inquisitory stare was turned upon her. In desperation she tried another tack, one deliberately different from the subservient tone she adopted naturally in her boss’s presence. “Look, Miranda, whatever you’re thinking, it’s nonsense. You’re under some … some misapprehension and I really think you need to go sort it out. Thanks very much for lunch, but I’m meeting Aaron and …”

“Scratch that, sweetheart, you’re going nowhere.” Miranda’s stare was as level as a sniper’s, her words quietly crushing. “You’re on my schedule now and if you want a way out of this then so’s your boyfriend. Now you hear me out and then we can decide where we want to take things.”

Carly listened and quailed as Miranda shared her findings, her mind grasping ineffectually for some get-out clause. Fear mounted as her list of options grew short. There was nothing she could say in her defence. She had worked so very hard for what degree of success she had achieved in Vanguard, only to jeopardise it all with one impulsive act.

“So,” Miranda said, having laid out the situation’s facts, - the checking and double-checking, the damned eye-witness account - “the only question which needs answering is how much you value your career.”

Carly hated how pathetic and forlorn she must appear before this woman. “Look, Miranda,” she said, her voice faltering, “what do you want me to do?”

Miranda smiled on her like an older sister, albeit it with something less than familial lurking underneath. “Poor pretty Carly. It’s much too public here to talk about what I want. Let me pay up and we can go somewhere more… conducive to the conversation we need to have.” She reached over and stroked her fingers feather-light across the younger girl’s hand. Carly’s body was overtaken by a frisson of nipple-hardening horror as her choice became clear. “And then that lovely guy of yours can join us there.”

The thought jolted Carly back into proactivity. She was unsure of Miranda’s precise intentions, but outraged nonetheless. “No no no - no, you mustn’t tell Aaron. Whatever you’re thinking, please don’t bring him into this.”

“I’m not, Carly,” Miranda said sweetly. “You’re going to bring him in. And you’re going to make sure he plays along with my little game.”

“No - no, he’s not. Don’t involve him. I’ll - Dammit, I'll go along with whatever you want, but please, please keep him out. I know I don’t deserve it, but don’t let him know, I’m begging you.”

Miranda shook her head sadly. “He’s going to know, sweetheart, take that as a given.” She produced a clutch of digital photo prints from her inside breast pocket and like a gambler with a winning hand threw them down on the table. “But he doesn’t need to know about these.”

Carly recoiled from the images on display. She had no recollection of what they portrayed, any of them. In one, she and Miranda were crushed close on a living-room sofa, mouths locked like lovers on a movie poster. Then, same location - the boss attached vampirically to her willing neck, Carly’s head thrown back in aching response. Another - her protruding tongue teasing Miranda’s lips, her hand gently cradling the branch manager’s full breast through her blouse.

Who knew what encouragements, perhaps from the photographer, had fuelled this interaction? She could guess which evening it had been - Miranda’s dinner party, the invitation to which had so surprised her. The one with the over-indulgence and her boss’s flirtation, which she’d been sure she had laughingly deflected. The one after which she had awoken back on her own sofa, hungover with the latter part of the evening a blank. But now uncomfortable memories were seeping through from her subconscious.

“You and tequila,” Miranda said, shaking her head. “Dangerous combination. Oh, it started as a dare, but after what was captured in these photographs Alexis put the camera away. She said we looked such a hot couple we should have some privacy. We went to my room.”

“No - no.” Carly was panicking. “Nothing happened. It was a joke, that’s all. Messing about. I’d remember anything else.”

“Are you sure?” Miranda eyed her intently. “I remember it all very clearly. Such a hot and eager fuck. So wet and messy on my fingers. And so noisy. The other guests will tell tales of everything they heard. So, I’d be very careful what you say to loverboy.”

Carly stared at her tormentor terrified and appalled. She was so confused she could tell no longer what was truth and what was lies.

*

Aaron was midway through the Spurs-Chelsea game and on his second can of lager when he answered the unregistered number on the landline. It was Carly. Her distraught voice jolted him out of his Saturday afternoon stupor.

“Aaron, babe, I need you to listen. I’m in trouble.” She could scarcely speak through the tears. “I’ve got myself in such a lot of trouble …”

“Sweetheart, calm down.” His heart was pounding with worry. “Calm down and tell me what the matter is. Where are you?”

“Listen, please listen!” He had never heard her like this before, so fraught and insistent. “I can’t tell you everything now, but I need you to do everything I say, please babe? Please?”

“Okay, okay, I’m listening!” Every word she spoke scared him more somehow.

“I need you to come to the Baglioni Hotel, on The Strand.”

“The Bag ... What the hell are you doing there?”

“Just listen! I need you to go to my flat. You’ve got the key, right? And fetch the - the -” She could hardly get the words out. “The dress, you know, the black one.”

“Do what?”

“Get the black dress and my black high heels and bring them here.” She read his intake of breath. “Don’t ask why. I need you to do this, okay? Okay?”

“Yes, yes, okay!” There was exasperation and bewilderment mixed in with his worry.

“I’m coming, I'll get there as fast as I can. High heels? Okay, right, I'll be there! ASAP.”

Aaron’s mind was a turmoil of conflicting explanations as he rushed the distance to Carly’s flat. He babbled an explanation to his girlfriend’s roommate and rifled through Carly’s closet, stuffing the precious dress and heels into the sports bag he had brought with him. The nature of the dire circumstances were beyond his powers of guesswork, but it had something to do with Miranda, of that he had no doubt. With everything so rosy in Carly’s world, what trouble could she have got herself into? He could only fret on the Tube journey with no phone reception. Even above ground, his calls went straight to her voicemail. All he could do was complete his trek to the Baglioni as quickly as possible to alleviate confusion.

A hum of conversation arose from the customers in the hotel bar, but when he squinted through the dim lighting Carly was not to be seen. He grabbed once more for his phone, but a hand clutched hold of his jacket and arrested the motion. Startled he looked down at the brunette woman solo at her table and recognised his girlfriend’s boss.

“Miranda! Where the hell’s Carly?”

“Aaron. Lovely to see you again. Won’t you sit down?” She spoke with ineffable cool.

“Where the hell is she? What’s going on?”

“She’s fine, Aaron, but we both thought it best if I explained the situation. Now please take a seat.” There was something politely commanding in her tone, suggesting that whatever the situation, she controlled it. Even in his dishevelled state of mind he was stricken by her appearance - the luxuriant tumble of her hair around her shoulders, those mesmerising dark eyes, that imperiously high bosom, enshrined so tightly in red satin. All enhanced by an uncanny poise and self-possession. Begrudgingly and with no little apprehension, he dropped into the chair opposite. “Can I get you a drink?”

“Hardly,” Aaron snapped impatiently. “Look, tell me what’s going on.”

“Of course.” After a sip of mineral water she commenced. “It appears your girlfriend hasn’t been entirely straight with either of us. I’ve done everything for that girl, Aaron, helped her in the company once my own promotion came through, provided the benefit of my experience at every turn …” She paused, wounded. “And then it transpires she isn’t the paragon of honesty and industry she’d led us to believe she was.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking, assuming that you’ve followed instructions, about the contents of that bag.” Miranda dragged the sports bag across the floor to herself, unzipped it and tugged the black dress into view. “Vanguard Summer collection 2012. You know what this dress retails at? Over five hundred pounds. How much do you think your girlfriend paid for it?”

Aaron could manage nothing more than an empty stare.

“Slightly less than one hundred. Now even taking into account staff discounts that’s taking the piss, don’t you think?”

“There’s obviously been some mistake.” His tone was as flat as his refusal to believe what he was hearing.

“Oh no mistake,” Miranda said blithely. “She’s a crafty thing, your other half. You see she was in charge of attaching price tags when the first consignment of summer items came in several weeks ago and it appears she did some artful swapping of tags with a substantially cheaper dress. It’s a cheeky move and it happens all too often in retail I’m afraid. After that she checked out this garment under the nose of one of the dimmer Saturday girls. I’d probably never have known except another branch called up to enquire about the price of the cheaper dress and when I checked the tag I knew something was wrong. So, I quizzed Nicola, the intellectually challenged part-timer who sold Carly the dress, and she realised what must have happened. In fact,” and she paused for emphasis, “she’ll swear to it.”

Miranda proffered the offending item to Aaron as he sat stunned. “Has she tried it on for you yet? You’d remember. It’s not a run-of-the-mill piece of couture and I imagine she’d wear it rather well.”

“But - But - she wouldn’t do that. She wouldn’t steal.”

“Your faith in her is as touching as it’s misplaced. The girl’s admitted to it.” Miranda’s frankness seemed tinged with sympathy. A pause extended between them as he absorbed the revelation. “So now I, Aaron, have to decide what to do about the situation.”

All Aaron’s bluster was diffused by his own sense of having been deceived. “You haven’t ...?”

“Acted on it? Not yet.”

Aaron was confused. “So - So what do you want with me? And where’s Carly? What are we doing here?”

Miranda held him with an enigmatic gaze. “You, sweetheart, are going to help me and Carly come to some sort of resolution in all this. In the discreet and pleasant surroundings of this hotel.”

“Sorry?”

“Look, I can see you’re disappointed in her, it’s understandable. But I’m sure you wouldn’t want to see your girl get into trouble, whatever her mistake.” She folded the dress back inside the bag as he struggled for comprehension. “So I’m going to take this up to the Sinclair Suite on Floor Eight and you can join me there in twenty minutes.” She rose to leave, pressing a key card into his hand.

Aaron stood up in response, his heart rate once more on the rise. “That’s where she is? What the fuck’s going on here, Miranda? Take me to her now.”

“You do as I say or I report her theft like that.” A snap of her fingers and a new steely tone that shut down Aaron’s protest. “You’re in this now with your thieving little sweetheart, either that or you can abandon her. If it’s the former, wait here.” She called to a nearby waiter who had been alerted by the raised voices. “Double Scotch for the gentleman. On my tab.” She gave Aaron a strangely amused glance. “My advice - drink it. See you in twenty.”

Aaron stared as her svelte, power-dressed form turned about and departed with brisk stiletto-clicks for the elevator, bag slung over her shoulder, carrying her own large leather handbag on the other side. The drink, he accepted - sat down with it and knocked back the single malt in a couple of gulps as he brooded.

What had possessed Carly? Was he dating a habitual larcenist? What the fuck was Miranda trying to negotiate? She was attempting to twist the situation to some devious purpose of her own, it was clear, and seemed convinced that she could win whatever game she was playing. The blood pulsed fast through Aaron’s veins, as cloudy imaginings of Miranda’s purpose drifted across his mind.

His thoughts were an adrenalized blank twenty minutes later as he ascended to Floor Eight and followed the signs to the Sinclair Suite. All he felt was a broad sense that everything had changed. That whatever he was walking into was beyond his control. But he couldn’t let that be the case. Whatever Carly had done, he had to take the initiative away from Miranda on behalf of them both. Standing before the door, key card clenched in his hand, his heartbeat amplified like a personalised horror soundtrack. Dreading his life’s next moments, he slotted the card, watched the light click to green and entered the room.

A passageway opened onto the moderately sized suite. The blinds had been shut, everything washed in a roseate glow by two red-shaded lamps on either side of the room’s centerpiece - a four-poster bed framed in lacquered ebony. Its muslin drapes had been pulled aside for access to the mattress.

And bound tightly to the nearest end-post was Carly.

Her back was tight against the square-edged vertical, arms stretched behind her, clearly tethered. She was teetering in the strapped high heel shoes and clad in the black dress. Aaron instantly guessed she was wearing nothing else; the clothes in which she had left his apartment, brassiere and panties included, were slung over a plush armchair. Her make-up had been touched up, the frightened stare of those pretty eyes accentuated by mascara and her lips shaded the same scarlet as Miranda’s. That was before they had been stretched around the ball-gag which had been inserted into her mouth. The ball was black to match the dress.

Five hundred pounds’ worth of haute couture - the article which had brought about this mess. Had he not been so distracted by his bizarre situation, Aaron might have appreciated how well it draped his petite punk-haired girlfriend. The skirt of the dress ran to mid-thigh, stretching elastically from her waist around the curves of her slender thighs. The top was a raggedy artwork of randomly crossed strips, plunging from the shoulder and stretching across the bodice, taut against her breasts. Her smooth arms were bare and triangles of honey-toned flesh - shoulder-blade and cleavage - were visible through the garment’s bandaging. She looked an exquisite fetishized doll. Miranda was nowhere to be seen, her jacket and bag deposited on the bed.

All this Aaron absorbed in a split-second.

In the same instant Carly stared into his appalled eyes, anticipating his reaction. Here was her rescuer, who despite what Miranda might have told him by now, would storm in all noble intentions. And in attempting an act of salvage, he would mire Carly, and himself come to that, in an even deeper world of shit.

She no longer bothered struggling against the leather thongs which bound her wrists. Already she had crumpled in acceptance of her fate. That all her professions of womanly strength had been undermined was galling, but in the face of her boss’s malice what choice had there been?

There she had stood before the hotel’s receptionist, a forced smile on her lips as she played the role of Miranda’s willing partner. She rode the elevator like a sacrificial lamb, stripped naked as her persecutor looked on gloating, wriggled into her beloved dress - the one she had never truly owned. For the first time, the moment transformed to one of pure mortification. She allowed Miranda to empty neat tequila down her throat to ‘loosen her up’; the bottle remained close by on a bedside tables. And there was that other moment, the exquisitely mortifying one of which Aaron had still to be made aware, which had humiliated her more than putting on the dress. Its consequence made her blush and wriggle with discomfort.

There had been that single brief flash of career-be-damned resistance when Miranda returned with the dress: “Alright, this stops here. You can report the theft, I’ll confess to it, but there’s no way you can make us both do whatever this is. We’ll stitch you up if you take it any further.”

“I don’t think so, pretty darling.” Miranda’s smile was acid as she seized Carly by the tousled strands of her hair. “You see I have friends who already suspect we’re quite the hot couple, you and me. No surprise if I’d invited you for a weekend liaison in a posh hotel. And your jealous boyfriend had suspected and followed you here to confront us. You remember Jennifer Maxwell, from my party? The one where you lost your inhibitions so completely? She’s an excellent lawyer, very creative mind. With those photographs she’d make you look like the devious minx at the heart of a very sexy scandal. Your friends and family would be quite astounded. Now strip.”

And so had fizzled her defiance. She submitted, even if it meant her precious boy being drawn into Miranda’s web. The guilt was unbearable.

Now he was rushing up in outrage at her predicament. He did not even register her resistance as he scrabbled at the fastenings of her ball-gag. “It’s okay,” he was saying. “I’ll get you out of here. Whatever she’s got planned, she’s not getting away with it.” He succeeded in unbuckling the gag and eased out the mouth-stuffing ball, casting the horrid item onto the bed. “There. Now …”

“Aaron, Aaron don’t. Leave me be. Please. If we don’t do what she wants she’ll go to the police. She’ll tell them all about the dress. I’ll be sacked, I’ll have a police record …”

Aaron was already checking to see how she was tied, struggling to unfasten her bonds. “If she does, we’ll shout assault, kidnapping, attempted blackmail, whatever ... Where the hell’s she got to, anyway?”

“No, sweetheart, no, please! She’ll lie, she’ll twist it, she’s got friends who’ll say all sorts about me. She’ll make it look like … Babe, she’ll humiliate me!”

He continued to fumble with the leather ties and her desperation grew.

“No she won’t. She’s overplayed her hand. There’s no way she’ll follow through if we stand up to her. Now you’re coming with me if I have to …”

“Aaron, let go of me, you fucking idiot!”

Aaron released her instantly, stung by her words and the fury in her eyes, the like of which he had never seen before. The moment passed and her anger crumpled into anguished remorse. Not, however, before he had felt his own surge of anger toward the beguiling thief who had shot down his attempt to rescue her.

“I’m sorry babe,” she pleaded tearfully. “I’m so sorry, I’ve worked so hard ... It was a mistake, a stupid thing, it was only once. I can’t risk her telling. Please, please help me babe!” Tears from both eyes raced for her chin. When Miranda emerged from the en suite bathroom she found him staring at Carly, midway between pity and resentment.

“If I may interrupt the tete-a-tete …” Aaron let Miranda speak, but his eyes lingered darkly on his sorrowful girlfriend. “I’m perfectly willing to let Carly’s misdemeanour slide. She can go on managing the Strand branch of Vanguard and this dress will be our secret forever. I’ll even cover the difference and she can pay me back at her leisure.”

Miranda glided over to where Carly was tied. She had dispensed with the jacket, displaying her shoulders and the milky expanse of her upper bosom. Her fingers she trailed through the blond tufts of the younger girl’s hair. Carly was rigid against the bedpost, her face pained and helpless. “All I ask is that you both join me in an afternoon interlude.” She traced Carly’s cheekbone with a red-painted talon. “Now your girlfriend here has already submitted herself of her own volition. All that remains is to see how willing you are to help her out. You do still love her, don’t you?”

He took in Miranda’s mocking smile, watched her stroke his girl’s collar bone through a gap in the exquisitely tailored dress. The sight created an uncomfortable charge in his loins.

“Surely you’re not going to let her down,” Miranda taunted.

Carly’s cry was scared, her gaze soulful. “Help me babe. Do what she says, please!”

He stared back, baffled by his girlfriend’s weakness. He was baffled too by Miranda’s reckless demands, and pissed off - by both her manipulation and Carly’s deceit. His cherished illusions of his girlfriend had been shattered, it seemed, yet he could not abandon the scared girl who had made love to him so passionately and sweetly that morning. And along with all those boiling emotions he was undeniably, disconcertingly turned on.

Checking that the door was properly shut, he stared back at Miranda with a terse resignation. His heart was thumping again and his cock, however much he fought the reaction, was thickening steadily. “All right. What do you want?”

Miranda’s smile welcomed Aaron to the game. “Take your clothes off. All of them. Now.”

TO BE CONTINUED