Authors: Kay Jaybee
The Voyeur (16 page)
Never had a shower felt so good. Standing close, more or less propping each other up beneath the jet of scorching hot water, Anya and Clara allowed the events of the day to sink in.
Clara’s tits shone like overripe cherries from the hours of tweaking and tugging at the hands of both Ms Hill and Mark, and Anya’s backside was blotched with the yellow and purple bruises made by Craig’s cricket bat. Creaming soap with the utmost tenderness over each other’s grass-stained skin, they kept hugging with the relief of having survived this most extreme of fantasies as they relished the cleansing feeling of the water.
Anya murmured into Clara’s ear as she held her, ‘I am so proud of you.’
Tears of fatigue gathered in the housekeeper’s eyes. ‘But I almost let everyone down.’
‘You didn’t! Come on, it’s going to be OK.’ Soothing her girl’s cheek, Anya kissed her gently. ‘Let’s get dry; I want to get us both out of this place as quickly as we can.’
Following Anya from the shower, Clara asked, almost shyly, ‘Did you like it? The 11 men one after another part, I mean?’
Pausing as she smoothed the fluffy towel over her wet body, Anya replied, ‘Yes. Yes I did. It was tough – but we knew Fantasy 13 would be tough, didn’t we? Although, I had the benefit of knowing what was at stake – you didn’t. The inaction of your half of the challenge was far harder. Mind you, I think the competition at the end was as much a surprise to Mark as it was too us!’
Clara scrubbed another towel at her hair. ‘I hardly did anything until then, except wish that they would hurry up and screw me!’
‘Exactly. Being kept on the edge is much more difficult than being in the middle of the action. Especially as you knew nothing of the bet.’
Smiling with loving gratitude at her partner, Clara asked, ‘What was the bet anyway?’
Freshly dressed in the spare clothes Anya had bought with her, a chicken sandwich in each hand, the girls entered the study at Bridge’s to find Sparrow and Mark watching the last ten minutes of Fantasy 13 on the PC.
‘Ah, ladies.’ Ever the gentleman, Sparrow had already accepted his defeat with grace. ‘We were just admiring your performances. You have to concede that although you certainly came three times before Anya did, it was indeed a close run thing, Miss Hooper.’
Clara inclined her head in acknowledgement, but her eyes were captivated by the image of herself being so thoroughly fucked.
It was too much for Ms Hill. She had held her tongue for long enough. Her bitter resentment shot from her in a spurt of venomous bile. ‘What! That sham of a PA only lasted because of that idiot Craig.
Any time
he could have let her have an orgasm! But he was just enjoying himself way too much. wasn’t he? Keeping it to the wire – making the game last. I hope you will be dismissing him forthwith!’ The silver-haired woman had hardly paused in her diatribe, but now, panting hard, Ms Hill stared with a silent challenge at her boss.
‘He is a sportsman, Ms Hill. Naturally he took things to the wire. I expected him to act as he did, and as such, I will not be sacking him. Craig has, as you can’t possibly have forgotten, just won back the Bridge’s Cup for us.’
The air in the office hung heavy as the reality of what her superior was saying sank in. Then, uttering each word as if it was cracking china, Ms Hill said, ‘You never had any intention of taking Mark’s business, did you? All you promised me about becoming your PA! All we discussed for the company’s future; it was all a lie!’
Sparrow steepled his hands together, playing them against his mouth at Ms Hill’s passionate outburst. ‘This was about Anya – it was always about Anya. If you had stopped plotting and scheming for five minutes, you would have realised that.’
The wind blown from her sails, Ms Hill stood statue still, her arms limp at her sides.
‘Perhaps, my dear –’ Sparrow gestured from his secretary to the chair in the corner ‘– you would like to sit and consider your own position for a moment.’
Mark, deciding to ignore Ms Hill’s outburst, beamed at Anya and Clara. ‘Girls, you will be pleased to know that Dr Sparrow and I have discussed the situation. There is no question that the bet has been settled. I get to keep all of my business, and I will not be betting on cricket matches ever again!’
Anya looked Mark straight in the eye. Answering her unasked question he added, ‘And you, Anya, should you wish to, will remain in my employ.’
‘Unless,’ Sparrow jumped in before the PA could respond, ‘you would like to come back here. Mark has agreed that I can at least offer you the chance to return. I think I can safely offer you a PA position. Ms Hill here –’ he pointed carelessly to his secretary, who was now slumped in the very armchair from which Mark had observed Anya and Craig over six months ago, her face ashen and shocked ‘– will be happy to work for you, I am sure.
‘And while I am pushing my luck, I can add that a catering position could be created for you as well, Miss Hooper, should you wish to join your colleague here, providing she accepts my offer.’
‘Thank you, Dr Sparrow,’ Anya said. She and Clara exchanged the briefest of glances, and then, speaking for both of them, Anya continued, ‘You are very kind to make such an offer, but we will both be staying with Mark. He informs me he has a new set of tasks in mind for us to complete, and I don’t think either Clara or I would want to miss those.’
Epilogue
It took nearly two hours of continual soaping, rinsing, and the occasional dab of white spirit for Mark to remove the list of fantasies from his employee’s backs as they lay next to each other, face down, their arms and legs tethered to the posts of the new double bed he’d bought them as a reward for completing Fantasy 13.
As soon as every trace of the red pen had gone, Mark drove two solid bright neon pink dildos into their sopping wet channels, and whispered, ‘Now you both lie still and have some rest while you can. I will be with you in half an hour or so. Right now, I have work to do.’
Making himself comfortable on a chair in the corner of the room, Mark opened his notebook. It was high time he wrote up his next batch of voyeuristic dreams …
