Authors: V T Turner
5 Days a Week: Tuesday
V T Turner
Copyright © V T Turner 2013
Also by V T Turner
My Paid Angel
Good, Bad, Girl
Part 1: Morning
Amber was tired. She could barely keep her eyes open. She hadn’t slept a wink, had spent the night staring at the wardrobe, knowing that her lover was locked inside and wondering if and when she should get him out.
She had tried a few times. The first time had been at midnight. She crept out of bed, opened the door for him. She saw his face in the moonlight. Despite having been locked in a cramped wardrobe for hours, despite sitting slumped and half naked, being forced to listen to his lover as she had sex with her husband, he had a bright and warm smile on his face. It melted her heart, but her heart then jumped in shock when she heard her husband stir behind her, heard him mumble to her. She shut the door quickly.
“What’re you doing?” he wanted to know.
She grinned back, his eyes were squinted closed and it was dark, he wouldn’t be able to see, nor would he have been able to see the obvious guilt that she had hid behind her grin. He was awake, so he wanted sex. She pleased him, giving him what he wanted in the hope it would send him straight to sleep, but he didn’t drift off for another hour.
She had tried again when she heard him snoring but he caught her before she clambered out of bed. She hoped Phillips would escape of his own volition, but in the morning, when she went to him after her husband jumped in the shower, she discovered why Phillips hadn’t tried to escape. He was fast asleep.
She roused him with a shove, he woke up startled, his wide eyes bearing into hers. He seemed confused at first, as if unsure where he was. He smiled at her, kissed her, noted the horror and haste on her face and then it dawned on him.
“Shit,” he hissed.
He hopped out of the wardrobe. He was naked from the waist down, his clothes still bundled in the wardrobe with him. She couldn’t help but admire him, couldn’t help but reach for him. She was scantily clad herself, nothing but the nightdress that her husband adored do much. She put a hand on his thigh, felt the firm muscle there, the thin tickling hairs. They kissed and embraced, she felt his penis stir, felt it harden against her thigh.
She allowed him to push her up against the wall, allowed him to brush up her nightdress and sink his cock inside her. She was already wet, already waiting for him. She had been with her husband mere hours before, he had heard, but he didn’t seem to mind, didn’t seem able to restrain himself. She stopped him when he began to thrust, she moved backwards, away from his desperate cock.
She put a finger to his lips when he moved back towards her and tried to kiss her.
“No time,” she said. She could still hear her husband in the shower, he didn’t usually take long, unless he was with her in there, and even then he was barely more than a few minutes. “Go,” she told him.
He gave her a long stare. She saw the desperation, the eagerness in his eyes. They both turned their heads as they heard the shower shut off, listened as Ian Matthews opened the shower door; heard his footsteps on the en suite flooring.
“Go,” Amber hissed.
Phillips turned on his heel and left, taking his clothes with him. She heard him rush across the landing, then creep down the stairs. She turned to the en suite doorway as her husband appeared, naked and dripping. He had a grin on his face and he had an erection. She sighed internally, knowing that he wanted her again and wishing that she had time to be with Phillips instead.
It was another bright morning, another good day. He was fully sexed-out. His wife had been restless all night, he remembered waking a few times, remembered having sex with her on at least one occasion. It felt like a dream, almost unreal, but he knew that if it
a dream, it wouldn’t have been his wife he was fucking. She was standard, easy, obtainable and boring. She was still fuckable of course, something that didn’t escape his attention in the shower when he stood under the hot jets of water, getting excited as he thought abut her tits.
She seemed a little off when he fucked her after the shower, but she came quickly and was very wet and ready for him, which was ideal, as he hadn’t been in the mood for foreplay. She had been the same the night before. She had probably been thinking about him, wanting him, just as he had thought about her on his way home in the car.
He drove himself to the office. He had a driver, someone he paid to do the job for him, but he liked to do it himself. He felt it gave him more freedom and he knew it gave him more control. He liked to be in control.
He winked at Simone as he entered the building. “Morning sexy.”
She wasn’t as happy as the previous day; wasn’t as annoyed as she had been after he slept with her and spread his fluid on her tits and her blouse. She had a wry smile on her face, a curious glimmer in her eyes. He advanced to the desk, mistook her expression for horniness.
“Fancy…” he tilted his head towards the toilets opposite the desk. “You know…” he finished with a wink.
She stared at him for a moment, her wry expression changed to a look of contempt and distaste. She seemed to be weighing him up. Eventually she slowly shook her head.
He was disappointed. He’d had sex a few times already in the last twelve hours, but the pills that Doctor Phillips had given him spiked his sexual appetite to teenage levels. “Are you sure?” he pushed. He had already banked on her saying yes, had already started to get into the mood.
“Positive,” she affirmed.
“Oh,” he groaned, sagged a little. “It won’t take long--”
“No,” she hissed, the glimmer now gone from her eyes. Replaced entirely by contempt.
“Fine,” he snapped in the tone of a child who hadn’t gotten his way. He knew he would have to satisfy himself but he didn’t mind, masturbation was still exciting and enjoyable and he had a large collection of porn on his laptop which would make it even more enjoyable.
He felt his phone buzz in his pocket, pulled it out to see he had a message from Sissy, his young and horny assistant; someone who would give him what he wanted. She was better than porn.
“I actually need to have a word with you,” Simone said as Ian studied his phone.
He looked at her, sneering out of the corner of his eyes. He had no interest in her or what she wanted, not now that he knew it had nothing to do with sex. He opened the message and felt his heart sink when he read it. He cursed under his breath and began to quickly move away.
“A word?” Simone called after him. “It’s important!”
“Not now!” Ian shouted back, already on the stairs, the door slamming shut behind him.
Sissy had struggled to sleep all night, her mind whirring with thoughts of Ian, Amber and Shelly. She conspired and worried; plotted and pondered. Then she began to worry about the baby. She loved Ian and she knew he felt the same way, but she didn’t think he wanted a kid. He was old, probably beyond the years of procreation and he hadn’t had one yet, so what were the odds he would want one with her? She settled on the hope that he would want one with her because he loved her; that he had never loved, or even liked, his wife and that was why he had never had a baby with her.
She finally drifted off in the early hours of the morning, her sleep plagued with horrible dreams. She dreamt that she had lost Ian, that he dismissed her and went back to his wife after she told him about the baby. She dreamt that he took her job, her house and left her on the street. She had surreal, suffering dreams after that; her sleep was far from peaceful.
When she finally awoke she was a mess and she knew she had to tell him. She had to get it off her chest, the worrying wasn’t doing her any favors. She was still suffering from morning sickness and that, along with the strains of work and maintaining a relationship that technically didn’t exist, was eating her soul.
She texted him when she was hunched over the toilet. She was going to be late for work again, she wasn’t due in early but he liked her in so he could screw her before everyone else arrived. She planned to text him to tell him she would be late, give him a feeble excuse, but as soon as her fingers began to type she got carried away with herself. She regretted what she had written after she hit ‘send’ but the deed was done.
She experienced another flood of nausea, this one from the worry more than the morning sickness. She was still retching when the phone rang in her hand.
He hadn’t slept much. He’d stayed awake, angry at himself and at Sissy. He’d never liked her very much. She was stuck-up. She thought that she was better than everyone else just because she was fucking the boss. He’d known girls like her at high school, the prim and proper tarts who excelled at everything, looked down on everyone and eventually ended up pregnant or sleeping with the English teacher. He’d avoided her, ignored her, but after last night, after she’d interrupted his time with Shelly -- the girl he was obsessed with, the girl he was sure he was destined to be with -- he couldn’t ignore her anymore.
He was still annoyed when he woke from what little sleep he had, but he tried to push the hatred down; tried to concentrate on the day ahead. He would see Shelly again, that was always a plus; that thought sustained him, kept a smile on his face as he ate breakfast, showered and headed to the office.
The smile didn’t fade from his face when he noticed that Simone seemed to be grinning like a crazy woman at the front desk; it didn’t fade when he noticed Shelly hadn’t shown up with the others and forced himself to chatter idly with them, all the while looking out for her; it didn’t fade when he saw his boss and tried to offer him a friendly smile only to be rebuffed by an aggressive and unwarranted outburst -- Matthews was clearly pissed off at something. The smile did fade when, an hour into the morning, Shelly was nowhere to be seen.
She hadn’t shown up for work.
She had all the dirt on her boss that she could have dreamed of getting: crystal clear video of him fucking her in the office. Now it was just a question of how she played the game. She spent all night working it out but didn’t really come to any sound conclusion. It wasn’t a spur of the moment thing, she had planned it for a while, but most of her efforts had gone into the dirty deed itself -- forcing herself to go through with it, finding the right moment when he was horny and they were alone -- and she hadn’t thought of what to do afterwards.
She was still trying to work it out in the morning when he came to her desk and hit on her, hoping to stick his desperate and tiny cock in her again.
She stared at him with contempt. God, how she hated him. He was everything that was wrong with the world. He had a lot of money and no idea how to spend it; a beautiful wife and a gorgeous girlfriend and no idea how to treat them; status and power, with no intention of using them for good. He was an egotistical, disgusting human being who didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as anyone else. Since she had started working in the office she had seen him fritter away his life and his relationships, had watched as he skirted the law and every grain of common decency and came out the other end still smelling of roses with an army of sycophants and lovers still ready to bend over and call him god whilst he fucked them. It was despicable, disgusting and when she saw the horny glint in his eye, she decided that she would just play the game there and then. There was no need to pussyfoot around it, no chance of being anonymous and no point in playing it cool; she was going to blackmail him, pure and simple, there was no safe way around it.