Candid Confessions Bundle #3 (9 page)

I climbed down off the desk and got dressed in a
foul mood. What was I supposed to do now? I didn’t even have my
faithful Rabbit Pearl in my handbag to take care of the business
for me. It didn’t seem fair. Sven’s fiancé was probably about to
get the fuck of her life, now that I had warmed her man up for her.
But what about me? I felt like a right dick....except without the
dick.

What a bummer. I got dressed, and was about to storm
out of the office when the phone on the desk rang. The thought
crossed my mind that it might be Sven’s fiancé ringing me to say
what a great fuck she was getting. But that was obviously stupid.
Then I thought it might be Sven ringing to apologize, so I answered
the phone contemptuously.

‘Hello?’

‘Hmmm...that doesn’t sound like Vanessa...’

The voice was deep and silky smooth and knocked me
sideways. It sounded like one of those actors that do the voiceover
for action movie trailers. You know, ‘it was a time for men to be
men, and for real men to stand up and fight for their women...’
That sort of thing. I answered with a silly giggle.

‘Oh, sorry...Vanessa isn’t here. She’s gone
home.’

‘OK. Can you leave a message for her? Just tell her
Brad called.’

Vanessa was my editor - the one with the desk with
heel marks on it. You’d think she would take better care of her
office furniture. But anyway, she was a good-looking woman for her
age, but if this guy was bonking her, then judging by his voice,
she was one lucky bitch. I was getting moist again between the
legs. I knew that was silly. What can you tell about a guy from the
sound of his voice? He could be old, fat, bald and ugly. But he
sounded hot.

My voice came out in an embarrassing squeak. ‘Sure.
I will tell her first thing in the morning.’

‘Thank you. And who are you?’ he enquired.

‘I’m Angel, Vanessa’s new Assistant Editor...just
started today.’

‘And you have the voice of an angel, too!’ he
purred. Yeah, I know it was corny, but I still buckled at the
knees. While I melted, the voice continued: ‘Have a good night. I
hope to meet you face to face soon.’ And then there was a click,
and he was gone.

My panties were soaking, and I was hot to trot
again, but still with no-one to trot with. So I went home and
vibrated myself to sleep with the help of my friend, Mr. Rabbit,
fantasizing about getting a good stoking from the mysterious man
with the sexy voice.

***

Yeah, I know what
you’re thinking. What a hussy. Well, bollocks to you, then. Anyway,
what are you so uptight about...I bet you’re not an innocent
virgin, either, right? So get down off your high horse and let me
explain.

Sorry...I got a bit carried away there. Didn’t
intend to offend. But what I mean is, you’re a woman, right? (If
you’re not, clear off and get some proper male porn...that’s what
the Internet was invented for). And I guess you are not gay, or you
would be reading some of the great LGBT literature out there on
your Kindle or your iPad, or whatever device you hide your guilty
pleasures on.

So the fact that you are here reading this means you
like dick...which means you’re not that different from me really.
So don’t get uppity. The only difference is that I probably like it
in larger quantities than you. It’s just a question of scale.
You’ve seen women who can’t resist stuffing themselves with
chocolate so they end up looking like a whale? Well, that’s me,
except I substitute cock for chocolate. That way, I can enjoy a
good mouthful without taking in any calories, plus I get a good
physical workout afterwards. I call it the Dick Diet. You should
try it...it sure as hell burns up the kilojoules. And it’s a whole
lot more fun than the cabbage frigging soup diet. I should probably
publish it...I could make a fortune.

Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes, I was talking about
sex. My favorite subject. Time to confess, I guess:

‘My name is Angel, and I’m a...(sob)...I’m a...a
shameless sexaholic!’

There now, I’ve said it. Look, I can’t help it...I
just like to fuck guys, OK? It’s not my fault.

I didn’t plan it that way, and I guess that isn’t
what my parents had in mind when they named me Angel. But that’s
how it turned out. Life was pretty straightforward until I reached
the age of fourteen, then my boobs took on a life of their own, and
boys started to notice. And to be honest, I liked the attention. Me
and my boobs have been attracting a lot of interest ever since, and
all three of us are very happy with the arrangement.

I was never a classic cheerleader kind of girl, but
if I say so myself, I was pretty damned sexy in a smoldering kind
of way, even back in my teens. I was never going to be a
supermodel, but I had the kind of looks that guys go for. That is,
I actually had some curves, and I could do the
cute-smile-and-fluttering-eyelash thing that makes guys melt. They
should teach girls that in school...it’s worth a million bucks,
easy. Luckily, I managed to figure it out for myself.

I was something of a slow starter, mainly because I
was raised on a farm in the backwoods of Montana with rather strict
parents (see Episode #1 for more on that story). But once I got
going, there was no stopping me.

I was born a brunette. And although they say blondes
have more fun, it’s not true. Heck, if you can find a blonde who
has had more fun than me, I would love to meet her...she must be
permanently horizontal! It doesn’t seem to matter as far as guys
are concerned. I think they are too busy looking at our boobs to
notice our hair color, girls!

Somehow I managed to get myself a degree in
journalism, and then a few jobs in the media in the States. To cut
a long story short, my personal connections led to me being offered
this job overseas in Sydney. The idea of living Down Under and
enjoying some Sydney sunshine sounded very appealing. So that’s how
I came to find myself working with hot and hunky male models every
day, and surrounded by Aussie surfer dudes every night.

Yes, it’s a tough job…but someone has to do it. I’m
not doing this for myself, you understand. I’m making the sacrifice
on behalf of women everywhere.

Feel sorry for me? What’s that you said? Hey, don’t
swear…it’s rude.

***

One thing I loved
about my new job was the trip to the office in the morning. Yes,
you heard that right - I enjoyed the morning commute. That’s
because my trip included a ferry ride across Sydney Harbour, and if
there is a more beautiful sight than the Sydney Opera House and its
surroundings on a beautiful summer morning, I have yet to see it.
As we skimmed over the waves, I watched a group of tourists high
above me, walking on the framework of the Harbour Bridge. They were
doing the famous Harbour Bridge Climb. My flatmate had tried to
talk me into doing it, telling me the views are amazing from up
there. I bet they are, but I am way to scared of heights to even
consider it. I get vertigo wearing stilettos.

I disembarked at Circular Quay, and strolled the
five-minute walk to the office, grabbing a Starbucks coffee on the
way.

What is it with Starbucks? Everybody else sells
coffee in small, regular or large. Starbucks has to go for Tall,
Grande and Venti. Big isn’t big enough...they have to start at huge
and work their way up. It’s a pity penises aren’t graded in a
similar kind of way - no small or regular, just Large, Enormous and
Bet You Can’t Fit it All In. That would be awesome! But looking at
most of the guys in suits hurrying past me along Pitt Street, small
and regular seemed to be the norm. Shame.

I got to the office a shade after nine, and spread a
few papers around my desk to make it look as though I had been busy
for ages. I stuck my head into Vanessa’s office to say good
morning, but realized she was on the phone. I was about to duck out
again, but she motioned for me to stay while she wound up the call.
A minute later, she hung up. I gave her a friendly ‘good employee’
smile.

‘Good morning, Vanessa...I just wanted to tell you
someone called Brad phoned you last night.’

‘Yes, I know - that was him calling back.’ I
realized her cheeks were a little flushed. So even the cold and
efficient Vanessa was not immune to Brad’s charms, whoever he was.
Maybe he wasn’t so fat, bald and ugly after all. Vanessa regained
her composure.

‘I think you made an impression - he was asking
about you,’ she said. Was that a look of jealousy in her eye?
Surely not. ‘Anyway, I’m going to lunch with him tomorrow to talk
about the next quarter, so I’ll need you to take my calls while I
am out.’

At that moment Vanessa peered closely at her desk,
and I realized she had seen the heel scratches in the varnish. In
the cold light of day, they looked much worse than they had the
night before. Ooops! I spoke quickly to distract her.

‘Sure, I can do that. But who is Brad, exactly?’

Vanessa raised her eyebrows quizzically, then took a
copy of the latest magazine proofs off her desk and handed them to
me. I walked back to my cubicle, sipping my Latte and studying the
article she had given me. The headline and byline jumped out at
me:

‘True Love, Sex and Happiness. By relationships
expert, Dr. Brad King.’

Next to the name was a photo of a man who was
definitely not old, bald or ugly. He looked like the kind of doctor
you see on TV medical series. That is, a hunky, square-jawed actor
who looks the part, but who couldn’t save your life for peanuts. In
this case, though, he wasn’t an actor - he was a bona fide clever
dick, as the bio at the bottom of the page made clear. I vaguely
recognized him, but I wasn’t sure from where.

‘As well as providing regular relationships advice
to readers of Hot and Hunky, Dr. King runs successful clinics in
central Sydney and Bondi beach. He is the author of a number of
bestselling books and contributes to TV programs worldwide as an
expert on sex and relationships.’ I was impressed.

He’s an expert on sex? Wow! We have something in
common!’

I wanted to read the whole article to find out more,
but there was no time. I was already running late for a photo shoot
with a male model. I caught a taxi across town to the
photographer’s studio. When I got there, everything was already set
up for the shoot. I had met Amanda and Tom, the photographer and
her assistant, the day before, but this was the first time I had
met the model, Matt.

Whoa! Did I tell you I had the best job in the
world? Oh, yes, I did. And this is one of the reasons why. Matt
looked like...well, like a male model. Tall, broad-shouldered,
muscular abs and a nice tight butt. All topped off with a beautiful
smile, great white teeth and a frothy mass of brown, curly hair. He
was hot! So if you’re not feeling just a teeny bit jealous, maybe
you should be checking out the LGBT section after all.

Amanda and Tom were busy adjusting the lighting, and
- after a quick introduction to me - Matt stood in front of the
cameras wearing nothing but his Calvin Kleins. I could tell you
that I was professional and helped the team prepare for the shoot.
But that would be lying. The honest truth is that I stood there
gawping helplessly at Matt, and the package in his underpants. Oh
come on, you would too, wouldn’t you?

Then I noticed that he was paying rather more
attention to me than was strictly necessary from a professional
point of view. And I must admit, I was looking pretty hot that day.
No way was I going to walk around looking like a Sunday school
teacher with all these hot guys in my life. My skirt was as short
as I could reasonably get away with, so there was plenty of bare
thigh to catch his eye while the photographers fussed around. And
as usual, my boobs were bulging out of my top and saying ‘hello’ in
their own special way.

A few minutes later, I noticed something else, too.
Matt was looking a little embarrassed and awkward, and he seemed to
be trying to avoid looking at me. It took me a moment to figure out
why. Then I saw that the bulge in his underpants had grown
considerably. Hey, I was giving him a hard on! That was certainly
an ego boost for me. This was the kind of guy who could pick almost
any woman he wanted, just because he looked so hot. So for him to
find me so obviously attractive was a big turn on. I was grinning
inwardly, and trying to hide it. But there was no time for
frivolities...we had work to do.

Matt was looking a little flushed. I think maybe he
was thinking of cold showers or something to try and lower the
temperature inside his undies. I guess this issue is what you would
call an occupational hazard for male models, but it was kind of
embarrassing all round. You’d think that the pros would be used to
this sort of thing, but Matt was certainly uncomfortable with the
situation. Somehow, we muddled through the first part of the shoot,
with Matt modeling various items of clothing for a new fashion
range.

I pranced around the studio in my high heels, making
meaningless notes on my iPad, just so that it looked as though I
was doing something useful. I got an opportunity to view Matt from
all angles, and after careful consideration and debate, I decided I
liked the look from the rear best. He had one hell of a tight butt
with great glutes. Great muscles for fucking, in other words. What
else do you want from a man?

The morning session was almost over when the power
went out and the studio faded into semi-darkness. You don’t realize
just how many lights photographers use until they suddenly switch
off. Tom fretted around checking the fuses, but we soon realized
that the whole building was out. There was a portable generator in
the back of the studio, but it wouldn’t power all the lights and
equipment needed to do a professional shoot. So Amanda suggested
that Matt and I take a break for lunch while they tried to find out
what was happening with the power supply. That suited me. It’s not
every day you get to eat lunch with an Adonis, at someone else’s
expense, too.