Some of my old stories followed by a new one - M/FF

[Dustysmate]

The IT girls

1.

Computers are strange tools; used properly they can allow access to the worlds mysteries, but used improperly they can permit the transmission of a company's darkest financial dealings or an individual's most intimate, private thoughts.

Phillippa Greene had been imported into our department as manager, replacing an old friend of mine who'd moved on to pastures new. She'd obviously believed in the new broom syndrome and had set about making herself pretty unpopular with the staff who were used to Dave's laissez faire attitude. From a somewhat distant standpoint (I work to the IT director- though I'm attached to the sales department) I watched with interest as she cut a swathe through the dead wood- ruthlessly culling the sick and lame who'd been carried for the last few years. I think she would have liked to try me on, but I was beyond her remit, and besides, my laid back appearance belies my active, Machiavellian mind. Notwithstanding all this, she kind of set my nerves jangling; a fit woman of about 40, she dressed very well, smart, neat, no frills, tight tailored suits with silk blouses, the only detail an expensive, heavy silk scarf at her shoulders or throat. High heels with stockings. Like I said- smart.

It goes against all legal statutes, stated company protocols, and moral good taste, but I've got into the habit of "dip-testing" the department and company E-mail system, purely to see that proper procedures are being followed and the system isn't being abused (Oh yeah?). So one Thursday in late March I was doing my casual "system checks" when I came across this:

From: Phillippa Greene

To: Chris Latka

Subject: Last week's report

Date: 21 Mar 1998

Hi,

Missed you yesterday. I wore the set you bought me-the cream silk. I thought you might get to see it in my office, but you were still out at the conference. I thought about you holding me over my desk, touching me…

Can we get together at the weekend, "the captain" is away on a training course with the Territorials, we could have some time to ourselves, and a whole big bed.

Pippa

I sat back, stunned. Not about the marital infidelity which is so common in a vibrant organisation like ours, nor even that the beauteous Phillippa should be having an obviously passionate affair with one of the personnel management team, no, what had caused me such a shock was the fact that "Chris" Latka was, in fact, Christina Latka, the daughter of the firm's MD, and happily married to the head of one of the more individual banking organisations in the City. She was also one of the more desirable women in a firm noted for the visual quality of its staff. This had possibilities.

I monitored the system, auto-saving the correspondence between the two women, and checking it every five minutes. I knew that, while Mrs Latka was out at a conference, she had a laptop and mobile modem, which allowed her access to the whole company E-mail, either directly or through the Internet. While I waited for Christine's reply I busied myself setting up an intricate little E-mail diversion in the system, so all their billets doux passed through my own mini program and were therefore open to adaptation or even cancellation at my whim. It was, of course, something that had been dismissed by certain senior managers as "impossible" and "of negligible risk to the organisation or its personnel". I was about to prove them very wrong, and was nearly finished when the reply came through:

From: Chris Latka

To: Phillippa Greene

Subject: Re: Last week's report

Date: 21 Mar 1998

Phillys

Yummy. I'm sorry I missed you. What are you wearing today? I should be back by tomorrow night; will he be gone by then? My own "captain of industry" is off with his little floozy claiming to be on a golf weekend- I ask you, do they think we're stupid? If it didn't suit me I'd let him know how obvious he is. Hah! Still, a whole weekend? Maybe a bottle of champers, some good food and two days in bed!!

Have bought you a present in dreary old Paris. Write soon.

C.

Mrs Greene was obviously paying close attention to her E-mail because the reply came within 5 minutes:

From: Phillippa Greene

To: Chris Latka

Subject: Re: Re: Last week's report

Date: 21 Mar 1998

Chris,

1. What is it?

2. Black/White polka dotted satin.

3. Yes he will be gone by tonight

4. I'll get some red wine out of the cellar

Kisses (on your neck)

Pip

By now my "impossible" little revision system was in place and operational. I awaited the reply which appeared while I was at lunch:

From: Chris Latka

To: Phillippa Greene

Subject: Account figures

Date: 21 Mar 1998

Phil,

It's a present, so I'm not telling. Polka dots eh? Mmm, how about I kiss each dot? So you're all alone tonight- poor Phillippa! Well I hope thinking of me keeps you warm…Red wine and nice cheese? I'll try to be at your place by 7pm- run a nice hot bath for me.

I'm back into conference now, will E-mail you this evening.

Chris.

Evening- I'd forgotten about that, both the women had access to E-mail out of office hours, but the only way I could intercept it was through the office system. It was make or break, give up on my little scheme, or spend the night in the office in order to attain my deceitful objective. Oh well, it would look like extraordinary devotion to the job, when the overtime sheets were collected.

I was devouring the last of a delivered pizza at 9pm when they started again. Mrs Greene had been checking her E-mail every 20 minutes from 8pm from her home PC, and I'd almost decided that Mrs Latka had gone out on the town in Gay Paree when the new mail appeared:

From: Chris Latka

To: Phillippa Greene

Subject: Sex on the office desk

Date: 21 Mar 1998

Pippa,

Please delete this and its incriminating title! Ooops, bit tiddly, had a few glasses of Minervois with an awfully nice man from Helvetia Holdings in Geneva after the conference. He wanted to show me Paris by night, but I gracefully declined and came back here to lay myself bare for you!

I am you know, bare that is, apart from my stockings. Wish I had videophone then you could see me, almost touch me. I'd like to touch you. I'd love to have you beneath me. Please reply soon.

Chris.

PS it's lonely here

I thought carefully then added a single word:

From: Chris Latka

To: Phillippa Greene

Subject: Sex on the office desk

Date: 21 Mar 1998

Pippa,

Please delete this and its incriminating title! Ooops, bit tiddly, had a few glasses of Minervois with an awfully nice man from Helvetia Holdings in Geneva after the conference. He wanted to show me Paris by night, but I gracefully declined and came back here to lay myself bare for you!

I am you know, bare that is, apart from my stockings. Wish I had videophone then you could see me, almost touch me. I'd like to touch you. I'd love to have you helpless beneath me. Please reply soon.

Chris.

PS it's lonely here

Phillippa Greene found the bastardised message about two minutes later and the reply took no time at all:

From: Phillippa Greene

To: Chris Latka

Subject: Sex in my marital bed!!

Date: 21 Mar 1998

Chris!

You little slut, what are you doing seducing the opposition? And drunk as well! What was Helvetia Holdings holding?

Now I wish I had videophone. I'm not seductive at all- in my slobby tracksuit and slippers, but I'll dress for you tomorrow- what do you want? I'd love to be helpless under you. I'm lonely too.

Pip

I didn't bother amending this one, having sown the seed. I didn't have long to wait for Mrs Latka to reply- her Parisian bedroom obviously held nothing of greater interest.

From: Chris Latka

To: Phillippa Greene

Subject: Lovely sex

Date: 21 Mar 1998

Pip,

Helpless under me? How helpless?

I'd like you in your floaty night-gown, all romantic and airy-fairy.

I'm going to bed now, feel a bit rough.

Will try to E-mail in morning, but batteries going on computer, so it may be that I'll not be able to before tomorrow night.

Night night.

Your mistress.

It got a bit amended

From: Chris Latka

To: Phillippa Greene

Subject: Dirty sex

Date: 21 Mar 1998

Pip,

Helpless under me? How helpless?

I'd like you in your sexiest basque and stockings, all fifties glamour. How about a tight blouse and skirt- why don't you wear it all day, wind the boys in the office up a bit? Wind you up thinking of me?

I'm going to bed now, feel like a bit of rough. (Just joking)

Will E-mail in morning, batteries on computer are all fully charged, so I should have no problems during the day. (Though I'll be busy of course)

Night night.

Your mistress. (Very strict mistress-hee hee)

I set the system to sound an audible warning if any E-mail came in and settled down in my chair with feet up on the desk. I had thought I wouldn't sleep, but was woken at 6am by the buzzer:

From: Hotel Sebastopol

Guest: Mrs C. Latka

To: Phillippa Greene

Subject: Our Mtg.

Date: 22 Mar 1998

Mrs Greene,

My computer is dead and am using the hotel system. I will see you tonight. Please contact on this E-mail address up to 3pm.

Christina Latka

The communication now one-way, my plot became significantly easier…

I e-mailed back:

From: Phillippa Greene

To: Hotel Sebastopol

Subject: Mtg. 7pm

Date: 22 Mar 1998

For att'n guest Mrs C Latka

Mrs Latka,

Please use key under wheel arch of Audi if no reply at door. Don't bother calling, just turn up.

Mrs P. Greene

Then I went into the executive washroom to freshen up. I was coming out, blinded by water dripping from my hair when I heard a sharp intake of breath and a shocked voice say "Mr Stevens!" I blinked my eyes clear and looked around at the source of the exclamation. There, in the empty corridor was Phillippa Greene. A shiny black plastic raincoat wrapped tightly to her lithe body, and her head was shrouded in an expensive, vividly coloured silk headscarf against the chill early morning air. Both were spotted with tiny raindrops from a light shower. She was teetering along on skyscraper 5" black patent stilettos.

I looked he up and down, slowly and coolly. "Good morning Mrs Greene, you look very smart this morning".

She coloured, "And you look hung over, what are you doing here at this hour?"

I grinned, declining to ask her the same question, "Working on the system all night, just going for some breakfast, care to join me". I could just see this woman enjoying a greasy spoon breakfast with me.

She shuddered, "I'll pass thank-you", and strode off down the corridor.

Before escaping to the dive I used for breakfast, I slipped back into my office and sent another E-mail:

From: Chris Latka

To: Phillippa Greene

Subject: Supervisory roles

Date: 22 Mar 1998

Pip,

Did you dress as I suggested? Well I've got a horny idea, why don't we play a game?

I'd love to come home to find you helpless, like you've been burgled or something. How do you like the idea?

Chris

PS will try checking for a reply at 11, I'm busy 'til then.

I came back, full of cholesterol and tea to find this:

From: Phillippa Greene

To: Chris Latka

Subject: Needing supervisor

Date: 22 Mar 1998

Chris,

But what would you do with me?

Pip

Other than enjoying the sight of the sophisticated Mrs Greene teetering around the office on her skyscraper heels, her substantial breasts barely contained by her tight, white, satin blouse and a dog-tooth tweed skirt moulded to the curves of her fine arse, I had little to do for the next few hours. It was very boring, eking my work out until the 11am coffee break, when I could realistically reply:

From: Chris Latka

To: Phillippa Greene

Subject: Supervision

Date: 22 Mar 1998

Pip,

Whatever I wanted.

Chris



From: Phillippa Greene

To: Chris Latka

Subject: Needing supervisor

Date: 22 Mar 1998

Chris,

OK, what should I do?

Pippa

From: Chris Latka

To: Phillippa Greene

Subject: Supervisory role

Date: 22 Mar 1998

Pippa,

Well I'll be there about 6pm now (I'm catching an earlier flight), so why don't you tie yourself up at about 5.30. Maybe you could find pair of handcuffs- don't forget the keys!! I think a blindfold would be exciting, add an air of uncertainty. Better still why don't you video yourself?

Leave your house key on the front tyre of the Audi before you do it all, so I can get in.

I'll E-mail you when we touch down, so you will know there's been no delay.

Big kisses.

Your power-mad mistress

Chris

The E-mail was collected almost immediately and there was no reply. I noticed, however, that Phillippa left the office at lunchtime, her headscarf now accessorised with black sunglasses, and returned looking furtive clutching a plain white plastic carrier bag under her arm. The bag bulged with it's unseen contents, and she stuffed it hurriedly into her slim briefcase before knocking off early to go home.

2.

My heart was pumping with suppressed adrenaline as I tidied my own laptop away into my brief case and followed her off to the depths of Home Counties Surrey. She and her husband had a little pied-a-terre there as well as their town house. I'd been there before, for a dinner party ;an imposing pile, a Georgian manse set in its own grounds with tennis court and long gravel drive. I drove slowly past to ensure that Phillippa had got home before I did then eased my seat back, turned up the radio and snoozed in the pale afternoon sun until 5pm. I was getting edgy; this was like the old days, a quiet surveillance and insertion with maximum risk. My fingers, though sweaty, trembled as the mobile phone modem whined into life and I sent my last E-mail:

From: Chris Latka

To: Phillippa Greene

Subject: Supervisory role

Date: 22 Mar 1998



Pip,

Am back in Blighty and en route.

Chris

At the same time I phoned the airport. Sure enough Ms Latka's flight from Paris was due in at 5.45. All I could do was hope that Phillippa didn't make the same check.

As the minute hand of my watch touched 5.40, I left my car on the road, and walked up the long drive with my briefcase in my hand, to all the world a sales rep of some undefined sort. My nerves were on edge; if she'd lost interest, or started late…what if she had a headache, was stuck on the phone, what if Christina had phoned from Paris? I gazed up at the blank, dull windows of the house; what if she looked out now? The Audi Sport was abandoned on the forecourt of the house-I was painfully aware of my feet on the gravel, crunchingly obvious to anyone inside the house. I reached under the wheel arch and my fingers scrabbled across the rubber of the tyre. My heart leapt and my eyes fell from their nervous examination of the house windows to the wheel. I crouched. It wasn't there. I bent my head, shut my eyes in panic. When I opened them I noticed a glint of silver in the deepening gloom beneath the car. Reaching out, my trembling fingers found the cold metal key, half hidden where it had fallen into the gravel. I stood, giddy, taking great gulps of air. YES!

The key turned easily in the lock and the door opened into an eerily quiet house. I jogged back to the car, replaced the key and approached the house anew. Somewhere here, I knew, was a woman waiting. Not for me though. And if anything had gone wrong there was no explanation to get out of this. It had to be followed through now.

The plushly carpeted stairs swallowed the sound of my footsteps as I ascended to the gallery landing. Immediately opposite, from behind a half-open bedroom door came the metallic whine of a video. I edged closer, easing my weight from step to step as I approached the doorway. Through the crack of the door as I crept forward I could see a chair, a cabinet, and the canopied head of a four-poster bed. The video stood on a tripod, in the centre of a broad expanse of carpet. I followed its cold, glassy stare to another chair set in front of the bed.

Mrs Phillippa Greene, Department Head and Home Counties matron was entirely unaware of my presence. She sat, helpless on the chair, her arms out of sight behind her; blouse half-unbuttoned to expose a magnificent cleavage nestling in the semi-transparent cream lace of her brassiere. Her ankles were clearly bound to the legs of the chair, heavy, thick silk scarves wrapped tight about them and knotted implacably. She still wore the headscarf enveloping about her head, a heraldic Hermes design now evident, but it was half obscured by the Chanel monochrome silk that was covering her eyes and knotted behind her head. She was biting her lower lip, apparently in concern, her head turning this way and that, as if she were listening, trying her bonds and tugging at her wrists.

"Chris?" she murmured, then, "Chris?" a little louder.

She muttered under her breath, "No, getting jumpy." Then tugged again at her wrists, which remained out of view. They jangled and I realised they were handcuffed behind the high back of the chair. She'd done a very effective job, excepting a gag, but had obviously not anticipated the need for one. The plastic bag lay half-open on the bed and I could see leather straps inside- she'd clearly bought more than just handcuffs at lunchtime.

I stepped closer, scanning the layout of the room. There beside the bed was a drawer, still open, layers of expensive silk scarves piled inside. Across the room was a laundry basket. I crossed noiselessly and quietly rooted around inside- the small noises I made muffled to her ears by the silken layers. My prize, two pairs of fine La Perla silk knickers and some cheap nylon panties, I stuffed into my pocket. I returned, approaching the helpless woman whose head cocked.

"Chris? Chris, I know you're there, please, say something." Her breathing was short, excited. I ran a finger down her cheek and across her lips.

She jumped, gasping, "Oh! Oh, Chris, you frightened me."

I said nothing but ran the finger down her long neck and into her deep cleavage.

She bit her lip. "Mmm, do you like it, oh, and did you have a good flight, and where's my pressie?"

I stayed silent, caressing her neck, at which she arched, suddenly feline.

"OK, don't say anything, play it mysterious"

I moved behind her, pulling the open blouse off her shoulders and running my fingers across her honey-coloured flesh.

I hadn't noticed the phone/answer-phone combination sitting on the bedside table. It rang. I jumped, and Phillippa giggled, feeling my jerk.

"Oh, leave it, this is our time, they can call back."

I started to relax, then the answer-phone kicked in. Her message wound out and a tone sounded, then the unmistakable sound of Mrs Christina Latka's voice came on the line; "Phillippa, it's me, pick up the phone. Come on. Oh well, I've just landed…"

Mrs Greene gaped, the implications coursing like lightning fear through her mind, "Chris, but how, what…Oh my God…You're not Chris…Who are you…. How did you? HELMMMMPPPHHHGGGNNNMMM!"

"…. and I'm about to go through customs control…"

I reacted quickly and cut off her rising scream by cramming her panties into her mouth, the vivid, silken wad stifling her voice before the scream could start. She shook her head, fighting the gag, her tongue working to eject the alien mass, but as fast as she pushed it out, my fingers forced twice as much back in.

"…I should be over to you in about an hour…"

Mrs Phillippa Green's cheeks were bulging and her cries had been reduced to mewling whimpers. I held my hand cruelly over her smeared lipstick, as she writhed hopelessly in my grip, and reached down to the drawer of scarves, pulling out a square expanse of heavy silk twill bearing the Gucci logo.

"…I hope you're getting yourself all warm and welcoming, and get that wine uncorked!"

A knot in the centre of the thick, expensive, cream and gold silk and I pulled it tight between her lips, lipstick smearing across the fabric, distending her cheeks still further and reducing her protests and pleas to muffled, choked sobs.

"…. Well, you're obviously not there, so I'll see you in a short while. Bye for now."

The answer-phone clicked off, as the message's recipient thrashed frantically on the chair, small whimpers escaping her voice-numbing gag, her self-imposed blindfold depriving her of even the small comfort of sight. I sat in the other chair, watching her writhe and tug at her bonds, a struggle which emphasised the fullness of her breasts, the curve of her hips and long legs. Eventually she slowed, then stopped, breathing heavily, obviously aware of the futility of her efforts. Her head tilted, small noises, no longer demanding, from beneath the stifling knickers, apparently begging some kindness, some act of reconciliation to reassure her. I stood and reached for the blindfold, my fingers gently unknotting the tight silk, before drawing it tighter still; to her evident, vocal disappointment.

I noticed the whine of the video camera, intruding on the evening quiet of the room, and turned to the glassy, Cyclops eye that continued to record all it saw. There was a TV/ video combination on a side table and the case for the video camera contained a SCART lead. It was a matter of a minute's work to connect the two so I could watch from the comfort of the chair in full stereo rather than peering into the viewfinder. I rewound and pressed play.

The interference crackled, and the screen cleared to reveal the bedroom, apparently empty. For a few seconds, nothing happened then Mrs Greene stepped into view, as I had seen her at work plus the tightly wrapped headscarf, black kid gloves and dark glasses.

"Hello, darling, I hope this is what you had in mind. I wasn't sure, when you suggested it, but the idea grew on me, and, well you know, it's kind of horny." She laughed, her gloved hand going to her face in an unconscious gesture of embarrassment, trying to disguise her blush, and removing her sunglasses,

"I went to a sex shop."

Her eyes lowered again, seemingly unsure of herself, her top teeth caught her dark, glossy, bottom lip, in a parody of indecision.

"I got some things…"

She tailed off. She seemed about to say more, but instead turned and delved into the bag on the bed. She turned back to the camera dangling the handcuffs from the finger of one hand, and grasping a dildo in the other. "There's more, but you'll have to find out when you get here."

She disappeared momentarily, returning into shot with three heavy silk scarves. Sitting on the ladder-backed chair, she bent forward, her heavy breasts falling against the white satin of her blouse, her cleavage exposed to the lens. Soon both ankles were tightly fastened to the leg of the chair, and she pulled the hem of her dogtooth skirt up slightly, revealing the tops of her stockings. She smiled nervously at the camera,

"I hope this is right?"

Six feet from the screen image, the real Mrs Greene moaned into her humiliating gag, shaking her head in anguish; I'd turned the volume up sufficiently to penetrate even her headscarf-muffled ears.

Back on the screen she picked up the last rolled scarf and bound it about her eyes before reaching into her lap for the cuffs. She clicked them tight about one leather-shrouded wrist but hesitated to finish her self-bondage.

"This is really horny Chris, I'm getting excited, just thinking about you finding me."

Her fingers trembled with the buttons of the blouse, revealing her cleavage then the fine lace of the brassiere. The loose handcuff swung to and fro as she slid her fingers beneath the material, pinching at her nipples. Stifled protests came from the real woman as her screen counterpart started to breathe more raggedly.

"Chris, you'll have to gag me, stop me from screaming. I'm just getting sooo wet…"

She twisted and reached her hands behind her, there was an audible CLICK and she tugged experimentally on her wrists.

"Oooh, that's even worse, damn, I should have finished myself off, you're not going to be here for ages yet."

She rocked her hips rhythmically back and forward, evidently trying to tighten her panties on her crotch, her frustration apparent as her teeth caught her lip again and she grunted her dissatisfaction. Shortly after that she could be seen cocking her head to one side as I walked stealthily about the room, followed by her unceremonious gagging as the telephone revealed its ghastly message of truth.

I reset the video camera, leaving it connected to the TV so the screen relayed a live version of events as the camera recorded them for posterity, and turned it on. Leaving Phillippa squirming hopelessly in the chair, I padded about the spacious house until I found a computer and printer in the study. Busying myself there for ten minutes, I was not too concerned when the phone rang, knowing that the answer-phone would kick in. The heavy thud from Phillippa's bedroom did concern me, and I hurled myself back up the stairs, taking them three at a time to arrive panting in her doorway. She lay, sprawling, the chair tipped over beside her, her head nodding frantically as she desperately tried to rub off the scarf cramming the gagging panties into her mouth; to alert her lover to her fearful predicament before the same should befall her.

"…so when you finally get out of the bath, or whatever it is you're doing, I'll be there in about 15 minutes, but I'll look for the key like you suggested" Christina Latka's voice continued calmly, oblivious to her girlfriend's acute plight, before the dial tone signalled the end of the message.

In the fall her full breasts had spilled from the precarious confinement of her skimpy lace bra and were now revealed in all their firm glory, peaked with magnificent, dark nipples. I pulled her upright again, scooping her back into her clothes, though leaving her skirt where it had ridden up still further to reveal the soft tan of her thighs and the thin white silk of her briefs. Her nipples, betraying her body's excitement, were visibly erect beneath the translucent lace, and had been hard against my palms as I manhandled them back into place. I stroked her neck gently; a touch of reassurance, and her hectic breathing slowed slightly. To prevent her hurting herself in a similar fall, I leant the chair over until the back rested on the bed and Phillippa lay prone upon it. Then I returned to the study.

The pages had printed off, and I pulled them from the printer hurriedly, dropping one on the bottom of the stairs by the front door, the second at the top of the landing, and the third in the doorway of the bedroom pulling the door across to disguise Mrs Greene's robustly restrained figure. As I was settling myself in the large, walk-in closet, I heard the sound of a car on the gravel drive outside.

3.

There was a door slamming and the sound of feet on gravel. The doorbell rang. Mrs Greene's body writhed in response; her lips chewing on the heavy silk of the headscarf pulling her stifling gag between her teeth. Almost immediately I could hear Mrs Latka opening the front door and her hesitant call, "Phillippa, are you here?" Her girlfriend's cheeks reddened and her head shook wildly from side to side as she tried desperately to make herself heard.

I could only imagine what I was prevented from seeing; Christina Latka heaving her bags through the door, then noticing the note on the bottom of the stairs:

CHRIS

Surprise! I'm upstairs, make yourself a drink and come up

Shortly after there was a muffled creak from the top of the stairs, I pictured her reading the second note:

CHRIS

I'm a little "tied up" at the moment. In my bedroom. Read the note in the doorway.

There was a rustle of paper being picked up, and Phillippa's struggles increased accordingly. I gloated at how disappointed she would be when her friend followed her "instructions":

CHRIS

Here's the scene. I've been surprised by a burglar who's tied me up and left me to struggle. You come in and I expect to be untied, but you don't, instead you play with me, taunting me. I beg and plead through the gag, but you are HAUGHTY, CRUEL and HARD. Eventually you take out the gag, I'm grateful and try to tell you what's happened, but you stuff your own knickers into my mouth despite my pleas and gag me again. (The gag is the best bit- very humiliating). Help yourself to the goodies in the bag of stuff I bought, and feel free to use them on me. I'm recording this on the video camera so we can watch it together…The safety code is if I hum the 1812 Overture I want to be released immediately

The door opened, I shuffled back into the dressing room, my view now limited to that relayed by the TV. Phillippa's struggles paused as she tried to sense who the new intruder was, friend or foe.

"Well you're in a fine pickle, what's happened to you? Blindfold by Chanel, gag by Gucci, eh?" I could hear Chris's voice, her location hidden by my position, her easy tone demonstrating her faith in the dissembling notes I had left. Her friend, expecting rescue, tugged in futility at her bonds and MMMMPHHED her discomfiture. The video displayed her contortions, as she demanded release. Suddenly Mrs Latka appeared on the screen, her elegant cream suit cut to exaggerate her slim, yet curvaceous, body. A rich blue and cream Jaeger scarf was tucked into the V of her white satin blouse. As she turned her back and bent over, her tight skirt rode up, revealing seamed tan stockings above her strappy blue patent stiletto shoes.

"You're dressed like a tart, Phillippa," she intoned, flicking her subjugated friend's tight blouse, then sipping on the large glass of wine she held in the other hand. Mrs Greene's squirming stopped as if she was unable to believe her ears, or that her "rescuer" wasn't freeing her immediately. There was a querying whimper from beneath the layers of silk and satin. "MMMNNNHH?"

Christina put the glass down and leant over, picking the chair up so Phillippa was now upright again. She leant from behind, her breath on her captive's ear, "You've got yourself into a bit of a jam, and I'm not getting you out of it. In fact…." her hand slid down Phillippa's sternum towards her ample cleavage, "...I think I might take advantage of it."

Phillippa's head shook violently, her stifled protests clearly audible, yet indecipherable. Christina grinned, turning again for a large slurp from her wineglass, "It looks like you're my prisoner now, doesn't it?" Her girlfriend's desperate attempts to warn her of the truth about the situation just fantasy struggles in her eyes. "It was nice of you to prepare this little surprise for me, but I think you could have made yourself a bit more vulnerable, maybe tied yourself open on the bed, or bent over a chair?" Chris unknotted the Chanel silk scarf over her friend's eyes revealing Phillippa's grey/blue eyes, which were wide, as she tried to convey the truth to her new captor. Chris crossed to the bed where the bag lay open, and pulled out the big dildo. "Oooh, that's going to smart," she grinned, then paused, gasping as she drew a double ended penis gag from the depths. "Now that's kinky!"

Her captive was frantically trying to alert her to the reality of her predicament, her voice cruelly stifled by the silky layers of the gag, the smothered pleas, warnings and demands entirely in line with Chris's deluded understanding of her prisoner's "self-imposed" bondage. She slid her hand beneath the rich fabric of Phillippa's blouse, ignoring her captive's squirming, slipping it off her shoulders and tugging it down to reveal the full curve of her magnificent breasts, restrained by the flimsy lace brassiere. Standing behind her, Chris's hands followed the soft, firm flesh, descending beneath the material until a groan from Phillippa told me she had reached her nipples. Her struggles slowed, softened, the protests more muted as her mistress pinched softly on the tips of her hardening teats. She rolled back the thin lace exposing her girlfriend's pneumatic breasts, and brushed the tips of her fingers softly over the rapidly hardening, roseate nipples.

Phillippa's breathing had become erratic, ragged, interspersed with half-hearted protests, her head lolled back; I assumed she must almost believe that Chris had set up my presence as an extra kink in the relationship, as she murmured her irresolute objections, her eyes half-closed and cast down, an excited blush colouring her cheeks. Chris knelt, positioning herself between Phillippa's legs and bent her head forward, gently seizing a seam with her teeth and tugging down the fragile, cream lace of the expensive bra, so her breasts were now fully exposed. Phillippa was now quiescent, her voice stilled. On the video's zoom close up I could see her swallow, her fine chest heaving with her excited breathing. Chris's tongue darted out to flicker into her cleavage; a muffled moan ensued and her back arched as she thrust her breasts forward and up. Her captor chuckled, a low, earthy sound, and cupped their roundness, carefully encircling the engorged nipples without touching the sensitive flesh, and softly supporting the firm orbs. Phillippa's words were entirely stifled, but the growing urgency of her meaning was evident as she whined her desire into the thick, gagging silk.

Chris's fingers pinched the flesh around the nipples, pushing them further out, and her tongue descended to an aureole, long languid strokes ending just short of the erect nipple. Her prisoner struggled, not for release, but to allow her sensitive nipples to be touched. The high shine of Chris's exclusive lip-gloss was enhanced as she ran her tongue over her bottom lip, before parting her teeth to gently take in Phillippa's nipple. Her cheeks hollowed as she sucked softly on the hot, hard flesh and her girlfriend's eyes widened as she stared down.

Wriggling, Chris tugged up her own pencil skirt, revealing the tops of her stockings and the white silk of her briefs, stretched taut across her magnificent arse. One hand slid into her jacket, apparently massaging her own breasts while the other slid down in front of her. I couldn't see, but it was apparent that she was rubbing herself while nibbling at her bound girlfriend's breasts. Phillippa's heavy breathing had become excited grunts, the rhythm getting faster as she sought after her long awaited crisis.

Chris stopped.

"Ah ah ah, not yet, we mustn't forget who's in control here, must we?". Phillippa's unfocussed eyes snapped back at the sound of Chris's admonishment. Her face registered confusion then, as she started to register, frustration. Her smothered voice protested, demanding the release her body so desired, as Chris stood, running the Chanel scarf thoughtfully between her fingers.

"Not just yet, you need a little punishment for your stupidity in getting captured, and besides, I haven't played with your toys yet." And with that she wrapped Phillippa's eyes once again with the Chanel blindfold-scarf, knotting it tightly over the rich silk of her crimson and gilt Hermes headscarf. Phillippa shook her head, mumbled protests seeping through the now-damp silk.

Chris stepped out of the camera's view and I edged nearer to the crack of the door to try to see more of the intensely erotic tableau unfolding before me. As I did so, the camera view displayed on the TV suddenly skewed and refocused on the bed where the bag of toys had been placed. Chris stepped back into view, her peplum jacket now slung over her shoulder.

The full softness of her breasts was now visible, pressed against the elegant satin of her blouse, the tails of the blouse visible beneath her rucked-up skirt. Her seamed stockings led inexorably up to her firm thighs which were topped with the tight, white silk of her panties. She turned to the camera, her fingers trembling slightly as she fumbled with the top button of her blouse. Slowly she unbuttoned it, gradually revealing the contrast between her tanned breasts and the stark white of her sheer silk brassiere. She smiled at the camera, pouting for her blindfolded friend who sat unseeing while the striptease continued. The blouse slipped from her shoulders, leaving the Jaeger scarf that had been tucked in to slither softly to the floor. Her hands now crossed in front of her as Chris's fingers caressed her silk encased breasts.

"You can't see this now, but we can watch it together, later." she breathed, her tongue tip slowly dampening her lips. On the screen her fingers had found the raised silk that failed to disguise her excited nipples, and her exquisitely manicured red nails softly scratched at the weave of the delicate fabric, causing the material to peak even more noticeably. One hand now slipped, down the flat belly, and over the bunched skirt, to the taut silk across her pudenda. The vivid vermilion of her gloss nails shone against the snowy white silk, as her fingers edged down, outlining the soft folds of her cunt. The camera was too unfocussed, but I could imagine the humid dampness saturating the fine cloth as her fingers worked deeper and more insistently.

"I'm touching myself for you; frigging myself off." She bit her lip in an unconscious imitation of her girlfriend's expression when she had debuted earlier. Her voice was breathy, soft, but Phillippa heard and responded, a small whimper rising from her throat as the writhed in her seat.

"Through my knickers, it's, it's….." her voice trembled and broke, "….Ohh God, I'm so excited, my knicks are sooo wet." She slid the white silk briefs down her long, slim legs, her cleavage filling the lens as she did so, then bundled them into a small ball. Stepping toward the camera, the auto-focus was forced to admit defeat, only refocusing on the helpless Phillippa who sat struggling on the high backed chair, as Chris realigned the lens. She stepped back into view, her hand clasping the small, sodden bundle of exclusive lingerie, and reached past her captive's head to the knot of her gag. As she loosened the cruelly taut Gucci silk, I tensed; this would be a big test of the plan, and Phillippa's ability to convey the truth to Chris.

She shook her head, her tongue pushing the saliva soaked knickers from between her teeth, before Chris gently placed her glass at Phillippa's lips and she sipped gratefully.

Swallowing, Phillippa smiled, "Thank you, how did you do it, it was so exciting?" Chris looked puzzled, "Well it was all in the script," as she spoke she was gathering the damp panties and had added her own; her attention was elsewhere and she wasn't concentrating the implications of Phillippa's words.

"But, the burglar, he….mmmnnngnn." Chris had caught us both out.; I'd expected to see Phillippa's surprised mouth stuffed again with the glossy bundle of flimsy satin, silk and nylon, but instead the screen was filled with the image of the helpless woman trying to cry out from behind her girlfriend's full breast.

Her muffled cry died quickly, and she turned with enthusiasm to servicing Chris's nipple with her tongue and lips. The free woman had peeled down one cup of her bra to tit-gag her prisoner, arching her slim back as she thrust her breast between her girlfriend's lips. She pulled back, moaning as her friend's sucking lips distended the nipple, stretching it; it came free and Chris bent to plunge her tongue between Phillippa's lips. I watched her raise her hand, full of delicate fabric, to Phillippa's mouth, the soft material caressing her lips.

"No, no, please, I won't scream"

"Ah, well you asked for it"

"I didn't," indignant now, "He gagged mnnnmmmngnn". Her mouth was stuffed again, and Chris rapidly knotted the lipstick-smeared gag back in place, stifling her captive's protests. She knelt, breasts brushing her girlfriend's thighs as she slid her hands up, pushing Phillippa's skirt up to reveal her panties, cream lace matching the brassiere that now scooped under her fine tits. Pulling the flimsy lace aside, she bent forward, her breath ragged, burying her face in Phillippa's lap. The victim arched her crotch forward, presenting her hot cunt for her girlfriend's tongue to caress. Chris's hands worked under Phillippa's arse, kneading and squeezing while her tongue worked into the moistness of her humid flesh. She came, loudly and frantically, even the considerable silk of her gag not fully stifling her screams of release.

Chris unbound her friend's eyes, revealing a dazed Phillippa as she slumped in the chair. Her fingers went to the gag and I unfolded myself from the closet.

"Ah Ms Latka, I'd rather you didn't do that." She spun, her eyes wide, mouth opened in a gasp of surprise.

"Mr Stevens, what the hell.." Her hands went up to her breasts protectively; Phillippa's eyes refocused with a sudden urgency and she writhed in her bonds, her face scarlet.

"Shut up." I tapped the video camera. " I don't think you'd wish the company or your respective partners to be aware of this little scenario, and the misuse of the firm's e-mail system wouldn't go down too well either."

I grinned, wolfishly. "I think, however, that we can come to a solution…."

4.

I stretched out my legs and rested them on the new desk, my brogues tapping against the plaque on the glossy surface that said "Mr P. Stevens, Security Director".

There was a knock at the door and in answer to my summons Phillippa Greene teetered in, unsteady in her skyscraper heels. She glared at me, her full lustrous lips contorted as she deposited my espresso on the desk.

"The girls are starting to talk, they think we're having an affair. You can't keep making me bring you coffee, I'm a department head damn it." Her breasts heaved against the tight material of her blouse. "And I will not keep dressing up for you."

I sighed and spun the laptop on my desk so she could see the screen. There, in glorious mpeg was a graphic film of her, spread-eagled on the bed, her girlfriend bound atop her, both gagged with dildo gags, buried in each other's cunts. She coloured, and I grinned again. "Digital video, wonderful invention, just download it from your camera straight to the Internet." Her eyes widened.

"Was there something else?"

She shook her head, backing away. "Well in that case, my en suite has something requiring your attention." She sighed and pushed the door open to reveal Ms Latka, bound to the towel rail, a pony harness over her headscarf, pulling a huge bit gag between her lips. As the door opened, she smiled, a crooning moan coming from behind her gag and thrust her breasts against the thin rubber of her blouse. Phillippa looked over her shoulder and, with a half smile, shut the door behind her.

[Solarbeast]

Don't forget to gender-tag this story and any in the future.

[YugoSK]

The IT girls

1.

Computers are strange tools; used properly they can allow access to the worlds mysteries, but used improperly they can permit the transmission of a company's darkest financial dealings or an individual's most intimate, private thoughts.

Phillippa Greene had been imported into our department as manager, replacing an old friend of mine who'd moved on to pastures new. She'd obviously believed in the new broom syndrome and had set about making herself pretty unpopular with the staff who were used to Dave's laissez faire attitude. From a somewhat distant standpoint (I work to the IT director- though I'm attached to the sales department) I watched with interest as she cut a swathe through the dead wood- ruthlessly culling the sick and lame who'd been carried for the last few years. I think she would have liked to try me on, but I was beyond her remit, and besides, my laid back appearance belies my active, Machiavellian mind. Notwithstanding all this, she kind of set my nerves jangling; a fit woman of about 40, she dressed very well, smart, neat, no frills, tight tailored suits with silk blouses, the only detail an expensive, heavy silk scarf at her shoulders or throat. High heels with stockings. Like I said- smart.

It goes against all legal statutes, stated company protocols, and moral good taste, but I've got into the habit of "dip-testing" the department and company E-mail system, purely to see that proper procedures are being followed and the system isn't being abused (Oh yeah?). So one Thursday in late March I was doing my casual "system checks" when I came across this:

From: Phillippa Greene

To: Chris Latka

Subject: Last week's report

Date: 21 Mar 1998

Hi,

Missed you yesterday. I wore the set you bought me-the cream silk. I thought you might get to see it in my office, but you were still out at the conference. I thought about you holding me over my desk, touching me…

Can we get together at the weekend, "the captain" is away on a training course with the Territorials, we could have some time to ourselves, and a whole big bed.

Pippa

I sat back, stunned. Not about the marital infidelity which is so common in a vibrant organisation like ours, nor even that the beauteous Phillippa should be having an obviously passionate affair with one of the personnel management team, no, what had caused me such a shock was the fact that "Chris" Latka was, in fact, Christina Latka, the daughter of the firm's MD, and happily married to the head of one of the more individual banking organisations in the City. She was also one of the more desirable women in a firm noted for the visual quality of its staff. This had possibilities.

I monitored the system, auto-saving the correspondence between the two women, and checking it every five minutes. I knew that, while Mrs Latka was out at a conference, she had a laptop and mobile modem, which allowed her access to the whole company E-mail, either directly or through the Internet. While I waited for Christine's reply I busied myself setting up an intricate little E-mail diversion in the system, so all their billets doux passed through my own mini program and were therefore open to adaptation or even cancellation at my whim. It was, of course, something that had been dismissed by certain senior managers as "impossible" and "of negligible risk to the organisation or its personnel". I was about to prove them very wrong, and was nearly finished when the reply came through:

From: Chris Latka

To: Phillippa Greene

Subject: Re: Last week's report

Date: 21 Mar 1998

Phillys

Yummy. I'm sorry I missed you. What are you wearing today? I should be back by tomorrow night; will he be gone by then? My own "captain of industry" is off with his little floozy claiming to be on a golf weekend- I ask you, do they think we're stupid? If it didn't suit me I'd let him know how obvious he is. Hah! Still, a whole weekend? Maybe a bottle of champers, some good food and two days in bed!!

Have bought you a present in dreary old Paris. Write soon.

C.

Mrs Greene was obviously paying close attention to her E-mail because the reply came within 5 minutes:

From: Phillippa Greene

To: Chris Latka

Subject: Re: Re: Last week's report

Date: 21 Mar 1998

Chris,

1. What is it?

2. Black/White polka dotted satin.

3. Yes he will be gone by tonight

4. I'll get some red wine out of the cellar

Kisses (on your neck)

Pip

By now my "impossible" little revision system was in place and operational. I awaited the reply which appeared while I was at lunch:

From: Chris Latka

To: Phillippa Greene

Subject: Account figures

Date: 21 Mar 1998

Phil,

It's a present, so I'm not telling. Polka dots eh? Mmm, how about I kiss each dot? So you're all alone tonight- poor Phillippa! Well I hope thinking of me keeps you warm…Red wine and nice cheese? I'll try to be at your place by 7pm- run a nice hot bath for me.

I'm back into conference now, will E-mail you this evening.

Chris.

Evening- I'd forgotten about that, both the women had access to E-mail out of office hours, but the only way I could intercept it was through the office system. It was make or break, give up on my little scheme, or spend the night in the office in order to attain my deceitful objective. Oh well, it would look like extraordinary devotion to the job, when the overtime sheets were collected.

I was devouring the last of a delivered pizza at 9pm when they started again. Mrs Greene had been checking her E-mail every 20 minutes from 8pm from her home PC, and I'd almost decided that Mrs Latka had gone out on the town in Gay Paree when the new mail appeared:

From: Chris Latka

To: Phillippa Greene

Subject: Sex on the office desk

Date: 21 Mar 1998

Pippa,

Please delete this and its incriminating title! Ooops, bit tiddly, had a few glasses of Minervois with an awfully nice man from Helvetia Holdings in Geneva after the conference. He wanted to show me Paris by night, but I gracefully declined and came back here to lay myself bare for you!

I am you know, bare that is, apart from my stockings. Wish I had videophone then you could see me, almost touch me. I'd like to touch you. I'd love to have you beneath me. Please reply soon.

Chris.

PS it's lonely here

I thought carefully then added a single word:

From: Chris Latka

To: Phillippa Greene

Subject: Sex on the office desk

Date: 21 Mar 1998

Pippa,

Please delete this and its incriminating title! Ooops, bit tiddly, had a few glasses of Minervois with an awfully nice man from Helvetia Holdings in Geneva after the conference. He wanted to show me Paris by night, but I gracefully declined and came back here to lay myself bare for you!

I am you know, bare that is, apart from my stockings. Wish I had videophone then you could see me, almost touch me. I'd like to touch you. I'd love to have you helpless beneath me. Please reply soon.

Chris.

PS it's lonely here

Phillippa Greene found the bastardised message about two minutes later and the reply took no time at all:

From: Phillippa Greene

To: Chris Latka

Subject: Sex in my marital bed!!

Date: 21 Mar 1998

Chris!

You little slut, what are you doing seducing the opposition? And drunk as well! What was Helvetia Holdings holding?

Now I wish I had videophone. I'm not seductive at all- in my slobby tracksuit and slippers, but I'll dress for you tomorrow- what do you want? I'd love to be helpless under you. I'm lonely too.

Pip

I didn't bother amending this one, having sown the seed. I didn't have long to wait for Mrs Latka to reply- her Parisian bedroom obviously held nothing of greater interest.

From: Chris Latka

To: Phillippa Greene

Subject: Lovely sex

Date: 21 Mar 1998

Pip,

Helpless under me? How helpless?

I'd like you in your floaty night-gown, all romantic and airy-fairy.

I'm going to bed now, feel a bit rough.

Will try to E-mail in morning, but batteries going on computer, so it may be that I'll not be able to before tomorrow night.

Night night.

Your mistress.

It got a bit amended

From: Chris Latka

To: Phillippa Greene

Subject: Dirty sex

Date: 21 Mar 1998

Pip,

Helpless under me? How helpless?

I'd like you in your sexiest basque and stockings, all fifties glamour. How about a tight blouse and skirt- why don't you wear it all day, wind the boys in the office up a bit? Wind you up thinking of me?

I'm going to bed now, feel like a bit of rough. (Just joking)

Will E-mail in morning, batteries on computer are all fully charged, so I should have no problems during the day. (Though I'll be busy of course)

Night night.

Your mistress. (Very strict mistress-hee hee)

I set the system to sound an audible warning if any E-mail came in and settled down in my chair with feet up on the desk. I had thought I wouldn't sleep, but was woken at 6am by the buzzer:

From: Hotel Sebastopol

Guest: Mrs C. Latka

To: Phillippa Greene

Subject: Our Mtg.

Date: 22 Mar 1998

Mrs Greene,

My computer is dead and am using the hotel system. I will see you tonight. Please contact on this E-mail address up to 3pm.

Christina Latka

The communication now one-way, my plot became significantly easier…

I e-mailed back:

From: Phillippa Greene

To: Hotel Sebastopol

Subject: Mtg. 7pm

Date: 22 Mar 1998

For att'n guest Mrs C Latka

Mrs Latka,

Please use key under wheel arch of Audi if no reply at door. Don't bother calling, just turn up.

Mrs P. Greene

Then I went into the executive washroom to freshen up. I was coming out, blinded by water dripping from my hair when I heard a sharp intake of breath and a shocked voice say "Mr Stevens!" I blinked my eyes clear and looked around at the source of the exclamation. There, in the empty corridor was Phillippa Greene. A shiny black plastic raincoat wrapped tightly to her lithe body, and her head was shrouded in an expensive, vividly coloured silk headscarf against the chill early morning air. Both were spotted with tiny raindrops from a light shower. She was teetering along on skyscraper 5" black patent stilettos.

I looked he up and down, slowly and coolly. "Good morning Mrs Greene, you look very smart this morning".

She coloured, "And you look hung over, what are you doing here at this hour?"

I grinned, declining to ask her the same question, "Working on the system all night, just going for some breakfast, care to join me". I could just see this woman enjoying a greasy spoon breakfast with me.

She shuddered, "I'll pass thank-you", and strode off down the corridor.

Before escaping to the dive I used for breakfast, I slipped back into my office and sent another E-mail:

From: Chris Latka

To: Phillippa Greene

Subject: Supervisory roles

Date: 22 Mar 1998

Pip,

Did you dress as I suggested? Well I've got a horny idea, why don't we play a game?

I'd love to come home to find you helpless, like you've been burgled or something. How do you like the idea?

Chris

PS will try checking for a reply at 11, I'm busy 'til then.

I came back, full of cholesterol and tea to find this:

From: Phillippa Greene

To: Chris Latka

Subject: Needing supervisor

Date: 22 Mar 1998

Chris,

But what would you do with me?

Pip

Other than enjoying the sight of the sophisticated Mrs Greene teetering around the office on her skyscraper heels, her substantial breasts barely contained by her tight, white, satin blouse and a dog-tooth tweed skirt moulded to the curves of her fine arse, I had little to do for the next few hours. It was very boring, eking my work out until the 11am coffee break, when I could realistically reply:

From: Chris Latka

To: Phillippa Greene

Subject: Supervision

Date: 22 Mar 1998

Pip,

Whatever I wanted.

Chris



From: Phillippa Greene

To: Chris Latka

Subject: Needing supervisor

Date: 22 Mar 1998

Chris,

OK, what should I do?

Pippa

From: Chris Latka

To: Phillippa Greene

Subject: Supervisory role

Date: 22 Mar 1998

Pippa,

Well I'll be there about 6pm now (I'm catching an earlier flight), so why don't you tie yourself up at about 5.30. Maybe you could find pair of handcuffs- don't forget the keys!! I think a blindfold would be exciting, add an air of uncertainty. Better still why don't you video yourself?

Leave your house key on the front tyre of the Audi before you do it all, so I can get in.

I'll E-mail you when we touch down, so you will know there's been no delay.

Big kisses.

Your power-mad mistress

Chris

The E-mail was collected almost immediately and there was no reply. I noticed, however, that Phillippa left the office at lunchtime, her headscarf now accessorised with black sunglasses, and returned looking furtive clutching a plain white plastic carrier bag under her arm. The bag bulged with it's unseen contents, and she stuffed it hurriedly into her slim briefcase before knocking off early to go home.

2.

My heart was pumping with suppressed adrenaline as I tidied my own laptop away into my brief case and followed her off to the depths of Home Counties Surrey. She and her husband had a little pied-a-terre there as well as their town house. I'd been there before, for a dinner party ;an imposing pile, a Georgian manse set in its own grounds with tennis court and long gravel drive. I drove slowly past to ensure that Phillippa had got home before I did then eased my seat back, turned up the radio and snoozed in the pale afternoon sun until 5pm. I was getting edgy; this was like the old days, a quiet surveillance and insertion with maximum risk. My fingers, though sweaty, trembled as the mobile phone modem whined into life and I sent my last E-mail:

From: Chris Latka

To: Phillippa Greene

Subject: Supervisory role

Date: 22 Mar 1998



Pip,

Am back in Blighty and en route.

Chris

At the same time I phoned the airport. Sure enough Ms Latka's flight from Paris was due in at 5.45. All I could do was hope that Phillippa didn't make the same check.

As the minute hand of my watch touched 5.40, I left my car on the road, and walked up the long drive with my briefcase in my hand, to all the world a sales rep of some undefined sort. My nerves were on edge; if she'd lost interest, or started late…what if she had a headache, was stuck on the phone, what if Christina had phoned from Paris? I gazed up at the blank, dull windows of the house; what if she looked out now? The Audi Sport was abandoned on the forecourt of the house-I was painfully aware of my feet on the gravel, crunchingly obvious to anyone inside the house. I reached under the wheel arch and my fingers scrabbled across the rubber of the tyre. My heart leapt and my eyes fell from their nervous examination of the house windows to the wheel. I crouched. It wasn't there. I bent my head, shut my eyes in panic. When I opened them I noticed a glint of silver in the deepening gloom beneath the car. Reaching out, my trembling fingers found the cold metal key, half hidden where it had fallen into the gravel. I stood, giddy, taking great gulps of air. YES!

The key turned easily in the lock and the door opened into an eerily quiet house. I jogged back to the car, replaced the key and approached the house anew. Somewhere here, I knew, was a woman waiting. Not for me though. And if anything had gone wrong there was no explanation to get out of this. It had to be followed through now.

The plushly carpeted stairs swallowed the sound of my footsteps as I ascended to the gallery landing. Immediately opposite, from behind a half-open bedroom door came the metallic whine of a video. I edged closer, easing my weight from step to step as I approached the doorway. Through the crack of the door as I crept forward I could see a chair, a cabinet, and the canopied head of a four-poster bed. The video stood on a tripod, in the centre of a broad expanse of carpet. I followed its cold, glassy stare to another chair set in front of the bed.

Mrs Phillippa Greene, Department Head and Home Counties matron was entirely unaware of my presence. She sat, helpless on the chair, her arms out of sight behind her; blouse half-unbuttoned to expose a magnificent cleavage nestling in the semi-transparent cream lace of her brassiere. Her ankles were clearly bound to the legs of the chair, heavy, thick silk scarves wrapped tight about them and knotted implacably. She still wore the headscarf enveloping about her head, a heraldic Hermes design now evident, but it was half obscured by the Chanel monochrome silk that was covering her eyes and knotted behind her head. She was biting her lower lip, apparently in concern, her head turning this way and that, as if she were listening, trying her bonds and tugging at her wrists.

"Chris?" she murmured, then, "Chris?" a little louder.

She muttered under her breath, "No, getting jumpy." Then tugged again at her wrists, which remained out of view. They jangled and I realised they were handcuffed behind the high back of the chair. She'd done a very effective job, excepting a gag, but had obviously not anticipated the need for one. The plastic bag lay half-open on the bed and I could see leather straps inside- she'd clearly bought more than just handcuffs at lunchtime.

I stepped closer, scanning the layout of the room. There beside the bed was a drawer, still open, layers of expensive silk scarves piled inside. Across the room was a laundry basket. I crossed noiselessly and quietly rooted around inside- the small noises I made muffled to her ears by the silken layers. My prize, two pairs of fine La Perla silk knickers and some cheap nylon panties, I stuffed into my pocket. I returned, approaching the helpless woman whose head cocked.

"Chris? Chris, I know you're there, please, say something." Her breathing was short, excited. I ran a finger down her cheek and across her lips.

She jumped, gasping, "Oh! Oh, Chris, you frightened me."

I said nothing but ran the finger down her long neck and into her deep cleavage.

She bit her lip. "Mmm, do you like it, oh, and did you have a good flight, and where's my pressie?"

I stayed silent, caressing her neck, at which she arched, suddenly feline.

"OK, don't say anything, play it mysterious"

I moved behind her, pulling the open blouse off her shoulders and running my fingers across her honey-coloured flesh.

I hadn't noticed the phone/answer-phone combination sitting on the bedside table. It rang. I jumped, and Phillippa giggled, feeling my jerk.

"Oh, leave it, this is our time, they can call back."

I started to relax, then the answer-phone kicked in. Her message wound out and a tone sounded, then the unmistakable sound of Mrs Christina Latka's voice came on the line; "Phillippa, it's me, pick up the phone. Come on. Oh well, I've just landed…"

Mrs Greene gaped, the implications coursing like lightning fear through her mind, "Chris, but how, what…Oh my God…You're not Chris…Who are you…. How did you? HELMMMMPPPHHHGGGNNNMMM!"

"…. and I'm about to go through customs control…"

I reacted quickly and cut off her rising scream by cramming her panties into her mouth, the vivid, silken wad stifling her voice before the scream could start. She shook her head, fighting the gag, her tongue working to eject the alien mass, but as fast as she pushed it out, my fingers forced twice as much back in.

"…I should be over to you in about an hour…"

Mrs Phillippa Green's cheeks were bulging and her cries had been reduced to mewling whimpers. I held my hand cruelly over her smeared lipstick, as she writhed hopelessly in my grip, and reached down to the drawer of scarves, pulling out a square expanse of heavy silk twill bearing the Gucci logo.

"…I hope you're getting yourself all warm and welcoming, and get that wine uncorked!"

A knot in the centre of the thick, expensive, cream and gold silk and I pulled it tight between her lips, lipstick smearing across the fabric, distending her cheeks still further and reducing her protests and pleas to muffled, choked sobs.

"…. Well, you're obviously not there, so I'll see you in a short while. Bye for now."

The answer-phone clicked off, as the message's recipient thrashed frantically on the chair, small whimpers escaping her voice-numbing gag, her self-imposed blindfold depriving her of even the small comfort of sight. I sat in the other chair, watching her writhe and tug at her bonds, a struggle which emphasised the fullness of her breasts, the curve of her hips and long legs. Eventually she slowed, then stopped, breathing heavily, obviously aware of the futility of her efforts. Her head tilted, small noises, no longer demanding, from beneath the stifling knickers, apparently begging some kindness, some act of reconciliation to reassure her. I stood and reached for the blindfold, my fingers gently unknotting the tight silk, before drawing it tighter still; to her evident, vocal disappointment.

I noticed the whine of the video camera, intruding on the evening quiet of the room, and turned to the glassy, Cyclops eye that continued to record all it saw. There was a TV/ video combination on a side table and the case for the video camera contained a SCART lead. It was a matter of a minute's work to connect the two so I could watch from the comfort of the chair in full stereo rather than peering into the viewfinder. I rewound and pressed play.

The interference crackled, and the screen cleared to reveal the bedroom, apparently empty. For a few seconds, nothing happened then Mrs Greene stepped into view, as I had seen her at work plus the tightly wrapped headscarf, black kid gloves and dark glasses.

"Hello, darling, I hope this is what you had in mind. I wasn't sure, when you suggested it, but the idea grew on me, and, well you know, it's kind of horny." She laughed, her gloved hand going to her face in an unconscious gesture of embarrassment, trying to disguise her blush, and removing her sunglasses,

"I went to a sex shop."

Her eyes lowered again, seemingly unsure of herself, her top teeth caught her dark, glossy, bottom lip, in a parody of indecision.

"I got some things…"

She tailed off. She seemed about to say more, but instead turned and delved into the bag on the bed. She turned back to the camera dangling the handcuffs from the finger of one hand, and grasping a dildo in the other. "There's more, but you'll have to find out when you get here."

She disappeared momentarily, returning into shot with three heavy silk scarves. Sitting on the ladder-backed chair, she bent forward, her heavy breasts falling against the white satin of her blouse, her cleavage exposed to the lens. Soon both ankles were tightly fastened to the leg of the chair, and she pulled the hem of her dogtooth skirt up slightly, revealing the tops of her stockings. She smiled nervously at the camera,

"I hope this is right?"

Six feet from the screen image, the real Mrs Greene moaned into her humiliating gag, shaking her head in anguish; I'd turned the volume up sufficiently to penetrate even her headscarf-muffled ears.

Back on the screen she picked up the last rolled scarf and bound it about her eyes before reaching into her lap for the cuffs. She clicked them tight about one leather-shrouded wrist but hesitated to finish her self-bondage.

"This is really horny Chris, I'm getting excited, just thinking about you finding me."

Her fingers trembled with the buttons of the blouse, revealing her cleavage then the fine lace of the brassiere. The loose handcuff swung to and fro as she slid her fingers beneath the material, pinching at her nipples. Stifled protests came from the real woman as her screen counterpart started to breathe more raggedly.

"Chris, you'll have to gag me, stop me from screaming. I'm just getting sooo wet…"

She twisted and reached her hands behind her, there was an audible CLICK and she tugged experimentally on her wrists.

"Oooh, that's even worse, damn, I should have finished myself off, you're not going to be here for ages yet."

She rocked her hips rhythmically back and forward, evidently trying to tighten her panties on her crotch, her frustration apparent as her teeth caught her lip again and she grunted her dissatisfaction. Shortly after that she could be seen cocking her head to one side as I walked stealthily about the room, followed by her unceremonious gagging as the telephone revealed its ghastly message of truth.

I reset the video camera, leaving it connected to the TV so the screen relayed a live version of events as the camera recorded them for posterity, and turned it on. Leaving Phillippa squirming hopelessly in the chair, I padded about the spacious house until I found a computer and printer in the study. Busying myself there for ten minutes, I was not too concerned when the phone rang, knowing that the answer-phone would kick in. The heavy thud from Phillippa's bedroom did concern me, and I hurled myself back up the stairs, taking them three at a time to arrive panting in her doorway. She lay, sprawling, the chair tipped over beside her, her head nodding frantically as she desperately tried to rub off the scarf cramming the gagging panties into her mouth; to alert her lover to her fearful predicament before the same should befall her.

"…so when you finally get out of the bath, or whatever it is you're doing, I'll be there in about 15 minutes, but I'll look for the key like you suggested" Christina Latka's voice continued calmly, oblivious to her girlfriend's acute plight, before the dial tone signalled the end of the message.

In the fall her full breasts had spilled from the precarious confinement of her skimpy lace bra and were now revealed in all their firm glory, peaked with magnificent, dark nipples. I pulled her upright again, scooping her back into her clothes, though leaving her skirt where it had ridden up still further to reveal the soft tan of her thighs and the thin white silk of her briefs. Her nipples, betraying her body's excitement, were visibly erect beneath the translucent lace, and had been hard against my palms as I manhandled them back into place. I stroked her neck gently; a touch of reassurance, and her hectic breathing slowed slightly. To prevent her hurting herself in a similar fall, I leant the chair over until the back rested on the bed and Phillippa lay prone upon it. Then I returned to the study.

The pages had printed off, and I pulled them from the printer hurriedly, dropping one on the bottom of the stairs by the front door, the second at the top of the landing, and the third in the doorway of the bedroom pulling the door across to disguise Mrs Greene's robustly restrained figure. As I was settling myself in the large, walk-in closet, I heard the sound of a car on the gravel drive outside.

3.

There was a door slamming and the sound of feet on gravel. The doorbell rang. Mrs Greene's body writhed in response; her lips chewing on the heavy silk of the headscarf pulling her stifling gag between her teeth. Almost immediately I could hear Mrs Latka opening the front door and her hesitant call, "Phillippa, are you here?" Her girlfriend's cheeks reddened and her head shook wildly from side to side as she tried desperately to make herself heard.

I could only imagine what I was prevented from seeing; Christina Latka heaving her bags through the door, then noticing the note on the bottom of the stairs:

CHRIS

Surprise! I'm upstairs, make yourself a drink and come up

Shortly after there was a muffled creak from the top of the stairs, I pictured her reading the second note:

CHRIS

I'm a little "tied up" at the moment. In my bedroom. Read the note in the doorway.

There was a rustle of paper being picked up, and Phillippa's struggles increased accordingly. I gloated at how disappointed she would be when her friend followed her "instructions":

CHRIS

Here's the scene. I've been surprised by a burglar who's tied me up and left me to struggle. You come in and I expect to be untied, but you don't, instead you play with me, taunting me. I beg and plead through the gag, but you are HAUGHTY, CRUEL and HARD. Eventually you take out the gag, I'm grateful and try to tell you what's happened, but you stuff your own knickers into my mouth despite my pleas and gag me again. (The gag is the best bit- very humiliating). Help yourself to the goodies in the bag of stuff I bought, and feel free to use them on me. I'm recording this on the video camera so we can watch it together…The safety code is if I hum the 1812 Overture I want to be released immediately

The door opened, I shuffled back into the dressing room, my view now limited to that relayed by the TV. Phillippa's struggles paused as she tried to sense who the new intruder was, friend or foe.

"Well you're in a fine pickle, what's happened to you? Blindfold by Chanel, gag by Gucci, eh?" I could hear Chris's voice, her location hidden by my position, her easy tone demonstrating her faith in the dissembling notes I had left. Her friend, expecting rescue, tugged in futility at her bonds and MMMMPHHED her discomfiture. The video displayed her contortions, as she demanded release. Suddenly Mrs Latka appeared on the screen, her elegant cream suit cut to exaggerate her slim, yet curvaceous, body. A rich blue and cream Jaeger scarf was tucked into the V of her white satin blouse. As she turned her back and bent over, her tight skirt rode up, revealing seamed tan stockings above her strappy blue patent stiletto shoes.

"You're dressed like a tart, Phillippa," she intoned, flicking her subjugated friend's tight blouse, then sipping on the large glass of wine she held in the other hand. Mrs Greene's squirming stopped as if she was unable to believe her ears, or that her "rescuer" wasn't freeing her immediately. There was a querying whimper from beneath the layers of silk and satin. "MMMNNNHH?"

Christina put the glass down and leant over, picking the chair up so Phillippa was now upright again. She leant from behind, her breath on her captive's ear, "You've got yourself into a bit of a jam, and I'm not getting you out of it. In fact…." her hand slid down Phillippa's sternum towards her ample cleavage, "...I think I might take advantage of it."

Phillippa's head shook violently, her stifled protests clearly audible, yet indecipherable. Christina grinned, turning again for a large slurp from her wineglass, "It looks like you're my prisoner now, doesn't it?" Her girlfriend's desperate attempts to warn her of the truth about the situation just fantasy struggles in her eyes. "It was nice of you to prepare this little surprise for me, but I think you could have made yourself a bit more vulnerable, maybe tied yourself open on the bed, or bent over a chair?" Chris unknotted the Chanel silk scarf over her friend's eyes revealing Phillippa's grey/blue eyes, which were wide, as she tried to convey the truth to her new captor. Chris crossed to the bed where the bag lay open, and pulled out the big dildo. "Oooh, that's going to smart," she grinned, then paused, gasping as she drew a double ended penis gag from the depths. "Now that's kinky!"

Her captive was frantically trying to alert her to the reality of her predicament, her voice cruelly stifled by the silky layers of the gag, the smothered pleas, warnings and demands entirely in line with Chris's deluded understanding of her prisoner's "self-imposed" bondage. She slid her hand beneath the rich fabric of Phillippa's blouse, ignoring her captive's squirming, slipping it off her shoulders and tugging it down to reveal the full curve of her magnificent breasts, restrained by the flimsy lace brassiere. Standing behind her, Chris's hands followed the soft, firm flesh, descending beneath the material until a groan from Phillippa told me she had reached her nipples. Her struggles slowed, softened, the protests more muted as her mistress pinched softly on the tips of her hardening teats. She rolled back the thin lace exposing her girlfriend's pneumatic breasts, and brushed the tips of her fingers softly over the rapidly hardening, roseate nipples.

Phillippa's breathing had become erratic, ragged, interspersed with half-hearted protests, her head lolled back; I assumed she must almost believe that Chris had set up my presence as an extra kink in the relationship, as she murmured her irresolute objections, her eyes half-closed and cast down, an excited blush colouring her cheeks. Chris knelt, positioning herself between Phillippa's legs and bent her head forward, gently seizing a seam with her teeth and tugging down the fragile, cream lace of the expensive bra, so her breasts were now fully exposed. Phillippa was now quiescent, her voice stilled. On the video's zoom close up I could see her swallow, her fine chest heaving with her excited breathing. Chris's tongue darted out to flicker into her cleavage; a muffled moan ensued and her back arched as she thrust her breasts forward and up. Her captor chuckled, a low, earthy sound, and cupped their roundness, carefully encircling the engorged nipples without touching the sensitive flesh, and softly supporting the firm orbs. Phillippa's words were entirely stifled, but the growing urgency of her meaning was evident as she whined her desire into the thick, gagging silk.

Chris's fingers pinched the flesh around the nipples, pushing them further out, and her tongue descended to an aureole, long languid strokes ending just short of the erect nipple. Her prisoner struggled, not for release, but to allow her sensitive nipples to be touched. The high shine of Chris's exclusive lip-gloss was enhanced as she ran her tongue over her bottom lip, before parting her teeth to gently take in Phillippa's nipple. Her cheeks hollowed as she sucked softly on the hot, hard flesh and her girlfriend's eyes widened as she stared down.

Wriggling, Chris tugged up her own pencil skirt, revealing the tops of her stockings and the white silk of her briefs, stretched taut across her magnificent arse. One hand slid into her jacket, apparently massaging her own breasts while the other slid down in front of her. I couldn't see, but it was apparent that she was rubbing herself while nibbling at her bound girlfriend's breasts. Phillippa's heavy breathing had become excited grunts, the rhythm getting faster as she sought after her long awaited crisis.

Chris stopped.

"Ah ah ah, not yet, we mustn't forget who's in control here, must we?". Phillippa's unfocussed eyes snapped back at the sound of Chris's admonishment. Her face registered confusion then, as she started to register, frustration. Her smothered voice protested, demanding the release her body so desired, as Chris stood, running the Chanel scarf thoughtfully between her fingers.

"Not just yet, you need a little punishment for your stupidity in getting captured, and besides, I haven't played with your toys yet." And with that she wrapped Phillippa's eyes once again with the Chanel blindfold-scarf, knotting it tightly over the rich silk of her crimson and gilt Hermes headscarf. Phillippa shook her head, mumbled protests seeping through the now-damp silk.

Chris stepped out of the camera's view and I edged nearer to the crack of the door to try to see more of the intensely erotic tableau unfolding before me. As I did so, the camera view displayed on the TV suddenly skewed and refocused on the bed where the bag of toys had been placed. Chris stepped back into view, her peplum jacket now slung over her shoulder.

The full softness of her breasts was now visible, pressed against the elegant satin of her blouse, the tails of the blouse visible beneath her rucked-up skirt. Her seamed stockings led inexorably up to her firm thighs which were topped with the tight, white silk of her panties. She turned to the camera, her fingers trembling slightly as she fumbled with the top button of her blouse. Slowly she unbuttoned it, gradually revealing the contrast between her tanned breasts and the stark white of her sheer silk brassiere. She smiled at the camera, pouting for her blindfolded friend who sat unseeing while the striptease continued. The blouse slipped from her shoulders, leaving the Jaeger scarf that had been tucked in to slither softly to the floor. Her hands now crossed in front of her as Chris's fingers caressed her silk encased breasts.

"You can't see this now, but we can watch it together, later." she breathed, her tongue tip slowly dampening her lips. On the screen her fingers had found the raised silk that failed to disguise her excited nipples, and her exquisitely manicured red nails softly scratched at the weave of the delicate fabric, causing the material to peak even more noticeably. One hand now slipped, down the flat belly, and over the bunched skirt, to the taut silk across her pudenda. The vivid vermilion of her gloss nails shone against the snowy white silk, as her fingers edged down, outlining the soft folds of her cunt. The camera was too unfocussed, but I could imagine the humid dampness saturating the fine cloth as her fingers worked deeper and more insistently.

"I'm touching myself for you; frigging myself off." She bit her lip in an unconscious imitation of her girlfriend's expression when she had debuted earlier. Her voice was breathy, soft, but Phillippa heard and responded, a small whimper rising from her throat as the writhed in her seat.

"Through my knickers, it's, it's….." her voice trembled and broke, "….Ohh God, I'm so excited, my knicks are sooo wet." She slid the white silk briefs down her long, slim legs, her cleavage filling the lens as she did so, then bundled them into a small ball. Stepping toward the camera, the auto-focus was forced to admit defeat, only refocusing on the helpless Phillippa who sat struggling on the high backed chair, as Chris realigned the lens. She stepped back into view, her hand clasping the small, sodden bundle of exclusive lingerie, and reached past her captive's head to the knot of her gag. As she loosened the cruelly taut Gucci silk, I tensed; this would be a big test of the plan, and Phillippa's ability to convey the truth to Chris.

She shook her head, her tongue pushing the saliva soaked knickers from between her teeth, before Chris gently placed her glass at Phillippa's lips and she sipped gratefully.

Swallowing, Phillippa smiled, "Thank you, how did you do it, it was so exciting?" Chris looked puzzled, "Well it was all in the script," as she spoke she was gathering the damp panties and had added her own; her attention was elsewhere and she wasn't concentrating the implications of Phillippa's words.

"But, the burglar, he….mmmnnngnn." Chris had caught us both out.; I'd expected to see Phillippa's surprised mouth stuffed again with the glossy bundle of flimsy satin, silk and nylon, but instead the screen was filled with the image of the helpless woman trying to cry out from behind her girlfriend's full breast.

Her muffled cry died quickly, and she turned with enthusiasm to servicing Chris's nipple with her tongue and lips. The free woman had peeled down one cup of her bra to tit-gag her prisoner, arching her slim back as she thrust her breast between her girlfriend's lips. She pulled back, moaning as her friend's sucking lips distended the nipple, stretching it; it came free and Chris bent to plunge her tongue between Phillippa's lips. I watched her raise her hand, full of delicate fabric, to Phillippa's mouth, the soft material caressing her lips.

"No, no, please, I won't scream"

"Ah, well you asked for it"

"I didn't," indignant now, "He gagged mnnnmmmngnn". Her mouth was stuffed again, and Chris rapidly knotted the lipstick-smeared gag back in place, stifling her captive's protests. She knelt, breasts brushing her girlfriend's thighs as she slid her hands up, pushing Phillippa's skirt up to reveal her panties, cream lace matching the brassiere that now scooped under her fine tits. Pulling the flimsy lace aside, she bent forward, her breath ragged, burying her face in Phillippa's lap. The victim arched her crotch forward, presenting her hot cunt for her girlfriend's tongue to caress. Chris's hands worked under Phillippa's arse, kneading and squeezing while her tongue worked into the moistness of her humid flesh. She came, loudly and frantically, even the considerable silk of her gag not fully stifling her screams of release.

Chris unbound her friend's eyes, revealing a dazed Phillippa as she slumped in the chair. Her fingers went to the gag and I unfolded myself from the closet.

"Ah Ms Latka, I'd rather you didn't do that." She spun, her eyes wide, mouth opened in a gasp of surprise.

"Mr Stevens, what the hell.." Her hands went up to her breasts protectively; Phillippa's eyes refocused with a sudden urgency and she writhed in her bonds, her face scarlet.

"Shut up." I tapped the video camera. " I don't think you'd wish the company or your respective partners to be aware of this little scenario, and the misuse of the firm's e-mail system wouldn't go down too well either."

I grinned, wolfishly. "I think, however, that we can come to a solution…."

4.

I stretched out my legs and rested them on the new desk, my brogues tapping against the plaque on the glossy surface that said "Mr P. Stevens, Security Director".

There was a knock at the door and in answer to my summons Phillippa Greene teetered in, unsteady in her skyscraper heels. She glared at me, her full lustrous lips contorted as she deposited my espresso on the desk.

"The girls are starting to talk, they think we're having an affair. You can't keep making me bring you coffee, I'm a department head damn it." Her breasts heaved against the tight material of her blouse. "And I will not keep dressing up for you."

I sighed and spun the laptop on my desk so she could see the screen. There, in glorious mpeg was a graphic film of her, spread-eagled on the bed, her girlfriend bound atop her, both gagged with dildo gags, buried in each other's cunts. She coloured, and I grinned again. "Digital video, wonderful invention, just download it from your camera straight to the Internet." Her eyes widened.

"Was there something else?"

She shook her head, backing away. "Well in that case, my en suite has something requiring your attention." She sighed and pushed the door open to reveal Ms Latka, bound to the towel rail, a pony harness over her headscarf, pulling a huge bit gag between her lips. As the door opened, she smiled, a crooning moan coming from behind her gag and thrust her breasts against the thin rubber of her blouse. Phillippa looked over her shoulder and, with a half smile, shut the door behind her.

Hot story, good work. Will this be a one shot or a full series? I hope it's the later

[Dustysmate]

Don't forget to gender-tag this story and any in the future.

Sorted - apologies

[Dustysmate]

@YugoSK

It's an old, old story, but I've just started writing fresh stuff (see New Money - a sort-of collaboration), so I may yet revisit some of my older pieces and, if people have requests and those requests align with my particular depravity, I'm up to do more