A strange way to get a job offer

Author’s note: Medium has changed the way they calculate the amount they pay us authors for what we post. I’m hardly a J K Rowling but what I did earn kept me in new knickers. Now those earnings have dropped to 10% of what they had been. (To 10%, not by 10%) And we were told it was for our benefit! I don’t like being ripped off, but will for the time being keep posting to see if I can recover those few £s. So please, please if you have enjoyed this little blog, do clap, it helps the little algorithm thingy think I’m human. XXX

Start here if you missed my last blog: https://medium.com/@TracyTrouble/talking-incestuous-talk-a468b0932519

“Sorry to interrupt but don’t I know you?”

The words had more effect than a fire hose being sprayed on me. Shit. But did he? I have a good memory of faces and couldn’t place him. Perhaps he was just trying it on.

“That’s a rusty chat-up line,” I replied. “Not got anything more original?”

He laughed. “Yes, I suppose it would be but I’m sure I know you. Didn’t you work for XXXX (redacted)?”

Now my blood did run cold. He’d named a firm I’d worked for, for a brief period, about fifteen years ago. I had to take the initiative. In for a penny etc.

“Not me. Do I look as though I’d be an employee of theirs?” To emphasis the point I parted my legs further. My skirt hem was already above my stocking tops, so I doubted anything had been hidden from view, but I made it more obvious. A lot more obvious. Letting him think I was an escort or something was far less problematic than letting him think he knew me. It wasn’t until later I realised I’d made a big mistake. The firm he’d mentioned was hardly a household name and I would doubt anyone not in that particular field would have heard of them.

He laughed again. “Well, it’s their loss because I seem to remember you were quite good at what you did, but if you have changed professions by the look of things you’re as equally good at your new chosen career. If you are ever looking for work, in either profession, give me a ring. I’m managing partner in a firm that specialises in an area you might be interested in.” He gave me a card, simply said, “Goodbye.” and returned to his group. I glanced at the card. His name meant nothing to me, but I slipped it into my bag and returned my attention to Lizzie.

“Do you think he really knows you?” she asked.

“Hard to tell. It sounded legitimate but who knows? I’ll look him up sometime.” It was worrying and intriguing in equal measure. A man I couldn’t recall saying I was good at work and offering me a job when I was sitting in public with my legs splayed wide enough to be shagged by a horse. We had now attracted an audience. There was no doubt the display of our stocking-encased legs up to our knickers was proving quite a draw. We wouldn’t have gone unnoticed for ever, but the man’s intervention seemed to have drawn attention to us.

“Can we go somewhere else?” I uncharacteristically asked.

Lizzie looked at me. “You’re worried about him knowing you?”

“A bit.” She looked thoughtful.

“Let’s call him on it. He was wearing a wedding ring. If we can, what do the papers call it, get him in a ‘compromising situation’, it might be some insurance he won’t tell.”

I’m sure her idea was full of holes as well as smacking of blackmail, but the idea appealed. After all, I’d flashed some work colleagues and I’d not seen this guy for fifteen years, apparently. What was there to lose? Nothing important, just my job. The idea appealed. The idea, not the job loss.

“Okay. Where do you fancy? The loo or car?”

“Let’s not get in a rut. We did the loo last time. Let’s do back of the car. Providing we use mine. Yours is too horsey and will take all night to tidy up.” She had a point, but now wasn’t the time to complain about her grumbling.

“Okay. How are we going to get him outside?”

“Go and tell him you want to discuss it further. In private. He did say to contact him if you wanted help with either profession.” Lizzie giggled. “Fancy, me out for the night with a professional tart.”

She said it with a huge smile, kissed me on the lips, said, “See you outside,” and left.

Honestly, the dynamic of our friendship had changed. No longer was I having to lead, we were now co-conspirators.

The concern I’d felt when the man had first said he knew me was now replaced by the excitement of putting on a show for him. This need I had to be watched having sex or doing sexy things was all-consuming. As I went towards his small group I felt horny. Nothing else.

The group was sitting near the bar, my friend facing us, so he would have had a good view of what we’d done so far. Which was presumably why he’d come over. That meant I had little to lose. His description of my antics to date would, if believed, be more than enough to terminate my career.

He watched me approach, a hint of a smile on his face. I stopped behind the man facing him. It would be telling to watch the reaction of the others. If he intended to spread the word about me I assumed he would already have told his three colleagues what he was seeing, but they didn’t react as if they knew, when I said, “Sorry to interrupt gentlemen, but I wonder if I could have a word with Mr Jenkin. Privately.”

No one made suggestive remarks. I was becoming hopeful he had remained silent.

He stood up and we moved aside from their table. I wasn’t going to mince words. No point. “My friend and I are going to carry on having our fun outside, in the car, and wondered if you fancied coming to watch?”

His face split into a smile. “I’d be delighted to. You’ll have to give me five minutes though.”

“No problem. We’ll warm ourselves up. Just one thing. Nothing else is on offer, so don’t ask.”

“Understood. See you in a minute or two.”

I told him which car we were in and he went back to his colleagues and I went to find Lizzie.

By the time I reached her car, I had a need. An urgent need. I clambered in the back to find her lightly fingering herself. “He’s coming. Might be a few minutes. I told him no touching.” Without giving her a chance to reply I kissed her and ripped her blouse open. Literally. I held the edges and yanked. Buttons flew. I pushed her bra up off her tits. Sunk my head down on one. Bit her nipple, perhaps too hard. She yelped. Pushed a hand up her skirt. Into her knickers. Into her gaping, soaking cunt. Hard. One finger. Two. Fucked her with them. Her moans confirmed she was as hot as I was. I raised my head. Found her lips. Tongues clashed. Saliva exchanged. Urgent needs. I swung round. Went sixty-nine. Her hands found my knickers. Dealt with them as I had her blouse. Another pair for the bin. I pushed my bum back into her face. She sucked, licked, and bit. Copying me. Making me yelp. Making me leak. Slurping, sucking noises from us both as we drank each other's love juice. If the space hadn’t been so limited we would have ended up fighting and rolling on the floor. She used both hands on me. Fingers going in both holes. The sensation! Orgasms erupted. Too quickly, but necessary. Our hips gyrated, bodies heaved. God, it was good.

The deviant nature of our earlier conversation was one reason, but for me, the wake-up call of the possibility of discovery was the overarching reason. Why? It could be career ending, but had made me super hot. It was the risk. The living on the edge. Sheer stupidity. Sheer excitment.

As we both came down from our highs, now wrapped together like lovers, Lizzie broke the silence.

“Life’s never dull with you around is it, Witch? I suppose we’re going to have to do that again when he turns up.” Her voice was full of mock resignation.

“I’m afraid so,” I replied in similar vein. “Such a bore.” We dissolved into hysterics. That’s when there was a tap on the window.

Part 3 to follow

Please, if you have enjoyed this little blog, do clap, it helps the little algorithm thingy think I’m human. XXX