He grinned. ‘This hand? Oh, just wait until the rest of me gets involved.’
What followed was the most extreme, three-fingered, two-lipped, one-tongued orgasm that I’ve ever experienced in my life! I swear he must have researched this on the sly. God bless the internet.
We went to bed shortly after, me with wobbly legs and a flushed face and Oliver looking very pleased with himself. He kissed me goodnight and just before he turned off the light said, ‘We’ve still got tomorrow. Prepare yourself.’
Monday March 6th
‘Mum, I asked for jam, not peanut butter. You know I hate peanuts.’
I turn around to see Molly standing with the plate of crustless peanut butter and toast I’d made her for breakfast.
‘Molly, you chose the peanut butter. You’ve eaten half the jar already. What happened between yesterday and today to make you hate this poor defenceless jar of delicious sludge?’
She shrugged. She didn’t need a reason. She’s four.
‘I’m not wasting food, Molly. If you eat that, I promise you’ll never have to eat it again as long as you live.’
She grudgingly took back the plate and walked to the living room where CBeebies was already playing loudly on the television.
After his comment yesterday, I had hoped for some early morning fumbling but Oliver had already left early for a meeting, leaving me to get Molly and myself organised and out of the door for 8.15 a.m.
Jay from Downtime had emailed over his advert copy and dates he wanted it to run, along with an invite to the party itself on Thursday. As awkward as I feel around him, it’s a closed venue with a free bar. How the fuck can I not go? I’ll take Lucy.
As mind-numbing as my day was, things took an interesting turn around 3 p.m. when Oliver texted me.
Take your phone into the bathroom.
What? Why? I’m working!
Just do it.
Confused, I left my desk (where I was terribly busy looking at cat gifs) and took myself off to the bathroom. Given the nature of what was about to follow, I’m grateful it was empty. I checked my phone again.
Get in a cubicle
I chose the end cubicle, nearest the hand dryers. I locked the door just as my phone began to ring.
‘Hello? Oliver, why are you being weird? If you want to hear me pee, we have a perfectly good bathroom at home. But don’t do that.’
‘Shut up. Remember that scene in Secretary when she’s in the bathroom at work? You’re going to do that.’
‘Oh, am I? And what are you going to do?’
‘I’m going to listen.’
‘But I’m not even turned on!’
‘I am. In fact, I’m hard right now. I came home early. I’m naked and I’m going to get off, listening to you. Now put your fucking hand down your pants.’
Ten minutes later, me and my shaky legs exited the bathroom. Sex jar request #1 completed.
Wednesday March 8th
I texted Lucy this morning to remind her that she was going to this birthday thing at Downtime with me tomorrow and could she give them a quick email on my behalf to say I’d be coming along? She responded almost instantly.
WHAT DID YOUR LAST SLAVE DIE OF? (but free bar, right?)
There’s a part of me that thinks I shouldn’t go to this party at all. Under normal circumstances, I’d be going along to support a client, but this isn’t just a normal client. This is a client that has seen my bare arse – and from what I remember, from several different angles. Thankfully, my arse (and the rest of me) seems to be quite unmemorable, though, so at least I can do business with him without him thinking about it, too. Oliver is slightly miffed that I’m going out as he’s champing at the bit to get started on his first sex jar request, but I’ve promised we’ll do it on Friday. God knows what he has in store for me.
