No reference. No job.
It was as simple as that.
Maggie scanned the situations vacant website and clicked on the various accountancy related jobs suitable for her qualifications. Three weeks of job hunting and ringing around recruitment agencies had made her cognizant of the realities.
She didn’t have enough money to pay the rent due next week.
Barker & Johnson wouldn’t give her a reference.
No, not quite right. They’d give her a reference, but one stating the period she’d worked for them. That was all.
So far, prospective employers had taken one look at the damning sentence and asked pointed questions. There was no point lying, because all they needed to do was ring Barker & Johnson. Despite the privacy act, they could do this because she’d completed a form to say they could ask for information.
A vicious circle. Screwed no matter what she did.
Maggie picked up her pen then tapped it on her counter, each rap louder than the last. Maybe she should try something else. Huh! No maybe about it. With one hundred dollars in her check account and a rent payment due, she couldn’t afford to be picky.
Maggie studied the rest of the jobs, ones she wouldn’t have considered in the past. She noted several. Shop assistants. Jobs in cafes. Waitressing. She had experience with most of them after working during her student days. Maybe they wouldn’t mind the lack of a reference, if she could round up some character references to prove her honesty and reliability.
Sighing, she picked up the phone and rang for appointments. Several required email applications, and she followed the instructions in each advertisement.
The phone rang and her heart leapt. Connor? He’d rung a lot during the first week, but she’d ignored his calls and thumps on her door, leaving her apartment only when she knew he wasn’t outside. Now, she was feeling her solitary state and had thought about ringing him, giving him a chance to explain.
“Hello.”
“Ms. Drummond, this is Max Lynn from the National Bank. I’m ringing to talk to you about your check account. It’s gone into overdraft.”
“No. No, I have just over one hundred dollars in there. One hundred and twelve dollars.”
“You are two hundred and four dollars in OD.” The clipped voice rang with truth and her gut roiled. “You need to bring the account back into credit. When is your next paycheck due?”
“I…I’m not working at the moment.”
“I see.”
Maggie swallowed. What did he see? She wanted to ask, but didn’t think smart-ass questions were appropriate right now. “I’m looking for another job and have several interviews this afternoon. Is it possible to arrange a short-term overdraft facility?”
“We can discuss your situation,” he said, although Maggie heard the silent doubt in his voice. “Can you come into the branch tomorrow at ten-thirty?”
“I have job interviews for most of the morning. I could come in around two.”
“I will see you then.” He hung up, leaving Maggie gripping the phone so hard it left an imprint on her palm. Unshed tears shrouded her vision. She blinked and one trickled down her cheek. Her hand shook when she set down her phone.
A sob tore free. Everything had gone so wrong. And she was lonely with no one to talk to. She missed Connor more than she cared to admit, her heart aching with the loss.
A glance around her apartment brought memories she didn’t want. Her naked, stretched over the back of the couch. A quiet drink with Connor. Down and dirty laughter and off-color jokes with her girlfriends.
Loneliness gnawed at her, underlining her current position.
She had to pay her rent. And tomorrow she had to get a job, no matter what it was. She could always keep looking for something better once she was back on her feet.
A second glance around the room brought an idea. She had to sell some of her stuff to at least to make the next rent payment. Without friends, she hardly needed furniture.
With a new sense of purpose, she wandered around her apartment and made a list of things to sell. She’d list them on the Internet auction site, Trade Me. That would bring her some cash, and once she’d paid her rent, she’d clear her overdraft.
It felt good to have a plan.
Friends. It’s funny you don’t realize how important they are until you lose them.
I had four close friends who I met through work. I won’t go into details, but life has sucked recently. As you know, I lost my job, and I don’t see my friends these days. I miss them. I miss their teasing and the way they knew my good points yet weren’t above giving me a hard time for stepping out of line.
Friends are there for you through the good and bad. They don’t judge. They support. They’re honest and worthy of trust. They tell you if your skirt is tucked into your pantyhose before you leave the restrooms or if there’s part of your lunch stuck between your teeth.
They’re the first people you turn to when you’re down and when it comes time to celebrate, friends are the ones you call to share exciting news. It’s never a contest with friends. It’s about support and encouragement, bolstering each other up in the bad times. Celebrating the good times, and lots of laughter in between.
That’s the thing about friends. They love you for who you are not who you should be.
True friends are like gold. Treasure them.
Connor read Maggie’s blog post, his throat thickening with emotion. Men didn’t cry, but dammit, he wanted to bawl. He could read between the lines. None of them had treated her very well. None of them were talking to each other. Susan and Christina avoided him at work. He and Julia saw each other every few days, but they didn’t talk. Since her hospital release, she’d become distant, a shadow of her former carefree self, and she refused to discuss the baby or its father.
She hadn’t returned to work, although physically, he thought she was okay. Losing the baby had leeched away her laughter and joy in life. He wished he knew who the baby’s father was, because he’d love to punch him in the nose hard enough to make it bleed.
Dear Bad Ass,
If I was there with you, I’d take you into my arms and hold you. It sounds as if you need a hug.
Kinky Lover
A reply jumped into his inbox almost immediately, surprising the hell out of him.
Dear Kinky Lover,
I need more than a hug. I’m thinking a good spanking followed by a bout of hot, sweaty sex might be the only thing that will work. It’s not gonna happen, but a girl can dream.
Bad Ass
A slow grin spread across Connor’s face. He might not be in the same room, but he had an idea. It might work out if he played Maggie right.
Dear Bad Ass,
If I were there with you, I’d walk into the room and take your hand. Without saying a word, I’d lead you to your bedroom, put you over my knee. Imagine my hand smoothing over your bottom. You’re laughing, squirming a little. Enough to bring my cock to attention. I lift my hand and strike your buttocks. You’re still clothed in a short little skirt and a shirt that skims your curves without looking slutty. I swat you again and your entire body jerks, but you’re still laughing.
“This is serious,” I tell you. “You’ve misbehaved and must be punished so you’ll never do it again.”
You giggle and shoot me a saucy wink when you glance at me over your shoulder. “I like misbehaving.”
I know this. I know you’re disobedient on purpose so I’ll give you a spanking. You play the brat, and I play the stern disciplinarian, ready to do my duty.
The truth is I enjoy the spanking sessions as much as you do. We both play our parts and the spanking acts as perfect foreplay.
I lift your skirt, baring a pair of plain cotton panties. They look staid under your sexy black skirt and not what I was expecting because I can see you’re wearing a lacy bra. The lace has played peek-a-boo with me all day.
I cup part of your buttock with my hand, feeling your body heat through the cotton. You groan and I know if I slipped my fingers between your legs, I’d find you ready for my cock. My body knows this too, blood speeding south to my shaft. I ignore the prickle of pleasure, knowing it will become better, more urgent, if I build the tension between us.
With no warning, I smack you again. A series of slaps across your butt cheeks, varying the angle and the intensity. I pull down your cotton panties and take a minute to touch your silky skin. I love your arse—looking at it, touching and kissing it.
I feel the heat generated by my hand, but your bottom is only faintly pink.
“Do you want a good spanking?”
“I’ve been disobedient,” you say. “Santa crossed me off his list yesterday.”
I grin. I can’t help it, because you’re so irreverent sometimes. I can imagine what you were like as a child—always with your hand in the cookie jar and an innocent smile on your pretty face.
I think about it and give you three swift smacks. The crack of my hand on your flesh is loud in the bedroom, the sound sweetened by your soft cries, your words of apology. I know you’re sorry right now. I know that. Tomorrow, that’s a whole different story.
I feel the heat of your skin. It’s a pretty pink blush with a few red overtones. I take a moment to appreciate the beautiful sight, leaning over to kiss you. This close I can smell your excitement and can’t resist touching you intimately. I part your legs a fraction and see the spanking has worked its magic. The lips of your labia are pouty and swollen, glistening with your juices. I slide a finger along your slit and lift it to my mouth.
“Turn your head,” I say. You turn your head, your eyes widening when I lick your juices off my finger.
“Get off my knees and unfasten my jeans.” I couch it as an order because I know it makes you hot. You fumble with my belt buckle, and your brow furrows in a cute little frown. Finally you pull down my jeans and scoop my erection from my boxer-briefs. You stare at the swollen crown and wet your lips.
“Lick me,” I say because that’s what I want too—your greedy hands and mouth on my dick.
You lick me, teasing my slit and letting your tongue cruise around the rim, your fingers holding me firmly. It feels so good, I know I could let go and come right now. The part of my brain that is still thinking decides it could be better yet. You could straddle me, take my cock deep into your pussy. We could kiss, touch. Tease each other until neither of us can stand it for a second longer.
Soon we’re doing everything I’ve thought about. With our clothes cast aside, you’re straddling my legs. You lift up, guiding my cock to your entrance. Then you sink down slowly, so slowly I feel your inner tissues parting—the incredible pleasure of being inside your snug pussy. You set a slow pace, lifting and falling on my cock while I yank at your buttons and scoop one breast from the cup of your lacy bra. I take your nipple into my mouth and suck, your taste and scent swirling around me.
You lean into me and nip the sinews of my neck, the muscles of my shoulders. The need rises between us and you move faster. Short, choppy jerks that almost make you fall off my knees. I grab your hips to steady you. My balls are tight, the cries of pleasure coming from you driving me closer to climax.
You’re close too. Your eyes are closed. Your breath is coming in quick gasps. I pinch your nipple and you throw your head back, grinding your clit against the root of my cock. With one of your hands, you touch yourself, desperate for release, and it’s so damned sexy. A real turn on for me.
I pinch your nipple again, and suddenly you’re shuddering, squeezing my cock with your inner muscles, the ripples of pleasure sweeping you away.
I grab your hips and surge into you, a series of fast thrusts that feel great. My balls lift, their tightness feels bloody good. Then I shoot. It’s fantastic.
You collapse against my chest, both of us breathing hard. I lift you up and remove the rest of your clothes. After putting you on my bed, I strip and lie beside you, our naked bodies sticky and smelling of sex.
I draw you into my arms and glance at your ass. It’s still a pretty pink. I smile because this game between us is better than good.
It’s magnificent.
Kinky Lover
The phone rang.
“Do you want me to get that?” Sylvie, his cousin, shouted from the lounge.
“Yeah.” He was in no condition to appear in front of Sylvie. Although they were cousins, they weren’t related by blood, a fact Sylvie liked to reiterate regularly. He wished she’d go home. In fact, he was close to chucking her out. They didn’t have room for her at the flat, and as far as he was concerned, she’d outstayed her welcome.
Connor proofread his email and shifted in his chair, yanking at his jeans to accommodate his dick. Damn, he wished Maggie were here in his bedroom instead of across the city in another suburb. And he wished she’d answer his calls or return his messages. He hit send and let his breath ease out while he waited for developments. He’d either never hear from her again or he’d get a reply.
He knew which option he preferred.
And if this didn’t work, he’d try something else.
Failure wasn’t an option.
“You’ve got the job. Can you start tonight?” The elderly proprietor of Medieval Times looked like a benevolent grandfather. She knew it was an act, because she’d heard him putting a supplier in his place a few minutes earlier.
Maggie smiled when what she really wanted to do was hoop and holler. “Tonight is fine.”
“Good. See Eva and she’ll give you a uniform.” His gaze drifted to her breasts and back to her face. “You’ll make a good wench.”
“Thanks.” As long as he didn’t think he could make free with the wench’s boobs. She was so relieved to get a job, even if it was in a theme restaurant that relied heavily on the waitresses’ assets.
At this stage, she couldn’t afford to be fussy, and the pay was good. Even better, the job came with a meal, something more substantial than the rice and pasta she’d existed on for the last month.
Maggie collected her uniform from Eva and returned to her apartment. A free afternoon loomed, one where she could relax instead of job hunt and watch the bids on the possessions she’d put up on Trade Me.
After ringing Connor the other day, she’d officially given up on him. The woman who’d answered had giggled when she’d said she was Connor’s cousin.
“I’m not really his cousin,” she’d confessed, giggling again. “That’s just what we tell people for simplicity and to avoid explanations.”
“So what are you?” Maggie had demanded.
“What do you think?” the woman cooed.
Maggie had snapped out a naughty word and slammed the phone down. If Connor intended to lie to her then she still didn’t want to talk to him.
An hour later, Maggie perched on a stool at her kitchen counter, her laptop powering up. She signed into her email account. An email from Kinky Lover.
Grinning, she opened it, a sense of real anticipation fluttering through her stomach. Since flipping him an email saying she’d prefer sex, that’s what he’d given her. Raunchy cyber sex.
She couldn’t wait to read what he’d written this time.
Mindless sex is good sometimes. I like a good no-strings fuck as much as the next guy, with no expectations on either side. I know there are women out there who enjoy the same thing—the professional women who are too busy to deal with the nuances of a relationship, the careful building of intimacy.
Engaging the mind brings a new element to the sexual act.
Find a quiet place. I want you to feel comfortable. Strip off all your clothes. No, don’t hurry. Remove them slowly, one item at a time. Today I will engage your mind, play your body like a musical instrument…
Maggie continued reading, her breathing becoming faster, louder. Kinky Lover had a way with words that got to her. Made her hot. Made her shiver. Made her want to see him in person.
He was the one bright spot in her day.
At first, she’d worried about a sad addiction. Now she went with the flow. Took pleasure in following his instructions.
Stand in front of a mirror and watch the reactions of your body to your touch. Run your fingers down your chest, skim over your breasts until your nipples pull tight. Take one finger and circle your nipple. Do you feel that? Finger your nipple. Give it a sharp tug. Think of my fingers doing the same thing. I’d fondle your nipples until they darken in color, then I’d use my tongue and fingers, all the time telling you how beautiful you are, how much I want to fuck you.
I’d touch you everywhere: your breasts, your arms, drift my fingers across your ribs, your collarbone. Lick around your belly button, run my fingers up and down your legs. Even sucking your toes would make me happy.
Touch yourself, and imagine I’m there, standing behind you. You can see my hands in the mirror, darker against your pale skin, while I caress you. You shiver as my hand drifts down to your pubic bone, your eyes glittering. A sharp inhalation. A soft sigh. I hear them both as my fingers skim your folds. I want to taste you, but first I indulge my other senses. My sight because you look so beautiful as arousal claims your body. Your breathing is quicker, your eyes darker while a flush stains your cheeks. And of course touch. I appreciate the creamy smoothness of your skin, your soft, shiny hair and the coarser hair guarding your secrets.
Maggie swallowed, pausing to fan her face. She felt the heat in her cheeks, the edgy prickle and flip of her stomach as she read his words.
A magical seduction.
The man was a maestro, adept at his craft.
She skimmed the rest of the page, closing her eyes briefly when she reached the part about touching herself and smoothing her juices over her clit. She groaned, checked her watch and walked into her bedroom. It held nothing but her bed and an old wall mirror, her clothes sitting in neat piles along the wall where her dresser had once stood.
Maggie removed her clothes, folding each item of apparel before she removed the next. Fully naked, she went to stand by the mirror, studying her body closely.
A combination of exercise and lack of money for food had slimmed down her figure. Still curvy with big breasts, she would never be waif-thin, but Maggie thought she looked good. And after following Kinky Lover’s instructions, she’d feel better too.
Sex, the wonder drug.
She watched herself in the mirror, palming her breasts and squeezing the ripe globes. A streak of pleasure zapped her, sharp enough to bring a gasp. She stroked and tugged until her nipple burned, the hint of pain burgeoning into sharp arousal. When she widened her stance, she could see the juices gleaming on her sex, the sharp tang of arousal rising in the air.
Fascinated, she studied her body. The changes from stimulation. The deep sparkle in her eyes, the flush of her cheeks. Her elevated breathing.
Her legs trembled as arousal shimmered through her. For the first time in weeks, she felt alive. Sexy.
All she lacked was a good man.