What to do with a Secret?

What to do with a Secret?

A Short Story

By Maryanne Peters

Stacey looked at herself in the mirror as he sat on the bed, removing his shoes and socks before loosening his tie. His eyes were fixed on her perfect ass in that tight black skirt. It was her business outfit. Some guys go for this look instead of the sexy or even slutty things she sometimes wore.

It worked on him, and she knew it would. Simeon March was a different target. Not random this time. No, Simeon she remembered from school. She knew all about him. And she remembered the guys he hung out with. He was not just like one of the guys that made her life hell at school -- he was one of those guys.

She waited for him to strip while she checked the reflection of her lightly curled blonde hair catching the light. This was who she always wanted to be -- a woman. Not just pretty, but desired by men. So desired that she could pull Simeon March in a hotel bar with her "I am just a business woman and you are just a businessman... both alone for the night" routine. He was so busy looking at her body he would never see the boy she had once been past the mascara.

She knew he was married and that made it even sweeter. Perhaps she would tell his wife? Or perhaps she would just tell him that she would? Or that she might? Or maybe not?

She took her clothes off slowly while he stared. She just gave him the occasional glance -just to check the effect that her slow strip was having on his exposed cock. She looked at that with indifference. She had always hated the one that she had. They really were an ugly organ, but the effect of that thing on her body was what she craved. Now she saw the pure beauty of its function.

He was impressed. She could see that. He should be. This body had cost her - in money and in pain. But now she loved who she was. All that angst and confusion was behind her now. The boy was no more. Steve, the weak and bullied victim of the high school both she and Simeon had attended, was gone. She was a woman now, and a sexy and empowered woman at that.

He made room for her to lie on the bed, but she slowly shook her head, letting her blond curls visibly affect him.

"Lie back and let me get down to business," she said, echoing her pick-up line. She straddled his body, taut with excitement. She lowered her lubricated pussy onto his standing cock, and moaned a little, almost involuntarily. Regardless of her motives this time, she always loved this feeling. It reminded her that she was complete. But this time she wanted to be on top. She did not want him to give it to her. She wanted to give it to him. She wanted to control his orgasm, and hers.

"Now don't be naughty and come to soon," she scolded him in advance. His mouth was open and his eyes empty and seeing only sex. He was in her control.

She moved up and down, and when she felt him swell even more she pinched one of his nipples, hard.

"Not yet!" she directed. He nodded. She continued. She gained pace. Her back arched.

No woman can get tired of the feeling. It seems to rack the whole body in a way that a male orgasm, so centered on the groin, never can. She could not help but squeal. It was a woman's voice now, even in this animal moment.

She fell on the bed beside him, fully satisfied. He had come too, but she barely noticed or cared.

"You look familiar," he said. "It is an old pick-up line I know, but now that we are done, I have to ask it of you -- have we met before? Did we go to school together? I could swear we did, but I am having difficulty picturing you."

"It is an old line," she agreed. "And we are done."

"Just like that? Two ships passing in the night?"

"Not two ships that never met," she said. "We had a small collision." She got out of bed and went into the ensuite bathroom to expel any part of him. But she had a small specimen jar, just in case.

"You're not staying for a bit?" He sounded disappointed, even a little petulant. He wanted more. They all did. This was the joy of being the woman she had always wanted to be. But men can be so pathetic when they feel deprived.

"Sorry," she said. "Things to do. Decisions to make."

She lifted her handbag off the bedside table. The handbag with the camera inside that had been pointed at the bed. She had played to it, and she knew that he would be clearly recognized in the images she could extract. Then there was the sperm sample.

But what to do with a secret like this? Cause him pain? Destroy his marriage? Enjoy the sweet taste of payback? Or, keep him dancing on her strings, or being ground with her pussy? Maybe the best revenge was to keep him teetering on the edge?

The power was all hers, but so too was the decision.

The End

© Maryanne Peters 2024