Instinctively, the young reporter jumped at the sound of her editor’s voice as he entered his office. She grabbed a notepad and pen, nearly fell over her chair, and scurried across the room.
“What is it?” she asked at the doorway.
“Sit down.” The order wasn’t even combined with a gesture, one of Phil Gibbons’ most annoying habits, she thought to herself.
“The CFO of Lilt Financial was just indicted. I want you to do this one. It’s big, Callahan,” Gibbons said emphatically. “Bigger than anything you’ve done for us. Want it?”
Lindsay Callahan looked up from her notepad, nodding at the same time. “Of course.”
Gibbons looked at her as if giving her one more chance to think it over. When she didn’t blink, he said, “Have the guys in Business help you if you need it. They should know her.”
“Yeah. A babe CFO. No wonder the economy’s in the can,” he said without a hint of remorse.
Lindsay fought back a chuckle, angered by the aging editor’s unrelenting sexism.
“I’ll get on it.” Almost to the door, she turned and added, “Thanks.”
Somehow she knew he’d be watching her. He always watched her. She was used to having men stare at her near-perfect twenty five year old body. But his was a perverted gawking every time they crossed paths.
‘Pig,’ she mumbled under her breath once outside his office.
Back at her desk, Lindsay allowed the magnitude of her assignment to sink in. In her six months with the paper she’d never been given a story any more interesting than a suspicious house fire. Even that turned out to be nothing more than an overly curious cat who learned the hard way not to chew on electrical wires.
Now she was faced with real news. She’d have to do her homework. Lilt Financial was big in town…real big. She knew that much, but the actual players and inner workings would have to be studied. And she didn’t have much time.
Lindsay’s first call was to Jim Adams, the paper’s beat writer at the court. He’d know the process and maybe the name of somebody who could give her some inside information.
Her presumption was right. In fifteen minutes she had the phone number of the lead investigator in the case and Caroline Hunter’s attorney. But first, some research was in order regarding Lilt’s Chief Financial Officer.
A quick search of the paper’s picture archive resulted in numerous shots of Caroline Hunter. Each one made Lindsay stare even more intently at her computer monitor. Ms. Hunter was one of the most stunning women she’d ever seen.
She stopped at one particular photo which showed the CFO at a crowded formal affair. Caroline stood with a drink in one hand, talking cheerfully to three men in tuxes. Her long gown accentuated every faultless curve of the tall woman’s body. Tiny straps drew Lindsay’s eyes down to a plunging neckline, highlighting a pair of full, firm breasts that Ms. Hunter obviously had no qualms about displaying.
The midriff of the gown was pulled in to showcase Caroline’s flat stomach and tiny waist. Below that, the fabric followed the swerve of her hips and ass, and then flowed to her ankles.
‘How old is this woman?’ Lindsay asked herself silently.
A second search for stories related to Hunter revealed she was forty one. Botox was the first word that popped into Lindsay’s head, but further examination of a dozen pictures of Caroline Hunter convinced her the woman was all natural.
‘Bitch. Serves you right,’ Lindsay thought, dismayed a little by her sudden jealousy.
Which reminded her that she needed to get moving on the most important matter at hand: What did the gorgeous Caroline Hunter do to raise the ire of the authorities?
The lead investigator basically read from the prosecutor’s news release: ten counts; securities fraud and conspiracy; tax evasion; forgery. Ms. Hunter likely did not act alone. The investigation continues. No further comment.
Persistent questioning by Lindsay was met with increased levels of frustration by the investigator until the young reporter chose not to push it any farther, in case she needed this guy later. She thanked him and dialed the attorney for Caroline Hunter.
“My client will be proven innocent of all counts in the indictment,” Charles Hood told Lindsay immediately after she introduced herself. “In fact, it’s our intention that this case never go to trial. The evidence and testimony used before the grand jury concentrated solely on Ms. Hunter. She was a pawn, manipulated by people at Lilt Financial to conceal their own illegalities.”
“Who would that be, Mr. Hood?” Lindsay asked.
“Needless to say, we can’t name those names at this time,” Charles Hood said with all due solemnity. “But given a chance to respond to these indictments, the truth will be known. And the truth is: Caroline Hunter was USED.”
Five additional questions by Lindsay resulted in a dozen variations of the attorney’s previous remarks. Sensing a dead-end, she ended the interview.
But Mr. Hood’s unrelenting pointing towards others within Lilt Financial forced Lindsay to pull up their web site and, eventually, a copy of an annual report. She got names and titles, but that wasn’t what she was after. Lindsay needed to put faces with the names.
She called Julie Wells in Business, an occasional drinking partner with Lindsay and overall straight shooter. A promise from Lindsay to buy two rounds the next time they went out produced an e-mail from Julie containing pictures of every officer and board member at Lilt. It was worth the price, Lindsay decided.
She began to scan the montage, beginning with CEO Charles Oster. Lindsay had already decided she would attempt to talk to him first. When she saw the tall, surprisingly young looking man standing by his desk overlooking the city, her decision was reinforced. In fact, it might now require an in-person interview.
Next was the ever-lovely Caroline Hunter in a glamour shot that would have made any aspiring model proud. Assorted VPs and Directors followed, mostly middle-aged white males except, of course, for the HR and Marketing Directors.
Then the Board of Directors were shown individually and in a group. Nothing about the pictures seemed out of place to Lindsay. None of the names caught her eye: Mark Abel, Barry Black, Nelson Eldridge…a baker’s dozen people she knew nothing about…yet.
She sighed, filed the e-mail in the appropriate folder for future reference, and made up her mind to get hold of the boss. Lindsay was amazed that she was put on hold by the secretary in her first attempt to reach Charles Oster. Surely, the secretary would come back and ask if she could take a message. Instead, Lindsay was being transferred to him in less time that it took her to open a diet Mountain Dew.
The booming voice caught Lindsay by surprise. “Hello. Mr. Oster, this is Lindsay Callahan of The Journal. May I ask you a couple questions about the Caroline Hunter indictment today?”
“Certainly,” he replied.
Lindsay took a deep breath. “Mr. Oster, what can you tell me about Ms. Hunter?”
Charles Oster smiled to himself. It wasn’t the question he expected and appreciated the approach taken by what sounded like a very young reporter. “Well, she’ll be missed by this company until the situation is settled. I know very little about the details of the case and can’t comment on the specifics, but Caroline was…is…a fine CFO.”
“What details DO you know?” Lindsay asked.
There was a pause. “I’m afraid I really can’t say.”
“Mr. Oster, her attorney told me today that, quote, she was a pawn, manipulated by people at Lilt Financial to conceal their own illegalities, end quote. How do you respond to that?”
“Is that what he said? Really?” Charles Oster asked. “Interesting.”
“What do you think he meant by that?” Lindsay inquired, not expecting any CEO in his right mind to answer with anything substantial.
“Ms…Callahan, did you say? Perhaps we need to do this somewhere besides over the phone. I hope you understand.”
It didn’t matter if Lindsay understood or not, she jumped at the chance to get a face-to-face interview with Charles Oster. While trying to hide her enthusiasm, she replied, “Sure. If you’re more comfortable with that—when and where do you suggest?”
“We should do it here; not in public. I’ll find a conference room. Are you available at…let’s say, three o’clock tomorrow afternoon?” Oster said.
Lindsay made herself available. “Yep. Should I come to your office?”
“Well, you won’t get past the first receptionist. Just tell them you have an appointment with me.”
“OK. Three tomorrow,” Lindsay confirmed.
She couldn’t help but think she was on to something. The CEO’s sudden desire to tell her something, but not have it captured on a potentially bugged phone, excited her. If she had to admit it, the idea of meeting him in the first place excited her. Could he be as good looking as he was in the photos?
Lindsay reported to work the next day in her best black slacks, which hugged every curve of her tight ass and youthful thighs. Her blouse was sheer and taut around her generous chest. She spent extra time fixing her blonde hair and applying just the right makeup. Basically, everything she would never do for a normal day at work.
The morning crept by and she barely ate at lunch, nervously anticipating the ‘showdown’ with Mr. Oster. At two forty-five she headed out the door for the short walk to the corporate offices of Lilt Financial. As expected, she was stopped at the first desk by an efficient, if not overly friendly, receptionist who had Lindsay sit while she phones the CEO’s secretary. Less than five minutes later, the young reporter was sitting in a plush conference room, admiring the paintings and expensive furniture.
She stood to get a closer look at one particular painting. Her back was to the door when it opened noisily, causing her to jerk her body around clumsily. She didn’t know if Charles Oster recognized her embarrassed look or her gaze of approval. All she knew was, the man entering the room was perhaps the most attractive forty year old man she’d ever seen.
“Ms. Callahan? I’m Charles Oster.” He strode towards her, holding out his hand. She took it while thanking him for taking the time to meet with her. All the while, absorbing with her eyes his dark features, gorgeous eyes and sturdy frame.
“Please sit down,” he said, gesturing to one of the gigantic, high backed chairs.
Lindsay felt as if it swallowed her as she sat, grabbing her notepad at the same time. She crossed her legs and tried to breathe normally before saying, “Mr. Oster…”
“It’s Charles. Please.”
Lindsay smiled faintly and nodded. “OK. Charles, I know you’re busy so I’ll only keep you a short while. But I have several questions for you after talking to Caroline Hunter’s attorney.”
“Yes. He made some interesting accusations in your discussion with him, it sounded like. But let’s set some ground rules, Lindsay, if I may call you that.”
The reporter nodded.
“I’m not naïve enough to believe I can ask you to keep certain things off the record. So I’ll ask this. If I give you certain information that could have come to you from any number of sources, do you agree to not associate my name with the information?” he asked Lindsay.
She nodded. “Fine. But don’t be offended if I ask you when I can or cannot use your name.”
“Agreed,” Oster said. “Now, let me tell you this about Caroline Hunter, which most anybody can tell you.”
Lindsay understood his meaning and returned his inquisitive glance with one of acceptance.
He continued: “Caroline, as you may or may not know, is a very attractive woman. She’s also a very smart woman. It’s not uncommon for smart, attractive women in executive positions to be accused of using their…well, their sexuality, to gain favors. Caroline Hunter took it to another level.”
He paused apparently for effect, and Lindsay looked up from her notepad and raised her eyebrows in response. She suspected she caught him looking at the substantial opening at the top of her blouse, but gave him the benefit of the doubt for now.
He went on: “It was more than a game with her. It was an art form that resulted in her becoming one of the most highly compensated CFO’s in this state, if not the entire country, despite the size of our company. Her salary was not the entirety of it, Lindsay. She got benefits no other CFO could every dream of getting.”
Oster leaned forward in her chair. The tone of his voice reminded Lindsay of a master storyteller, but she had to admit he had her attention.
“Obviously, I was concerned,” he said, leaning back once again. “I began paying more attention to her associations within the company both during working hours and when she was away from the office.”
Lindsay looked up. “You spied on her?”
Charles smiled, almost to the point of laughing. “Now that’s a strong word to use, Lindsay. And I didn’t say that. I paid more attention.”
“What did you find?” Lindsay asked next.
The grin on his face made Lindsay believe she had fallen into Oster’s trap.
“It’s amazing what people, especially men, will tell you about women when they’ve had a little too much to drink,” he said. “And after a while it quit surprising me that so many men had similar stories about Caroline. They normally went something like this.”
Another pause succeeded in getting Lindsay’s undivided attention.
“Caroline would get the object of her immediate need in an office or conference room…alone. The two of them would talk serious business for a few minutes. Then Caroline would turn the conversation in a more casual direction,” Oster said. “She would hint at favors few men would, or could, refuse from a woman like her. She was known to willingly show skin in excess.”
With that remark, Oster rose from his chair and walked slowly behind Lindsay. She watched him with growing trepidation, but made no outward movement to reveal it.
“Imagine, Lindsay, a middle-aged or older man being tempted by the beautiful and powerful Caroline Hunter,” he said.
Lindsay was just about to turn her head when she felt his hands on her shoulders, caressing them with strong fingers. He massaged her, pulling on the material of her blouse at the same time.
“She would openly flirt with them, seeming to offer her body to them if the right deal could be struck.”
Oster’s hands slid down Caroline’s arms even as she tried to take notes. He pulled his hands back up until they were on her neck, under the blouse.
“All of the guys I talked to—every one of them, Lindsay—told me they eventually received some sort of sexual gratification from her.”
His hands moved down Lindsay’s chest until reaching the first button of her blouse. He opened it casually.
“Sometimes it was as little as a feel under her skirt, or a touch of her breast.”
At the moment he said it, Oster’s fingers slid on top of Lindsay’s breast and under the thin material of her bra. Lindsay made no attempt to continue taking notes. Her heart pounded and she feared he HAD to feel it.
“The lucky ones, Lindsay—the ones she really, really needed something from—got more.”
Both of Oster’s hands were inside her bra, the fingers searching out and finding her nipples. He squeezed them and pinched them tighter when Lindsay let out a gasp. She tried to will them not to harden, but her body revolted and Oster felt the buds grow stiffer.
“It’s hard to say who got the better of these deals, Lindsay. Certainly, Caroline Hunter was a sex addict and conniving manipulator of men. But the men clearly gained as well. Need I explain?”
Caroline shook her head, all but unable to speak. Oster kneaded her breasts one last time before pulling out his hands and re-buttoning her blouse.
“So, you see, Lindsay, Caroline Hunter was not the little angel she may have appeared to be,” Oster said, returning to his chair and looking the reporter in the eyes for the first time since the groping.
Lindsay screamed at herself inside for allowing it to happen. However, the moisture in her pussy screamed something else. The aching nipples bulging against her bra said even more.
“How many men and who were they?” she asked in a weak voice.
Oster smiled in a manner that Lindsay knew foretold a non-answer was imminent. “Ah, if I only could. Perhaps we need to meet again someday, Lindsay.”
So many things flashed through the young reporter’s mind that she could hardly keep up with them. This story could make or break her career. She needed this guy to talk. But what was she willing to pay for it? Could she separate her personal feelings from her professional responsibilities?
“Perhaps,” she finally answered. “Can I call you if I have follow-up questions?”
“I’m sure you will,” he said with confidence.
She hated him. She hated his power. She hated how he had touched her. She hated the fact she wanted to call him as soon as she got back to her desk.
Lindsay spent one more day attempting to find somebody, anybody willing to fill in more details about Caroline Hunter. Or possibly, but not likely, confirm Charles Oster’s claims. It became evident to her that Oster was, in fact, her primary source at the moment. The good and bad aspects of that fact weighed heavily on her mind.
She could simply follow the legal proceedings and write a series of perfectly acceptable stories regarding Hunter’s indictment and trial; or, she could chase Oster deeper into the inner workings of Lilt. But at what cost?
As it became obvious that the other executives, including the entire Board of Directors, were not going to be as forthcoming as Oster, the question kind of answered itself. She needed him.
“Charles Oster, please,” Lindsay said when she made the call.
“Who may I tell him is calling.”
“Lindsay Callahan of The Journal.”
“One moment please.”
The music lasted less than a minute. “Hello, Lindsay.”
The friendly tone of his voice should not have surprise Lindsay. But it did and she stumbled on her response.
“Uh, hello Mr. Os…Charles. Thank you for taking my call.”
“It must be important,” he said with sincerity that sickened Lindsay. “What can I do for you?”
“I’d like to schedule a second meeting with you if I can?” she said.
She could have sworn she heard him smile that revolting smile.
“I’ll have to check my calendar, Lindsay. What do you want to discuss?”
Oster countered with, “What more is there to say?”
“To be honest, Charles, nobody will confirm your story. Don’t worry. I never mentioned your name, but the gist of your accusations have been unsubstantiated so far,” Lindsay said, gaining confidence. “I need names and places. I need facts, Charles.”
“You’re asking me to rat on some of my best friends and colleagues, Lindsay,” he said.
“Bullshit!” Lindsay exclaimed, deciding to risk it all but suspecting Charles Oster wasn’t going anywhere. “You can either give me more details or you can wait for it all to come out in Hunter’s trial. She’s ready to lay this in your lap and you know it.”
The pause was brief. “It’s not my lap she laid in. But if you want to meet, we can discuss that.”
She didn’t believe him for an instant, but if she could get just one confirmable story out of him it would be worth it.
“So what does your calendar look like?” she asked.
Lindsay heard him pounding on the keyboard of his computer. A few seconds later he said, “Tuesday afternoon. One o’clock. But it has to be my place. I don’t trust anybody, anywhere at this point.”
Lindsay’s heart was in her throat. The consequences seemed clear, but the choice was even more obvious.
“Give me the address,” she said.
When it seemed the conversation was ending, Lindsay added: “I want a specific name of a specific Lilt executive who did a specific thing with Caroline Hunter so that one of them gained something substantial.”
“We’ll discuss it, Lindsay.”
The dial tone that followed made her shout “Fuck” loud enough to be heard through half the office.
Lindsay Callahan would generally die before wearing a skirt. She owned two. A longer, fuller one for weddings and funerals. A shorter, tighter one for clubbing with Julie. On Tuesday she wore the latter along with a v-neck sweater and no bra. She wanted details from Charles Oster.
Lindsay had never been in a gated community before. She wasn’t sure the surly guy at the gate would let her and her battered Honda Civic in. But after accommodating his prolonged, blatant looks down her sweater, she was allowed to enter.
Where Lindsay grew up, there were five houses to every acre. Here, there was one house for every five acres. The driveways were tree-lined and long enough to have their own street names. Luckily, the extravagant mail boxes had numbers and Lindsay eventually found the Oster mansion.
The semicircular drive enclosed a pond inhabited by ducks she could only assume were wild, but Lindsay wasn’t betting on it. All around her, towering trees let just enough sunlight in while, at the same time, providing a totally isolated atmosphere. As she got out of her car, the magnitude of the house itself finally struck her.
The brick exterior reminded her of the old courthouses she had seen in New England villages. However, the Oster residence was much, much more massive. On either side of the center door windows seemingly stretched forever. She could only imagine what was in the back, unseen up to this point.
Lindsay pressed the doorbell, taking it for granted nobody ever snuck up on the Oster front door without being observed first by some elaborate security system.
It surprised her when Charles Oster himself opened the door and welcomed her. Perhaps she expected a butler or maid from having watched too many old movies. Regardless, she found herself inside the mansion, trying not to act like a kid entering the gates of Disney World for the first time.
“I’m sorry we couldn’t do this over the phone or at my office, Lindsay,” Charles said as he lead his guest deeper inside the house. “But I think you understand that I’m a little paranoid right now.”
“I understand,” she replied, refraining from asking the obvious question of why he should feel that way.
They entered a lush family room with huge windows overlooking another pond in the back and additional wooded paradise. The entire room looked like it was transplanted from the most expensive furniture store she’d ever been in. The couches, chairs and tables were natural, but elegant. The various paintings and wall coverings were perfect highlights.
“Have a seat,” Charles said.
“You have a very nice house,” Lindsay said, placing her notepad on top of her crossed legs.
“It’s all Helen’s handiwork. I have no creativity when it comes to design,” he said, apparently referring to Mrs. Oster.
Lindsay allowed herself a split second to think about what Helen Oster thought of Caroline Hunter. An image of two competing beauty queens awkwardly smiling at each other on stage came to mind. Then she said, “Join the club. I could never do this.”
“Can I get you anything?” Charles asked politely, making no effort to leave his chair.
“No, thanks. I won’t keep you long.”
“Actually, it’s alright. We’re alone,” he said. “We have lots of time.”
His grin was not as comforting for Lindsay as he probably supposed it to be. She opened her notepad and asked, “Can we begin?”
“Charles, why do you think Caroline Hunter’s attorney was so emphatic about saying she was used?” Lindsay said.
Charles leaned back in his chair and looked out the immense windows, and then turned back to Lindsay. “Caroline had a unique influence over people. Her intelligence was unquestionable. Her knowledge of the financial markets was undeniable. All of that paled in comparison to her sensuality. Men who were otherwise highly qualified and professional turned into jello around her. I watched colleagues have tantrums about a financial matter privately, and then find themselves unable to adequately express a single objection in front of Caroline.”
“So it should come as no surprise to you that certain men within the organization attempted to, uh, hook up with her,” Charles added.
When he paused for Lindsay’s acknowledgement, she asked, “Were you one of them?”
He chuckled. “The thought crossed my mind. But the line was too long.”
“Who was first in line, or at least who was first to succeed?”
Without wavering, Charles said, “That would have been a former VP. He’ll go nameless. He’s not with the firm anymore and he’s irrelevant to the current situation. Except for the manner in which he approached Caroline and how she handled it.”
Lindsay jotted down a few key words and looked up at the CEO, who said, “This guy’s mission was clear to everyone from the start. I guess he considered her some kind of prize and that we’d all respect him or something if he got her. Anyway, he was pretty open about his intentions and Caroline led him on, most certainly with no goal of ever making it a long-term relationship.”
Charles smiled. “One thing I have to say about Caroline: she has a great sense of humor. Maybe a little bit of the actress in her. She knew damn well where the security cameras were in our building. She positively knew there were several sprinkled throughout the finance department for obvious reasons.”
Lindsay wrote her notes and prepared for what she thought was coming.
“We never found out if it was the first time they ever had sex, but Caroline made sure this guy was in plain sight of the cameras on this occasion,” Charles said. “They were in the office at about nine at night. Nobody else in sight. She takes him out in the middle of the room by a somewhat clean desk and they start kissing. His hands were everywhere, opening anything on her that was buttoned or zippered. Her blouse was hanging open and her skirt was around her ankles by the time she got his cock out.”
Lindsay looked at her host, desperately hoping her ever-increasing pulse wasn’t obvious to him. She wondered what purpose this all had; where he was going with it, since it was all so ‘irrelevant’.
“Caroline took off her blouse and kicked the skirt aside, and then she sank down to take him in her mouth,” Charles proceeded. “Not with his back to the camera, or her back to the camera. The perfect side view, Lindsay. She had it all figured out. And for nearly five minutes she gave him the best fucking blowjob I’ve even seen in my life.”
Lindsay crossed her legs in the opposite direction, feeling the moisture in her panties building. Now, for sure, Charles had to know he was affecting her, damn it.
“When she stood up, his cock could have penetrated a wall. He pulled down her bra without even taking it off and sucked on her incredible tits for a few seconds. Then he pushed her down on the desk, shoving stuff in all directions. He yanked off her panties and pushed himself between her legs. The camera had the perfect view from above and slightly behind him. Caroline spread her legs like a pro and took that cock like it was nothing. The rest was pure security camera magic.”
When he delayed for a few seconds, Lindsay found herself almost begging him to continue. He must have seen the look in her eyes.
“We saw his cock sliding in and out of her soaking wet pussy. There was no sound with the tape, but we saw Caroline plainly saying, ‘Fuck me. Fuck me. Harder.’ And he did. Her legs wrapped around his waist and her tits shook in all directions. The only question was whether he’d cum in her or not.”
Lindsay was breathing through her mouth, unconscious of the fact she hadn’t taken a note in several minutes.
“He lifted her ass off the desk, Lindsay. And just when it looked like he was ready, he pulled out and beat himself off until cum shot out of his cock like a hose. We saw strings of cum landing on her tits, her neck, her stomach…the desk. He must have cum a dozen times until she was covered in it.”
This time when he stopped, Lindsay all but gave up hiding her stimulation. She took a deep breath, switched the position of her legs again, and sighed audibly. The look of surrender in her eyes must have been evident.
“I know, Lindsay. We felt the same way the first time we saw it. You should have seen him cleaning her up with his undershirt. It was priceless.”
The attempt at levity had little effect on her. Her main concern was whether or not he noticed the rock hard nipples pushing against her sweater.
“Why are you telling me this, Charles?” she asked in the weakest voice she ever heard come out of her body.
“As background for the pertinent information I have,” he said. “Don’t you newspaper types all want the background info? Isn’t a pattern of events more significant than a single event?”
“What pertinent information do you have for me, Charles?”
“Ah, yes. Why we are here,” he said. He looked at Lindsay with the most unashamed look of the afternoon. His eyes scanned her from the smooth blonde hair on her head to the calves of her legs.
“Stand up, Lindsay.”
The young woman’s internal struggle over how far she was willing to go with this had finally come to a tipping point. Her brain all but hurt from the countless thoughts and endless decision making. She said, “Charles, I don’t…”
“Lindsay, don’t blow this opportunity. I have information you need to take this story to another level. People are tired of corporate fuck-ups ripping them off. They never tire of sex.”
“But I don’t have to…”
“But you do, Lindsay. You do if you want it all,” Charles said, leaning slightly forward in his chair. “You do want it all don’t you?”
“You make me sick,” she replied.
“I make you horny. You were squirming like a teenager during that story. Your nipples grew harder every minute, Lindsay. I bet your panties are soaked,” Charles said in a firm, self-assured voice. “Now stand up.”
The words bordered on an order. Lindsay threw the notepad on the couch in defiance…and then stood up.
“Get undressed, please.”
For one fleeting instant she considered leaving. In the next, Lindsay was pulling her sweater over her head. She flung it on the couch behind her as her ruffled blonde hair settled back over her shoulders. She made no attempt to pose for him. Yet, the fact she was stationary in the middle of his family room, alone, resulted in the same outcome.
Charles studied her keenly, taking in every inch of her body from the waist up. For the first time, Lindsay thought she detected a bulge in his crotch under the expensive pants. She had looked there out of habit and he couldn’t have missed the stare. When their eyes met again, nothing was said.
Lindsay unzipped her skirt, letting it fall to the floor. She removed it and her shoes at the same time. Now it was a matter of whether or not he could, in fact, detect the wet panties he had correctly predicted. His eyes seemed to pierce through her and Lindsay struggled to figure out what to do with her hands.
After what seemed an eternity, he said, “The panties.”
This wasn’t what she wanted her hands to be doing, but she slowly pulled the panties off. Now she stood naked in front of Charles Oster, ostensibly for the purpose of gaining information from him for her story. Charles, of course, only saw this as a down payment.
“Turn around, Lindsay.”
A lot of pretty women worked at Lilt Financial. Charles Oster knew them all. Few, if any, could compare to the one standing in front of him now. From Lindsay’s delicate shoulders, to the curve of her spine, to her gently bowing ass and firm thighs…she matched up with the best of them. Even Caroline Hunter, Charles thought to himself.
He rose from his chair and walked the two steps it took to get close enough to Lindsay to touch her. His fingers started at the bottom of her ass and traveled up her body in an intensely methodical pace. Only when he reached Lindsay’s shoulders did Charles reach around her.
He purposely traced the outline of her breasts without ever truly touching them. He teased her by finally running a single finger over both breasts, but avoided the nipples. Not until he thought she was ready did he allow his hand to touch the ultra-sensitive tips.
But when he did, he cupped the breasts firmly and tugged Lindsay back against his body, causing her to gasp.
“Do you feel it? Do you feel how hard you make me?”
“You’ll get your information, Lindsay Callahan. But this type of information is expensive. The interesting thing is: you can afford it. Will you pay?”
If he expected an answer, she didn’t give it. At least not verbally or with a gesture. Charles worked her nipples between his fingers, stopping only to knead her full breasts with his large hands.
“I bet Caroline likes having her tits played with. Don’t you think?”
“I bet it makes her wet. She was wet in the security tape, Lindsay. You should have seen how that cock slid into.”
With that, Charles’ hand was between Lindsay’s legs. She spread them without even thinking, a reaction that would have disgusted her if it hadn’t been for his fingers searching out the opening to her cunt. He found it quickly and slid a solitary finger from her pussy to her clit, lingering there while Lindsay’s body stiffened.
“Of course you are,” he whispered in her ear. “You were wet half way through the story and you got wetter stripping for me. Now you’re dripping, Lindsay. Just like Caroline was.”
So, there it was. Lindsay was no better than Caroline Hunter. Perhaps she would learn of details that made Caroline a worse person. But at the moment, they were basically the same—sexy women who contrived a course for themselves, only to be derailed in the end by more manipulative men.
Charles rubbed Lindsay’s clit harder. “Shall we negotiate?”
“Uh huh,” Lindsay acknowledged feebly.
A finger entered her cunt and probed her until she felt his knuckles against her pussy. “The price is steep, Lindsay. Are you willing to make a deal?”
“Do you have anything worth giving me?”
Intended or not, Charles took the question two ways. He took hold of Lindsay’s wrist and pulled her hand back to his crotch, where he laid it directly on top of his rigid cock. Lindsay’s impulse was to grab the cock through his pants. Charles pushed forward to signal his approval.
“I have lots to give you.”
“Then let’s have it,” Lindsay said.
“Good girl,” Charles said. “Now lay down on the couch for me.”
Lindsay’s legs were unsteady as she moved back to the couch. Then she settled down onto the cushions and rolled onto her back. Charles had already removed his shoes. He unbuckled his belt, pulled down the zipper and lowered his pants. Lindsay watched intently as the thick erection under his boxers came into view.
Once he was naked from the waist down, Charles strode to the couch. He didn’t believe it was possible to get any harder than he already was, but looking down on the beautiful young reporter–flowing blonde hair sprayed out on a pillow and large breasts filling her chest–did cause one last twitch in his cock as he settled between her legs.
Any thoughts of regret Lindsay had a moment ago were overshadowed now by her desire to feel Charles Oster’s impressive cock in her cunt. She spread her legs and awaited his next move.
There were few preliminaries. Charles positioned his cock at the entrance to Lindsay’s cunt and lowered his body for a better angle. He did manage to look into Lindsay’s anxious face for an instant before driving forward. Charles’ eyes remained locked on the young woman to capture her expression of astonishment as his substantial cock made its way inside her body. It was one of the little pleasures in life he enjoyed so much.
Lindsay tried to act as if this was a routine fuck. But the sheer magnitude of what had just happened to her pussy resulted in an involuntary intake of breath, followed by an exhaled sound she had never made before. It took three or four thrusts of his cock for Lindsay’s body to adjust. When it did, she relaxed as much as she could and just enjoyed the ride.
Charles would never admit that Lindsay was a good partner. He’d probably never have to. But he had a tendency to rate fucks and each passing moment moved her higher and higher up the list. When she finally wrapped her legs around his waist and tightened her grip on his cock, she was in the top three.
He bent down and took a breast into his mouth, sucking and nibbling on the nipple until her cries of joy filled the room. A short repeat on the other breast had her hips driving wildly up towards his body.
“Is this what you wanted, Lindsay? Or should we just stick to the facts?”
Lindsay moaned, but didn’t answer.
“Tell me. Tell me what you want?”
“Oh God, Charles. Don’t…don’t make me…,” she tried to mutter between near-violent shoves of his cock inside her cunt.
“What, Lindsay? Tell me!”
The couch rocked fiercely, threatening to knock against the end table behind Lindsay’s head. The sound of Charles’ balls smacking against her ass got louder and louder.
“Tell me!” he almost shouted.
“Fuck me, bastard! Fuck me! Fuck me!”
Lindsay grabbed the front of Charles’ shirt and hung on for dear life as they both picked up the pace and intensity. Charles began to kiss the side of Lindsay’s face before eventually allowing his mouth to cover hers. Pure lust alone caused her to open her mouth and accept his tongue, returning the favor with vigor.
Seconds later, while the kiss was its most passionate, Lindsay screamed out and her orgasm began. Her heels dug into Charles’ ass. A button flew off his shirt as she clutched at it with both fists, but neither of them noticed nor cared.
“Oh God! Oh God!” she cried out repeatedly.
“That’s it, baby. Cum harder! C’mon, Lindsay.”
He held out as long as he could, but the pressure applied by her tight cunt on his cock took its toll. With a mammoth grunt and a powerful thrust, Charles drove his cock deep into her cunt and began to pour out shot after shot of warm cum.
Lindsay put her hands on top of his ass and pulled him closer. She wanted to feel every inch of his throbbing cock while Charles came. Lindsay flexed the muscles in her pussy the best she could to squeeze each drop out of him, and it prolonged the orgasm by a few seconds.
Finally, Charles collapsed onto the couch, his cock still inside her. Their legs were intertwined; their bodies at awkward angles to allow Charles to remain in Lindsay’s cunt.
“Names and places, Charles. Dates and times. You promised,” Lindsay said.
“I sent an e-mail to you when I saw you pulling up. All you need is right there,” he replied, rolling her nipple between his fingers.
The drive back to the newspaper offices was a blur of images from the brief ‘interview’. Lindsay couldn’t deny the pleasure she experienced, but questioned her ethics and morality. She tried to convince herself that information was information and how it was obtained was secondary…kind of. Would she ever do it again? She couldn’t answer that question.
She hurriedly got to her desk and opened her e-mail. Sure enough, there was Charles’ message. Her hand shook as she double-clicked on it. When it opened, she froze in her chair.
Expecting a long message, or perhaps a list, she wasn’t at all prepared for what she saw. On two lines were written:
“What the fuck!?” Lindsay mumbled.
Her initial shock was quickly replaced with growing anger. She slammed her fist down on the desk.
“Damn you, Charles. Damn you! Damn you!”
She kept to herself all thoughts of how he had used her, fucked her, and promised her information…only to give her THIS.