Runaway Train (Book One)

By Fortunata

Excerpt

"Mike, this is my new assistant. Help her off with the vest and skirt."
"Certainly sir," and then the man turned toward me, reaching for the vest.
I was stunned. If he took my vest and skirt, I would be virtually nude. But it all happened so fast that I didn't react at all. Gently lifting the vest at the shoulders, he slid it down my arms. With my back to him, he couldn't see anything, at least not yet. But then he slipped his finger inside the waist of my skirt and told me to grip his other arm while he tugged the flex waistband down over my hips. I kept my back to him when he placed the skirt on top of the vest.
"Mike, she's a little shy but she really gets turned on by exposing herself, and I want your opinion on something. Turn around bitch, so we can get a good look at you."
I couldn't believe that he would talk so crudely to me or require me to expose myself to this young man. Yet the distant call of desire rose in me once more, as I slowly turned, making no effort to cover myself.
"She's got a pretty good set of tits, don't you think? And I feel that her pussy has great potential. But what I want to know is, do you think her nipples need one ring in them or two; and what about putting a few rings on each side of her cunt. Spread your legs a bit and sort of thrust out your hips so Mike can get a better look for his evaluation."
I was completely mortified. My face was flushed and I could feel the heat of my shame in my cheeks, but I opened my legs, squatted and shoved my hips toward Mike. Something always seemed to come over me whenever Mr. Ringer gave me an order. I couldn't resist him and didn't even try.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fortunata
• Release date: Nov 28, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301118182

Fortunata

I write detailed stories about people who are drawn into the intense world of BDSM; and a few of my tales involve INCEST. Generally I portray the women as submissive and the men as dominant. I show them at different stages of realizing their desires and how they deal with those bizarre needs. I go into sexually explicit detail, in order to create a believable fantasy for my readers.I do have a few story lines, with a man as a submissive, serving a harsh dominatrix. As of yet, I have not finished any of those tales...give me time. I find that a sub, whether male or female, has similar thoughts and concerns about what they’re doing. In each case, the power of their bizarre desires compels them to surrender to the demands of their dominant partner.In no way are these stories meant to imply that any woman should be abused against her will. Indeed, women should be venerated by their loving men and protected from criminal deviants.I was married for thirty six years and was devastated, when my loving wife passed away. We shared our secret desires and fantasies, with each other, and it led to several marvelous and varied scenes for our mutual enjoyment. We experimented with a variety of intimate ideas and in doing so, we discovered a wide range of scenarios that we liked and a few we did not.I highly recommend sharing your fantasies with an intimate partner. There simply is no better way to have them know what floats your boat. It takes courage to confess your most private desires and should only be done with someone you trust.Integrity is paramount, in any loving relationship, but one of you has to open up first. I can assure you, it’s worth the risk. It’s wonderful to have someone, with whom you can share all of your most secret thoughts. Just remember, when they share theirs with you, don’t pass judgment on them and don’t laugh.Please, please do take a moment to give my work a star rating and perhaps a brief comment, as a review. My poor deflated ego needs the boost.Thank you so much for reading my bizarre tales.For the record, I don't review my own books. If you like my work, say so; if not, say that, too.Questions, suggestions, or complaints: Email me at ([e-mail]). I would love to hear from you.

Book preview

Runaway Train

Book One

All aboard

This story is copyright 2012 by Fortunata. All rights reserved.

Smashwords edition

Cover design by Tatiana Vila

WARNING: This book is offered to ADULT READERS ONLY. It contains sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offense by some people. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

This is a work of fiction. All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older. Names, characters, places and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

The End

Runaway Train

Book one

All aboard

Chapter One

I was thirty-four when Bob died. My husband of eleven years was on the golf course, when he suffered a massive brain hemorrhage. He died instantly and without pain, I was told. No last words. No goodbyes. No warning. Just like that, he was gone.

He had been a successful tax attorney, doing personal consultation work for high-income types and I had been his office assistant. He and I had invested well and he was heavily insured, so I was financially secure for the rest of my life; but it was an empty life without him.

To be honest, sex brought us together. I was in night school to be a paralegal and Bob Tillman was my instructor. He was fifteen years my senior, but he was devilishly handsome and I was immediately attracted to him. I approached him after class every night, with silly questions just to be near him and to get to known him better. He was so patient, polite and funny with me that my interest grew rapidly, in spite of our age difference.

Finally, one night, he asked me out for coffee. Two hours later, I was moaning in ecstasy, as Bob chewed gently on my wet pussy. We had a torrid affair and a quick marriage. The few people that we knew encouraged us not to move so quickly, but we both felt very confident in our love for one another. Our love and our love life never diminished the entire length of our time together.

After his death, the next few months were emotional agony for me. All the range of feelings that one experiences when dealing with that kind of tragedy were rung out of my psyche, such as denial, anger, depression, etc. But, eventually I was ready to live again; only I didn't know what to do. I didn't need to work. Financially, I was set for life and anyway, working for Bob was the only job that I had ever had. That relationship with my husband, lover and boss could never be duplicated.

Giving my circumstance a lot of thought I realized I could be of great value to someone in the tax consultant field. Someone who was an entrepreneurial specialist could make good use of my knowledge and experience in that field. Furthermore, I knew I needed to be active and that I needed to be needed and used.

I kept looking through the want ads, but nothing seemed to fall in my area. I made a few calls and received the bum's rush each time. I was feeling pretty bad about myself when I saw an ad for a secretarial position for a private tax law office. I called on the ad and the man that I spoke to did not go through the usual pleasantries. He went straight to a short series of questions about the business and I felt comfortable with the answers that I gave.

Alright, I'd like to see you in person, he said, I can see you today at 2:30PM or next week on the same day at 9:00AM.

I'm available today, I told him.

Try and look respectable, he responded coldly, clients visit here occasionally and I have an image to maintain.

That was insulting, I thought, but I bit my tongue, and then said, See you this afternoon.

As I prepared for the interview, I thought, well, maybe he was just pressed for time. That could explain the rudeness. As for the looking respectable comment, I suppose that he had every right to want people working for him to look nice.

I had a couple of business suites and picked a gray pinstripe with a plain white blouse, smoke hose and gray flats for shoes. At five seven, I'm a little taller than some men can handle so I've always played that down in a business environment by not wearing high heels. I applied a modest amount of makeup; just enough to look good without looking frivolous.

On the drive over, it struck me as odd that neither one of us had bothered to ask the other one's name. Bob had always asked for a name before he engaged in a conversation with someone, but then, he wasn't Bob. That thought tugged at my heart for my loss. But I had shed all of the tears I could over the emotional tragedy. By not crying, I realized I had reached a point where I could now get on with my life.

Bob was the ultimate professional, also an exercise nut. He felt, that with such an age difference between us, he needed to do every thing possible to keep up his appearance and stamina for me. I would work out when he did for the same reasons and I'm proud of my conditioning. We never had children, so my 38D bosoms were still very firm, my butt and thighs were nice and tight too. My waist has been very slender all of my life, accentuating my hourglass figure. I guess I was blessed with good genes.

That got me reminiscing about old times with my love. He was so easy to work with and so much fun. He'd grab my boobs from behind and kiss my neck, and then just like that we would be naked and making love on the floor. Then it was right back to work. About once or twice a month I would leave the office and run to the bedroom to change into some slinky lingerie. Then I would make a grand sexy entrance into the office. More often than not, I wound up under his desk with his delicious cock in my mouth. Oh the joys of working at home.

I realized that I had better think of something else because I was getting horny. This was becoming a growing problem for me as I got over Bob's death. We were very active sexually and I had been masturbating more and more lately.

The interview location was only twenty minutes away and in a rather expensive business district. He had to be doing pretty good to afford the rent in this part of town. The five-story building stood on a hill over looking the downtown area. Passing through large double glass doors, brought me into a gorgeous atrium at the main entrance. The office was on the top floor, and the door to his office had, in bold copper metal letters 6" high, 'J Ringer Enterprises'. I was impressed.

Upon entering the lobby, I heard a buzzer sounding in a back room. The reception area, while small, was quite a statement in luxury with real walnut paneled walls, thick gray carpet and very expensive furniture.

A voice from a back room called out, Can I help you.

Yes I'm here for the interview. I'm the woman that you spoke with on the phone earlier today.

Come here, he said in the same cold but commanding voice that I had heard on the phone.

There was only one doorway out of the reception room, so I went through it and down a fairly long hall lined with original paintings. A single door at the end of the hall was open and, as I went through it, I found myself at the end of a very large office. At the entrance end there as a conference table, in the middle two large sofas faced each other across a heavy oak cocktail table. At the far end was a large oak desk surrounded by other oak pieces which held computers, fax machine, telephones (two) and assorted files neatly laid out in an organized fashion. Windows ran the length of the office and revealed a great view of the city. The visual statement was one of money and power.

The man sitting behind the desk was surprisingly young. I would have guessed twenty-eight or so. He was square jawed with dark, piercing eyes the color of coal. My first thought was that he had inherited daddy's business. He just seemed too young to have built a practice so blatantly successful.

Come here, he commanded, pointing to the spot in front of his desk, between the two chairs facing the desk.

The fact that I had stopped at the entrance to his office didn't even hit me until his abrupt order. As I walked to the designated spot, his unblinking eyes swept down my body. His look was almost a physical touching of my breasts, hips and thighs. It had been a long time since anyone had done that to me and never had I felt so disturbed by it. He wasn't leering at me; he was making a calculated assessment of my body. I stopped directly in front of him and found myself avoiding eye contact because of his intense and penetrating gaze.

How tall are you?

What a bizarre question to start off an interview, I thought.

I'm five foot seven, I replied nervously. I don't know why, but he had me feeling very incompetent. That bothered me.

Is that why you're not wearing high heels, he asked, because you don't want to intimidate me?

Well, at this height, some men don't feel comfortable in my presence when I'm standing.

He rose to his feet and I was looking up at a man who must be at least six foot four.

I'm six five, he said coldly, not a problem. Pausing, then said, You may sit.

His curt manner was very disarming. However, I sat down without comment.

Tell me about yourself.

Finally, I thought, a question that I was prepared for. I began talking about Bob's death and how we had worked together for years. I made it quite clear that I didn't need to work for money, but that I wanted to be active again, this being the motive behind my desire to have something to do. Never once in my life have I ever had to be interviewed. I felt awkward and I knew that I was rambling.

After five minutes or so, he held up his hand and I stopped.

I need someone who is articulate and intelligent. It also helps if they have some experience in a legal environment. You'll do.

He sat there staring at me for a moment, and then said, Be here tomorrow morning at eight o'clock. You're either going to work out or you're not. I'll know by lunchtime if you will. And if you don't, I'll pay you for two days work. That suit is at least fives years behind the times. Wear a skirt or suit with a hem that's four or five inches above the knees, get a blouse that doesn't look like your mother use to wear it and start wearing high heels. That's all. See you in the morning.

With no further conversation, he pivoted on his chair and began to do something on his computer. I had been dismissed.

In shock, I got up and started out of the office. Stopping at the door, I looked back at him and said, I don't even know your name.

Jason Ringer, he shot back over his shoulder, without even glancing my way.

Don't you want to know my name, I asked.

Tell me tomorrow.

I had been dismissed and now I was being shoved out the door.

On the drive home I thought to myself, who in hell does this guy think he is? This kid was rude and very unprofessional. I'll call him when I get home and tell him that I'm not interested in the job. I was really working myself into an angry snit. Better get a hold on your emotions, I said out loud.

It wasn't until I had pulled into a parking spot that I actually realized I was at the mall. What the hell, I'll feel better after I