Andromache

 

I’d been working at the firm for a year. We designed and sold computer games and were starting to capture quite a chunk of the market. Then we got taken over by another company who were in the same business. They had big plans for us and shortly after they’d taken over there was a management shake up and some new staff were introduced. The company arranged a conference at a hotel, a couple of days away for the staff, so that we could all board blast some ideas, gel together and finish, re invigorated, enthused and full of team spirit. I’m a little cynical about these types of event.

Now the computer industry has a reputation for employing more than their fair share of socially awkward individuals, people who don’t quite fit in (the more common term is ‘geeks’). However, the technical talents of these people allow any personality failings to be overlooked, which is where I come in.

I’m fortunate. I’m good looking and I’m a shrewd operator. I have a strong personality, I’m ambitious and I like to get my own way. I’m what you’d call an alpha male.  I know you’re thinking, ‘What an arrogant sod,’ but why be self-effacing?

I also know enough about computers and their associated products to be able to sell them, and I’m good at selling. No matter how good the back room boys are, you need someone good on the shop counter.

When I joined the firm I made sure the impression people had of me would enhance my career prospects. During my first week there I had a night out with a few of the lads. The drink was flowing nicely when I fed it into them that I had the nickname ‘Egg’. Inevitably I was asked why.

‘Because I’m smooth and tend to get laid a lot.’

The name stuck and although no one could remember which wit had thought of it, the story behind it was soon spread and often repeated, not by me I hasten to add. Those who were new to the firm, or hadn’t heard the tale before, simply assumed I was cerebrally well endowed and so, when they met me, they reacted respectfully. Clever, eh?

I’ve no doubt some people thought I was a bit of a Jack the Lad but I got the job done.

On the first day of the conference we spent the morning playing a few corporate type games, getting to know each other, all on our best behaviour. I knew quite a few of the people, but there were plenty of new faces. During the afternoon the ‘delegates’ were split into groups and assigned to various breakout sessions. Our session was facilitated by my new manager, a woman who didn’t seem to have much of a sense of humour.

There were about twenty of us all sitting around a large table. Fortunately, I was seated next to an old drinking buddy so I could at least enjoy a bit of banter to let off some steam. It was hard work. We were all bored and the manager was struggling to get any responses from us.

Sitting opposite me were two women who were part of the staff of the takeover firm. I’d never seen them before and I nudged my mate and whispered to him to, ‘Check out the dykes opposite.’ He began to laugh and my boss gave me a filthy look.

I had an inkling that the women were web designers, I thought they managed the company’s web profiles. But Jesus, to say they’d not made an effort was an understatement. One was in her late thirties to mid forties, it was difficult to tell. Fat, no make up, short dark hair. She was wearing a track suit top and a tee shirt. She had a stud in her nose and an eyebrow piercing. Her arm was draped, protectively, over the rear of her colleague’s chair. Her colleague was younger, late twenties. She had a pleasant face but it lacked any make up and her dark hair had been scragged back carelessly and clamped by a big, brown, cheap looking, plastic clip. The fat bull one said a few things as the session progressed but the younger one was quiet.

‘Bull and heifer,’ I whispered to my mate. He started laughing again and the boss gave us another dirty look. The lesbians also looked at us, I think they’d worked out that we were making fun of them.

A little later in the afternoon, we were all asked to think of a phrase that would best sum up the company’s vision for the future. There was an awkward group silence broken only by the occasional shuffling sound as people self consciously adjusted themselves in their seats. My eyes caught the face of the younger of the dykes opposite me. She seemed to be in a trance, daydreaming. All of a sudden, amidst the silence, she said, quite loudly: ‘Software, hardware.’

Everyone turned to look at her, and the boss, thinking she was making a contribution, said:

‘I beg your pardon?’

The woman went crimson.

‘I’m sorry,’ said the boss, ‘did you say something?’

The woman answered so quietly it was almost inaudible and my mate whispered:

‘I wonder if her pussy’s as pink as her face?’

I burst out laughing, I couldn’t help it. Her companion shot me a dirty look which made me laugh even more. I think all eyes around the table were directed at me, because of my loud laughter, and at the younger lesbian because of her obvious embarrassment.

 

The boss wound up the session shortly afterwards, telling us all to think up some ideas overnight and that we’d resume in the morning. As the meeting was breaking up she called me to one side.

‘What was all that about?’

I feigned ignorance.

‘What?’

‘You know what. Embarrassing that young girl.’

‘She’s not a girl, she’s a woman and she embarrassed herself. I’m sorry but I found it funny.’

‘Well, let me tell you, I don’t like your attitude.’

I looked at her, quizzically, and began to say something but she held her hand up and continued:

‘I may be wrong, so I’ll leave it at that. All I’ll say is, I want to manage staff who work as a team and are supportive, I don’t want a culture where people feel they can’t voice an opinion without being subject to ridicule.’

‘Well, I’m all for that, I just couldn’t help laughing because she came out with such an odd remark.’

‘Okay,’ said the boss. ‘Well, I’ve made myself clear so let’s just leave it at that.’

Leave it at that? Leave what at that? What had I done? When I returned to my room I had a shower and lay on my bed mulling over the injustice of my bollocking. I fell asleep and woke at about 8pm. It was still early and after about twenty minutes, I decided to go down to the bar to see if anyone was there. I fancied a skinful.

As I was crossing the lobby I saw a woman with long, dark hair, striding towards me. She was wearing a raincoat, buttoned up to the collar which was turned up. She was tall and moved gracefully, like a model. The coat was belted quite tightly around her waist showing off a slim but curvy figure. Several men had turned and taken a sly look as she’d passed and I prepared to do the same, but she walked straight up to me and stopped.

‘Hello, Egg, I was looking for you. After that embarrassing moment this afternoon I thought I’d buy you a drink and explain what I was thinking.’

She held up a bottle of wine. I didn’t know what the hell she was talking about. How the hell did she know my name? She was stunning.

‘Don’t you recognise me?’ She put her hand on my arm and said, ‘This afternoon, sitting opposite you, remember? When you laughed at me?’

‘My God,’ I said, the light suddenly dawning, ‘I can’t believe it’s you. What have you done?’

An attractive smile spread across her face.

‘Well, there’s the work look and then there’s the play look.’

For once I was stuck for words, I’d never seen such a transformation.

‘Well,’ she said, shaking the bottle of wine, ‘shall we go to your room?’

‘Fuck me,’ I thought, ‘game on, game on.’

We entered the lift where she gave me a full on gorgeous smile and we travelled in a comfortable silence. When we reached my room I took the wine from her.

‘Here, let me.’

I opened the bottle but could only find water glasses. She didn’t seem to mind.

I handed her a glass and pointed her towards a seat. As she sat down I said:

‘You’ve changed, you seem different, you’re  taller.’

She settled herself in the chair and I couldn’t help but notice, as she crossed her legs, that she was wearing a beautiful pair of black leather boots, the heels of which must have been six inches. Six inch spiked stilettos! I felt a pleasant thrill run through me.

‘I like to re boot in the evenings,’ she said without a trace of humour.

She readjusted herself in the chair, twisting her hips to one side. This caused her raincoat to ride a little further up her thigh, revealing more leather. I had difficulty taking my eyes from her legs and when I managed to tear my gaze away, and focus on her face, I felt a little unnerved by the amused stare that met me.

‘So,’ she began, ‘I just wanted to explain my outburst this afternoon.’

‘You don’t have to, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about.’

She looked at me, disdainfully, as though I’d been dribbling.

‘No, you don’t get it Ugg…’

‘Egg,’ I corrected.

She ignored me and carried on, as though I hadn’t spoken.

‘I want you to understand. If I’m going to let you fuck me then I need you to understand what turns me on.’

‘I beg your pardon,’ I said, in a surprisingly prudish tone.

‘I said if I’m going to let you fuck me…’ She looked at me with a kind of patronising amusement. ‘Don’t look so shocked, I heard what your little friend said about my pink pussy this afternoon… I take it you have fucked before?’

I’d never had a woman come onto me like this.

‘What makes you think I want to fuck you?’ I said, trying to regain some credence by sounding calmly indifferent.

She threw her head back and laughed.

‘There’s really not much point in having a conversation with you, is there, Ugg? I was hoping there would be a little more connectivity.’

I didn’t bother correcting her again. Despite her good looks, I was seriously thinking of throwing her out of my room. My pride was hurt, it’s normally me that takes control, makes demands, and I didn’t like the way she was making fun of me. She put her glass on the floor then stood up.

‘Do you mind if I take My Mac off? (I swear she pronounced it ‘My iMac’) It’s very warm in here.’

‘Go ahead,’ I said.

I tried to sound unconcerned but she’d hooked me. I’d had great difficulty in keeping my eyes from her boots and I desperately wanted to see where those legs went and what she looked like under the raincoat.

She untied the belt of her coat and let it slip to the floor. I was stunned. That’s the only way I could describe my reaction. I sat there almost salivating. She stood before me, glorious but intimidating. No longer covered by the upturned collar, a slender neck was revealed, decorated with a leather choker on which metal studs formed the word ‘ANDROMACHE’. She wore a black, lace bustier, the top half of which must have been underwired as her breasts stood out full and proud. Her beautiful leather boots went all the way up to her mid thighs and as my eyes wandered upwards I noticed four letters tattooed across her flat belly, just above some skimpy black lace panties.

‘H ..T .. M .. L ..’ I read aloud. ‘Hyper Text Mark up Language? That’s rather an odd thing to put in such a lovely place.’

I thought I was paying her a compliment but she looked at me as though I’d spat at her.

‘Not really,’ She said, coldly.

She reached down and pulled out, from the top of her boot, a black leather riding crop. With it, she carefully pointed to each letter on her belly:

‘‘H’…He, ‘T’…Takes… ‘M’…My… ‘L’…Lead.’ Then she looked up at me and slowly repeated the words ‘He.. Takes.. My.. Lead,’ as though she were explaining an instruction.

Her tone changed again.

‘Get undressed,’ she said, sharply. I hesitated, but only briefly. What kind of fool would give up an opportunity like this? If only I’d had the strength to throw her out then … show her who was boss. But I didn’t, I complied. I willingly and lustfully complied.

When I’d removed my shirt, she tapped me on the side of my hip with the crop.

‘And the rest.’

Again, I felt irritated. It was me who usually instigated the disrobing part of a seduction, I didn’t need telling. When I’d undressed, I stood naked in front of her and there was a momentary, awkward silence and I suddenly felt very vulnerable.

She looked down at my waist and then calmly reached out with the riding crop. She used the tip of the crop, the leather flap, first to prod my cock and then to gently lift it. She examined it and the look on her face was one of contempt mixed with amusement. I felt as though her eyes had castrated me. I was as limp as a rag.

‘Micro…Soft,’ she said, and laughed.

‘I’m a grower not a shower,’ I said, defensively, but immediately felt stupid.

‘JPEG,’ she said.

‘What?’

‘JPEG … a compressed file.’

She laughed again and I started to feel angry. I should have acted then, I should have taken control but she moved too quickly. I didn’t realise at the time but I couldn’t keep up. Somehow she had taken control, she was playing with me, but it was only much later that this dawned on me. Each time she sensed my mood changing she hooked me again.

‘You’re a little contemptuous of us computer types aren’t you, Ugg?’

‘Not really. Computers have their place, but I’ve got better things to do with my hands than run them over keyboards all day. They’re a tool, that’s it.’

‘But I love tools, Ugg.’ And she took hold of my cock and whispered in my ear, ‘If you know how to use them properly they always deliver.’

Her hair was caressing my chest, her words were spoken softly and her cool, slender fingers gently stroked me. My cock responded.

‘Software, hardware…. Do you understand, Ugg? Software, hardware.’

And she emphasised the ‘hard’ and she moved her mouth to mine and her eyes were closed and her lips and tongue were soft and warm, and she had a wonderful scent. Her femininity was overpowering.

She broke away, and her mouth moved back to my ear and she whispered, ‘Computers don’t have emotions. They don’t get jealous or clingy or possessive. They just respond to the right touch and then they give us what we want. That’s what sex should be like. Computer sex. It fires the imagination, focusses the senses. No comebacks. What you put in you get out…..’

And her words went on, but I wasn’t listening, I was lost in pleasure. Her forefinger was expertly scraping my balls and the rest of her hand gently massaged the shaft of my cock. Then, with my cock in one hand and her riding crop in the other, she led me through to the bedroom and I willingly followed, mesmerised by her beautiful hips as they swayed in front of me.

‘Sit on the bed.’

I did as she told me. She pulled a lacy thong at the side of her hip and her panties fell to the floor. Then she climbed on the bed and, still holding the crop, she straddled me. Her leather choker was in front of my eyes and I read the studded word aloud: ‘’ANDROMACHE’. Is that your name?’

She smiled and nodded and reached behind herself and took hold of my cock and I felt that glorious softness envelop me. I heard her gasp and she pulled my face into her chest and I felt the studs of her choker digging into my forehead.

‘Ow, that hurts,’ I protested, but she pressed harder before releasing me.

‘Just marking you darling, you’re mine now.’

I thought, ‘What a weirdo.’ But the thought was brief. My mind emptied as my senses focussed on the softness of her breasts pressing into my face, the plump, smooth bottom, the softness of the leather boots gently rubbing my thighs, her breath, her hair, her voice. She began to rock back and forth, gently riding me. I was in heaven. Her movement was slow at first but she gradually increased the tempo and in my excitement I began pushing my hips up to meet her. She leaned down and whispered in my ear, her words delivered in time with the swaying rhythm of her hips. The volume of her voice increased after each word.

‘Kilo… megA…giGA…tERA… PETA…  BYTES!’

I shouted. No, it was more of a scream. The shock rushed through my body, it was as though someone had thrown a cold bucket of water over me. She’d bitten me! The bitch had bitten my neck!

‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing?’

I tried to push her off but her arms were gripped around my neck and she was laughing, gustily, and then her voice was soft and reassuring.

‘I’m sorry honey, but don’t you know that the pain makes the pleasure that much more intense?’

And she was stroking me and her breasts were back in my face and my cock, flaccid with the shock, was now on the move again as she resumed her rhythmic swaying.

‘That’s it baby, software, hardware, software, hardware, and she was riding me more vigorously. ‘Wow, baby, you’re as hard as… ADA coding.’

She was breathless now and her eyes had taken on a glazed look. I had her. I was in control and I was loving every minute of it. She leaned back and pulled me toward her and I settled between her leather encased legs and began to fuck her as hard as I could.

‘That’s it, baby,’ she panted, ‘hard drive… hard… DRIVE HARD, DRIVE HARD…’

And now I was really giving it to her and she was grinding into me and her eyes were closed and she was thrashing about and she kept repeating:

‘DRIVE HARD, DRIVE HARD,’ and then, ‘R.A.M, R.A.M, R.A.M.’

I was surfing the bitch’s web and it was the best ride ever. I was in heaven and as I thrust away I felt my balls tighten, ready to explode into her.

But it wasn’t a yell of pleasure that accompanied a mind blowing orgasm but a yelp of pain that doused it. Just as I was about to come she shouted.

‘STOP, STOP, STOP.’

Her commands were accompanied by swishing sounds as she viciously whipped my buttocks with the riding crop. In an instant the pleasure had been replaced by pain. I tried to jerk away from her at the same time shouting:

‘WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING YOU MAD BITCH?’

But she started laughing again and her legs were so tightly clamped around my waist that when I tried to withdraw I simply dragged her back with me.

She was still laughing.

‘Come on baby, you know you’re enjoying this but I don’t want you uploading just yet. Remember, my pleasure is paramount.’

I was really angry now, she was treating me like Pavlov’s fucking dog.

‘Okay bitch, you want to fuck a computer? You like machines? Then try this.’

She was still laughing, her legs tightened around my waist, the soft leather rubbing against my hips, her face as sexy as hell, her nipples poking out of her lace bustier as her beautiful tits wobbled as she laughed and I’d never felt so turned on. I fell on her, pinned her arms above her head and began to fuck her as fiercely as I could.

‘That’s it baby,’ she shouted, ‘don’t crash on me, keep going, keep going….’

And I did and I had the best sex ever, I de fragged her good and proper. What a ride! What a ride!

When I’d eventually given all I could I rolled over and lay on my back, exhausted. She slipped off the bed, picked her mac off the floor and slipped it on.

‘Where are you going?’

‘I have to shutdown for the night.’

I laughed.

‘I don’t get you. Why do you speak like that?’

She came back over and sat on the bed. She stroked my head, not affectionately but in a patronising way.

‘Poor, scrambled Egg,’ she said.

I didn’t mind. I fell into a deep sleep and slept like a baby.

I almost overslept. When I went back to the meeting room the following morning I was the last to arrive, everyone else was settled around the table. I spotted Andromache. You wouldn’t believe she was the same woman I’d shagged the previous night. She was dressed the same as she had been the day before; scrubbed, no make up, hair scragged back. I felt back in control and I wanted her to know it and I wanted everyone else to know that Egg had been laying.

‘Morning, Andromache, how’s the software, hardware? All in working order?’

She looked up at me, her expression timid and vulnerable. She looked almost frightened. Her face reddened and her eyes began to water. The fat lesbian next to her put her hand on her shoulder and said:

‘Ignore the pig,’ and there was an embarrassed silence.

All eyes were either looking at me or cast downwards on the table. I was the only one who saw the slight smile form at the side of Andromache’s mouth, and the triumphant, spiteful look in her eyes.

The boss pulled me out of the room.

‘What the hell was that for? How dare you embarrass her like that, you could see how embarrassed she was yesterday.’

I started to protest but she waved her hand at me.

‘And what did you call her … Andrew something?’

‘No, Andromache.’

‘What’s that? One of your silly little nick names?’

‘No, it’s her name.’

‘Her name is Maureen and she’s bloody good at her job. You, mister, are average and you’re skating on very thin ice.’

There’s not much more to say.  I had to leave the company shortly afterwards, the boss made it plain she didn’t want me there and my working life became intolerable. I never saw Andromache or Maureen or whatever the hell her name was. She left the company just before I did. She’d certainly got the better of me. Andromache had left Egg on his face.

You know what? I Googled her name. Andromache was the name of a princess. She was a Trojan princess. The bitch was a Trojan. A virus. She seemed to be one thing but she was something else. Boy, was she something else. She’d infected me and I couldn’t get her out of my system. I couldn’t help thinking about that mind blowing sex. And underneath it all, even though she treated me the way she did, I’m sure we’d made some kind of connection. I wanted to forget her but I can’t. I’ve decided to look for her.

After all, when an urge is that strong, WI FI tit?