This week's excerpt is from Hard to Swallow, by Lisette Ashton. It is another of the stories in the wet-themed anthology Drenched, which I'm showcasing over this month.
There was a small reception area outside Stern’s office. Two people waited there beneath the watchful eye of Stern’s dour-faced personal receptionist. Addison recognised William Daye as one of the station’s more successful presenters. He was tall and darkly attractive in a bland-James-Bond fashion. The woman sitting away from Daye, huddled alone in a corner of Stern’s reception, was Lydia Knight.
When she first saw the woman that morning, Addison had thought Knight looked overly glamorous for a woman who was in a recording studio presenting an unseen radio show. It surprised her that Lydia wasn’t sitting closer to Daye as she had assumed the two presenters were friends as well as co-hosts on the afternoon show, Daye and Knight.
Lydia, it seemed, was sitting away from Daye because she was preoccupied.
She sat in a corner of the room. Her gaze was lowered and her ankles were crossed. She had the base of a pale green bottle of mineral water pressed between the tops of her thighs. Unconsciously, and seeming unmindful of anyone else seeing what she was doing, Lydia rocked the bottle back and forth against her crotch.
Addison held her breath. She wanted to watch the woman more closely. She wanted to see what was going on. She had never before encountered anything so-
“May I help you?”
Addison glanced up to see that Stern’s dour-faced receptionist was addressing her. The woman’s words cut through whatever thoughts she had been forming about the peculiarity of Lydia’s actions.
“Addison,” she explained. “I’m here to see Mr. Stern.”
“From main reception?”
She nodded.
“Go and sit in that corner and drink your water.”
Addison frowned and tried to think how she was supposed to respond to such an unprecedented command. She started to say something, then realised the words would likely land her in more trouble than she currently needed.
“I’m here to see Mr. Stern,” she repeated, wondering if there had been some confusion. “He just called down and-”
“Go and sit in that corner and drink your water,” the receptionist repeated, pointing. “I shall inform Mr. Stern that you’re waiting. He will see you when he has time to see you.”
The woman scowled at Addison and then turned her gaze away. Addison could see an earpiece trailing from the receptionist’s ear and when the receptionist began speaking again, Addison knew she was no longer part of the conversation.
Daye flashed her a sympathetic smile. His shrug said that he didn’t quite understand the receptionist’s rudeness. And the shifting of his gaze, and his exaggerated pretence at suddenly seeing something interesting in his magazine, said he had no intention of discussing the matter.
Knight seemed oblivious to everything around her as Addison took a chair in a facing corner. It was impossible not to watch as Knight rolled the base of her water bottle against her crotch. The woman’s eyes were closed with lurid concentration but her jaw hung half-open. She occasionally released soft, moaning sounds that were obscenely reminiscent of orgasm.
Addison didn’t know whether to be intrigued or repulsed.
The sound of Stern’s office door opening snatched her attention away. She looked up in time to see the receptionist tell William Daye, “Mr. Stern will see you now.”
As the receptionist spoke to Daye, Zoe flounced out of Stern’s office. Zoe stormed over to where Addison sat and pointed a finger down at her. Her cheeks were flushed with twin spots of matching color. Her nipples stood hard against the smooth fabric of the blouse beneath her little black Chanel jacket. There was a spreading damp stain on the crotch of her cranberry chinos.
Addison tried not to gape.
“Let me give you a word of fucking advice,” Zoe growled.
Addison flinched, expecting a tirade similar to the one Zoe had inflicted on Tony. Instead of an outpouring of bile and fury, the woman simply puckered her lips into a scowl and said, “Don’t think you’ve heard the last of this.”
Then she was gone. Addison was left alone in Stern’s reception with Stern’s receptionist, Lydia Knight, and her own bottle of mineral water.
“Jesus,” Addison muttered. “Is that scary bitch incontinent? Or does she just cream herself from stamping on everyone below her?”
“She’s not incontinent,” Lydia muttered. “She’s just humiliated.”
Addison glanced at Lydia. The woman hadn’t opened her eyes. She still sat with her legs slightly apart, the bottle of mineral water pressed firmly against her crotch, her chest rising and falling with symptoms that looked as though she was in the throes of a near-orgasmic release.
“She’s just humiliated,” Lydia repeated.
“Excuse me?”
“Drink your water,” Lydia said. “Stern will have expected you to have done that much when you’re summoned.”
“What’s going on here?” Addison asked. “What am I missing?”
“You’re not missing anything.”
Lydia’s bottle continued to rock back and forth. The motion was slow, deliberate and consistent with its rhythm. She continued until her entire body stiffened. The shock of stiffness was followed by a small, trembling shiver. Then she took a long, drawling breath that sounded lewdly similar to an orgasmic sigh. Finally, Lydia opened her eyes. She studied Addison with a solemn appraisal that was almost too intense.
Addison allowed the woman to look, still trying to work out whether this was uncommonly bizarre behavior, or if it fitted with everything else she had so far experienced at the radio station.
“Drink your water,” Lydia urged. She closed her eyes. “That’ll be for the best.”
“
You two aren’t talking, are you?” called the receptionist.
Lydia said nothing. She continued to rock back and forth.
Addison decided it would be best if she didn’t respond. She didn’t think she would be able to say anything constructive as a reply to such a school-mistress-type question. Unless she watched every syllable she muttered for the rest of the afternoon, Addison knew she was in serious danger of saying something irrevocable and career-killing on her first day with the radio station.
“I’m sure you both know that Mr. Stern doesn’t allow talking whilst you’re waiting,” the receptionist called.
Addison had known no such thing. The rule sounded positively draconian. She settled back in her chair and wondered if she should simply give up on the idea of becoming a radio presenter. Admittedly, the goal of becoming a radio presenter was a long-cherished ambition. But it seemed that the goal of being a radio presenter at this station came at the cost of dignity and respect.
“Yes,” Lydia sighed.
The word roused Addison from her musings. She turned and glanced at the woman. Lydia had the base of the bottle of mineral pressed so hard against her sex it looked like beads of pressured-perspiration were sliding down the sides of the plastic. Her eyes were closed but the lids fluttered as though she was in the throes of euphoria.
“Yes,” Lydia repeated.
Addison tore her gaze away. Was Lydia really getting herself off? Was that acceptable public behavior anywhere? Had no one else in the radio station noticed? And why was Lydia’s arousal so frighteningly contagious? Addison could taste the electric excitement in the air. Her entire body throbbed as though she was yearning to share some of the woman’s infectious sexual enthusiasm.
“Are you…?”
Her voice trailed off. She couldn’t think how to broach the subject without sounding voyeuristic, challenging or judgemental. Lydia hadn’t bothered to open her eyes and Addison was happy to convince herself that the woman hadn’t heard her question.
“Never mind,” she said quietly.
“Drink your water,” Lydia whispered. “And let me finish what I have to do.”
Drenched at Amazon US : Amazon UK
Lisette Ashton on Amazon US : Amazon UK : Goodreads
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