Ned Samuels

Hand maid

CHAPTER ONE

Say good-bye to evenings out, say good-bye to middle managements slobs, Veronica said to herself. She'd had enough of all that at this juncture. Three downers followed by a fair-to-middling degenerated into the pits was almost too much to take. Sam Barber was smooth, no doubt about that. He came on like an ad from a men's magazine, but then it happened. Vern already had the script memorized: (1) this is an affair; (2) my wife doesn't have to know; (3) you don't have to play second fiddle.

Second fiddle! – more like symphony janitor.

So now Vern had her mind all made up. Days would be the usual office nonsense – the light chatter, the senseless flirting, the search for Mr. Right – but nights, she would be pure auto. Vern surveyed her body, and was pleasantly impressed. Her breasts were huge, her hips curved in the right place and her ass was outstanding enough to cause takes in the office, even on Monday mornings. She had a good apartment, too. The bed dominated the studio, but she had the necessities, like an eating area, and a sitting area, and best of all, a fireplace to warm whatever might be in need of simmering.

Vern's eyes skidded about and then settled on her package. It was a big package, but not that big. But not that small. Actually it was one of the most important packages the girl'd brought home in quite a while. Thinking of the contents made her tingle, first through the spine, then in more favored spots. She looked at it and fingered it. Vern walked over to the curtains, then she put the bag on the table. Vern needed a drink. Martini in hand, she soon returned to her little surprise. A smile escaped her lips. Come now, this label's a joke, she said. Vern looked at several pictures of a wholesome lass holding an elongated structure, applying it to her back and upper shoulders.

The caption read: "Learn how to relax. Let Vibro Lax let you sit back and unwind."

Vern began to hum to herself: "Dum da-dum, da… dum, da…" Removing the package, the young secretary's voice became lower, like a breathy moan. Oh, I am a young wench and I'm going to get mine!

Slowly, Vern opened the top, then began to slide her accessory out of the box, already conjuring her imagination, remarking on the vibrator's phallic qualities. It's all mine, she thought. No jilts, no wilting, no wives, no mornings after at the office, and best of all, now Vern was captain – it was her show. Vibrator in hand, Veronica walked over to her full-length mirror and decided to bask for a few minutes in her own reflection. Not bad, she had to admit, not bad at all.

Vern felt something deep inside of her cunt send some desire up into her skull. Sure, she was horny and she was proving she didn't need some corporate stud to keep her going. Why, she was a machine, a unit unto herself, the captain of her own sex ship.

She gazed upon what most men would feel compelled to look at twice, and then do more than look.

Then she moved closer to the mirror.