Snatched and No Way Out

Snatched

by Rachel Cray

CHAPTER 1

JULIA!  IT’S GREAT to see you again!  I heard you were coming to work here.  Is this your first day?

Yes, it is, I smiled.  And I never thought I’d see you again so soon, Sandra! 

I was standing in the reception area at the London office of Sutcliffe, Waldron and Windsor, the prominent New York law firm.  I was waiting for the manager to come and show me to my desk; like Sandra, I was a legal secretary and had been poached from their competitor, Brockbank & Taylor, although she had arrived here four months earlier.

It seems you’re the latest in a growing migration of guys from Brockbank.  Greg Harris started here last week – remember him?

Yes.  I remembered Greg.  We had worked together on a special project a year before, and I had adored him.  He had even taken me out a couple of times; I had hoped the relationship would blossom, but he left the firm, very suddenly, and he never kept in touch; my emails and letters went unacknowledged.  But I thought Greg went to another firm – Ipsley’s? I asked.  What’s he doing here?

Ipsley’s folded.  Didn’t you know?  So the senior partner here grabbed him before any other firm had the chance.

I felt a warm glow.  I was going to be happy here.  If there was any chance that I might get to work with Greg again -

Good morning, and welcome to Sutcliffe’s! 

I turned and saw Hilary Anderson, the manager, beaming as she approached me, her arm outstretched to shake my hand.

I’ll see you around, Sandra grinned, leaving me with Hilary.

I’ll introduce you to a few people, Hilary began.  I daresay there are going to be quite a few familiar faces here.

My old firm, Brockbank, had been in difficulties for several months and it was easing a few dozen people out of the firm; I was the latest casualty.  And most of those based in London – lawyers, paralegals, secretaries and other support staff – had managed to find openings with Brockbank’s local competitors.  Hilary was right: I did find several people with whom I had worked in my previous life.

The difference here was that everyone seemed so friendly and cheerful; over the last year at Brockbank, with all the uncertainty about the future, tempers were frayed, staff were losing sleep and there had been a general undercurrent of hostility among the various teams, while many key players were seen to be deserting the sinking ship.  This was a welcome change for me.

At the end of the tour, Hilary turned to me and grinned. I’ll sit you with Angela.  She can be your mentor for the first couple of weeks.  Just to show you the ropes.

Angela was blonde, in her late 20s, I supposed, and I found her just as welcoming as everyone else.  I sat at an empty desk opposite her, and she spent the next few days going through the office systems – I had spent four years with Brockbank, but every firm had its own routine which was unique, although it was shared across all its offices round the world.

It’s a bit of a coincidence, your arriving today, she said, once we had got ourselves settled.  There’s another person called Julia Bennett who’s being talked about round the firm today – but she’s a new client, quite a powerful lady by all accounts.  She has interests right around Europe and Australia, and we were very lucky to capture her.

I’ve never heard of her before, I said, "so we haven’t stolen her from Brockbank, too."

No.  We persuaded her to come over from Marchwood Grafton.

Oh, I know them, I said.  They’ve just pinched another friend of mine from Brockbank’s corporate department, Melanie Sullivan.  It was indeed a small world; in an environment where secretaries and others were habitually moving every three or four years, everyone had a wide base of acquaintances in other firms.  Because of the pressure of work, however, there was seldom any time for those acquaintances to be nurtured into friends.

On my first Friday at the firm, I met Greg Harris again in the corridor; he was working on a different floor.  I seized my chance, smiled, and said Hello.

He was the same Greg that I had first met two years before: his handsome, rugged face framed compelling, dark eyes and warm, sensuous lips.

It’s good to see you again, he smiled and shook my hand.  I gather you’re working downstairs.  I expect we’ll be bumping into each other, as time progresses.  He looked preoccupied; perhaps he was masking a little shyness or awkwardness at having met me again under these circumstances.  He quickly continued on his way with a sheaf of documents clutched in this hand.  I would have to find out later why he left my last firm so quickly, under mysterious circumstances, and why he never responded to any of my messages.

The pressure of work had been very tight over the last year or more – frequently working weekends – and my social life had suffered.  I hadn’t had a boyfriend in... I’d forgotten how long; Greg was the last one that came anywhere near close to that description.  And the last time I’d had sex – with someone else – seemed so long ago and unremarkable that I couldn’t even remember the guy’s name any more.  I had resolved that, with the change of job, and relieved of the intense demands that I had been under, I’d find myself a decent man and fuck him as soon as we felt ready for it.

From my encounter in the corridor, I had the impression that – sadly – Greg was unlikely to be the guy that I was going to get when the time came.

It was 5 p.m. and I was getting ready the final hour’s rush to get everything finished and filed away for the weekend.

My desk phone rang.  I picked it up.

Julia?  Hi.  It’s Greg.  What a surprise, I thought.  I was just thinking about you.

Hi Greg.  What can I do for you?

I wondered if you’d like to go out tomorrow?  I’m sorry that it’s such short notice, but I was expecting to have to work this weekend.  The deal has been delayed, and I’m suddenly free.  I wanted to ask you out soon, anyway.  We have some catching up to do.

I sat down.  Yes, that would be fine, I replied, trying to conceal my excitement.

Great.  I’ll meet you at The Savoy in The Strand at four.  We’ll have afternoon tea there, and decide what we’re going to do after that.  O.K.?

Right, then.  I’ll see you there.  I put down the receiver and sighed.

Angela noticed my blissful countenance.  It sounds like you’ve just landed a date.

Yes, I sighed again, hardly able to believe my luck.

I had visions of Greg having found a girlfriend in the months since I had last seen him; I rated him as an extremely attractive catch.  But it hadn’t happened.  He was still available.

We met at The Savoy the following day.  He was sitting in a corner of the Thames Foyer, and I didn’t see him right away; as soon as I spotted him waving to me, he stood smiling as I approached.  We’ve got a lot to say, and I didn’t want us to sit too near the grand piano.  We’d spend the afternoon shouting across the table, over the music, and nobody here would be able to hear anything.

I wondered why you never replied to any of my letters or emails, I said seriously as I sat down opposite him.

"You’re getting straight to the point!  You know I was headhunted by Ipsley’s?  They wanted me urgently, to use my expertise on a special project for a sovereign client, the government of a small European country.  Very hush-hush.  The firm had a lot riding on this; their whole business was in trouble – I didn’t realise this until I started there – and when I concluded that deal they didn’t have anything else for me to do.  There wasn’t anything for most of the lawyers to do, as they had alienated nearly all their clients.

"While I was there, I was under the strictest instructions not to communicate with anyone from Brockbank, at any level.  I was working overseas most of the time, and I was being closely watched by other people there; obviously I was on probation for the first few months, but nobody trusted me.  You think working at Brockbank wasn’t very nice?  Ipsley’s was sheer hell by comparison.  They were paranoid about any details of their deals being leaked out to other law firms.

Then, when I started with Sutcliffe’s last week, I toyed with the idea of contacting you again.  But when you’re in a new job, the first few weeks are always busy, and I didn’t get the time.  Then I heard you were joining us here, so I waited.

And here we are.

Indeed.  Here we are.  Julia, I’m sorry that you had the impression I was avoiding you.  That’s not the case at all.  I missed you terribly.  I was hoping that... we might be able to continue where we left off.

A waiter came and we made our selections from the menu.

From what I remember, we only went out together a couple of times.  You know, Greg, I think it would be even more enjoyable if we started all over again.  Now that we’re both out of the Brockbank factory, I feel much more relaxed.  And I expect you do, too.

I had the impression that Greg was easier to talk to now; I had been on my guard when we had dated previously, but now we could be ourselves, without any pretensions.  Perhaps it was indeed a symptom of a release from the pressure he had felt at Brockbank.

What would you like to do this evening? he asked.  He produced a printed theatre list.  Some of the productions were scored out with a diagonal line; I guessed these had sold out.  Is there anything here you’d like to see?

I picked out a couple of shows that I thought might be worthwhile seeing.  He pulled out his mobile phone from his pocket and ordered tickets for my first choice, and arranged for us to collect them at the box office.

When we had finished our tea at the Savoy, we walked across The Strand and took a slow stroll round Covent Garden, stopping off at a pub for a drink before going on to the theatre.

The entertainment was most enjoyable; afterwards, we went back to the pub for a late drink before we thought about going our separate ways.

I live in Chelsea, he began, and I believe you live further out of town, down in Croydon. I could get a cab to drop me off, and then it could take you further on to your home.  I’ll settle with the driver.

That’s very kind, I said, knowing the cost of a cab home from central London.

He hailed a taxi, and we climbed in.

It had been a fabulous evening, and I hoped we would have more together like this.  And I told him so.  He reached forward to kiss me; our lips met and we caressed each other.  The cab driver ignored us.

I truly didn’t want the evening to end, but I didn’t tell him that.  We had made a fresh start; it was our first date, all over again.

But he soon had his hand up my skirt, and this didn’t happen on a first date.  So he’d already decided that we were carrying on from where we left off on our previous date, when he had been fondling the fastening at the top of my stockings.  And I wasn’t going to stop him.

Here you are, guv, called the cab driver, bringing the taxi to a halt outside the address Greg had given him.

Thank you driver, he said.  He turned to me.  Would you like to come in for a nightcap?

I nodded.

We won’t be going on to Croydon now.  Can we settle up here, please?

We alighted, and I waited while Greg paid the fare.

He led me up the steps and unlocked the door to the town house where he lived; he had an upper floor all to himself.  I had been sitting down most of the evening, and the climb upstairs – two flights – brought a welcome opportunity for a short late-night exercise.

Take a chair in the lounge, he said.  I’ll fix the coffees.  The toilet’s out there - he pointed - and I’ll be back in a minute.

I looked round at the tasteful decoration. He had some beautiful Regency framed prints on the walls, and some family photographs on a bookshelf.  No ornaments were in sight; it was obviously a man’s home.

Here we are... he said, entering the room with the coffees on a tray.  He placed the mugs on a low table and sat down next to me.  Now, where were we?

We were kissing.  And you were fondling my stockings, I grinned.

He gave me a horrified look.

It’s O.K., I laughed, and opened my thighs.  You can put your hand up there again if you like.  I won’t stop you.

He moved closer; we embraced on the sofa, and his hand returned to its resting place above my knee.  I felt my clitoris stirring, and a gentle trickle of excitement in my crotch.

Excuse me, he stood up for a moment. I have to adjust my clothing... I’m getting worked up here.

I saw an opportunity.  I’ll just use your toilet, for a moment, I said, getting to my feet.

I went for a pee, and took off my underwear, stuffing them in my bag.  When I returned, I hoped that his hand would have a nice surprise if it were to wander any further than before.

I sat down again and his hand returned where it had been.  We embraced and kissed, and his hand advanced to my bare thigh.  I allowed my leg to jolt forward slightly, so that his fingertips were now on my pussy.  Holding him close, I felt the shudder of surprise go through him.

I brushed the side my hand against his crotch, barely touching his hard cock.  He’s trapped in there, in the dark.  Why don’t you get him out and give him some air? I whispered, trying to make my voice sound seductive.

He unzipped himself and pulled it out slowly; his erection pointed proudly upwards.  I put my thumb and forefinger lightly round the top, feeling the velvet pink tip, and then trailed down the rougher, veined skin to its root, my fingertip sensing his balls tucked away beneath.

Returning to his place beside me, his hand made straight for my wet pussy, putting his finger on my hardening clit.  Our kissing grew more passionate, symptomatic of the heightening desire we shared for each other’s bodies. 

Bedroom? he whispered.

He rose, and I followed.

We undressed quickly; there was no point in teasing one another.  Our passions had been aroused.  He was hard, I was wet, we wanted raw sex, and we couldn’t wait any longer.

Leave your bra and stockings on... he whispered.  Can’t waste time...

I lay back on his bed, my legs open to receive him, and he slid himself inside me.  We thrust together as we kissed; his hand moved down to massage my clit, while I stroked the back of his neck, happy to have a man making love to me again after so long.  It felt almost like surrendering my virginity all over again, but this time I knew what to expect.

His gasping grew louder with each plunge forward; for me, the intensity grew as he continued exciting me, his finger sliding in my soaked pussy.  And then I felt the flood approach; I must not fight it, I told myself.  I braced my body and surrendered to the warm saturation it brought; it drenched my soul and left me, in the aftermath, drained and exhausted.

But still he toiled on, his stiff piston driving in and out of me, until he cried out when his climax had arrived.  I felt his powerful ejaculations within me, squirting his seed up my hole, until he withdrew and fell in a crumbling heap beside me, his energy spent.

That was wonderful, he said.  Thank you so very, very much, Julia.  You really are the most gorgeous woman.

Oh, flattery, I smiled, squeezing him with whatever strength I had left.  But he was right: my orgasm was wonderful, too.

He was silent for a moment, staring up at the ceiling.  Julia, would you like to stay the night?

I haven’t brought anything – only the clothes I was standing up in.

Does that matter?  I’ve got a spare towel, if that’s all you’re worried about.

O.K.  I’ll stay, I agreed, taking off my bra and stockings.

I never knew you had such beautiful breasts, he said.  He reached forward and cupped them in his hands.  So soft and kissable. 

You can kiss them after we’ve finished our coffee in the lounge, I said.

They’ll be cold by now.  I’ll go and make some fresh.  He got up and went to the door.  I stayed on the bed, admiring his tight buttocks.  I was still horny.

I wondered how many other women he’d had in this bed.  I wasn’t going to ask him.  Maybe he’d tell me one day.

He returned with the coffee.  We drank in a relaxed silence; I hadn’t been happier in a very long time.  When he drained his mug, I made my move.  I went down to his flaccid dick and put it in my mouth.

What’s going on?  You promised me I could have your breasts when we’d finished our coffees.

Give me a few minutes down here with him.  He’s worked hard, and I wanted to give him a reward.

I felt his dick grow thicker in my mouth, and lengthen; I drew it out gradually as it became too big for my mouth to accommodate.  I stroked his balls, and he moaned as my finger padded gently behind them, hitting a sensitive spot that pressed one of his major sex buttons.

Still holding his dick, I moved back up so that he could clasp and kiss my breasts.  His lips and tongue played on one nipple, while he trapped the