TheRapist Read Free Page B

Their history was unspoken. Words of no necessity. Just the knowledge. A secret. Lodged deep within them.
     
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    Meringue and Manny
     
    Seven o’clock. Friday night. Everybody had left the office to escape work on the week-end. Except the cleaners. Except the odd, unable-to-flee-work victim.  Except Manny Kofsberg. A navy and gold-braided Uniform sat at his polished desk in the vast, gray marble lobby. In the dim light, the only visible movements were the twitching of the Uniform’s baggy nose and the slow hands of the oversize steel wall clock. One of the exterior large glass doors opened and Meringue Pavlova tripped inside, teetering across the marble floor in her pseudo Louboutins, soles she had painstakingly painted with long lasting Sephora red, hoping nobody would ever find out that her soles had no Louboutin soul.
    ‘Hi! How are you tonight? I’m going up to fifteen,’ she trilled to the Uniform. Meringue was pleasant to all, due to her monotonous ‘you never knew who was related to whom in this town’ mantra. Doorman on a Monday and the Next Big Thing by the end of the week.
    ‘He’s expecting you Miss, third bank of elevators on the right.’ The Uniform, nose twitching, nodded towards the elevator. She knew the way, having made this journey so many times before and the Doorman knew she knew, but they kept the formalities. She headed to the fifteenth floor, leaving the Uniform twitching in the dimming light.
    Inside the elevator Meringue plumped her hair, (an array of silvery-blonde highlights) hauled up her cleavage, (she’d paid through the nose for it, inserted through her new shell-like belly button by the fabulous Dr. Rey, so she presented it in all its pink-skinned, luminescent glory at every opportunity), carefully re-glossed her pouting mouth with a Lancome juicy tube.
    Manny lounged in his leather chair and unzipped his pants. A soft chair, almost an armchair, so over-sized it practically resembled a small bed. His feet, encased in another handmade production by John Lobb, were thrown carelessly across his desk. Lights out. Meringue entered, smiling at Manny, her handsome boy.
    ‘Babycakes!’ She squeaked rapturously, dropping to her knees to crawl beneath his desk. He lowered his feet to the floor.
    ‘Hello darling, you look divine.’ He barely looked at her and made no move. She did.
    ‘Cakes...’ she murmured, and went to him, kneeling in front of his chair and unzipping his pants. He stroked the top of her head. She purred, turning feline. Suddenly the woman had become a cat. He thought of feeding her a tin of tabby’s best and sending her home with a box of Scoop Away. Ugly thought. Wipe it from his mind.
    He watched her at work, his eyes glazing over. Her head was bouncing back and forth, her blonde hair shuddering with every gentle jolt. He suddenly had a strange urge to laugh, but managed to stifle it.
    ‘You’re beautiful,’ the words fell without meaning from his experienced mouth. She purred some more, wriggled. Then his mind left the room, entering a momentary Utopia, as she swallowed him, sucking him dry.
    ‘So beautiful...’ he groaned, ‘Oh Dev…devil,’ catching his error before completion. Why was Devon foremost on his mind, even in the middle of a supreme blow job?
    ‘As long as you think so Cakesy,’ purred Meringue through her moistened mouth.
    Silence. She, purring and stroking in the quiet. He, feeling the palpable shift from orgasmic to discomfort. Then...
    ‘Are we going out babycakes, you said we might go for Chinese food…?’ She whispered, barely audible.
    ‘No, of course not,’ he snapped. Subject closed and she was ushered out. They had never been on a proper date. And still Meringue waited patiently, hoping for the day when Manny would become her real boyfriend.
     
    *
     
     
     
     
     
    Devon and Adrian
     
    The corrugated iron was pounding, breathing hard and fast