Farah's Revenge: Reginald St. James

My husband, Hossain, grew very concerned as my due date approached. It was a big baby and I felt like a whale. I was very uncomfortable and had to pee every few minutes. I called in and began my maternity leave.

St. James called me a day later.

"I've shortlisted the candidates to take over as the new CEO of the Foncault Group," he said. "I'll send the resumes to you. Can you attend the interviews?"

"I may go into labor at any time, Mr. St. James."

"You could attend online."

"Not interested."

"You're going to be the executive assistant of the new CEO and working closely with him or her. Don't you want to be involved in deciding who it is?"

"I won't be returning to work for you after my maternity leave."

There was a pause on the line.

"I won't give you a reference," he said. "And I'll do everything I can to make sure you don't get another job."

"That's fine, Mr. St. James. I won't need your reference."

"You think you can work in the corporate world with me for an enemy?"

"I don't want to work in your corporate world." I paused and smiled at the video link. "I take pleasure in telling you this, Mr. St. James. Over the years, Jack directed me to move excess profits from our overseas operations to secure tax haven accounts all around the world. There are billions of dollars of Foncault Group money sitting tax-free in those accounts. You were too lazy to work with us running your Group -- so now you'll never find that money."

"How much?" His voice was strained, and I could see the shock on his face.

"I can tell you the exact amount, 34,681 million dollars. Over thirty-four billion."

"Jack stole all that money. It's mine."

"He never took a penny of it, Mr. St. James. He was too honest for his own good. All the money is in corporate accounts, the access codes are in the Foncault Group system. But I doubt you and your new CEO will be able to find them without me. Goodbye."

"Wait, wait ..." he began but I cut the line.

He called back immediately, but I did not pick up.

I went into labor soon after the call. I delivered the baby that grew from the seed that Jack had planted in my womb nine months earlier. My husband, Hossain, held my hand through the entire four hours.

* * * * *

It was my second child. Both were Jack's, though Hossain thought they were his. The first one, a girl we named Noor, had brown eyes like me and black hair that Jack and I shared. Even though she had Jack's brow and aquiline nose, Hossain had no suspicions.

However, this second child, a boy, was born with Jack's distinctive gray-blue eyes, and Hossain frowned when the nurse handed him the baby.

"Eye color is often blue at birth," said the nurse. "It may turn darker as the weeks go by."

Hossain smiled with relief at this.

We named him Darius and brought him home to his four-year-old sister. She delighted in playing with her new brother. It made my mother's heart glad to see them together. They were both quiet children, didn't fuss much, and were little reminders of Jack. I thought they both inherited Jack's personality -- serious, independent, and anxious not to burden anyone.

The weeks went by, and Darius's eyes grew to be a brighter blue rather than fading to brown.

"My mother was from the Azeri border area," I said to Hossain to allay his doubts. "She had light brown eyes -- amber we called them. And there are many in her family with blue eyes. The gene is recessive, as you know."

"True, true," he said, and his doubts seemed quelled.

My breasts were fuller now with mother's milk. As I fed young Darius, I recalled with a pang how much Jack had delighted in suckling on my nipples while I was lactating with Noor. The memories tormented me, and Hossein often found me crying with Darius suckling on my breasts.

"What is the matter?" he always asked.

"Post-partum," I always responded. "Crazy hormonal imbalances after pregnancy."

"You women are so weak," he would reply.

* * * * *

Darius was two months old when my phone buzzed in the middle of the day. Hossein was at work, and I was home with the children. I looked at my phone face and saw it was Reginald St. James. I disconnected the call, but it buzzed again immediately. He kept calling and I saw that he would not stop, so I picked it up.

"What do you want?" I asked, my tone belligerent.

"I think you know, Farah."

"Tell me anyway."

"My new CEO, Martin Kinsella, and I," said St. James. "We've been through every nook and cranny of the Foncault Group systems and accounts. We've been aided by our accounting department and by external accounting consultants. We've found Foncault Group accounts in Bermuda, the Cayman Islands, the British Virgin Islands, Vanuatu, Luxembourg, as well as a few other tax havens. But we cannot find the codes anywhere. We have no way of accessing them -- we don't even know how much is in them."

"I sent you the codes by secure email, Mr. St. James. And saved them in the system. Jack made sure to save the codes very securely so only those with authorized credentials could find them. Keep looking."

"I have used the best accounting and IT talent on the planet, Ms. Hojjat. They assure me the information is not in the system. This is blackmail."

"Blackmail is your game, Mr. St. James, not mine. It's your company, your system. The information was sent to you and put into the corporate IT system as required by the law. It is in there. I no longer work for you and have no obligation to tell you anything further."

"I can get you arrested for embezzlement --"

"For what?" I laughed. "The money is in your corporate accounts."

"You put it in there behind access codes. You have a legal obligation to give those to me."

"Check your accounting statements, Mr. St. James. It states clearly that you, as chairman, must be sent all access codes. I have email records proving that we did that. If you can't find them, it's your problem, not mine. Haul me into court if you want, I can assure you the law is on my side."

"Farah, I'll pay you whatever you want -- five million, ten million. Name your price."

"I'm not for sale. Besides, I have all the money I need with the bonuses I got through Jack's deals."

"Be reasonable, Farah. At least meet me to discuss a way forward."

I thought about it, and an idea formed in my mind.

"Okay, let's meet. But not at the office."

"Then where?"

"Where you routinely meet your girls. Your suite at the Four Seasons."

"You know about that!?" His shock was unmistakable.

"I know all about Tiffany Hsu, Chinese-American father, Norwegian mother, NYU Law student. She was working evenings as a hostess at a casino for high rollers, doing some modeling on the side. Asian beauty with Nordic height, quite a babe."

"She's doing some legal research for me --"

"Spare me," I said, brusquely. "Then she met Jack. She told me he fucked her right there in your suite at the Four Seasons. She told me he made her cum so hard and so many times, she couldn't see straight. She left with him and never came back to you. Jack impregnated her, she has a bonny 2-year-old boy."

"You know that?" St. James's face began to go red on the video.

"Before her, you had that Icelandic design student, Nydis Larsdottir."

"How do you know --"

"I marvel at how little you know of your own life, Mr. St. James. Your personal cards are all linked to the corporate systems. All your expenses -- and hence your activities -- were reported to me -- electronically."

"My God! You know about Nydis --"

"Yes. I know Nydis met Jack, he fucked her brains out. You offered her a stupendous amount of money to come back to you, but she never did. She preferred working for Jack at the Foncault Design Corporation. She told me he made her cum so hard, she was dizzy. She had Jack's baby, a beautiful girl. She's almost three now, she's going to be a beauty."

"Filthy pig," said St. James through his teeth. Even on the video link, I could see he was furious. There was a short silence as he collected his wits. "I accept your terms. Come for dinner this evening. I'll order room service. Seven?"

"Okay."

"With your new baby, you must be lactating."

"I am."

There was a pause, and I could see his expression growing lustful.

"I want to suck your tits. Rich, creamy, mother's milk. A perfect appetizer."

"Appetizer for what? Dinner or something else?"

"How old are you, Farah?"

"Thirty-three, with two children."

"You've got an hourglass figure, perfect breasts, so full and firm, no hint of sag -- I watched you every day for years. You wear thin bandeau bras that offer no support, clearly visible under translucent silk blouses. The way your breasts quiver and your round, firm ass sways as you walk on your high heels gets me hard every time. And that narrow waist with the swell of your belly button ... you've got the body to light a man on fire. I hated the way you just gave it all to Jack Grierson for all these years. Well, I want it now."

"You want what I gave Jack?"

"Yes. I want to impregnate you."

"Can you give me what he gave me?"

"You can find out this evening." He laughed crudely. "For years, I saw your thick nipples making pokies through your bras and blouses, Farah. I want to suck those gorgeous tits of yours, I want those nipples in my mouth."

* * * * *

When Hossein came home from work, he found me in my boudoir dressing for the evening.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"I have a work dinner for the company."

"I thought you were on maternity leave. And you said you're not going back."

"Wrapping things up. It's a one-night stand."

Hossain never got my double entendres.

"Who are you having dinner with?"

"Reginald St. James. The chairman."

"Oh, the old man. No need to worry, then." He laughed. "Unlike with Jack Grierson. I'm so relieved Grierson is dead and out of your life. Whenever you came home from evenings with him, you looked faint and smelled like you just had sex. Of course, I know you're a faithful wife, but my imagination made me jealous."

"You give me all the sex I can handle, Hossein," I said, patting him on the arm.

"Yes, yes," he said with a touch of eagerness. "Before you go out to this dinner, can we --"

"I've just spent a lot of time on my makeup and my hair, Hossein. Perhaps tomorrow."

"But seeing you like this, you've got me hard. You're going to wear that sexy yellow bra and thong -- lace and silk -- black choker necklace, and platform high heels! And our bed is just there. I can be quick --"

"Oh, you're always quick," I said, dryly.

Hossein never got my irony either, so I felt safe using it.

"Tie me up, will you, darling?" I said to Hossein, holding my bra cups on my breasts with the ties of the back strap hanging down by my sides.

Again, he missed the double entendre and tied my bra back strap in a tight little bow.

I put on a white chiffon blouse and buttoned it up. Then I pulled on a tight short skirt and zipped it up.

"That blouse is almost see-through," he complained. "I can see your bra through it. And the fabric is so thin that your nipples are clearly outlined. And your skirt is so tight, I can see the lines of your panties as you walk."

"Just lines and outlines," I said, putting on my big glasses.

When we were first married, Hossein would never have let me go out of the house wearing an outfit like this. But over the years, I'd worked him into mellowness by being a good mother to the children he thought were his -- and giving him blowjobs when he least expected them. I always made him cum so quickly that he would exclaim, "Your mouth is like a suction pump!"

I picked up my large purse, checked I had everything I needed, and left.

* * * * *

I drove my high-end BMW to the Four Seasons, gave the key fob to the valet, and my cost to the check. My high heels clicked on the marble floor of the lobby to the elevator but were soundless on the thick carpet of the corridor on the top floor. St. James's suite was the corner one. I rang the bell and saw his eye at the lens of the keyhole before he opened the door.

He shut the door and immediately put his arms around me, drawing me into a clinch. He rubbed his pelvis on my lower body, emphasizing how hard he was.

"The access codes?" he asked.

"With you, it's always pleasure before business," I replied. "No need to stop now."

"Yes, yes," he said thickly, looking me up and down lecherously. "You're dressed for the office. When you come in next week, I'll fuck you on my desk."

"Next week is next week," I said. "Live in the moment."

"You're tall," he breathed. "Taller than me ..."

"Five-inch platform heels will do that, Reggie," I said.

"I like it when you call me that."

He led me into the enormous living room of the suite and tried to unbutton my blouse. I stopped him and held both his wrists.

"Why --?"

"I hate you, Reggie. Don't you want me to fight you?"

His eyes lit up.

"Rough sex?"

"Yes." I smiled. "Don't you want me to thrash and wail and beg you to stop? Will that turn you on?"

"Oh, scream, Farah! Make me fight to master you! That will make it so much hotter!"

"Okay, Reggie I'll be really shrill. Rough sex hurts but it's what I want."

"You're going to love what I do to you!" he exulted. "And so will I!"

"Let me record this," I said. "We'll both enjoy the sex video."

"Yes, yes," he said.

"The safe word is 'dolphin'. If I say it, you must stop immediately."

"I promise."

I began to take off my glasses, but he stopped me saying, "Keep those on, they make you look like you do in the office. I always wanted to fuck you there but with that brutish Grierson around, I never could."

I took my iPad out of my purse, carefully placed it so it panned the entire room, and hit record.

He tried to unbutton my blouse again and I fought him, but this time he pinned my arms to my sides with one hand. He pulled the blouse out of the waistband of my skirt and undid it from the bottom upward. His hands gripped the swell of my belly as I struggled, panting, and screaming "No, no, Reggie, don't, don't!"

"I like it when you scream," he puffed.

"I can scream louder!"

"Scream as loud as you want, Farah! The walls are thick, and there are no other rooms in the corridor. No one will hear you."

"Omigod!" I shrieked.

He laughed with a note of frenzy as he finished undoing my blouse. He forced me down onto a sofa and pulled down the cups of my bandeau bra. His lips found my thick nipples, angry red and hardened with my exertions.

"Your tits are engorged with milk," he gloated, squeezing them. "But still so firm!"

He kneaded my breasts making them leak milk. He took a nipple into his mouth and began to suck greedily.

He used his teeth, biting and tearing at my nipples and the tender flesh around my aureoles. He hurt me and I cried out in pain. But along with the pain, I felt an erogenous response. Omigod! I thought. The bastard is exciting me! The pain is turning me on! However, I looked at the winking recording light on my iPad and was reassured.

He squeezed my breasts as he sucked and bit. He surprised me with how thoroughly he milked me, for he left me totally dry by the end of it. I looked down and saw he had left bloody welts on my breasts, and bruises on my nipples that I knew would become colorful.

He pushed me down onto my back on the sofa and rucked my skirt up to my waist. His hand found my vulva through my yellow silk-and-lace thong. He manipulated it crudely -- he had little finesse, but he still stoked my incipient stimulation and drew forth moisture. I was panting now, with quick intakes of breath.

"You're mine, bitch!" he barked.

He put his fingers at the hip strap of the thong and pulled hard. I had chosen a flimsy one and he was able to rip it off me. The sound of tearing fabric was harsh and loud, at odds with the fragility of the thong.

He pushed two fingers into my moistening pussy and began to thrust them into me. He hit my clit numerous times but with violence, not art. He hurt me but still continued to arouse me. I mewed and he huffed, "You're getting wet, bitch! You like this!"

"Omigod!!" I cried. "What are you doing to me?"

"You've got me hard, bitch," he said.

"No, no," I whined. "Please, no!"

But I arched my back into his fingers in my pussy, encouraging him to thrust harder. He responded by jabbing into me with more aggression, hurting me even more but also heightening my arousal at an alarming rate.

"Omigod! Omigod!" I repeated, over and over.

"You can't resist me, bitch! I'll show you I'm more of a man than Grierson!"

It was Jack that had taught me to feel my body's innermost desires and respond to them. Now St. James was using Jack's training against me. Worse, he stopped just as I was on the verge of cumming.

I was breathless as he pulled his fingers out of me with a snarl.

"Now give me a blowjob. Then I'll fuck you. I want you smelling of sex when you give me the access codes."

He pushed me off the sofa onto my knees and sat in front of me with his pants and briefs around his ankles. His erection was bigger than I expected, especially for a man as old as him.

"You take drugs?" I faltered.

"Viagra," he said, his tone swaggering. "I took the max dose."

"Okay, I'll suck your cock," I muttered.

But I hesitated and he forced my head toward his cockhead. I kept my mouth shut but he put a hand around my throat and choked me to force it open. He pushed his cockhead into my lips and the next moment, jammed the rest of his length into my mouth.

I gagged, spluttered, and grabbed his wrists with my hands. He held me fast, his fingers pulling my hair to move my head back and forth on his shaft. He backed out of my mouth, and I looked up at him, seated on my haunches.

"Omigod, Reggie, you really are hard!" I gasped.

"I'm like a steel bar!" he boasted.

"How rough can you be? You can hit me if you want!"

He took my cue, drew back his hand, and slapped my face. Then he formed a fist and hit me in the mouth, splitting my lip. It began to bleed, and he said, "Now suck on me again, I want your blood on my cock!"

My eyes were wide open with both excitement and fear as he grabbed my head again. He twined his fingers in my hair and forced his cock all the way to my throat. I sucked on him again, as hard as I could, and he began to groan. His ejaculation was nothing like Jack's but more than I expected. He pumped a load down my throat and still had enough to pull out and spurt onto my face and hair.

I glanced at my face in one of the big wall mirrors. I had globules of his semen in my hair, and streaks of his viscous ejaculate ran down my glasses. My split lip was still bleeding and puffing up. There was a clear red outline of his hand on my face. My skirt was hiked up to a narrow sash around my waist. My blouse hung open and unbuttoned -- it was sweat-stained from all my struggling. My panties were torn and lay on the floor.

He loosened his tie, dropped it over my head around my neck, and pulled it tight.

"Get on the sofa, Farah," said St. James, putting a hand in my armpit. "I'm going to fuck you like you've never been fucked before. I'm going to use my tie to choke you half to death while I'm in you, I want to feel your pussy clench when your mind thinks you're dying."

"You just came ..." I stammered.

"The wonders of drugs!" he exulted. "I'm still as hard as a teenager!"

He pulled me onto the sofa on my back and mounted me. He wasn't lying -- he was still hard, and I felt his cockhead stretch me as he entered me. He shoved his entire length into me artlessly and immediately began to pound me. He made no effort -- and certainly did not have the skill -- to find or match my rhythm and hip rotations. However, I was already so roused that my pussy was soon soaking with my sexual juices. There was a wet smack every time he bottomed out. I didn't want to encourage him, but I couldn't help myself. I moaned louder and louder.