The HJO Company 1:The Office Visit

“I agree with what Clinton said,” Joey said smugly. “It’s not sex when it doesn’t penetrate.”

“He penetrated her mouth,” I pointed out. “Several times, I understand.”

“No,” Joey corrected. “She sucked him. That’s different.”

“Still unfaithful.”

“So, when you jerk off, you’re unfaithful to your old lady?”

“Of course not.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Another person!” I said, exasperated. “There’s another person involved.”

Joey waved me away. “Details. Details. Anyway, it spices your sex life up. Here,” he said as he casually tossed me a business card. “You don’t have to use it,” he said as I gingerly picked it up and examined it.

It was a simple white card with ‘The HJO Company embossed on it. Emily Parkhurst, Client relations Director was also printed on the card, along with one telephone number.

“The HJO Company? What’s that?”

“Hand Jobs Only,” Joey said, laughing. “Try it. Since you’ve been having troubles at home you’ve been a real pain in the ass.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You know what I mean,” he said. “Anyway, try her. It’s one of the many things I’ve learned to enjoy in London.” He smiled in that arrogant American way and walked out of the office.

I stared at the card for a long time until I slid it into my wallet. “Ruth,” I said into the intercom, “I’m ready for my next appointment.”

The card remained in my wallet for several weeks and Joey didn’t mention it again, not even when we endured the obligatory farewell lunch the day before his flight back to the States.

Early one morning, I withdrew the card and with heart pounding, I dialled the number.

“Hello?” A mellow female ladies voice answered. “The HJO Company. Emily Parkhurst speaking.”

“Miss Parkhurst,” I began nervously. “A friend gave me your card and I wondered if….” I cleared my throat as I fumbled for the right words.

“Your name?” she said coolly.

“Michael Port,” I rushed, my hands clammy around the telephone as I nervously watched the door. I didn’t want Ruth walking in.

“Michael,” she said warmly. “How nice. I have some time free this afternoon. A thirty-minute appointment is usually sufficient for our first visit. Your address?” I told her and she went on to calmly tell me to have her fee available at the visit. “What is your secretary’s name?” she suddenly asked.

“Ruth,” I mumbled.

“I shall call Ruth and arrange a time this afternoon.”

“What?” I exclaimed in panic. “Call her? What will you tell her?”

“Oh, I’ll think of something. Good morning, Michael.” The phone went dead and I slowly replaced the receiver in the cradle as I guiltily looked around my empty office.

Ruth entered the office sometime later with a cup of coffee and some papers. “Good morning, Ruth,” I said as calmly as I could. “Anything new for the day?”

She shook her head and I felt disappointed. “No Mr Port. The same appointments as I outlined last evening. Is there anything you need before your nine o’clock?” I shook my head and she left, leaving me with my disappointment.

The morning rushed by, my early morning telephone call forgotten and I soon found myself putting my coat on for lunch. “I’ll be forty five minutes, Ruth,” I said as I walked past her desk.

“Mr Port,” she called. “I’ve squeezed a new client in at half past two.”

I stopped dead, my heart pounding. “A new client?” I asked as calmly as I could.

Ruth consulted her notes. “A Miss Parkhurst. A business matter.”

My stomach flipped over a few times. “Thank you Ruth,” I squeaked, cleared my throat and walked to the lift.

Nervously, I sat in my office and pretended to work while waiting for the clock to reach half past two. Finally, a discreet tap on the door and Ruth entered. “Miss Parkhurst is here, Mr Port.”

Abruptly, I stood, knocking the chair back and causing Ruth to look at me strangely. “Show her in, Ruth,” I said quickly.

A tall elegant woman in a conservative business suit entered. She had dark hair, expensive jewellery, a slim briefcase and I guessed she was about thirty or so which made her twelve years younger than me.

“Michael,” she said in a low husky voice as she smiled, extending her hand as the door closed behind her. “Nice to meet you.”

“Hello,” I said shyly, my heart pounding.

She looked around the office and moved towards my small conference table. “Why don’t you take your jacket off?” she said, sitting at the table, long legs crossing with a rasp of black nylon.” She patted the chair next to her. “Sit here, Michael,” she said, smiling at me. “Don’t be nervous. You have my fee?”

Nodding, I placed my jacket on my desk and handed her the envelope. “Are you married, Michael?”

I nodded. “My wife doesn’t….”

“Understand you?” she finished, a small scornful smile on her face.

I shook my head. “No, she doesn’t love me any more,” I said in a small voice as I sat next to her.

“I’m sorry.” She took a small hand towel from the briefcase. “Here. Our introductory gift for first time clients.”

My hands trembled as I examined the towel. I noticed the HJO Company logo was embroidered on the corner. “It’s to stop your trousers getting messy. Undo your pants and spread the towel over your lap.” Gulping, I unzipped my trousers and slid them down a little, spreading the towel over my lap. I felt aroused seated next to this woman with my cock bulging in my underpants. “Pull your underpants down, Michael,” she said softly and my cock popped into view.

“Good,” she said and I felt her warm fingers encircle my cock as her perfume washed over me. “Nice and slow,” she said as her hand moved slowly, stroking my cock into hardness. “I hope Ruth doesn’t pop in with an urgent message,” she said mischievously and I gasped.

“No,” I mumbled, watching her long fingers move around my throbbing cock.

“Now,” she said staring into my eyes as her fingers continued. “Some rules. I can’t abide my clients touching me and it’s definitely not in our contract. Now, I haven’t learned to read your little signs yet,” and her eyes twinkled as a low moan escaped my lips. “So you must tell me when you are getting close. No touching and you must tell me. Acceptable?”

“Yes, Emily,” I murmured, gasping as her fingers drove me to the edge. “Now,” I gasped and her fingers disappeared, leaving my swollen cock jerking wildly above the white towel.

We both stared down at my pulsing cock. “You obviously haven’t been active for a while,” she said with a little giggle. “Almost happened then without any effort.” She looked up and I felt drawn into her dark eyes. “Now, my dear. You nearly didn’t tell me early enough. And simply saying ‘now’ is not acceptable either. Miss Parkhurst, I’m coming will be suitable. Agreed?”

“Yes, Miss Parkhurst,” I said as my cock subsided slightly.

“Hmm,” she said mischievously. “Do I detect a submissive streak, Michael? We’ll have to explore that another time.” Her fingers closed around my shaft and, hypnotised, I watched as her hand slowly stroked up and down my straining cock.

My breathing became ragged again, my heart pounded and I knew I was very close. “Miss Parkhurst,” I gasped. “I’m coming.”

Emily stared deep into my eyes and I felt two short tugs and suddenly my cock was alone once again, bobbing wildly as my blood roared in my ears. “So close,” she smiled as I gulped air. “You really want to spurt now, don’t you?” she teased and I nodded desperately.

She seemed amused at the desperate look on my face and in the corner of my mind an image of what we must look like flickered. An older man, half-naked with a fully clothed young woman who teasingly masturbates him in his very own office with his secretary seated outside the door.

“Let’s finish,” she said calmly and her finger closed around my throbbing cock once more. Knowingly, she teased me to the edge quickly until I hoarsely warned her. “Miss Parkhurst, I’m coming!”

This time, her fingers stayed and I was drawn over the edge, my body shuddering as I spurted into the towel as her expert fingers milked me dry. For some reason, I felt embarrassed, almost humiliated and she seemed to sense it for she wiped me with the towel quickly.

Standing, she smiled down at me. “Adjust yourself, Michael and don’t forget to wash the towel.” Numb, I watched her move towards the door and wait, her hand resting on the doorknob. Frantically, I adjusted myself, thrust the sodden towel into a gym bag in the desk drawer and stood behind my desk as I slipped my jacket back on.

Nodding her approval at my appearance, she smiled and opened the door. “Thank you Michael,” she said loudly so Ruth could hear. “That was interesting. We may need further appointments?” she asked, a quizzical eyebrow raised.

“Perhaps, Miss Parkhurst,” I mumbled.