Free Amanda's Young Men by Madeline Moore

Paul explained his system for forecasting fashion trends. It was remarkably simple. He kept track of new styles as they emerged and charted their progress. If a trend started one year in Paris, and reappeared there the following year but also showed in Milan and New York, for instance, Paul was pretty sure it would explode across the fashion capitals of the world in the third year before beginning to peter out. He claimed that his system worked seven times out of eight. The eighth time, he recommended slashing the price and clearing the style out at cost, echoing Rupert’s opinion.
    Amanda poured them a glass of Bull’s Blood each and dished up sirloin tips in a burgundy sauce, with Pommes Duchess and white asparagus tips. ‘That shoe that got you fired,’ she said, ‘weren’t you taking quite a risk?’
    ‘I was so frustrated, Ms Amanda. It wasn’t the first time Dumphries had underordered a sure winner.’
    ‘Tell me.’
    ‘There were many, but for instance, last summer, there was a Q-number, a flat canvas slip-on that came in five colours, cute and inexpensive. I wanted to order two hundred and fifty cases. It was made in China, so we only had one shot at it.’
    ‘How many did Dumphries buy?’
    ‘Thirty-one cases, one for each shop. Worse, when the shop managers saw it in the catalogue, they all wanted multiple cases, from five, I believe, to thirty.’ His face writhed in disgust. ‘One store sold out in two days. The last pair in the whole chain went within a month.’
    ‘What was his reasoning?’
    ‘Company policy. Stock up on “standards” and then buy the minimum numbers of each of a wide range of styles. Take no chances.’
    ‘Standards like?’ she asked.
    ‘All that Ogilvy & Fitch crap. Old lady shoes. Nurses’ shoes. House slippers, for Christ’s sake!’
    ‘You really love elegant shoes, don’t you, Paul?’
    He looked at his plate. ‘I don’t know about “love”, Ms Amanda.’
    ‘Oh? I thought you shared my passion.’
    ‘Well …’
    ‘You like the shoes you sold me today, don’t you, Paul?’
    He blushed and nodded.
    ‘I’m wearing them now.’
    He whispered, ‘I know.’
    ‘Is it that you love both shoes and women, especially
together
?’
    Paul nodded again.
    ‘And here I am, a desirable woman who is wearing sexy shoes.’
    Yet another nod.
    ‘Do you want me, Paul?’
    ‘Want you?’
    ‘Do you want to fuck me?’
    His confusion was delicious. Paul stammered and stuttered, nodded and shook his head, turned deep pink and just about managed to get out a sound that had to be a ‘Yes’.
    ‘Then follow me, and do exactly as I tell you. If you obey my every word, I promise you a sexual experience far beyond anything you’ve ever dreamt of.’
    He made a strangled sound in his throat.
    Amanda continued, ‘Absolute obedience, right, Paul?’
    ‘Yes, Ms Amanda.’
    ‘Good boy. You’re learning.’
    She led him into the living room and sat herself down on the wide deep black leather couch. Paul went to sit beside her.
    Sternly, she told him, ‘I didn’t say you could sit.’
    He jerked upright. ‘Sorry, Ms Amanda.’
    Amanda pulled her dress up above her knees and arranged its hem across the tops of her thighs. ‘Get undressed.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘You heard me – strip off. I want to see you naked.’
    ‘I …’
    ‘Do it.’
    Clumsily but swiftly, Paul stripped down to his bikini underwear – very skimpy with a leopard print. It barely contained his growing erection. A wet patch betrayed the extent of his arousal. Amanda concealed a grin. Yes, Paul
had
been hoping to get lucky. Well, he was going to, but far beyond anything such an innocent lad could possibly expect.
    ‘Lose the briefs.’
    He paused for a second, took a deep breath and skinned his underwear down. When he straightened, it was instantly obvious that, while parts of him were still those of a youth, other parts were all man. His impressive manhood bobbed before him, rising from a thin patch of