The Iron Tongue of Midnight – Chapter 2

A modern erotic faerie story by Simone Francis

A new erotic novel. Read the first four chapters here

Start at the beginning – The Prologue

Chapter 2

The next day Morgan settled down at a desk and began wading through a pile of paperwork. He seemed to survive for several days on nothing but strong coffee as he tapped ceaselessly on the keyboard of his laptop. Rebecca tried to stay with him but frequently found herself asleep at her desk in the early hours of the morning, her head resting on her folded arms. After nearly a week of work, Rebecca was awoken by the sound of the printer whirring into life.

‘Sign here.’ Morgan placed a wad of papers in front of her.

‘Sign what?’ Rebecca blinked drowsily.

‘Your tax return.’ Morgan smiled. ‘And your claim for a refund.’


‘The one thing your Father did pay was his taxes. Unfortunately, although fortunately for you, he employed an idiot of an accountant who got most of the figures wrong. This is how much the business is owed.’ He pointed to a figure on the form in front of her.

‘Bloody hell.’ Rebecca squinted trying to make sure her eyes were seeing the decimal point in the right place.

‘You haven’t had my bill yet.’ Morgan laughed.

‘Do you fancy a partnership?’ Rebecca looked at him with renewed attraction.

‘And this is what your creditors owe you.’ He ignored her suggestion.

‘I’m serious,’ Rebecca looked at the second balance. ‘With this money,’ she held up the tax return, ‘what the creditors owe, and your financial acumen we could turn this business around.’

Morgan looked out through the glass of the office window into the dark of the empty factory floor. He seemed to study every detail of it before turning his attention to Rebecca. He looked at her stony-faced and she wondered if he was reading her mind, assessing her merely as another asset of the business.

‘Fifty, fifty.’ His expression did not change. ‘Try to negotiate and all you’ll get is my bill.’

Rebecca nodded.

It had taken time but, with her ruthless determination and Morgan’s financial wizardry they had rebuilt the business. Rebecca had quietly paid off the debts and then she had embarked on a campaign to undercut and then wipe out any competition. Slowly she had expanded the company from one decrepit little factory into an organisation that supplied components that nestled, unseen, in devices across the globe.

Rebecca stared at the screen of her laptop and, as it sprang into life, she saw again the men in the dream and thought of her Mother. Her Father had unknowingly sent her a gift from beyond the grave but her Mother continued to plague her.

They rarely saw each other now as Rebecca had realised that her Mother’s aversions did not stop at dealing with anything financial. In her teenage years and early twenties it seemed that, on principle, her Mother had detested every boyfriend she had ever had. She had apparently never realised or at least acknowledged that some of her girlfriends were any more than simple friends.

In response, Rebecca’s teenage rebellion had been to sleep with and then parade an ever more unsuitable and an increasing variety of boys, men, and girlfriends past her mother until, after her Father’s funeral her Mother had finally declared, ‘You will never amount to anything; men don’t want a slut as a wife and mother.’

Since being a good wife and mother was the last thing she wanted it seemed that the only option was to follow her Mother’s advice and be a slut. Rebecca smiled as she looked up at the oak-beamed ceiling; she had to admit that being a slut was something she was exceptionally good at. The vision of the men in the dream seemed to drift into focus. She tipped her head to one side as she pictured some of the faces; they were past lovers, names, even faces, now forgotten, apparently by all but her subconscious.

‘Well at least being a slut is fun,’ she said to herself.

The fact that Rebecca was screwing most of the local male population and some of the female, did not seem to completely escape her Father but, he continued to dote on her and she on him even when his appearances became less and less frequent. It was almost as if he regarded her as a son and relished the idea of his child “sowing their wild oats”. Fortunately, since a lot of the time Rebecca was the one being sown in, none of the seed germinated and when his will was read the factory had passed into her sole care.

Throughout her childhood and adolescence most of her Father’s time seemed to be spent at the factory or on business trips across the country supposedly, as she now knew vainly, searching for new customers. When she and Morgan reviewed the accounts it seemed that he had spent most of his time searching for them in various casinos whilst staying in plush hotels with a variety of “Mrs Masons”.

After his death couple of the women had appeared hoping to lay claim to some of his non-existent wealth. They had retreated when Rebecca suggested that, should she pass on their details to the authorities, they might be liable for some of the debts he had run-up in their names as it seemed they had been, at least partially, complicit in the fraud.

She slammed the laptop closed. It was still too hot to work so she decided to change into something cooler. In the bedroom, she stripped off her blouse and trousers and admired herself in the full-length mirror. At thirty-two she was one of a rare breed of young, female, chief execs. Her straight dark hair dropped just onto her shoulders, the layered, jagged cut in keeping with her professional image.

She had a sharply defined jaw, which, in a man would have been called rugged, and wide brown eyes that she had inherited from her mother. The difference between them was that hers could switch from a flirtatious, eyelash fluttering look to out-stare most men in an instant whilst her Mother’s always remained meek and submissive. She had made sure the curves of her body and her long slender legs had stayed toned with frequent visits to the gym as the years advanced. Her breasts were the only part of her she disliked. Large and still firm enough to allow her to wear no bra in hot weather the two globes were slowly softening and losing their battle with gravity. Each was surmounted by small, flat, nipples ringed by wide brown aureole that still pointed the way ahead and not downward.

‘Still, at least you’re useful,’ she said as she lifted them gently with her palms.

That was true; men seemed obsessed with her cleavage. The only problem, or maybe it was an asset, was that her nipples betrayed any arousal by springing into life, something they did frequently. She slipped on a simple white cotton dress and she could see the delicious curves of her narrow waist and rounded bottom outlined beneath the thin material. The short sleeveless design was not only practically cool in the hot weather but also emphasised her long shapely legs. Shame there was no one around to see how good she looked she thought to herself.

She smiled at her own image, thinking how a quick flash of her stocking-clad legs or a flirtatious glance had thrown weaker men off guard whilst a deal was concluded in her favour. Not that she was averse to going further if the fancy took her. Rebecca had to admit that she liked sex, maybe she had inherited that from her Father as well, or maybe she just craved the attention that it brought? She would seduce her lovers with her looks and money then sit astride them, fuck them dry, and cast aside the empty husks when she was finished. Like the factory hand, very few of her lovers lasted beyond a one night stand and more than one businessman or woman had learnt the hard way that she took lovers on her terms; so the dream was just that, a dream, the inconsequential musings of her subconscious mind, she wasn’t into this submissive shit. She was in control.

She walked downstairs and stood looking out of the bay window. Control was why she had come to this comfortable little cottage that seemed to nestle itself into the purple and grey landscape on the edge of the bleak moorland. The jackals in her company were circling; men who were envious of her position and power.

She was not just the captain of the ship, she was also the figurehead on the prow. Morgan was always below decks, hidden in the shadows, priming the cannons and making sure everything stayed afloat; appearing when she needed him, claiming his fifty percent and then slipping back into the mists. Most of the jackals hardly knew of his existence so now they were snapping at her heels, testing her defences, looking for an opportunity, either to take-over, or to get into her knickers; most of them wanted both.

Fed up with the battle and the sniping she had thought of the cottage and decided a little rest and relaxation would give her time to regroup. At Morgan’s suggestion, she had timed her disappearance for the weeks when a deal that would take the company to the next level was being finalised. Only her presence at the negotiations, her personal touch with her contacts and her signature could seal the arrangements. The thought of that little upstart Harry and the other execs squirming at the thought of their bank accounts not being filled with bonuses made her smile. They would be so relieved to see her when she got back they would agree to anything and she would be firmly back in control.

The rest of the day passed drowsily until the evening sunlight skimmed across the tops of the trees making them sparkle as if dusted with gold but the interior of the wood, shrouded in shadow, looked still and calm. That night she slept restlessly and the dream came again.

Read more Chapter 3

The Iron Tongue of Midnight

An Adult Erotic Fairy Tale

Rebecca Mason is queen of her empire; she uses men and then discards the husks. No one is going to turn her into a whining sub. Then she meets two men she desires; the problem is one is cool and distant, and the other is not human.

Warning: This novel features some quite graphic sex scenes, some of which include fetishes. These scenes are all consensual and integral to the plot.

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