Amanda's Condition Read online

  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  About the Author

  Copyright

  AMANDA'S CONDITION

  Amanda’s Awakening: Book 1

  by

  Lana Cross

  CHAPTER ONE

  I’m weird. Not scary weird, or crazy weird, or even the occasional strange, single, still virgin woman in her mid-twenties kind of weird.

  Although technically that’s what I am - single, still a virgin at twenty-four, with zero prospects of getting laid.

  But that’s not my fault.

  Don’t get me wrong. Although I don’t have what most men call a ‘killer’ body, I consider myself fairly attractive in that next-door neighbor sort of way. I’m five feet seven inches tall with well-toned legs, a natural redhead (no, you don’t need to look down there - I’m completely shaved. Just trust me on this, okay?), and I’ve got a pair of pretty decent-sized jugs.

  It’s not my looks or body that’s the problem. It’s my condition.

  I lactate.

  Yeah, no shit.

  I’ve had this condition since high school. I have no idea why. I even Googled it a few times but no one seems to have a clue why this happens or how to fix it. Something to do about an imbalance in the prolactin level, whatever the hell that is.

  Anyway, so I have this condition, and the first time I was alone with a guy was in my senior year of high school. We were making out at the back of his shiny new Mustang that he got for his birthday. He had his hand under my shirt, fondling my breasts while we kissed, when he noticed the wetness. He pulled his hand out, saw the milky white substance, and freaked out. Long story short, he kicked me out of his car like I had some kind of disease. It was a humiliating experience, and I vowed never to let that happen to me again. I’ve never been with another man since, relying on an embarrassment collection of toys instead to help me get off when I needed to.

  Which was a lot of times.

  Oh yeah, that’s the other thing about me. I’m always so fucking horny. I don’t know if it’s related to my condition or if it’s just because I have never had sex with anyone, but I’m always craving for it.

  Like, always.

  I masturbate multiple times a day. I do it in the morning when I get up, at least twice while at work, and again in the evening. But that’s all I could do, and you know, sometimes, that just isn’t enough for me. I’ve got a super imagination so I’m constantly fantasizing about having a hard cock rammed deep into my wet, tight cunt.

  I thought that would be the extent of my sexual experience - going solo with my toys and my wild imagination as my only constant companions.

  However, things are about to turn around for me, in ways I could never have dreamed of.

  Thanks to my condition.

  Three separate events in a single day combined to shake up the meager, boring existence I had been living under for so long - the air conditioning unit in our office breaking down, my usual horny self, and the elevator ride.

  I worked in the accounting department of a large multi-billion dollar corporation - in the ground floor of a fifty-story skyscraper, pushing paper and crunching numbers. It was a mind-numbing, life-sucking job, but it was a job nonetheless. Like most of my generation, graduating from college in this recession-threatened, abysmal, shitty economy means an almost-guaranteed life of perpetual job hunting and getting paid minimum wage doing anything but what we had spent four years of training to do.

  On this fateful day, the air conditioning system sputtered and died. Our office, being entirely dependent on the cooling system as there were no windows to crack open, immediately plunged into sauna-level heat temperatures. Portable fans were brought in, but it did nothing to relieve us.

  The company enforced a strict dress code, so everyone was in business suits. However, on this day the heat got so oppressive that we were allowed to shed our jackets so we won’t faint. I thought maybe they would let us go home early, but, stupid me, of course that didn’t happen. We were told to work through the heat. Numbers had to be crunched, deadlines had to be met, and nothing short of a bomb was going to detract the work train.

  The heat affected me in another way. I felt a warm, pulsing sensation down there, between my legs. My pussy called to me, begged me to touch it, rub it, do things to it. I squirmed in my chair, crossed my legs and rubbed my thighs together under the desk, but it didn’t help. Finally I gave up. I opened my drawer, took out my purse, and made a beeline for the restroom.

  As I rounded the corner I saw the dreaded yellow plastic cone in front of the ladies room with the words “Not In Service” in big, bold letters.

  Shit.

  I stopped, undecided. I could go to the restroom on the next floor, or I could go back to my desk and suffer through my horniness. I had my fill of suffering for the day, so I turned on my black heels and headed for the elevators. There were four of them, two on either side of the large hallway. Three of the elevators stopped on every floor. The fourth was the executive elevator. It went from the ground floor straight up to the executive suites on the top floor.

  I gave the UP button of the common elevators five rapid punches with my index finger and stepped back to check the lights and see which one would open up first. All three elevators were creeping upwards, one painstaking floor at a time. It would take forever for the damn things to get back down. Forever.

  I glanced at the fourth elevator, and an idea formed in my mind. I could take the executive elevator to the top floor, then catch one of the common elevators from there and go down a floor or two, and be in the privacy of a restroom in no time.

  I didn’t hesitate. I gave the executive button the same treatment, my finger hitting it in rapid succession. The elevator door opened immediately. I jumped in, realizing only then that someone had stepped in after me. I turned and came face-to-face with none other than Clive Blackwood, the famous billionaire CEO of Blackwood Industries. My employer.

  Shit.

  I’ve never met the man before, but I’ve heard stories. Like any enclosed human establishment, the corporate world is buzzing with gossip, and there is no better topic around the water hole than the life and times of one Clive Blackwood. They say Mr. Blackwood is a strict and ruthless leader, and that everyone is scared of him. They also say Mr. Blackwood is known to take young women up with him to executive floor, also known in the trenches as the Sexecutive Floor, where he ties them up, tortures them, and ravishes them sexually until they beg him to stop.

  I wanted to bolt out of the elevator, but Mr. Blackwood had already pressed the button for the single floor in the panel, and the door slid close without a sound. He turned and regarded me with his tanned, chiseled face and cool blue eyes. I felt like a deer caught in the headlights. I was paralyzed, unable to move, incapable of speech. His lips moved. He had said something. What was it?

  I forced myself to snap out of it. I cleared my throat. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

  Mr. Blackwood stared at me, then smiled. He extended a large, manicured hand. “I’m Clive Blackwood. To whom do I owe the pleasure of this company?”

  I shook his hand. It felt warm and soft. “Hi, I’m Amanda. From Accounting.”

  He held my hand, looked me over, then his eyes rested on my chest. I looked down, and realized to my horror that I had been leaking, the two circles of wetness visible through my white blouse, my nipples now protruding through the fabric. I always leaked whenever I felt horny, but my jacket usually covered it up. Thanks to the broken air conditioning, I had taken it off and forgot about it.

  I pulled
my hand away and crossed my arms around my breasts. I felt the blood rush to my face in embarrassment. I suddenly felt naked and exposed.

  “Well, Amanda from Accounting,” he said, his voice low but gentle. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  “Ah, same here, Mr. Blackwood. Nice to meet you too.”

  “I haven't seen you around. Are you new?”

  “No, sir,” I said. “I’ve been with the company for a couple of years now.”

  Mr. Blackwood nodded, still gazing at me. The photos I've seen of him did not do him justice. It wasn't just because of his handsome features and the well-built body that strained against a very expensive-looking gray suit. He projected a raw, elemental power that no magazine photo could capture. There was an unmistakable presence about him, and I found myself attracted to him in a way I’ve never felt toward anyone else. He emanated a certain sense of raw sexuality and danger. An uncontrollable wave of lust hit me. I could feel the wetness between my legs and a strange pounding in my chest. I blushed and looked away, afraid he might see through me.

  I stared straight ahead, willing the elevator door to open up so I can run away. I could see his reflection through the chrome door. He was still looking me over. Crap, it looked like he was checking me out. What the hell?

  After what seemed like an eternity, the elevator finally came to a stop and the door slid open. Mr. Blackwood held it with one arm and beckoned me to go ahead. I would have gone on ahead anyway, given my current state of anxiety, but I gave him props for being a gentleman.

  I scurried out, found the other elevator, and jammed my finger at the DOWN button repeatedly. From the periphery I saw Mr. Blackwood get out, walk a couple of steps, then stop.

  “Miss Amanda?” he said without turning around.

  Panic shot through me. “Yes, Mr. Blackwood,” I croaked.

  “A moment of your time please, if you will.”

  Shit.

  I took one last look at the elevator, hoping against hope that it would open at that instant and I could jump in, ride it all the way down, return to my cube, and forget this whole thing ever happened.

  No such luck.

  “Yes, sir. Of course, sir,” I said, turning to follow him.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The elevator had deposited us in a large, softly lit waiting area. In the middle was a large reception desk. Behind it were three gorgeous-looking young women, all blonde, and all with bluetooth headsets attached to one ear. On the mahogany wall behind them were the words “Blackwood Industries” stenciled in large gunmetal gray letters.

  “Hold my calls, Brenda,” Mr. Blackwood said, turning to the left.

  “Yes, Mr. Blackwood,” the woman in the middle said without looking up from her computer monitor.

  I quickened my pace and followed him through a large hallway. This was definitely not like the accounting department, I thought. The floor was made of some kind of light, mirror-like wood. The walls were of a similar type of wood, but darker in color. Expensive-looking paintings adorned the walls, each one encased in an elaborate frame and lit by its own small lamp. At the end of the long hallway was a large, wooden double-door. Next to it was a marble statue of a woman naked from the waist up. She had both hands held high behind her head, accentuating her perfectly shaped breasts. She looked like some kind Greek goddess. The carving and the detail was exquisite.

  “What do you think?” Mr. Blackwood said, studying me with those unsettling, intense blue eyes.

  “It’s beautiful,” I said. “Like a Greek goddess of some sort.”

  He nodded. “Aphrodite.”

  “Greek goddess of love, beauty, pleasure, and procreation,” I said.

  Mr. Blackwood raised his eyebrows. “Very good, Miss Amanda.”

  I blushed and shrugged. “I… I read a lot.”

  “You’re quite a bundle of surprises,” he said while pressing a button set seamlessly in the wood. A panel slid up, revealing a numeric keypad. He keyed in a series of numbers. From somewhere in the depths of the thick door, a bolt clanged, then there was a subtle beep. Mr. Blackwood turned the bronze knob, and the heavy door opened quietly and without the slightest resistance. A series of recessed lightings turned on as he walked into the room. I followed him in, then stopped.

  The place was huge, and unlike any office I’ve ever seen. It was like stepping into a study and a museum rolled into one. More paintings and sculptures adorned the walls on either side. The walls themselves were made of some expensive wooden, wrap-around bookshelf. The entire wall was one giant bookshelf, from floor to ceiling. The ceiling. I looked up, and it was like looking at an elaborate canvas painted into the sky. Think Sistine Chapel, except this one had depictions of gods and mortals in a great battle, set in some kind of ancient battleground.

  “Holy fuck,” I whispered, staring in awe.

  Mr. Blackwood turned, and I heard him laugh for the first time. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone say those words in this room.”

  “Oh. I’m so sorry, Mr. Blackwood.”

  He waved his hand and placed his leather bag on one of the chairs. “Don’t worry about it. I’m glad you approve.”

  I looked around. A large white leather couch took up the center of the room. Next to it was a curved, almost like a wave-looking, very modern chair with a thick, white leather padding. A slim lamp arched beside it on one side. To the left was a mini-conference room enclosed in glass, and to the right, a full bar. Set far back in the center was a large, immaculately clean desk flanked by two mesh chairs. Behind the desk, a large glass window displayed a grand view of the city below.

  “Please have a seat,” Mr. Blackwood said, gestured toward the desk. I made my way across, my shoes echoing in the quiet room. I sat in the chair to the left, expecting Mr. Blackwood to get behind his mammoth desk, but he surprised me by taking the chair across from me, unbuttoning his coat as he sat.

  “So, Miss Amanda,” he said, looking at me with those piercing eyes. “You like elevators.”

  “I…, it was a mistake. I didn’t realize…”

  He smiled. “Just kidding. Don’t sweat it, people make that mistake all the time. They get in before realizing there’s only one floor it goes to. Most get right out, but a few adventurous souls do go for the ride. I’m glad you did.”

  “Oh.”

  “So tell me about yourself.”

  “What would you like to know?”

  “Are you married?”

  What an odd question to ask an employee, I thought. “No, I’m not.”

  “Any kids?”

  “Um, no.”

  He nodded and sat back. He seemed to be thinking deeply about something, weighing his options. An uncomfortable silence hung in the air. Finally he made up his mind and leaned forward.

  “Miss Amanda, there’s no easy way around this, so I’ll just go ahead and say it. This is going to sound very personal, because it is. Please don’t think that your position in this company is in any way affected by the answer you give me. I just need to know.”

  I had no idea where this was leading up to, but suddenly I felt very nervous.

  “Miss Amanda, in the elevator, I couldn’t help but notice something. Your blouse.”

  “Yes?”

  “It was wet.”

  I blushed.

  “Are you… lactating?”

  I wanted to get up, tell him it’s none of his damn business and that he can go straight to hell, and storm out of his office. But as I looked into his eyes, I saw something. Not repulsion or disgust, but something quite opposite: lust. It took me by surprise, to find out someone actually liked me in this condition.

  I nodded.

  “But you’re not nursing, and you’re not pregnant, correct?”

  I nodded again.

  “Please,” he said, gesturing to my arms, which had been tightly wrapped across my chest all this time. “You don’t have to be ashamed. It’s a wonderful gift, what you have.”

  I hesitated, then let my arms fal
l. I could feel my breasts sticking to my blouse, but I didn’t dare look down.

  “There, much better.” Mr. Blackwood stared at my breasts with obvious longing. He licked his lips, got up and walked to the bar. “Would you like a drink, Miss Amanda?”

  “Um, I’m still on the clock, sir.”

  “You’re also with the CEO, and he’s offering you a drink.”

  I did want a drink. Bad.

  “A martini would be nice, sir, if you have it.”

  “One martini coming up.”

  I watched him expertly mix the drink. He moved with a quiet confidence I never saw in anyone else. There was definitely the element of power and raw sexiness about him. I fidgeted in my chair, wondering what kind of rabbit hole I had gotten myself into.

  He came back and handed me a clear Martini with two olives skewed together by a metal toothpick in the form of a sword. In his other hand was a Scotch. No ice. He sat down and motioned for a toast.

  “To you, Miss Amanda.”

  I didn’t know what to say, so I just smiled as our glasses clicked. I took a sip. It was the best damn martini I’ve ever had in my life. I took a few more sips before taking one of the olives and dropping it in my mouth. The taste was exquisite. I could feel the warmth of the alcohol spreading through my body, working its liquid magic on me, taking the edge off.

  “You make an excellent martini, sir.” I said.

  “Thank you.”

  I downed the rest of my drink and set the empty glass on the desk.

  “Mr. Blackwood,” I began.

  “Yes?”

  “What am I doing here?”

  “I have a proposal for you.”

  “What kind of proposal?”

  “I’d like to give you ten thousand dollars, right now, if you would have sex with me.”

  I stared at him in shock. “Excuse me?”

  “Miss Amanda, I have some very specific fetishes. One of them, in particular, is to have sex with a beautiful woman who is lactating.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, Miss Amanda. You. I’d like to do things to you that I promise you will enjoy, and enjoy a lot, and I am willing to pay for the pleasure of your company.”