by Monica Belle
‘Why me?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Why me, here?
‘The agency sent you.’
‘Yes, but you’d asked for Sophie, and she and I are not so very different. I’m sure some of these women would love to play with you, and I don’t just mean golf.’
He laughed.
‘They’re plastic, false. Everything about them is contrived. You, you’re as fresh as a daisy, free and uncomplicated.’
I couldn’t help but smile, although I wasn’t one hundred percent happy with the implications of what he’d said. Still, I could be free, certainly, and perhaps uncomplicated, if that was what he wanted.
He found me a pair of shoes and we went outside, to a long, flat meadow behind the house, presumably once the main lawn but now a practice range. They were taking no chances, with a twenty foot high net behind us and trees and bushes to either side, creating a long aisle of grass. A row of flags stood at the far end. Richard tossed a couple of balls down on the turf and selected a club.
‘The aim, basically, is to get the ball in the hole,’ he began.
‘I know that. Let me have a go,’ I said impatiently.
‘It’s not quite that simple,’ said Drake, with a smile, ‘but OK.’
How hard could it be? I’d seen people playing golf on TV, and it had to at least be a lot easier than football or tennis, where you’ve got somebody trying to stop you doing what you want. I took the club from Richard and waited while he balanced a ball on a little plastic peg. There were other people around, and I imitated the way they were standing, legs braced apart, body slightly bent. The position left my bum stuck out and I gave Richard a little wiggle, just to tease him, lifted the club, and brought it down on the ball as hard as I possibly could.
I missed, completely, but let go of the club, sending it flying and leaving Richard trying not to laugh.
‘Here, let me show you,’ he said with smooth authority.
I nodded. He retrieved the club, and this time came to stand behind me, his arms around me and his hands on mine as he guided me. My bum was now stuck right in his crotch, and I could feel the bulge of his cock, firm and urgent under his suit trousers. Clearly there was more to golf practice than met the eye. I gave the same little wiggle I had before, but now against his cock, and was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath. He kept his cool, though, helping me lift the club and bring it down on the ball, nice and smooth, to send it maybe thirty feet, but at least in a straight line.
‘Good, well done. You see, it’s all in the stance.’
‘Sure, but I’d take forever to get to the hole like that.’
‘The green. First the green, then the hole. These things have to be done in stages.’
I raised an eyebrow, wondering how many stages he was planning. Not too many, to judge by the state of his crotch, which was making a large bulge in the front of his trousers. I made a point of bending over as I adjusted the little peg and balanced the second ball on it, sure his eyes would be firmly fixed to the round swell of my bum. He was going to come dose again, making me imagine how it could be, me bent, skirt up, knickers down, and his cock slid right up. But not right outside the windows of a Super golf dub, presumably. I’m sure they have rules about that sort of thing.
‘Let me try again,’ I said, aiming to look as cute as possible.
‘OK.’
He stood back, watching me with his mouth set in a slight smile, just a little smug. I got into position, determined to show him I wasn’t completely useless, positioned the dub against the ball, wiggled to get my pose just right, lifted the dub, and brought it down, to send the ball belting off, high in air and too fast to follow.
It went almost at right angles to where we were standing and straight in among the tress. It hit, bounced back in a high arch which I followed with my mouth wide open, up, up, over the net and down, clean through the restaurant window. I closed my eyes, waiting for the tirade.
It never came, just laughter, and with that I was sold. I’d been flirting, just enjoying the possibility that I might go to bed with him. If he’d been pushy, demanding, treated me as if he’d bought me, it would have been right out. He was just the opposite, a bit condescending, maybe, but mucking about and up for fun, even when I managed to smash up his golf club. He was still trying not to laugh as he moved off towards the club house.
‘I’d better square that with somebody on the committee. Get in a bit more practice, but gently!’
He disappeared around the corner of the house and I was left to play with his clubs, trying my best to reach the little flags at the far end and failing miserably. Whoever he’d gone to speak to must have been giving him a hard time about the window because he took ages. I was bored by the time he got back, and half expecting him to be pissed off after sorting things out, but he’d kept his humour, settling for a pat of my bottom as he came up behind me.
‘Enough for now, I think. How about a spot of lunch?’
‘Sure. What’s actually happening, by the way? Sorry to have to ask, but Sophie didn’t tell me all that much.’
‘We’re going to Interconference.’
‘Well yes, but how long for, where is it, what is it, what should . . .’
I’d been going to ask what I should do, but that seemed pretty obvious and I didn’t want to seem totally naïve. He looked slightly puzzled.
‘Interconference, this afternoon, in Ealing.’
‘Ealing? Oh, right . . . and just this afternoon?’
‘Of course. Weren’t you given any details at all?’
‘No, not really.’
I held back a bit because I was blushing and I didn’t want him to see. There I was, imagining myself being whisked away to some remote part of country and carefully seduced, while all the time he just wanted me to hang on his arm for the afternoon. I’d been bringing myself around to accept sex, even to want it, and it wasn’t going to happen. He’d never intended that it should. I could see the funny side, but I was still feeling embarrassed as he guided me to the dining-room.
It was beautiful, if somewhat spoiled by the men cleaning up broken glass in one corner of a big, high-ceilinged room that was wood-panelled and hung with paintings. Every table was set with a glittering array of crystal, crockery and cutlery, also flowers and white linen napkins in silver rings. I immediately felt out of place, sure everyone was looking at me, and that everyone knew I was the one who’d smashed the window.
Richard took no notice, allowing the waiters to help us into our seats and frowning over the menu and a wine list a good two inches thick. I was more than a little distracted, and still embarrassed but amused at myself, unable to get the thought of how the bump of his cock had felt pressed between the cheeks of my bottom, and what I’d expected in consequence. He paid no attention, asking what I wanted to eat before making a careful selection from the wine list. Champagne, then something red.
The champagne had soon arrived, presented in a bucket of ice with a napkin laid carefully around the neck. The waiter made a great show of opening the bottle and pouring a tiny amount into Richard’s glass for his approval. It was given and our glasses were filled. I downed mine, grateful for the refreshment and in need of a shot of alcohol. Richard took a single, delicate sip, then refilled my glass.
‘This is excellent; a pity I’m driving.’
I nodded, considering the prospect of most of two bottles. Our food arrived, some fancy dish involving king prawns for him and whitebait for me. We fell to talking, quite easily really, with Richard asking the questions and me answering as best I could. He seemed genuinely interested – in Ireland, in what I did as a temp, in my prospects at university, and not at all in a hurry.
Steaks and salad washed down with strong red wine followed, and chocolate cake, with which he insisted on getting me yet another wine, this time sweet and maybe even stronger than the red. By the time we’d finished I could barely get up. My stomach was a hard, round ball and my head was swi
mming with drink. I’m used to it, though, and managed to leave the club without doing anything stupid, either in the way of falling on my arse or offering Richard a blow-job in the loos.
I wanted it, though, just as soon as I could move; to be laid down and very gently undressed, all the way, until I was stark naked, then slowly teased to readiness, and fucked. If he had any idea of the state he’d got me in he didn’t show it, merely offering an arm and helping me into his car, smiling all the while. He’d barely drunk anything, and drove back towards London with an easy confidence. I’d got two bottles inside me, and spent the journey staring out of the window with my mind drifting lazily between the thought of having sex with him and the growing tension in my bladder.
The sex could wait. My need to pee couldn’t. The moment we got to our destination and through the check-in I was making for the Ladies. Interconference turned out to be a vast and brand new centre, the main area a great airy space beneath a dome not much smaller than the one at Greenwich. It was packed with stands, all to do with technical stuff, engineering, computers, even lubricant technology, whatever that was.
I made my way across the concourse, following a little green sign suspended from the ceiling on wires. It wasn’t at all obvious where I was actually supposed to go, and still less so when I’d got in behind the stands. The first door I tried opened into some kind of storeroom, stuffed with bits of display stand and hoardings advertising everything from timeshare to rolled steel. After a very brief nose about I tried the next, and struck luck.
Relieved, I went to find Richard, wanting to be with him, and vaguely aware that I should be doing what he was paying me for. If I wasn’t to be taken to a hotel, seduced and shagged, I was presumably just supposed to smile and pass the odd compliment, maybe flirt a little. I was too drunk to care much anyway, full of lust and mischief too.
He was at a stall, involved in a highly technical discussion about suspension systems. I joined him, taking his arm, was introduced, complimented on my hair, and then they went back to suspension systems. It was the same at the next stand, only involving magnetic oils, and the next, chromatics, and the next, rubber technology. By the time they’d finished with rubber technology I was bored silly and beginning to feel I was really and truly earning my money. My feet hurt, I was beginning to regret the amount of drink I’d put back, and my sense of erotic mischief had given way to a dull frustration and a slight headache.
Richard was consulting his catalogue as we moved away from the stall, and nipped in to the space between them and the outer wall to take a short cut. One more bike tech stall and my brain was going to explode, so I didn’t hesitate, but took him firmly by his tie. He looked around, surprised. I smiled, looking up into his bright blue-grey eyes.
‘I think you’d better come with me.’
‘Yes? Is there something you particularly wanted to see?’
‘Yes, there is.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Your cock.’
He never even broke his stride, but let me lead him, smiling gently, to the storeroom I’d found earlier. We pushed quickly inside and I closed the door, jamming it with a big piece of red and yellow painted chipboard under the handle. My need was coming back, hot and strong, and I went straight to him, leaning up to kiss him, letting my mouth open to his as he took me in his arms. He wasted no time, one hand coming quickly round to cup a breast, the other moving lower, onto my bottom. I held on, letting him explore as we kissed, enjoying the taste of him and the feel of his strong hands on my body.
I was pressed tight to him, his cock swelling against my flesh, the cock that would shortly be mine, to touch, to suck, to take inside myself. My hand went down, his zip came low and I pulled it out, thick and heavy in my hand. I began to tug on him, kissing more fervently than ever, my body shivering with need as he expanded in my hand. He was nearly stiff when I went down, to take him in my mouth, sucking to let the male taste fill my senses and set me shaking harder still. As I took the head of his cock into my throat he sighed.
‘Yes . . . like that . . . that’s beautiful. Make me come, Lucy.’
‘Uh, uh, I want it all, inside me,’ I said.
I pulled back, looking up, as his penis reared above my face. He nodded and glanced around the room.
‘You’d better bend over, then, young lady.’
I nodded in turn, more than happy to comply, thinking of him between my bottom cheeks. There was a stool in the corner, just comfy enough to bend over for a good fucking. I went, bum up, tugging at my skirt even as I got into position. Richard watched, cock in hand, his eyes lingering on my rear as I showed off first my knickers and then my bare bum, ready to take him.
He came forward, and as he pushed his rock-hard erection down between my cheeks I was fumbling with the buttons of my blouse. They came open, and I pulled up my bra to free my breasts, even as the head of his cock found my hole and he was inside me, filling me up with two long, firm pushes. He caught me by the hips, fucking me hard and jamming me against the stool, so that I was forced to cling on, panting and gasping as he drove himself into me, hard and fast. I lost control, shaking my head in my ecstasy, my body quivering to his thrusts.
For a long moment I could do nothing but cling on and take it, a rough, powerful fucking, as hard as Niall gave me, or even Todd. It didn’t matter. Only when he slowed down for a moment could I get my fingers where they were needed, to my clit, to touch the hard shaft of his erection where it entered my body; to stroke the lips of my open sex as he began to pump more firmly once more. I was going to come in moments, bent over, stripped and fucked in the storeroom of an exhibition hall with hundreds of people just yards away. It was from behind too, as I’d imagined it, and as his thrusting grew faster and more urgent still I thought of how he had first pressed between my bottom cheeks and how inappropriate the whole situation was.
He should have taken me then and there on the green, and balls (literally) to the golf committee. They could have watched from the windows as he lost control with me, me with my skirt high, him ripping my blouse open, tearing my knickers off, and stuffing the full, glorious length of himself up me from the rear with several hundred people watching in shock or delight, in lust or envy, utterly horrified or keen to take their turn with me.
I groaned as I came, because I couldn’t help myself. Richard immediately snatched at my mouth, holding my jaw shut, to leave me writhing on his cock, helpless in my orgasm, barely able to breathe, shuddering and biting at his fingers. He held on tight, until at last I’d finished and he was ramming into me again, harder than ever. I clutched onto the stool, determined to take it, gasping out my reaction as his hard belly slapped onto my bottom and his cock drove in, harder and deeper, fully taking advantage of the saucy little temp who’d crossed his path and wriggled herself against him.
It stopped, suddenly. His cock came free and he was groaning and grunting out my name as he finished himself off over my upturned bottom. I let him, too exhausted to protest, too well-fucked. He even apologised when he was done, and passed me a handkerchief – monogrammed, naturally – to clean up. I did it quickly, sure that we’d be interrupted at any moment, and terrified of being caught with my knickers down despite the jammed door.
That was that, the end of my day and my first shagging by a suit. I was really rather pleased with myself. I’d coped. I’d done more than cope. In fact, I was well pleased with myself, because I’d done what I wanted to do, and enjoyed myself without letting anything get in the way or picking up any emotional baggage. Not only that, but I’d done it without having the faintest idea what was going on. However pleased with myself I might be, Sophie had some questions to answer.
I tried to call her on my way home from Watford, but her mobile was off. It looked like I was going to be back at Tilbury the next day too, which was a serious pain. Egg and chips for tea didn’t help any either. As I ate I was thinking of my three-course lunch, and of how easy and pleasant Richard Drake’s life was. Maybe T
alia was right, and the best thing to do was find a wealthy lover and take it easy. It made sense, yet the idea grated against my pride.
When the phone went on the Wednesday morning I had my fingers firmly crossed, praying it would be Mrs Maryam Smith and that she wouldn’t be sending me to Tilbury. It was, and she wasn’t. I had an assignment in the West End, at a theatre. I went in full of anticipation, imagining myself doing something exciting, even glamorous, helping out backstage, perhaps even with costumes or make-up, even meeting the stars . . .
The job involved sitting at a table in a dusty room in a shed built on at the back of the theatre, putting perforations in ten thousand tickets which had been delivered without them. It also involved Sophie, who turned up ten minutes after I’d been put to work, greeting me with a hug and a kiss that drew a look of disapproval from the woman who’d been set to watch over us, presumably to make sure we didn’t pinch any tickets. I had to ask.
‘So, yesterday?’
‘Yeah, thanks, Lucy, that was so good of you. I’d dropped myself right in the shit.’
‘Good of me? You didn’t give me a lot of choice.’
She gave me a puzzled look.
‘Sure I did. You could have just told him to fuck off, couldn’t you?’
‘Yes, but, it might have been nice to know what was going on!’
‘Yeah, yeah, I should’ve rung, sorry. The thing is, I got two at the same time, you know how it is, and –’
‘Would you two please concentrate on your work. It is very important.’
The supervisor had spoken, and I bit back my responses, both to Sophie, asking if ‘how it is’ involved shagging clients of Super Staff, and to the woman, asking why if it was so important she wasn’t doing it herself. I knew the answers anyway. Richard Drake hadn’t expected to be dragged into the store room, but he hadn’t been that surprised either. The supervisor was far too important to lower herself to manual labour.
We weren’t, but we were being paid for a full day, regardless, and so it made sense to work as fast as we could and hope that if we managed to finish early we’d be given the rest of the day to ourselves, or at least a more interesting task than making perforations. It was hard work too, tedious and tough on the muscles and the skin, leaving my arms and shoulders aching and a blister on my thumb by lunchtime. We’d done more than half, and the supervisor grudgingly let us out for a half-hour break. I had a dozen questions to ask Sophie the moment we were out of earshot, but she got in first.
