Office Perks

by Monica Belle

  In the morning I knew I had to act. Bobbie was up early, with an assignment in Croydon, and by half-past eight I was sitting in a café sipping hot black coffee and convincing myself that the series of lies I was about to tell were white ones. That done, I made for home, to pack and inform Mum that I was off to the Caribbean for a week to work as PA for a non-existent Ms Andrea Miller.

  Next on the list was Niall, down at his garage. I was sure he’d have found out about me kissing Todd Byrne, and I was fairly sure he’d be angry, however hypocritical that was. All the way there I was telling myself I’d have to lay down the law and tell him just how things really stood. What I actually did was answer him back with a sharp retort, pointing out that, had it not been for Todd, Father Jessop would have made my life difficult for a long time to come. After a few heated words he accepted what I was saying; we ended up kissing and cuddling, and would have done it on the floor if the garage had I been even slightly less busy. I also told him I was off to the Caribbean with Ms Andrea Miller, stressing the Ms, and agreed to go out with him and stay over.

  That evening he was surprisingly tender, almost soppy, and also as horny as hell. After a meal and a few drinks he had me in the living-room, in the bathroom and twice in bed. By the morning I was tired, sore and more conflicted than ever, but still determined. I was going, and that was that.

  I was up at six, home at half-past, and out of the house with my bags by seven. It was hot, and after lugging everything to the KMC building I was very glad indeed of Charles King’s company limo. From then on it was a breeze, limo to Heathrow, business class seats to Freeport and an internal flight to Matthew Town. The last leg took us over the tip of Great Inagua, an expanse of rugged hills and flats in shades through dusty grey-green to brilliant emerald, set in bright blue sea with the shallows picked out in paler tones. Just to look at it made me want to strip off and leap into the sea, and when we got out of the plane and the heat hit me the urge grew stronger still.

  There was a car to meet us at Matthew Town, driven by a boy who looked about sixteen, with the darkest skin I’ve ever seen and a big, cheerful smile. I returned it, my eyes on the sleek, bare muscles of his chest, just as his were on me, but Charles barked an order and he busied himself with our cases before I could introduce myself. From the airport we drove out along the coast, with the sea to our right, the most wonderful rich blue with whitecaps scattered across it as far out as I could see, a fretful surf breaking on the beach and large lizards basking on the sun-baked rocks.

  Charles’s villa proved to be over half-an-hour’s drive down the coast, and it was even more remote than I’d imagined. The road had long given way to a track, and an even rougher one led down to where the house perched above a tiny cove of perfect white sand. I got straight into my bikini, while the boy, Sam, was still unloading the car. I slapped about a gallon of factor 25 on my pale Irish skin, trotted happily down to the water, and plunged in.

  Just hours before, and it seemed like no time at all, I’d been lugging my bags down the Kilburn High Road, and now I was floating free in cool, sunlit water. It was pure bliss, a truly wonderful moment, and made all the better because I knew that a good girl would have been processing files in the Centrans building, and very good girl would have been making tea for Father Jessop. I was a bad girl, I intended to continue being a bad girl, and I was swimming in the Caribbean, and if I had to spend the rest of my life with every miserable po-faced git I came across looking down their noses at me, it would be worth it.

  My solitary idling lasted a good while before I was brought back to earth, at least partially, by the arrival of Charles. He was dressed in black swimming trunks and sunglasses, his upper body and legs quite bare, and nicely muscular, attractive, for all the touch of grey in his hair. I was lying in the shallows, letting the little waves rock my body back and forth, and smiled up, grateful for the opportunity he’d given me and glad to be in his company. He returned my smile, his eyes moving lazily down my body.

  ‘You see, this is where your bikini was made for.’

  I rolled over and crawled a little way out of the water to flop myself down on the sand beside him. He was wrong. My bikini was made for some fashionable beach, where everyone would know it was a La Madeleine and be suitably envious as well as admiring what it showed of my figure, which was just about everything. Here, there was no reason to show off, and no reason to tease. I told him.

  ‘No. This is where I can go stark naked without a care in the world.’

  As I spoke I’d tweaked open the fastening of my bikini top. I pulled it free, lifted my bum to push the bottoms down off my hips, kicked them away, and I was naked – deliciously, uninhibitedly naked. Charles gave a pleased chuckle as I lay back down, my eyes closed, in a state of sleepy bliss. For a moment there was silence save for the gentle lapping of the waves, before Charles spoke again, just as his fingertips found the nape of my neck.

  ‘You’re right, of course, although it could never be wrong for you to be naked.’

  My answer was a low purr as he began to caress my neck. He wanted to have me, no question, and that was just fine, so long as he took his time and didn’t expect me to do anything active. I stayed as I was, my eyes closed, my head resting on my folded arms, my body slowly warming in the late afternoon sun. He didn’t speak, his caresses slow and gentle, but growing gradually firmer as he began to massage my back. It was so soothing, making me sleepier still, at first, until the even, steady rhythm of his pushes gradually began to turn me on.

  Still I didn’t move, enjoying the sensation as he rubbed up and down, from my neck to my midriff, to the small of my back, a little lower each time, so that before he’d even touched my bottom I wanted to push it up for his touch, and for his cock. When his thumbs at last began to press down on the first swell of my cheeks I thought he would do it, sure his cock had to be hard and his lust rising to the point where he’d be unable to hold himself back.

  To my surprise he skipped my bottom, moving down to my legs instead, first my feet, then my calves, and my thighs, until they’d come apart, showing my wet, eager pussy from behind. Still he stroked and caressed, gently squeezing my flesh, completely unhurried. I wanted mounting, fucking, good and hard, and to be made to come on his cock the way he brought me off the first time.

  I began to lift my bottom, more by instinct than choice, to show myself behind and make an invitation of my pussy. My breathing was already deep, and deeper still, a low panting as he finally took the hint and began to mould the flesh of my bottom, squeezing my cheeks and pulling them wide to stretch my bottom hole open. He was behind me, between my open thighs, everything on view to him, and on offer. I thought I’d get his cock at any moment, thrust hard into me, but it was his tongue that touched my flesh, and not my sex, but higher, pushed firmly onto my anus.

  My breath came out in a gasp and I was wriggling my bottom in his face, utterly uninhibited in my need. It felt so good, and if I was a little scared that he might try to bugger he, the pleasure of being licked was just too good to even think about making him stop. As he pulled back I was sobbing with need and apprehension, but I wanted to at least let him try. My bum stayed up, and when his cock settled between my open cheeks I was biting my lip, only to have the full, hard length eased in to my pussy.

  I stayed in that position as he used me, my bottom pushed up to meet his thrusts, my fingers grasping at the sand in my ecstasy. He was up on his arms, as if doing press-ups into me, then abruptly right on top of me, his hands under my chest to grasp my breasts, his belly slapping hard on my bottom as he rode me in a flurry of pushes, jerking himself free at the last second, to come over my bottom.

  Even as his sperm spattered down on my flesh I was reaching back, eager to masturbate, one hand under my belly, one hand behind, rubbing in what he’d done on my bottom. I was gasping with lust, too far gone to care about anything except my pleasure as I rubbed on my clit, my fingers down between my bum cheeks, touching the rude little hole where I�
��d been expecting him to put his cock. I came in a heaving, shuddering climax.

  Only one thing spoilt that first, glorious fuck. I was plastered with wet sand, and got straight back into the sea to wash it off, catching a movement on the balcony of the villa as I stood up. Realising the boy Sam must have been watching, and rather pleased with the idea, I made a joke of it to Charles. His response was to march up to the house and bawl the poor boy out, with a vengeance, calling him a dirty Peeping Tom and worse. I thought it was a bit harsh, and as soon as I’d got my bikini on I went up myself, intending to intervene.

  By the time I got there it was all over, and Charles apologised, both for his temper and the fact that Sam had seen me naked and watched us fuck. I assured him I didn’t mind, and got a brief lecture on the jealous male which left me wishing I had Mike and Ismael there to have me from both ends.

  After a delicious dinner of grilled fish, barbecued yams and rice he had mellowed out again, and so had I. We sat up, watching the sunset and long after, sipping rum as he expounded his philosophy of life, which was basically that, with one life to live, any sane person should squeeze out every last drop of pleasure they could. It seemed a little selfish, but I didn’t say anything, content to let him have his way.

  The night was hot and sticky, but with a huge fan rotating directly above the bed it was at least bearable. Charles liked his positions, especially those that let him enjoy my bum. After going doggy, I mounted myself backwards on him so he could watch his cock slide in and out between my cheeks, then with him on top of me the same way we’d done it on the beach. Afterwards I was left wet with sweat as well as come.

  We walked down to the sea, swimming together naked in the phosphorescence, with only the faint lights from the villa and the moon to see by. By the time we’d got out we were both fit for nothing but to lie in a sleepy, half-contented haze until tiredness finally caught up with us.

  The next day was more of the same: lazy, hot, with nothing to do but eat and shag and swim. I wanted to go nude all the time, because it felt right, and because I’d never before in my life had the chance to just be naked without anybody minding. Unfortunately somebody did mind – Charles, because Sam was about and he had friends who were likely to drop in unannounced when they discovered he was on the island. I didn’t make an issue of it, but stayed in my bikini and a light wrap.

  Some of the friends arrived that evening. They consisted of two Americans, Paul Castellani and Dan Bergman – one a small, precise top-flight New York lawyer, the other a big, loud businessman from Forth Worth. Both teased Charles about me, which was quite funny, and left me in the mood for a good, hard fucking once they’d gone home. I even asked to have my bottom smacked, but Charles was too rough, with none of the skill Bobbie and Sophie had shown.

  The next day we went fishing on Dan Bergman’s boat, which was not a success. I felt slightly queasy all day, without ever actually giving in to sea-sickness, while they seemed to take it for granted that I’d play the role of waitress and general galley slave while they sat harnessed in their chairs. When they did catch something, a marlin, I just felt sorry for the poor thing. It had been an exhausting day all round, and Charles barely managed to get it up that evening before falling asleep.

  By the next day I felt I was losing track of time. Nothing seemed hurried, nothing really seemed to matter and, if in the back of my mind I knew that this was an illusion from being under a rich man’s wing, I could see no reason not to enjoy the effect. I was coming to understand Charles’s character too, and that he wasn’t really so very different from Niall. Both were like lions, only comfortable as top male, easy with women, but naturally aggressive to other men. As he humped me one more time that night I was again wishing I had a nice cock to suck while he did it, and lamenting the pride that stopped my desire becoming reality.

  In the morning Dan Bergman rang to suggest another fishing trip, this time for shark. I declined, preferring to laze at the villa and perhaps explore a little, citing my queasy tummy as an excuse. Charles accepted my choice without making too big a deal out of it and, for the first time, I was left to my own devices. As the noise of the car faded, the villa was left in silence, made all the more intense by the occasional cry of a bird and the faint murmur of waves.

  My first thought was that at last I could go naked, and Sam wasn’t about. So I stripped nude, except for sandals and sun block, first to swim and laze on the beach, then, when it began to get really hot, indoors. It felt good, pleasantly naughty and unfamiliar, doing ordinary things but stark naked. Even reading a book in one of the big wicker chairs in the main room added to my gently climbing sense of arousal.

  By lunchtime I was on a slow burn, allowing my feelings to pick up with the sure knowledge that when Charles came back and put me on my knees for a seeing-to my climax would be truly glorious. I began to pose, thinking how he’d like to see me, bent a little to show off the curve of my back and the flare of my bottom cheeks, across the table with my feet set wide and my bum lifted for rear entry, crawling on the floor with everything flaunted in totally uninhibited display.

  I stayed nude as I ate a big paw-paw for my lunch, with the juice running down between my breasts as I spooned the pulp out. My hands got sticky too, and I ended up rubbing the juice into my breasts and teasing my nipples erect before pulling them to my mouth to lick off the sweet stickiness. By then my arousal was coming up towards boiling point, and as I stood on the veranda caressing my breasts and thinking dirty thoughts, I knew there was no way I could wait for Charles.

  Walking quickly to the bedroom, I turned the big fan on, triggering what seemed a deliciously cool down-draft of air. I climbed onto the bed, crawling, imagining Charles behind me, or any man, watching, his cock stiffening in his hand as his eyes feasted on my bare bottom and he imagined what he could do to me. Face down on the bed with my bum a little lifted, I reached back to stroke myself, letting my fantasy develop.

  He’d be rock hard, staring as I touched myself, my thighs open, as they were, my cheeks spread to show every rude detail between. I’d be teasing my pussy, tickling my bumhole, just as I was, bringing my pleasure very, very slowly up towards ecstasy. Four hours or more I’d been naked, my need slowly rising, and I wasn’t spoiling it. I told myself I wouldn’t touch my clit until I quite simply couldn’t help it.

  I rolled on my back, my eyes closed as I began to play with my breasts and my bottom, using my fingertips, and nails, to take myself higher and higher. The sun block was by the bed and I dribbled some onto my chest, rubbing it into my breasts until my nipples were so taut they’d begun to ache. More went between my bottom cheeks, to allow me to slip a finger in up the tiny hole between, a deliciously rude sensation. I slipped my thumb into my pussy, thinking how it would feel if instead of my fingers I had two cocks inside me, and a third in my mouth.

  Two men had been wonderful, what would three be like? How impossibly full would it feel to have cocks in pussy and up my bottom at the same time? For that matter, how would it feel to take a cock up my bottom at all? Dirty? Improper? Maybe too painful . . . or maybe not. My finger felt nice, and as I slipped a second in, nicer still.

  I could hear my own soft moans as I masturbated, a reaction I had little control over. My feelings were too high and still rising. I thought how I’d have to take my three imaginary men, mounted on top of the first with his cock in my me, leaving my bottom spread in a thoroughly rude pose, the little hole my fingers were working in spread to the second’s cock. Up he’d go, pushed deep, to fill me to my head, and the third would pop his in my mouth to let me suck. There were no men, but I wanted to get into the position to come, so flipped myself over onto my knees.

  . . . to catch a movement on the veranda outside. I froze, my heart hammering for just an instant as Sam darted away from the window through which he’d been watching me. Then I was running for the bathroom and a towel, burning with blushes. He’d seen; he had to have seen, everything, including me putting my fingers up my bo
ttom. It was hideously embarrassing, and left me feeling sexually vulnerable too, imagining him bursting in on me and thinking I was fair game for anyone.

  He wouldn’t dare, I was sure, but I was shaking badly as I quickly washed and threw a robe around myself. The only thing I could think of to do was act as if nothing had happened, maybe stick my nose in the air, because I could just imagine him with his ever-present grin, but now knowing, very knowing.

  Only when I’d got control of myself again did I dare to step out of the bathroom, to find him standing in the doorway. I nearly jumped out of my skin, and might have screamed, only he looked more frightened than I felt, and was babbling immediately.

  ‘I’m sorry, miss, I’m truly sorry. Don’t tell Mr King, will you? Please don’t tell Mr King. I’ll lose my job, I will, so please, please don’t tell. I didn’t mean to watch. I didn’t.’

  I put up my hands and he went quiet. My heart was still hammering, but my fear had vanished. He was no rapist, nothing like it, just a frightened boy, not frightened of me as such, but of his bullying employer who was my lover. King was such a pig to him, and would undoubtedly sack him on the spot. I tried to reassure him.

  ‘Relax, will you, I’m not going to tell Charles. I wouldn’t do that.’

  ‘No? Really not?’

  ‘No, not ever. Why would I? Look, you just scared me, that’s all, standing out on the balcony like that.’

  He nodded, shame-faced and apologetic. I didn’t really know what to say, beyond a completely ridiculous desire to point out that I didn’t usually stick my fingers up my bottom when I masturbated.