Office Perks

by Monica Belle

  ‘I, er . . . let’s have a beer, OK?’

  ‘I’m not allowed.’

  ‘Yes, but I am, and Charles is off fishing with his Septic friends.’

  He gave me another puzzled look.

  ‘Septics . . . septic tanks, Yanks, Americans. It’s rhyming slang, a way some people talk in London. Apples and pears. Septic tanks.’

  He was looking at me as if I was nuts, then slowly the grin returned to his face. I went to the fridge and took out a pair of cool bottles, then to the freezer, where Charles kept the glasses ice cold. I filled both and took them out onto the veranda, with Sam following, still rather hesitant. He took his beer, but kept glancing around as he drank it, as if expecting Charles to materialise out of thin air. I’d felt sorry for him from the start, but never realised he was quite so frightened.

  It was hard to know what to say at first, beyond asking questions about his life and the island. His responses were guarded at first, but he gradually loosened up, and we were laughing together by the time we’d finished our second beer. I felt more than a little odd, edgy, to think what he’d seen, and maybe because I’d been getting pretty close to orgasm when he’d caught me.

  By halfway down the third beer I’d decided I was going to give him the treat of his life. I needed it, for one thing, and he was attractive, in a boyish way, while the size of the bulge in his shorts had suggested interesting possibilities, and he seemed to be erect half the time. He wanted me too, and would enjoy it all the more for me being Charles’s lover.

  When I went to fetch another beer I loosened my robe a little, to allow the edges to fall open as I sat down, showing him quite a lot of thigh and maybe more. He responded with furtive glances, evidently believing it was accidental, but as we continued to talk, he began to swell in his shorts. I let my thighs slip a little further apart and gave him a glance from below half-lowered eyelashes. Still he sipped his beer, trying not to be too obvious as his eyes flicked repeatedly between my legs.

  I stretched and settled back in my chair, not bothering to rearrange my robe, which now lay half open, showing the inner curves of my breasts and at least hinting more forbidden delights. Still he sipped his beer and cast furtive glances.

  I adjusted my position yet again, allowing my robe to fall open, displaying one breast and the full swell of my mound. He swallowed his beer at a gulp and made a hasty and embarrassed adjustment of his cock, which was rock hard.

  I did no more but stood up, took him by the hand and led him into the bedroom. Once in there, I sat on the bed, pulled down his shorts and took him in my mouth, sucking eagerly as I held onto his firm, smooth legs.

  He never said a word, looking down at me in amazement as I sucked and licked at his cock, took his heavy balls in my mouth, and rubbed my face against him. Even when I shrugged off my robe and took him between my breasts he stayed silent, staring wide-eyed as I folded his jet-black cock into the creamy pale flesh of my cleavage. He might have been shocked, but he wasn’t backward, soon sliding about in my cleavage with my nipples rubbing on his flesh, until it was just too much for me.

  I lay back, pulling him on top of me, my breasts still held together around his lovely dark cock. He was long, but quite narrow, with a fleshy purple head that just needed kissing and licking. Soon I was giggling and trying to kiss and lick at his knob as he continued to rub against my breasts. He’d have done it in my face, maybe, but I wanted more, and pushed him down as my thighs came wide in invitation.

  He didn’t need any more encouragement, and mounted me, grinning as he filled me. I took my breasts in my hands, playing with myself as my fucking began, and hoping he’d take his time. It felt so good, and I wanted him to come with him inside me, perhaps even up my bottom, if I dared.

  I did. He was easy, no threat, somebody I’d never see again, and somebody who’d take it slow. My voice came urgent and broken as I pushed gently on his chest.

  ‘Stop, Sam, I want to turn over.’

  For the first time since I’d taken his cock in my mouth he spoke.

  ‘Yeah, great, I love your ass, in that bikini.’

  ‘And bare, yes? I know you were watching.’

  ‘Bare, yes, on the beach, and when you dress, in white panties.’

  ‘You’ve been watching me dress? You dirty little sod!’

  His answer was a big, toothy grin, and I’d rolled over, offering him my bum. He took hold of my cheeks, kneading them, pulling them wide and mumbling about what a beautiful bottom I had and how much he wanted to fuck it. His cock found my pussy hole and he was in me, pushing hard, to rob me of breath, until I forced myself, sure he’d spunk at any moment.

  ‘Lovely, thank you, Sam, thank you, but would you . . . oh God, just put it up my bum, please?’

  I could hear the embarrassment in my own voice, and when he didn’t answer for a moment I thought I might have put him off. Then his cock was being drawn slowly from my pussy hole, his thumbs had spread my bottom cheeks wide, my anus was showing to him, and I knew I was to be buggered.

  ‘Gently, Sam, slowly . . . don’t hurt me.’

  He didn’t speak, but I felt his cock head push to my bumhole and my mouth had come open against the bed sheets. I felt myself start to open, quite easy, my hole slippery with sun block and my own juices and, for the first time in my life, a cock was being introduced to my bottom hole. It did feel rude, deliciously improper, filling my head with lovely, dirty images of how sluttish I was as he eased it up. There I was kneeling in the nude on white sheets, copper-coloured curls spread out, as a beautiful young man took my anal virginity.

  Only when his balls met my empty pussy did I know he was all up. I was gasping and clutching the sheets as he began to move inside me, and I’d reached back for my clit, knowing I had to come over my first ever buggering.

  ‘Do it, Sam, nice and slow, and you can slap my bottom, if you like. Spank me, like I’m naughty.’

  I was letting him bugger me on Charles’s bed. He was hesitant, patting my cheeks as he moved himself slightly in my bottom, but he’d soon got the idea, slapping and laughing with delight as I played with myself. I was going to come, in moments, spanked and buggered on Charles’s bed. My clit was burning under my fingers as I rubbed, and his balls were pushing on my empty pussy, reminding me over and over of exactly where his cock was, deep up my straining bottom hole.

  When it hit me I screamed the house down. It was just such an utterly, wonderfully rude thing to be doing, and the feeling when my body went into contractions on his cock was something else, taking me up to a long, glorious peak with my fingers working urgently and my bumhole tightening over and over on his intruding cock. He gasped, jamming himself in as deep as he could go. The knowledge that he’d come too brought me up to a second, higher peak, with my fingers locked in the bed sheets, my mouth wide, my toes curling, and my screams of ecstasy echoing around the room and startling the birds from the trees.

  Sam was still pumping into me as I collapsed in a heap on the bed, and he stayed there, on top of me, still joined, holding me to him as we both went slowly limp. I could have lain there for ages, maybe until he was ready again, because it still felt nice, and it would have been good to be held and kissed a little before a second, equally thorough session. He was going to pull out, but I took hold of his hand, my voice a sigh as I spoke.

  ‘No . . . do me again, when you can. Shit! Move!’

  He’d heard it too, and he didn’t need telling, the growl of an engine, which could only possibly be Charles’s car. Sam tired to pull out, which hurt so much I had to tell him to slow down, wasting precious seconds as Charles’s tyres crunched on the gravel outside. As the engine died, as we caught voices, Charles, and Paul Castellani and Dan Bergman, Charles again.

  ‘Lucy! We’re back. Fetch some beers, would you?’

  My teeth Were gritted in pain as Sam finally pulled free, hopped back, tripped over his lowered shorts and went flat on his face on the floor. I was already scrambling for my robe, which
was on the floor, leaving me in an unutterably lewd pose as Charles’s footsteps sounded on the wooden stairs.

  ‘Lucy?’

  ‘Hi, Charles. I’m up here. Give me a moment, will you?’

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  I’d got my robe, and I’d pulled it on, albeit inside out, as Sam lurched out onto the balcony. Charles appeared, but I was sitting on the bed in my robe, dishevelled, sweaty, but alone. Sam was gone, and dashed for the steps down to the garden, straight into Paul Castellani and Dan Bergman as they came around the corner.

  The aftermath was horrid, shouting and screaming, accusations and threats, ending with me throwing my things together as Charles stood to one side in cold anger. Sam had run for it, with both Americans in angry pursuit, if not for long. They’d returned, puffing and full of righteous indignation for what Sam had done, for what I’d done.

  I didn’t even bother to answer their reproaches, walking away in near blind fury. Charles tried to call me back as I reached the gates of the villa and got a V-sign for his trouble. Thinking they might follow in the car I took off cross-country, through rocky scrub land that quickly left my legs scratched and the dress I’d thrown on badly torn around the hem, which only made me more angry.

  Finally I came out onto another track, hot, sweaty and bedraggled. I’d begun to calm down, and was wondering what I should do beyond my immediate need, which was to get out of the sun and quench my thirst. There was a shack visible some way ahead, the corrugated iron roof shimmering in the heat haze, with a green sign next to it. I made for it, praying it was a bar of some sort, which it was.

  The owner didn’t seem particularly surprised to see me, and let me have some badly needed water. Sitting in the shade of an awning with my bags around me, feeling utterly fed up, I tried to take stock.

  I was not going back, no way. My pride wouldn’t let me crawl to Charles, not if it meant I had to swim back to England. I had my passport, but no money, or tickets. I could call home, but it was going to take a lot of explaining, and if the truth came out I would, never, ever, hear the end of it. I could call Bobbie and ask her to wire me some money. She’d understand and help, although I had no idea how to go about it, and would obviously need to get to Matthew Town first.

  For the moment it was the sensible thing to do; get to Matthew Town, where I could get official help, or maybe work in a bar until I had the money for a flight home. Anything, so long as it didn’t involve Charles King, or risk my family and Niall finding out what had really been going on.

  Getting a lift was easy. A battered truck pulled in for petrol, driven by an old man and stacked with watermelons under a tarpaulin. I asked if he was going to Matthew Town and he agreed to take me, not even asking for petrol money. He talked non-stop all the way, and demanded a kiss when we arrived, our destination a fruit wholesalers. I gave it willingly, and got a watermelon as well as my lift.

  It was only a little way down to the water, where there was a smart hotel complex, then an open beach where a rickety pier extended into the sea. I went to sit on the pier, removing my shoes and dangling my aching feet into the water as I ate my melon and thought over my predicament. My anger had died down, but I still wasn’t going back to the villa. Charles King could rot before he’d have the satisfaction of me crawling to him.

  The best bet had to be to find somebody who could give me advice, perhaps a more experienced traveller. Certainly I should avoid going to the authorities if I possibly could, because that would mean explanations which, in the long run, were sure to lead to trouble. I wondered what a chambermaid or bartender was paid in the huge white concrete hotel along the beach. Probably not very much. It was better to wire Bobbie for help.

  In the UK it would be evening. Being mid-week, she’d probably be in. I got up and started along the beach. The hotel seemed as good a place to call from as any, but I looked a complete ragamuffin. I needed to change, something that was hardly going to attract attention on a beach. Digging into my bags, I found a white cocktail dress I’d brought in case Charles took me anywhere formal for dinner – an idea that now drew a bitter laugh to my lips.

  Outside the hotel the beach was crowded, but on my side of a low fence there were only a few stragglers, none of whom were taking any notice of me anyway. Quickly peeling off my dress, I slipped it on and extracted my bra through the side. A moment with a mirror and hairbrush and I no longer looked as if I’d been dragged through a hedge backwards, although I still felt sticky and uncomfortable. It would have to do, and I made for the hotel.

  The lobby was a huge, airy space, with cool air blowing down in a refreshing curtain immediately inside the door. I paused for a moment, enjoying the wonderfully fresh feel after the stifling heat outside, before walking across to the reception desk. A middle-aged man with a paunch hanging over a pair of vivid green and yellow shorts was managing to hold the attention of both the girls in banana-yellow uniforms, trying ineffectually to chat them up, and both turned as I approached.

  I explained that I was stranded and needed to call someone to wire me some money; that I didn’t have any on me but would gladly pay the appropriate charges when I did, and asked if I could contact a friend in the UK. They were sympathetic, but had to consult the manager, who proved to be a cow.

  No, I couldn’t make a call without paying at the time.

  No, it didn’t matter that I had no money and needed to make the call before I could pay for it.

  No, this was a hotel, not a charity. I should go to the police station in town.

  In the end I left before she could instruct the two yellow-uniformed heavies who’d begun to hover to throw me out. Feeling thoroughly fed up, I went outside, to sit on my bags by the roadside. There were other hotels, or it might even be an idea to try a private house. Eventually I’d succeed, probably once I found a man to ask.

  I was about to move on when the big American in the colourful shorts approached me, his red face split by a big, dirty grin, his hand extended in welcome.

  ‘Hi, I’m Harry. You say you’re stranded, clean out of money?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He sank down on his haunches, nodding and beaming.

  ‘How much d’you need?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Just enough for my airfare, but I couldn’t possibly ask –’

  ‘Uh, uh, stop right there. You ain’t asking nothing, missy, not for free. You just come up to Harry’s room for an hour, or maybe two, and I’ll pay your air fare, and maybe a bit over. You know, I’m looking for some female company on this little holiday of mine. My wife back home, she don’t like the heat too much. But I love it, and the local honeys too.’

  He let out a jovial belly laugh, devoid of all embarrassment or shame. He was brash and boisterous and it was obvious what he meant, blatantly obvious, and I was left gaping at his sheer nerve, too taken aback even to kick him in the balls. He took my silence, and my expression, for rejection, and stood up with a shrug.

  ‘You just think about my offer then, missy, and if you change your mind, I’m in five-seven-two, that’s suite five-seven-two.’

  He gave a final nod, let his gaze linger on my chest for a moment and made for the hotel. I watched him walk away, full of outrage and shock that he could have suggested such a thing, and so casually. And yet it would be so easy, a quick shag, something I’d done many times for the fun of it, sometimes just because I was drunk and some guy was persistent, so why not for money? I shook my head, amazed that I could even think such a thing.

  He was overweight, crude, as old as my Dad.

  But younger than Charles King.

  Although not as good looking, or wealthy.

  Not that wealth ought to matter.

  Yet he was seriously sleazy.

  And letting Sam bugger me wasn’t?

  I bit my lip, trying to find a really, really good reason not to do it. The disapproval of my family didn’t matter, or at least, it was theoretical disapproval, because I was hardly going to tell them. I guess t
hat was a bit of the old Catholic guilt creeping in. I’d always been told as a little girl that God could see everything – a shameful thought that still reminds me of what a sinner I am, if I think about it too much. If anything it helped weaken my resolve. Nor did I care what Niall would think, while I was sure both Bobbie, and Sophie even more, would not only understand, but support my decision. I was going to do it.

  He was halfway back to the hotel, sauntering in the evening light. I got up before I could lose my nerve, hurrying after him with my bags bumping on the ground. A passing tourist gave me an odd look, which I ignored, despite the uncomfortable feeling that she was able to read my mind, thinking, look at that Irish slut. If only her family knew what she was doing.

  ‘Excuse me, Harry. Hang on a minute,’ I shouted.

  He stopped and turned. I was wondering just what the hell I thought I was doing as I caught up with him, but it didn’t stop me.

  ‘I’ve changed my mind. OK?’

  He gave me his big, sloppy grin.

  ‘I thought you looked a sensible girl.’

  ‘Yeah, right. My air fare, OK, and enough to get me to the airport, and from Heathrow back to London.’

  ‘You’re on, baby,’ he said, expansively, as if he was the new Austin Powers or something.

  His hand closed on my bottom as he steered me through the door. A twinge of resentment caught me, but I didn’t speak out. He’d paid to touch, and there was no use complaining.

  I felt odd as we crossed the lobby, ascended in the lift and walked down a long corridor to his suite. I felt detached, as if I wasn’t really there, but observing another girl going to her fate. Once in the room he wasted no time as he asked me to pose for him, teasing with my dress, showing off the seat of my knickers, playing peek-a-boo with my tits, sticking out my bottom and slowly unveiling my cheeks, before finally going nude.

  By then his shorts and sandals were off and his cock was a hard pink pole in his hand. He was so eager, almost bursting, which made it very, very easy to take charge. I took him by the cock, led him into the showers and went down on him as cool water cascaded over our naked bodies. He was sighing with pleasure as I sucked him, and to my surprise he was complimenting me, on my hair, my waist, my tits, my bum, even my accent.