Getting Down To Businessbykrr1957©
This story deals with themes of female domination and coercion in a lesbian setting. If you think that you are likely to be offended by such material please try a different story.
It was with a degree of trepidation that I pressed the button for the fifth floor. The last time I had been here it was as the queen bee, the chairman's daughter, looking over a company that would one day be mine.
Now I was here in disgrace. The University had pulled up short of expelling me but out of consideration for my father, one of their major benefactors, it was suggested that I might want to take a gap year. I guess I got off lightly. There had been talk of police involvement and the possibility of assault charges but my fathers influence had smoothed things over.
When he questioned me about the incident I had to lie to him. I could hardly tell him that I had taken umbrage because a man had refused to go down on me. I was not the little girl he once knew.
I had been a plain Jane, studious, reserved, getting the grades necessary to secure a place at one of the best Universities in the country but then, in the space of twelve short months mother nature chose to bless me.
I grew inches taller and I developed my mother's breasts. The puppy fat that gave my face its childish cast fell away and the beautiful swan was revealed. Suddenly all the young men who had previously shunned me found excuses to be in my company.
I guess it was this that made me resentful. I hated the fact that they did not want me for the person I was but for the sexual being I had become. I developed into a tease, stringing them along until I got what I wanted and then dumping them unceremoniously.
I exited the lift to find that the secretary's desk outside Amanda's office was vacant and so, taking a deep breath, I knocked at her door. There was no immediate answer and so I tentatively tried the door handle only to be brought up short by a bellowed command.
I stepped back, shocked by the angry tone of voice, and a moment later Amanda's secretary came out of the room. She looked a little flustered as she walked past me.
"You can go in."
Amanda certainly did not look her usual composed self. She was now in her thirties but I had known her since childhood and had always admired her beauty. Her father was English but her mother was Hong Kong Chinese which gave her an exotic mix of features.
She had large, dark brown, eyes beneath a high forehead but her face was balanced by a neat nose and a full mouth.
She was highly intelligent and my father had sponsored her through Harvard Business School before putting her in charge of the media division. As I stood in front of her I remembered just how arrogant I had been at our last meeting.
She straightened her lustrous mane of black hair and from the high colour in her cheeks I assumed that I had interrupted some sort of argument.
"Take a seat. I wasn't expecting you for another fifteen minutes."
I was a little early but I was keen to make an impression. My father had made it absolutely clear that if Amanda turned in a bad report then I would have to find my own salvation. I would not be totally disinherited but any thought of heading up the company in the short term could be forgotten.
"Now, as you know, I'm going to put you on the sales desk. I think the experience will be good for you. The girls are all striving to outdo one another but they still have to work as a team."
I could not meet her eyes and, instead, found myself staring at her chest. She had three buttons of her blouse unfastened, which did not gel with her usual professional image, and, for some reason, I found myself wondering if she was wearing a bra. For a woman of partly Oriental extraction she had an impressive bust.
"You can start right away but firstly I want to know what you did with that young man."
Her question took me by surprise.
"My father must have told you the story."
"I've heard the official version, now I want to hear the truth."
I wanted to tell her it was none of her business but, at the same time, I felt the need to let her know that I was not the naïve student she had once known.
"He tried to get me drunk enough to give him a blow job."
"He was good looking and I was not totally averse. I told him I would do it if he went down on me first."
I realized that I was trying to shock but Amanda sat impassively waiting for me to continue.
"And he refused?"
"He was a macho shit."
"So what did you do?"
"I played him along. I took him back to my halls of residence; it's girls only but I sneaked him in. I took him to my room and dared him to be a little kinky. The stupid bastard let me undress him and tie him to the bed."
"And you took advantage of him?"
"No, once I had him where I wanted him I got dressed again. The halls are mainly populated by medical students and, believe me, those girls know how to party. I borrowed a dental retractor to keep his mouth open and then I left my door unlocked and simply spread the word around the common room."
I thought I detected the tiniest hint of a smile but I was not prepared for her next question.
"Do you think that was fair? Cunnilingus is not to everyone's taste."
It was my turn to be shocked. It seemed so odd hearing the word coming from her and particularly in the present surroundings. I was still lost for an answer as she continued.
"Do you enjoy it?"
"Do you like going down on another woman?"
My mouth fell open fractionally as she sat there completely unabashed. It was a second or two before I could bring myself to reply.
"I'm not a lesbian."
Only as I said it did it occur to me that she might have been sounding me out. I had never given any thought to her sexuality and assumed that, as part of her neat, well ordered, life she was involved in a conventional relationship.
"You surprise me, a young woman of the world like yourself, surely you've been curious?"
She had completely turned the tables on me and I sensed that it had amused her to do so.
"Of course not."
I hoped that I sounded suitably indignant. Whatever her own proclivities I wanted her to know that I was as straight as a die.
For a second or two she looked at me as if coming to a decision and, as she did so, she rubbed idly at her collar bone with her index finger. In the process her blouse opened a fraction wider and my eyes flitted to the smooth contour of her breast.
"Okay, you had better go downstairs and get started."
And that was it. I went down to the sales floor to face the same girls that I had treated so off-handedly just a few months before. There were four of them and, as soon as I entered the room, I could see that news of my fall from grace had spread.
After some initial good-natured ribbing Kara sat me down to show me the ropes and I quickly came to realize that the girls were not the bimbos I had taken them for. It was an easy mistake to make. Kara, at twenty-five, was the oldest and, as seemed the norm in media enterprises, they were all very attractive. In fact Zoe and Lily were wannabe models who had taken the job in the hope that it would bring them into the right orbit.
The fourth member of the quartet was Dawn. Quieter and more reserved than the others she was nevertheless the most driven. She was a university graduate and ultimately looked set for a high flying career in the industry.
We were selling advertising slots for many of the new digital TV channels who were not prepared to go to the expense of hiring their own sales teams. The skill was not in selling the slots but in the cross-selling that went with it. We would recommend production companies, graphic designers, image consultants all the things needed to run a successful campaign. The plethora of new channels had brought rates down to a level that appealed to companies who might never have considered TV advertising in the past.
The girls each had targets and there were bonuses for individual performances and for the team as a whole but they seemed more interested in the informal reward scheme. I heard about a "Barbie" awarded to the weeks best performer and the monthly "Amanda".
The latter was straightforward. Each month Amanda would treat the best performer to a lavish dinner which obviously gave the winner a chance to promote themselves. When I quizzed the girls on the "Barbie" they simply laughed and told me I would have to win it to find out.
My chance came sooner than I anticipated. In my third week my father phoned to see how things were going. He seemed pleased that I had buckled down and he gave me the name of a contact. I felt awkward making the call, not least because my father may already have guaranteed the outcome, but I reasoned that if I was successful the whole team would benefit.
As it turned out it was big sale, including a design and production contract, and it was certain, well before the end of the week, that I would be the recipient of a "Barbie". Over the next few days the girls teased me mercilessly telling me how I would enjoy it but never quite making clear what "it" was.
At Friday lunchtime I was declared the winner and I went to Amanda's office to collect my reward. Her secretary, Christine, looked shocked to see me come through the door.
"Amanda's not here I'm afraid. She'll be out for a couple of hours."
Christine was a petite blonde cast in the same mould as my sales colleagues but she looked so much younger. If I had not known I would have guessed she was a teenager but Kara had confirmed that she had been Amanda's secretary for a number of years which put her somewhere in her twenties.
"I've come to collect a 'Barbie'"
"A 'Barbie', I had the best sales this week."
She looked astonished.
"Yes, is that such a surprise?"
I found myself slightly annoyed that she obviously did not think me capable of winning but she now had a resigned but excited look about her.
"You had better come in here."
She stood up and held open the door to Amanda's office and then followed me in closing it behind her.
"You said Amanda was out."
"Yes she is. We won't be disturbed."
I now felt like a trespasser and Christine could see my unease.
"So, they're calling it a 'Barbie' now."
"What should it be called?"
"Oh, they've had different nicknames for it over time. I guess they either think I'm an airhead or they think I look like the doll, perhaps I should be flattered."
My confusion was now complete but Christine simply smiled.
"Make yourself comfortable."
She indicated the long leather sofa that filled the bay window with its view over the park.
"Perhaps I should come back when Amanda's in..."
It was Christine's turn to looked a little bemused and then realization dawned.
"They didn't tell you did they?"
"Tell me what?"
I sat and awaited an explanation, wondering if I had been the victim of a prank, but then I was taken aback as Christine knelt down in front of me.
"You're very beautiful. You remind me of Kiera Knightly, but with boobs."
It was such an odd thing to say and I was still wondering how to reply politely when she reached forward and put her hand on my knee.
I quickly took hold of her hand and eased it away.
"Christine, I think there's been a misunderstanding; I think the others may be having a joke at our expense."
She seemed completely unperturbed. Her hand come back and slipped under my skirt.
"It's no joke. I'm your Barbie."
Her hand slid up my thigh and then all the way up to the waistband of my pantyhose.
She looked so delicate, so vulnerable, it was hard to be annoyed.
"Chrsitine, look, I'm flattered but I'm not into other women."
Her other hand now slid up my right leg and she smiled.
"You don't have to be. Just relax and enjoy."
The implications of what she was saying suddenly came home to me.
"You would do this for any of the girls, whoever won?"
None of the others were lesbians, not as far as I knew, and certainly not judging by the amount of time they wasted on their phones to their respective boyfriends.
I felt her cool fingers against my skin as she eased them into the waistband and my mind was a maelstrom. Ever since my charged conversation with Amanda on my first day her mild taunt about being a woman of the world had haunted me. I found myself wondering if I should try other things before I settled down but I must admit my thoughts had centred on fantasies of a ménage à trois with me as the only female participant.
Now Christine was offering a new experience and I must admit that I felt a certain frisson.
"Don't be scared..."
I was trying to clear my head. This was wrong but, like trying to get up from a warm bed in the morning, I could not make myself rise. As I made a half effort she took advantage and she slid my pantyhose and panties down to my ankles with a single firm tug.
Was I to stand now I would fall over and so I allowed myself to sink back. The feel of the cool leather against my bare skin felt so decadent in the middle of a working day but even as I reveled in the sensation Christine took off my shoes and removed my underwear altogether.
It was the critical moment. If I did not leave now I would be committed but I could already sense the scales tipping. Looking back I suppose there was another factor. The others had all tried this and I did not want to appear to be a prude. Only then did it occur to me that the shock I had registered on Christine's face when I entered the room was because she had been expecting someone, just not me.
"You have lovely legs..."
I was almost painfully tense but she began to gently stroke each of my legs in turn with her tiny, perfectly formed, hands and her touch was magical. She moved from my ankle around my calf and paused teasingly at my knee before moving on to my thigh.
She repeated the process over and over again until my muscles relaxed and my legs slowly but surely fell open. My instinct was to close them or to cover myself but some other vampish part of me wanted her to look.
She did not disappoint. She held her open hand before her and slowly moved it towards my sex.
Even before she touched me a familiar scent teased my nostrils and for a second or two I felt a twinge of embarrassment but, as though reading my thoughts, she paused, closed her eyes, and breathed in deeply through her nose.
No man had ever said that, and I suspected that more than a few would have used a less flattering adjective, but I could see that Christine's appreciation was heartfelt.
Her hand was now scant millimeters away and it felt as if she was controlling the air between us. I could feel the warmth and the hint of a static charge. I wanted to feel the pressure of her hand on my sex but she remained unhurried.
She closed her fingers, forming a tiny fist, and then she slowly uncurled them allowing her immaculately varnished nails to rake gently through my neat growth of hair. She continued to groom me, carefully avoiding my labia, and the sensation was at once relaxing and stimulating.
In the quiet of the room I was aware of my own breathing, the soft rasp of her fingernails, and her constant murmur of appreciation.
I could feel myself getting wetter by the moment and my scent grew ever stronger but Christine, far from being put off, occasionally moved her head by tiny degrees and flared her nostrils as if in approval.
I was held in an exquisite torment. On the one hand I could have surrendered to her for hours, and I suspect that she would have been happy to oblige, but, on the other, I felt an ever growing need to come.
I had never felt anything like it before. I usually orgasm when having sex but it sometimes feels rushed; when I feel the onset of a climax I immediately begin to ride it knowing that my partners can never read me well enough to take me there by degrees. I guess that is why, if I am honest, I have always found masturbation more satisfactory but here, now, was a whole new experience.
Christine had not yet even touched me properly but I instinctively knew that she could attune to my natural rhythm and my greed finally got the better of me.
She gave a knowing smile and pressed with the fingers of both hands to gently open me up. I immediately felt my labia bloom and the prickle of a single bead of moisture as it leaked away before breaking free to wet the sofa.
I have sometimes worried that my labia might be a little too pronounced and as I looked down that feeling returned but the look on her face was almost one of adoration. After a pause she softly huffed a warm breath onto my sex causing them to swell even more.
My heart was racing as I awaited the inevitable and then, with agonizing slowness, she moved forward and put out her tongue.
I almost swooned at the first subtle touch as she licked along the fringes of my engorged lips without quite parting them. She did not reach the apex and my clitoris throbbed with denial but I was hers to play with. She bowed her head and licked once more following the same shallow path again and again.
Her touch was so tender, like none I had ever known, and I could feel my sex weeping its appreciation.
She sensed my readiness and withdrew slightly to look up at me.
I had never heard the phrase used in this context and she made it sound so right, so wonderful.
She smiled and then engaged herself once more. This time her tongue went deeper, sliding easily inside, and she began a loving exploration. At first I could feel the very tip moving over the inner walls coaxing more moisture but then it was still and the only movement was a slow rhythmic swelling which gently stretched my labia.
It was beyond words and I felt myself close to orgasm but now she wanted something for herself. She tipped her head back slightly allowing her tongue to penetrate just a little further and, somewhere inside, a well was tapped.
I could feel my juices flow and I knew that they were flowing over her tongue. It was so erotic and, as she began to swallow, my body shuddered into orgasm as if to offer her more. She accepted it all with her tongue finding pressure points that triggered numerous liquid aftershocks.
When, at last, she eased away she looked totally serene the only evidence the glistening wetness of her lips which she slowly licked clean.
"You taste divine..."
My orgasm had been shattering but I was still buzzing and she fully understood. She began to lick at my inner thighs, the tip of her tongue finding every crease, and, over the next few minutes, she worked her way back to my mound.
My body was shivering in anticipation and she carefully took hold of my ankles and lifted my legs so that my feet were flat on the seat of the sofa. I felt that I had been put obscenely on display but for Christine it was like presenting a work of art.
She reapplied herself with the same unselfish tenderness this time taking my labia, in turn, between her lips and suckling them gently. I could feel my muscles relaxing, wantonly opening myself up to her, and she slowly moved back to the centre.
This time she somehow hooked her tongue and ran the tip along the roof of the opening as she went deeper. The feeling was strange, almost ticklish, and then my body jerked. I had no control over it, she had found some trigger point, and I was being shot through with some form of sexual energy.
It was an orgasm like no other, completely beyond my control. I was a marionette and Christine controlled the strings. My body began to thrash but she stayed with me drawing out every last once of pleasure.