Summer Intern

© 2014 K M Dylan

The summer that my mom died, I began working for her French boyfriend, Daniel de Goncourt, at his beach house in the Hamptons. He was a private equity financier and was working from home for the summer. He was incredibly sweet and paternal to me after my mother killed herself. Maybe he felt some guilt that he was partly to blame, though he had always been loving and generous to both of us.

I was happy to take the job as his assistant to take my mind off things. I love throwing myself into a project, and he was so charming and easy to be around. I helped organize his files, which had been piling up on his desk and around his office. He taught me the basics about how his private equity business works. I used to look down on finance, but he helped me understand that business and the flow of money are the engines behind most everything that happens in the world. He said there was a thrill and even some creativity involved in putting together a good deal. It wasn't just about math and grokky legal negotiations. It was about understanding people and what makes them tick.

After a couple of days of getting my feet wet, he told me he needed me to help host a lunch at the house for a very important investor the following day. His name was Arnaud Delatour and he would be flying in from Paris to see Daniel. Not only was he an investor, but also a good friend Daniel had known a long time. They were working together on a private equity deal involving a French car company and a Korean car company. One of the companies was going to be part owner of the other, and the companies would share synergies and distribution channels, blah-blah. But, as he took some pains to explain to me, all this blah-blah was going to affect hundreds of thousands of lives—workers of the companies, their families, the consumers, even the governments were affected by the decisions that these two men would make in their poolside chats, or while strolling down the beach, or over their wine-soaked lunch.

I was to be Daniel's hostess and assistant, which used to be mom's role. He had asked me to wear something pretty, something that would help the French visitor appreciate the charms of America. This obviously was code for "show some skin" and it was clear that as hostess my role was just as much to provide the men with eye candy as to assist him with the practical issues of organizing his documents and arranging for the food.

The next day, Arnaud arrived just before lunch in a rented BMW. His eyes lit up when I greeted him at the door, maybe recognizing my face from magazine covers or ads, and he bowed and kissed my hand when I introduced myself. I showed Arnaud out to the pool where I had set Daniel up with his laptop, Cuban cigars, bottles of San Pellegrino in an ice bucket and a large bowl of cut-up fruit. Daniel looked relaxed in white linen pants, a striped custom-made shirt with the cuffs rolled up, Gucci loafers with no socks, ready to make deals against the backdrop of the dunes and the ocean. He had explained to me earlier that a meeting like this was theater, though it had to look effortless—as if there was no thought or planning involved.

With that in mind, I took special care choosing an outfit that morning. I decided on a Haute Hippie gold sequin mini dress with a plunging v-neck—its hem just reached the top of my thighs and really showed off my legs. It was a little over the top for daytime, but I was ready to have fun with this.

I went to do my make up. I rimmed my eyes quite darkly with her MAC Kohl pencil, borrowed her Chanel's Euphoria deep red lipstick and added gloss to give my lips a wet look. I put on foundation with a super light tint and straightened my hair so that it hung around my face almost like a helmet. Very Japanese.

As I served him a chilled glass of Pouilly Fuissé, I gave Arnaud a sultry model stare—the kind of look I had perfected in photo shoots over the years—eyes at half mast, lips parted, bending down low to show off my cleavage. I added a little swing to my hips, catwalk style, as I walked around, serving the men their drinks and food. Both Arnaud and Daniel loved the show, since whenever I came by to refill their glasses with water, or offer them oysters and shrimp, they would stop talking about the deal and look at me, making jokes and showering me with compliments about what a gorgeous, attentive hostess I was. French men love to flirt and they do it with a light touch. I was pleased to be making a good impression, and loved getting Daniel's approving glances.

I went inside for a while to check my email and do a little blogging so they could talk business in private. I was feeling philosophical and wrote the following blog entry:

Subject: Why is our society so afraid of sex?

Why do so many people embrace dreary marriages and dull bourgeois lifestyles instead of having fun and experimenting with different ideas and multiple partners? Is it so scary to seek unusual pleasures, lovers, experiences?

I think we are wired to live our lives for the good of the group, not for ourselves. So our brains are built to avoid risky and daring behaviors, to mistrust pleasure, and to embrace conformity and avoidance of lust and perversion.

The danger? Erotic stimulation might reduce peoples' focus on creating families and being good worker bees for "the man." But powerful men like to take their pleasure. The power feeds their libidos and they like to step outside of the rules of normal middle-class life. I think I will be getting a close-up view of this today. More details to come.

When I went back out to the pool, they were looking at Daniel's spreadsheets, and had started tucking into the sandwiches and wine I had left out. I sat down, poured myself some wine and ate half a turkey club sandwich too. As we finished, Daniel suggested going for a swim, to which I said sure, glad for a chance to cool off in the water. I went to the changing rooms and realized that I was still stuck with Caroline's size two little white bikini. I didn't have any other options, so I squeezed into it and rejoined the men.

They really were men—in their early fifties, powerful, attractive, confident men, and I very much felt like a girl, though biologically I am a woman at twenty-two.

Daniel laughed when he saw me, stuffed like a sausage. "Is that my daugher Caroline's bikini"

I reddened, peeved and slightly embarrassed. Caroline had a tiny body and wore a size zero. At five foot nine, I was a four. "Yes. I haven't had a chance to go shopping for a suit yet."

"Looks a little painful around the edges," quipped Arnaud.

"A little," I answered, blushing, knowing what was coming next. Their comments were not innocent. I could feel the vibe. They'd want me to go naked. It was a perfect set up. In the US this might be considered a little weird, morally wrong even, but the French are so much more comfortable with nudity and sexual situations, even among family. I could tell Daniel wanted to see me naked and I actually was curious to see him disrobe too.

"Let's skinny dip, I think you'll be much more comfortable, Katie," Daniel suggested with a sly smile.

He knew he could get away with a suggestion like that with me. I shrugged nonchalantly though inside my stomach was churning a little—the situation was different than undressing in a dressing room full of girls and fashion professionals. These were powerful men who liked to get their way. Arnaud sealed the deal when he followed up with, "I didn't bring a suit, and I hate borrowing someone else's. So I must go in the buff, as you say here in the States."

Arnaud unbuttoned his shirt, immediately followed by Daniel, who was still smiling at me and gave me a little conspiratorial smile. I certainly was going to be earning my geisha keep. I hesitated, wondering what mom would think if she were still here. Did she ever take her clothes off for Daniel's friends and business partners? I somehow didn't think of her being that adventuresome and dirty.

The men didn't seem to share my doubts, and within seconds, both peeled off their clothing and tossed them on their chairs, and looked over at me, smiling, showing off their tanned, slightly stout but well-cared-for bodies and cocks. Both were well hung and already slightly engorged. Arnaud must sunbathe in the nude quite a bit, since his penis had a nice golden tan! Daniel's, on the other hand, was pale. I took a deep breath and reached behind me to release my bikini top's clasp. I saw both men's cocks swell a little as I lowered the bra and exposed my breasts to my appreciative audience. I did a little strip tease next, slowly pushing the bikini bottom down to my ankles, my back to them, looking over my shoulder, keeping my eye on their stiffening angry serpents rearing their heads. I took a few steps to the pool, giving my hips a little extra swing, my nipples hard and pointing up at the sky. After testing the temperature with my toe, I then walked down the stairs in to the pool to cool off and get away from their wolfish stares. That hungry testosterone-laden male gaze that was like a missile homing device to my naked swaying tits, ass and pussy.

The water was cool and delicious on my skin, and swimming calmed me down. I heard them dive in as I swam a couple of laps. My heart was beating furiously—it felt like anything could happen, and yet I knew that Daniel wouldn't let it get out of control. I hoped so anyway. The men swam past me, doing an impromptu race, showing off their strength, competing for "the girl."

I waited at the shallow end of the pool, and watched them swim back towards me, their powerful arms and legs propelling them. My thoughts raced: what will happen? What should I do? Get out and flee? Stay and what? Chat nicely in the nude as if it were the most normal thing in the world? Was there any kind of expectation for me to fuck Arnaud? No, they just enjoyed having eye candy to look at, I decided.

But at the same time, fucking him would be pretty hot, I thought, feeling myself flush as I imagined his body on mine. I was feeling the craving for a good hard cock in me. He was an attractive, charismatic man, even if he was around thirty years older than me—his confidence, power and charm make him hot. On the other hand, the fact that he was Daniel's client would make me feel like I was being whored out, and that gave me pause. Did I really want to be Daniel's whore? I getting up there on the slut meter swimming naked for their voyeuristic benefit!

Daniel let Arnaud win their impromptu race and the men caught their breath, teasing each other with insults, all of us squatting, with the water up to our necks in the shallow end. I still didn't really know their expectations and wondered if this was when I was supposed to take Arnaud inside and make love to him. The idea was both thrilling and nauseating me, but I couldn't push it out of my head. Would I be another Ashley Dupre, Eliot Spitzer's thousand-buck-an-hour bareback call girl? While they chatted about Arnaud's dinner plans in the City later on, I got out of the pool and dried myself off, turning my back to the men for a little show of modesty. Still, I didn't scurry away to put on clothes. Although I was a little nervous and had reservations about what might come next, I enjoyed the naughtiness of breaking the rules, doing the forbidden. I could sense their suppressed desire in their surreptitious looks even as they continue to discuss restaurant options.

I put a foot on a chair and wiped down my legs as they got out of the pool a few seconds later. It was my turn to be the voyeur, as well as the voyee, and I was fascinated by their proud and narcissistic display of their penises, slightly hard—it was quite apparent they were both turned on since normally men's cocks kind of retract coming out of the water. Daniel was circumcised and thick; Arnaud was very well endowed. His was longer and his glans showed partially as it peeked out from the foreskin. His pubic hair was short and neat, which made me think he must be a regular swinger. The swinging scene in France has gotten famously popular among the powerful, and I had received some oblique invitations to take part in it, but never had. It looked like Daniel might trim his too. They were enjoying exposing themselves to me. It was a game to them. Wrapping the towel around me, I coyly announced I was going to get a hairbrush and went inside.

* * *

I dropped the towel on the floor and sat naked at the vanity in my room and brushed out my damp hair. I had decided to be bold. To transgress. I liked the idea of being a powerful man's plaything, because then I would be absolved of my guilt for doing bad things. It would be his choice and I would be a good girl in acquiescing.

I heard footsteps coming down the hallway and my stomach fluttered. Should I run in my bathroom and put a robe on? What if I have the wrong idea, what if it was Daniel? I turned towards the door and Arnaud walked in with a towel around his waist. He looked at me and smiled. I smiled too and made a gesture of modesty by covering my nipples with my right arm. "Arnaud, what are you doing here? Do you need something?" I asked. "Yes, I do, Katie." He walked to me, dropping his towel, and put his arms around me. He kissed me, pushing his tongue in my mouth authoritatively, his cock jerked upward and gently grazed against my lower belly. "I need this," he continued. It was delicious and I got goose bumps from the contact of his warm skin on mine. The moment of surrender to his animalistic will was delicious. I had that swooning feeling that we women secretly wish for when taken by a powerful man who knows what he wants.

After kissing for a few minutes, Arnaud took hold of my wrist and led me to my bed and had me sit down, saying, "My God, you are so beautiful I can't stand it. You must help me out here." I whispered, "What do you want me to do?" He stood right in front of me and lifted his fat cockhead so that it was touching my mouth.

"Take it, I want you to suck my cock. Be a good girl!" he ordered. I looked up at his eyes and they were bright with desire and at this point he would not take no for an answer. I opened my mouth and let his shaft slide it into my throat, doing my best to relax so that he could slide it in deep. I was getting better at deep throating a cock.

Arnaud grew completely hard—I loved the feel of the velvety skin of his thick rock-hard muscle on my tongue and lips, filling my mouth and throat, the crinkle of his clipped pubic hair on the tip of my nose. He held the back of my head as he fucked my face for a little while and I did my best to relax my jaw and let him take his pleasure with me. After a little while, he withdrew his member from my mouth, which I was glad about since my jaw was starting to get a little sore from being stretched open so wide. His eyes were dark with desire. "Turn around and bend over." He took my hand and turned me around and gave my upper back a little push so that I fell forward on the bed, my ass sticking out at him, my elbows on the bed. He slipped two fingers between my legs and slid them into my pussy. I was soaking wet. Ready. Looking back at him over my shoulder, I whispered, "Fuck me, Arnaud. I'm ready for you."

"You are incredible, Katie. Your face is a symbol of beauty around the world. I am honored to be one of your lovers," he said in a very French, formal way.

I gasped as Arnaud guided his fat erection into my wet sex. I wondered what Daniel was doing. Would he get impatient? Would he come up looking for us and see me being impaled by his partner? Is this what he was expecting me to do? I wanted him to see me like this. Whoring myself for him.

I pushed my ass back into Arnaud's pelvis as he slammed his cock deep into my slick pussy and I felt speared like an animal roasting over a fire. I wanted more.

I panted. A hiccup of pleasure spread like a virulent fever, becoming a wave rolling throughout my body. I was sweating now from our exertions, and I could feel his hands sliding on the moist skin of my lower back as he held my hips for leverage to pound his hard phallus into me with greater and greater force.

The thought that Daniel might be down the hall listening to us made me even hornier and I soon feel the vibrating ecstasy of the orgasm. It didn't take long for me to come. I cried out loudly and arch my back, as Arnaud powerfully slapped his hips against my buttocks, impaling me on his cock, using me for his pleasure. I felt him stiffen and empty his seed in me, with final sharp thrusts.

He left me lying on the bed after he came, planting a kiss on my cheek, whispered, Merci, ma petite..." and went back downstairs. I wrapped my arms around a pillow and fell into a deep sleep, his cum trickling down my inner thighs. That had been really good, sweaty sex and I had done my job well.