My Ambition Pt. 03

I woke up that day, almost a month into my internship, a vivid dream about my parents stark and real in my mind. We were walking in the mountains, somewhere in the Andes, just the three of us, as it often was on the holidays... My father wanted me to climb with him up a narrow dangerous ravine to the top of a steep hill, saying the view would be stupendous from up there. My mother was pleading with him not to make me go, that I was too young and he shouldn't push me so hard. I wanted to please them both... but I couldn't... I just sat down and cried, feeling confused and helpless...

I lay in bed feeling slightly unsettled, remembering my parents and the continual tension about what I should be and how I should act. My mother believed that a woman's role was to support and obey her man, to be attractive, keep the home and raise a family. She always went on about how I needed to groom myself, to look pretty, to act sensual... I learned a lot from her about how to socialise and be the centre of attention. Deep down I loved it, despite not always admitting it to myself.

My father loved my mother and the role she played. But he was driven, having raised himself out of 'la villa' - the slums. I was his only child and he wanted me to make something of myself, to be the best and do what was necessary to get ahead in this difficult world. He always said that there were the 'haves' and the 'have nots' and I need to be part of the former. I'd done well in academics and gymnastics at school because it was what he wanted, and therefore so did I... Even though he had passed, I still wanted to please him, to be successful and to be important... to be one of the 'haves'...

Dias Associates was my chance... I wasn't going to blow it, even if it meant a few small compromises along the way. The little bit I'd seen about the power that the executives wielded was incredible... almost intoxicating... seductive. A few days earlier, after the scene in Mr Melo's office, I'd had a candid conversation with Ms Alves, asking what she thought about the way the 'coffee girls' were treated.

"Lucia, we each have our role. Those with responsibility and power like our executives and clients make decisions... because they've earned it. They make the rules. And deserve the rewards." She stared at me as she spoke, her voice like a schoolteacher, telling me how it was and that I needed to understand... or maybe she just wanted me to believe what she said, to accept the way of the world... "Others must find ways to be useful, socially or economically. Those girls have chosen to be entertainers... to help the business. They do what they're told... and they're happy to do it."

"They didn't look so happy to me." I countered. "Even though they were pretending to smile and enjoy themselves."

"Sometimes you have to do things that make you a little uncomfortable. It's part of being an adult... doing your job and being professional about it. They know that. And I want to believe that you know that too..." She left the words hanging, letting me consider what she was saying... what I'd seen in the previous few weeks. "If you want to excel, you've got to take risks. Put yourself out there. Be vulnerable sometimes." She paused again and almost looked into my soul, as she asked, "Have you got what it takes, Lucia? To get what you want... what you deserve?"

Late at night in bed by myself, I'd replayed the scene from Mr Melo's office. Finding myself tingling between my legs, a hand slipping gently into my panties to scratch the itch. The thought of those men being able to casually order the women to... I imagined it, wondering what it would be like to be made to submit, to be one of them... the whole scene so deliciously depraved and evil... my imagination running wild at what could happen... my pussy gushing uncontrollably as I strummed myself to a pleasurable conclusion... but I couldn't tell her any of that... I could hardly admit it to myself...

"Yes, Ma'am. I REALLY am committed." I needed her to believe that I was a team player and that I had the fortitude to be one of them. "I want this."

"Good. There'll be a time when your commitment is tested. Remember you are still on probation... And your first review is imminent." She left it there, a dismissive wave for me to leave "Ciao."

As I left her office, I had bumped into Nev and told her about the slightly weird discussion... and the headmistress' advice. Neither of us knew quite what to make of it, although we reaffirmed our commitment to our careers and doing whatever it took to shine.

She told me that her probation meeting with the CEO had been arranged for a couple of days later... and that she was really nervous. She didn't like this overly compliant corporate culture, even though she too had tried not to rock the boat, despite witnessing some distasteful behaviour.

My review was the day after hers and I also tried not to think about it too much... Joao Dias, head of the company and the man that held my future in his hands... a pinnacle of respectability and power... I knew why she was so anxious... so was I...

Over that first month, Nev and I had become quite close. At my encouragement, we went out together a few times, two girls on the town. She was always demure and retiring, rejecting any male advances, while I loved the attention. I couldn't persuade her to wear anything other than jeans and a top, while I enjoyed the visual impact of tight skimpy black dresses showing my abundant curves. She always went home alone, while once or twice I hooked up with good-looking young guys. It was my release because I like sex... But I gravitated to the respectful, slightly shy types that were always so accommodating in bed...

And while she didn't approve, she always wanted to hear the saucy details. Which I gave her, enjoying her self-conscious fascination and shocked reproach at what I had done with those enjoyable men. Especially when I whispered how I liked them to go down on me and drive me to distraction, eating me out and making my pussy quiver with need, before riding them and grinding onto them at my own pace, lifting me higher and higher until I'd explode in orgasmic delight...

Over drinks one evening to celebrate our first pay checks, I'd shared the strange experience I'd had in Mr Melo's office. She'd looked at me in dismay, stunned at my explanation and at Nic's response. She said she was just so glad she had not been in a meeting like that and was hoping she wouldn't ever have to be. I didn't reveal the ambivalent feelings I'd had...

Our conversation shifted to Val, who had left the intern programme to become a secretary. I'd found out the previous morning when I met her at the coffee machine, making coffee for her new boss, Nic. I was puzzled about how he deserved a secretary, but that didn't stop me from condescendingly telling her that "I would never take such a position". I was here to become a professional and nothing would stop my ambition. She didn't bat an eyelid at my haughtiness, just smiled and said inscrutably "We'll see." Nev and I agreed that she was a flirt and a cow, and that we were better off without her in the programme. It provided more opportunity for us to get what we wanted.

I was thinking about those conversations as I arrived at the office a few days later. I'd shaken off my slight funk, dressing confidently in a short-pleated skirt, red tartan that swished around mid-thigh... just below the elasticised lacy tops of my sheer hold up black stockings which accentuated my slim legs, tucked into red ankle boots. A white blouse, top button undone, topped off the outfit, with a red and black neckerchief tied to the side. My feelings of supreme self-assurance were sensualised by the lacy lingerie I'd put on that day, black lacy panties riding high between my ass cheeks and a matching half cup bra only just hiding my nipples and barely noticeable through the opaque material of my blouse. All in all, I was dressed to kill, professional but alluring... following the headmistresses' advice... and enabled by my first pay-check.

Later that afternoon, I was summonsed to Mr Melo's office. He was there in the same chair, but now with a Russian client. They literally devoured me as I walked in, their eyes ravishing me from coiffed head to high heel, making me feel more like an object that at any time in my life.

"Ahhh... Vladimir, this is Lucia..." Mr Melo presented me as if I were an offering, while keeping his usual cordial tone. "She's here to...... to provide support... she'd a new intern... just started..."

His hesitancy in describing my role didn't impress me, but neither did the pallid sweat that seemed to be oozing from his pores... I wondered why he was so tongue-tied as I stood there uncertainly, because he hadn't told me to sit or what he wanted.

"Morning Sir. I trust you are enjoying our city's hospitality." I tried to be light and friendly as I stood before them conscious of being on display in my short skirt and high heels.

"Da... I like what I see..." he growled in a deep almost unintelligible accent, looking at me as if I were the city... I just nodded compliantly in response...

"Would you like some coffee?" Mr Melo asked the Russian.

"Da." The blunt response, spat out while he studied the swell of my breasts, his leer making my skin crawl. I smiled back at him, trying not to show my discomfort. He was a brooding Neanderthal... brutish brow under a slanting forehead... thick jowls under fleshy lips... ham hands jutting from his too tight jacket... ugly as sin... but he was the client, so we needed to charm him... to cultivate him...

"Lucia, the girls aren't here yet." Mr Melo directed his attention at me. "Please pour us a couple of glasses of Champaign. It's over there in the ice bucket..."

I stared back at him, not moving. This wasn't in my job description, to be a serving girl. Was there any way I could refuse? He raised an eyebrow, subtly challenging me. Or more like threatening me. Was this what Ms Alves had meant?

I was just a lowly intern and had to prove myself, so I did what he asked. I brought them their filled glasses, one each for them, but nothing for me. I'd not been offered a drink and knew not to presume. It was clear what my role was...

"Sit down." His instruction curt. I sat opposite them, trying to act confident and assured, as if I belonged... acutely aware of the amount of thigh I was displaying. "We're just reviewing the contract. You can read along if you wish." Mr Melo said, indicating a document on the table in front of me.

Feeling very important, I picked it up. It was an agreement for a partnership between entities that I had never heard of, but I tried to look knowledgeable and follow along with their discussion. After all, this is what I was here for, to learn. It seemed to be something to do with a new financing venture, but before I'd fully comprehended the details, they had finished.

"Happy Vladimir?" My boss asked and the Russian nodded as he looked at me again, or rather my legs. "Excellent. Luci, go make three copies for us to sign. On parchment" It was the first time anyone had called me Luci and I hated it... but what was I to do? "And you can tell the girls to come in now."

I took the sheath of paper and minced out of the room... feeling like a total office slave... and the coffee girls?

Somehow, they were there, outside his room... two of them standing pert and pretty... at attention, silent and waiting... like dolls... astonishingly beautiful dolls.

They weren't there when I'd gone in... so how?

"You can go in." I blurted, not knowing what else to do or say, before I fled down the passage towards the copy machine.

I was on the second copy when Nev rushed past. She was ashen faced, as if she'd seen a ghost, tears welling in her eyes. They were not focused on anything except the exit through which she ran as if there was a tiger on her tail. I tried to call to her, but she ignored me and disappeared...

I knew I should have followed her, but I had copying to do. For Mr Melo, and the Russian. That was my job, my obligation. And this was my chance to shine. I'd catch up with Nev later... but I couldn't get the look in her eyes out of my mind as I finished up and went back to Mr Melo's office. I recalled that her meeting with the CEO would have been about that time and prayed that it wasn't as bed as it looked.

That was the last time I saw Nev... at least in the offices of Dias and Associates...

Everything had changed by the time I returned to Mr Melo's office. At first, I couldn't believe my eyes and looked at my boss incredulously, silently enquiring if this was acceptable, if what I was seeing was real, or if I wasn't hallucinating.

"Don't worry about them." He responded to my unasked question, smiling like the Cheshire Cat. "Sit down. Relax. Put the contracts there." Waving vaguely at the chair and table to his left, and a full glass of champaign that seemed to be waiting for me. "Go on, that's yours. Have a celebratory drink."

Numbly I sat as instructed, sipping on the sparking nectar. It was French, delicious bubbles bursting on my tongue. I took another sip and then another, trying not to look at the two women on their knees in front of the Russian. One of their heads was bobbing in the man's lap and while the other held her hair in a tight ponytail, while swaying in an erotic manner.

I couldn't believe what I was seeing but didn't know what to say. Mr Melo watched me with an amused expression, enjoying my writhing discomfort, while Vladimir reclined watching the women through pleasure slitted eyes, seemingly unphased that his penis was out and being sucked in front of us, in an office of all places. As if this was normal...

"Is that all?" I asked, not knowing where to look, hoping that I could escape. "I have..."

"Stay!" He interrupted, staring at me with intent.

"Sorry, Sir..." I capitulated, looking at my feet rather than at the women. The Sir blurted out almost instinctively, but once out I couldn't bring it back. It defined the relationship and everything that happened subsequently.

But there was a part of me that wanted to look... wanted to watch them... was drawn to the depravity of the scene in front of me... the alcohol going quickly to my head... quicker than I was used to... making me feel more relaxed... more accepting... more...

"They know what they are here for." His voice purring, talking to my devilish intrigue. "Watch... they're very good at what they do... as they've been trained..."

I found his use of the word 'trained' odd, but didn't dwell on it for long, because out of the corner of my eye I could see what they were doing. The blond one was a very accomplished fellatrix, taking the object of her attention deep inside her throat in a way that I could never do. Suppressing her gag reflex as she swallowed submissively, her brunette partner pushing down on the back of her head to encourage her, not overly hard but firmly, eroticising the entire tableau with her sensual swaying and assertive actions. Both women had their eyes fixed on the Russian's, as if watching his response and hoping for his praise.

I knew what it felt like to try and deepthroat a man... and I hated it. The fleshy head pushing against my epiglottis, blocking my airway before I could pull my head up, coughing and spluttering. I didn't mind sucking and sometimes even enjoyed it, but always at my own pace and in control. Taking anything down my throat other than food was not going to happen... not for anyone. But these women had no such compunction, because that's 'what they are here for'.

Both of them were dressed like the 'coffee girls' from the previous time, tight scarlet skirts, loose ivory blouses and high heels, the stiletto heels pointed at me, as if accusing my helpless silence. In dismay I watched the swaying woman grab at the hem of the other's skirt and tug it up until it exposed her bottom, a thin strip of red string running up between her cheeks. Her exposure didn't have any effect on her sucking, except that she seemed to arch her back even more and present her nether regions to us all, positioning herself attractively for whoever was watching. However, I did sense an increased urgency following the couple of firm slaps that the other woman delivered to those pale upturned mounds, leaving handprints the same colour as the miniscule thong.

As she shifted her position, I noticed an unusual small tattoo on the top of her right buttock 'O 143'. I remember dismissing it as an odd choice but thinking that it was nothing compared to what she was doing, diligently sucking a client in the office. I glanced back at Mr Melo, who was not watching them but rather was observing my reactions to the whole situation.

"Very sexy, don't you think." His voice like satin confidence, knowing my answer even though I had not realised it myself. I felt the flush on my neck rise up into my cheeks, my hardening nipples and the squirmy wetness between my legs, until then unnoticed because of my absorption with what was happening and the slow encroaching buzz of the champaign. But his direct question made me aware, guiltily conscious that I was becoming aroused by the casual use of these women by their male superiors. I shook my head half-heartedly, trying to deny his words and my feelings, but failing dismally on both counts.

"I can see you're enjoying it." He smirked at me, meeting my eyes for the briefest moment before I looked down in embarrassment, because I knew he knew he'd caught me out. "She'll do the same for you if I tell her to."

My heart leapt into my throat at his words. I said nothing, because there was nothing to say. I knew my face betrayed my thoughts, wicked thoughts about what it would be like for one of these women to serve me in the same way. Humiliating themselves for my pleasure because they were told to, because that was what they were there for...

He chuckled at my crimson shame and barked "132!" The brunette snapped her head around to look at him, like a trained dog searching her owner's face for the next command. The flash of a thought that she was a number, not a person, but then it was gone behind a veil of fuzziness and amazement. Despite nothing verbal being said, she responded to the imperceptible nod of his head towards me. Like the trained whore she was, crawling towards me, back arched enticingly, ass up and her hair cascading down around her face as she focused on my shoes.

I noticed her blouse was unbuttoned and flapping uselessly at her sides, her small pert breasts with their pink capped nipples swaying enticingly below her. I wondered how she felt to be so carelessly exposed and commanded, her body available purely for others' enjoyment...

As she reached me, still on all fours, she leant down and kissed my shoe-clad feet, abasing herself before me. Her better... A slut doing what she was meant to do. Her kisses trailed up my stocking clad shins, her whole attention focused on her sensual actions, not looking up, just doing what she had been told.

In retrospect I know I should have felt guilt, should have pushed her way and run from the room... but I didn't. The sense of power overwhelmed me, made by insides turn to molten lava and my mouth to become dry. The intensity of my emotions silenced any doubt I had, and any sense that this was so wrong. Having her on her knees, ass in the air, posing to look pleasing, worshipping me... hmmm, it was sublime. I'll remember that sight for as long as I live... and the feelings that coursed through my veins.

"She'll eat your pussy if you want." My boss' voice broke through my lust filled daze. It took a second for me to comprehend his words.

I didn't know what to do, or what to say. Looking down at the women kneeling submissively before me, paused at my knees, her lips pouting sexily, as her eyes raised to mine. Fearful eyes, wanting to please me in whatever way she could. This was her place and her role. Like the other woman, diligently sucking on the Russian, never breaking her stride no matter what was happening around her. He had his hand on the back of her head, controlling her tempo, casually holding her down, pressed into his crotch for long seconds every time she swallowed him. Occasionally I notice that she convulsed, her natural gagging getting the better of her, but she made no attempt to withdraw, suffering silently for his enjoyment.