My Friend Sophie Ch. 01

So let's say I'm working on this big assignment, and I know I'm fucking it up. I'm out of my depth, over deadline, over budget, it's a mess. Only a matter of time before I'm in real trouble, but I'm sticking my head in the sand. And late one Friday it happens. I get a message on IM from him - "Sophie, do you have a moment?". I work in this very modern-looking open plan office, where only senior managers have their own rooms. So I walk past those people who are still there late on a Friday - there's always a couple of guys from Accounts, often some of the techies too - and knock on the door of Mr Marshall's office. He calls me in. He's standing behind his desk.

"Sophie," he says, "I've been looking at progress on the campaign you're leading. I don't understand why you have not come to me before. Unless you are able to explain to me something that I'm not seeing, it's dead in the water, and our quarterly marketing budget is blown. Am I right?"

He's right. There's nothing I can say, so I say nothing. I am terribly conscious that the new white blouse I'm wearing for the first time today is a tight fit. It stretches across my chest, the buttons are gaping slightly and the lace of my bra is showing through the thin cotton. He seems not to be looking me up and down so much as looking at all of me at once.

"I'm sorry," is all I can manage.

"You've put me in a difficult position here, Sophie. The Board are going to be asking questions. And they may decide that it's all down to me, that I asked too much of a junior employee. Maybe I did. But I thought you were up to it. I can't let this pass."

I can feel tears starting in my eyes, and I am blushing madly.

You know what's coming next, right? The deal that always kicks off these stories. He's willing not to sack me, and not to go down the official disciplinary route, if I agree to accept a one-off disciplinary measure. It would be funny, wouldn't it, if in a story like this the employee said "Actually Sir, I'd prefer you to deal with this through the official channels. I intend to contact my Union rep and won't say any more without him present." Or the naughty schoolboy said "Miss, I insist that you write to my parents and inform them fully about my misdemeanours."

But we do the deal. He makes me stand in front of his desk. You have to imagine that I am dressed very plainly, at this stage. The white blouse, grey office trousers, flat shoes.

He says, "Undo your trousers, Sophie. Lower them to the floor."

I obey. He is standing behind me now. My blouse partly covers my bum but I'm sure he can see my boring, plain white cotton knickers.

"Pull your knickers down, Sophie."

I pull them down as far as my knees so they hobble me. I must look a fucking mess with my trousers crumpled round my ankles, my knickers round my knees and my blouse failing to cover my big round arse.

"Bend over the desk, Sophie."

I bend over it as low as I can, squashing my boobs against piles of paperwork. He steps up behind me. He pulls up my blouse to expose my bum completely. I can't help pushing it out towards him, seeking contact. He starts to spank me. Slowly but hard. Each blow sends a hot wave of pain and excitement deep into my body. I'm determined not to cry out, but I can't help gasping. As the pain diffuses through my buttocks they crave each spank as a release. I can't explain it. Pain seeks pain. And I am getting so fucking turned on. I'm sure that the people outside, in the main office, can hear the slaps but to be honest I don't care. I'm weirdly proud of the humiliating position I'm in. I feel myself pushing my bum out towards him, seeking his hand, seeking the sting and the burn. I'm like a cat on heat. And I know he can see my pussy from behind. He must be able to see I'm getting excited. I close my eyes and wallow in the heat, the pain, the arousal.

Eventually he stops. I don't want him to, and maybe that's part of the punishment, too. I feel dizzy, and I know that I am wet.

"I thought so," he says. "I thought you might respond like that. Good. Now get dressed."

Awkwardly, I pull up my knickers and trousers. I turn to face him, flushed and sweating.

"I have an assignment for you, Sophie," he says. "Something to give you a chance to repair the damage your mistakes have caused. A meeting with potential clients, this evening. Old friends of mine. I'd like you to accompany me."

"Yes ... yes of course," I say. I see that he has picked up a small holdall. He passes it to me.

"In here," he says, "are some items of clothing, footwear and jewellery. You will go home now and put them on. They are what you will wear to meet my friends. You will wear everything that is in the bag, and nothing else. A car will pick you up from your flat at eight o'clock. The rest will become clear. You may go now."

I leave his room and walk back through the open office, carrying the bag, pick up my own handbag and jacket, and head for the exit. One of the techie guys who I get on well with catches my eye, mouths "You OK?" as I pass him. I give him a thumbs-up, and go home.

At home I open the bag. I'll tell you what's in it:

A pair of scarlet patent leather shoes with fucking insanely high stiletto heels, the sort I can never usually wear without looking stupid.

A very, very short black dress with a very, very low-cut neckline.

A pair of hold-up fishnet stockings, black.

A black satin push-up plunge bra.

A pair of black lacy knickers, hipster brief style.

A box containing what may well be a genuine pearl necklace, and matching drop earrings.

That's it. The sizes of the dress, underwear and shoes are all correct, fuck knows how, especially as I'm a bit of a strange shape. If I put this on, I'm going to look amazing. Like an amazing fucking prostitute.

I have a shower, put all the gear on, do my make-up. The driver rings the doorbell. Off I go.

The cab takes me to a very, very upmarket hotel in Mayfair. The sort of place whose existence I usually ignore because I know I could never afford to go in there. The driver tells me to sit at the bar and get myself a drink on Mr Marshall's tab. I go in. The bar is moderately busy - rich looking men and expensive looking women. A lot of big watches and diamonds. I sit on a bar stool and get myself a gin and tonic. The dress I'm wearing is very short and tight. If I pull it down to cover my stocking tops then the already daring neckline gets positively perilous. If I pull at the top of it to slightly reduce the amount of cleavage on show, I start flashing my bare thighs.

Suddenly I realise Mr Marshall is standing next to me. "Well done Sophie, you got this right, at least," he says. "No hurry, finish your drink, then we're going upstairs."

"Thank you, Mr Marshall."

He seems almost amiable. "See all these men looking at you, Sophie? They're trying not to show it, but they all have their eyes on you. You know what they're thinking?"

"Er ... no ..." I do know, of course.

"They all think you're a hooker looking for business. They're sizing you up, wondering how much you'd cost."

I am furious, embarrassed, excited and aroused. He carries on.

"Ever thought of doing that, Sophie? I mean, you've got the physique for it. You might find you earn a better living from selling your body than from trying to market our software. There would be plenty of potential customers here."

I'm speechless. I gulp the last of my drink. "Come with me," he says. I follow him to the lift. We go to an upper floor. He opens a room and leads me in. The room is big, luxurious. Two people are in there already - he introduces them as Pedro and Anna. From their accents as they greet me, I spot Pedro as Hispanic-American, and Anna as London Caribbean. Pedro is a bit younger than Mr Marshall, shorter, stockier and more obviously athletic, with heavy, sensual features, wearing a suit with an open necked shirt. Anna is probably about my age but different from me in every other possible way - very dark skin, very tall, leggy, elegant, wearing a short shift dress. For some reason I think of Anna's dress as being green.

"It's Pedro's birthday today," says Mr Marshall, who has produced four glasses of champagne from somewhere. We toast Pedro. For a moment I wonder if this is all more innocuous than I had thought. Perhaps he even likes my company and wants to introduce me to his friends.

Or not. After we have drained our champagne, Mr Marshall says to me, "Right, Sophie, you're going to dance for the birthday boy."

It's really important to imagine that everything that Mr Marshall, Pedro and Anna say from now on continues to be in in a very low-key, calm, polite tone, as if nothing out of the ordinary is happening.

"Dance?"

"Yes, dance. Full strip."

"Strip?"

"Yes, Sophie, we want you to get naked for Pedro. If you want to keep your job, that is."

He puts some music on an iPod in a dock. Some kind of slow jazz, hard to dance to in any case and I am a rubbish dancer. Really shit. I only usually get up to dance when I'm too drunk to stand. And I've only ever seen strippers in films so I haven't got a clue. But, you know, I give it a go. I teeter and wobble, gyrate clumsily. Pedro sits in an armchair, with this pleasant, bland smile on his face. Mr Marshall and Anna stand either side of him, impassive. Like judges on the world's strangest TV talent show. So I bump and grind a bit ... here goes ... dress peeled off over my head, catching a bit on one of the earrings. Anything but elegant - still, hey, I'm down to my stockings, bra and knickers now and I know I look pretty fucking spectacular in nice underwear, no matter how bad my dancing. The bra shows off my cleavage a treat and I really like the way the knickers fit. Credit to Mr Marshall for not making me wear a G string, I hate them. You too, eh? So I'm starting to get into this now, wiggling my bum at Pedro, leaning towards him, pushing my boobs up, and he's just smiling, saying nothing, not moving. Time to go nuclear and get the bra off. I turn my back, fiddle with the clasp, bloody thing's stuck somehow, I lose balance slightly and nearly fall arse over tit but just about keep it together. Finally the bra comes undone. Still with my back to him, I slip the straps down off my shoulders, still holding the cups up to my boobs as I turn to face him - and then I let the bra fall. Even the imperturbable Pedro raises an eyebrow at the first sight of my tits. Well, you've seen them, Lee, I can't pretend they're not impressive. I squeeze them, push them close to his face, wondering if he'll go to touch them or kiss them - I don't know what the etiquette is. Etiquette? Ha! But he stays dead still. Just smiling at my tits. I lick my fingers, play with my nipples. Mmm, that's nice, actually, and a good idea to turn myself on a bit, get into the spirit of it. Cos I can't be far off the last lap now. How the fuck do I get my knickers off and end this? OK ... I turn my back on Pedro, wriggle the knickers down my legs, step out of them and bend over so he can see everything, and I mean everything, from behind. I give myself a spank on the bum. That feels good where Mr Marshall spanked me before. Another one. I bend low, resting my arms on the bed, wearing only the stockings and shoes, legs slightly apart, utterly, fully exposed and vulnerable. And fucking madly turned on. The music stops.

The three of them clap in a rather desultory manner. "Sit on the bed, Sophie," says Mr Marshall. I do. The talent show has reached the moment of truth. "So, Pedro," he says, "what did you think?"

"I liked her," says Pedro pleasantly. "I mean, sure, you can tell she's a beginner but, you know, she's got a hell of a body and she gave it her best shot. Fair enough. She's way better than the girl you brought last year, Steve. What about you, Anna? What does the expert say?"

Anna says, calmly, "Yeah, full marks for trying, but she's not a natural, right? She's got the body of a hooker, not a dancer, so it was always gonna be a bit of a challenge. She gave it a good go but in the end this one's built to fuck, not to dance."

"Well," says Mr Marshall, "that's fine, isn't it, as we're going to fuck her anyway? But first - Anna - do you want to show her how to dance properly?"

And the music starts again and Anna does a strip. For me. As if I'm the strip club punter. She's brilliant at it, of course - elegant, smooth, rhythmic, sensual. She's doing all the moves I was trying, but she's getting them right. Under the short dress she is wearing luxurious-looking cream silk knickers and bra, but they do not stay on for long. She has small, firm boobs with big, jutting nipples. The arse of an Olympic heptathlete. Long, long elegant limbs. Skin like burnished ebony. I have never really looked at another woman before but she has me spellbound. She is so beautiful and graceful. The opposite of me. I feel embarrassed but at the same time she is really turning me on. And behind her I can see that Pedro and Mr Marshall, watching from their armchairs, have started to stroke themselves through their trousers where they are beginning to bulge. Towards the end of the dance she pulls up a high backed chair near to the bed so that she can finish with one foot up on that and her crotch inches from my face. She stays like that for what seems like a long time. She must be able to feel my breath on her pussy, and I can detect her musky scent.

Pedro and Mr Marshall applaud enthusiastically. "Wonderful as ever, Anna, thank you," says Mr Marshall. "And I think Sophie likes you. I hope she was learning from it, too. Sophie, did you enjoy that?"

I nod. Anna, now completely naked, sits in an armchair.

"Right," says Mr Marshall. "To business. Pedro, as it's your birthday, you get first go. Now I've found that Sophie responds very well to spanking, so I think that would be a good way to start, if you agree, Pedro?"

Pedro nods. "Sure, Steven, that sounds great. Over the knee, I think. We could use that chair, maybe." He gets up, adjusts the position of the chair that Anna had used for the dance alongside the bed, and sits down on it. "Sophie, I'd like you to bend yourself right over my lap, so that your butt is right under my eyeline and you're not taking your weight on your feet. You can support yourself with your arms on the bed if you need to."

Funny, isn't it, how "butt" sounds sexy in an American accent and bloody awful if a Brit says it? Same with "ass".

Awkwardly, I lie across his lap. The problem is what to do with my boobs, of course. I end up with them sort of hanging past the edge of his thigh. My weight is on him and I steady myself with my hands on the side of the bed.

"That's great, Sophie, thank you," his voice is calm and considerate. "You have a great ass, I have to say. And I can already tell you're getting pretty turned on."

He places one hand gently on my shoulder blade and with the other delivers a powerful whack to my bum. Again: the sting, the pain, the heat, the arousal. My crotch is resting on his thigh and I cannot help pushing it against him. Another spank. And another and another and another, hard and fast now. It's like the spanking I got from Mr Marshall earlier on stored some heat deep inside me and this new onslaught is releasing that through my body, through my bum, my belly, my cunt, and adding more. I can't help whimpering and moaning. I'm starting to writhe, to grind myself against him. I know he's looking straight down at my pussy from behind and he can see I'm getting really really wet. Mr Marshall and Anna are sitting there watching him spank me. I can see Mr Marshall's got a hard-on and he's stroking it through his trousers. Anna's naked, of course, and one of her hands is starting to wander down towards her crotch.

Pedro stops spanking me. "Wow, she is getting so wet, man!" he says. "OK, who's next to spank her?"

Anna says to Mr Marshall, "Go ahead, Steve, I'm just enjoying watching at the moment."

He says, "Well, I had a pretty good go earlier today but I don't mind another." He grabs me quite roughly by the wrist and pulls me into a standing position. Holding me upright, he delivers half a dozen sharp slaps to my burning bum. Real naughty-schoolgirl stuff, this. Then he says to Anna, "Sure you don't want a go?" She extracts her hand from between her legs, gives a wicked smile, and says, "You know what, Steve, I'm gonna spank her tits."

This is new to me, and I am a bit scared. Mr Marshall is still holding my wrist. The naked Anna walks towards me. I feel weak, light-headed. Mr Marshall puts his hand on my bum to help me stay steady. Anna aims a sharp little slap of her fingertips at my left nipple. I have never felt anything like it. The sting and burn spread up through my breast, I give a deep gasp, almost hyperventilating. Mr Marshall steadies me. Anna slaps my other tit. She giggles: "I love the way they quiver! Y'know, Sophie, I'd like to swap bodies with you for a day, just to feel what it's like having such massive tits." I feel faint and lean back against Mr Marshall. He feels strong and safe, someone who will look after me, despite all the pain and humiliation he is subjecting me to. Anna continues to slap at my tits. My nipples are engorged, dark pink. Pain and heat fill my entire body. I want to touch myself, or be touched. Out of the corner of my eye I can see that Pedro is undoing his trousers.

"Pedro, you're keen," says Mr Marshall. He steps back and gives me a couple of last really hard slaps on the bum. "Well," he says, "she looks pretty much ready to me." My wetness has been oozing down my inner thighs and into my bum crack. "Sophie," he says, "You're going to give Anna a nice licking while Pedro and I take turns in you from behind. OK?"

Anna gets onto the bed and lies back with her legs spread. I am insane with arousal, but I have never touched a woman before, let alone licked one. Still, I think to myself, as the owner of a cunt I should have some idea what to do with somebody else's. Pedro and Mr Marshall are taking off their trousers and underpants. Their erections protrude grossly from under their shirts. Mr Marshall's is the longer cock of the two whereas Pedro's is chunkier and thicker. Both are definitely big. Pedro, being American, is circumcised (why do they all do that, do you think?). Mr Marshall is not.

I kneel on the bed in front of Anna, who is pornographically exposed, with her legs wide open. She is playing idly with her clit, which is noticeably prominent. She's almost fully shaved except for a little Brazilian strip. She winks at me. "Don't worry, Sophie, just do your best, I'm sure you'll be fine. I'm that fucking horny you'll have no problems making me come."

I go down on elbows and knees and lower my head to her crotch. I make a first tentative foray with my tongue, lapping gently at her clit. Of course, I'm now in a doggy position and ready to be fucked from behind. It's funny to taste another woman. I know my own taste well, of course, and she's almost the same, of course, but there's something ever so slightly different. She moans - probably just to reassure me I'm doing it right. I lick a bit more assertively, probing in between her labia, feeling that unfamiliar sensation of slick wet flesh on my tongue. While I'm down there I hear Mr Marshall say, "After you, Pedro," and then feel the weight of someone getting on the bed behind me. There is some fumbling at my rear end and then - whoa! Pedro's inside me. He's thick; he stretches me open. I gasp but do my damnedest not to lose focus on Anna's cunt. He starts thrusting and I use the movement to help with my efforts at cunnilingus. Anna genuinely seems to like what I'm doing. Pedro spanks me from time to time, of course, as he fucks me, like blowing on the embers. He gets a good, strong rhythm going and I'm working with him, this is good, I like it. Then suddenly I feel him pull away. He says, "All yours, Steve," there's some shifting on the bed and I feel a longer cock enter me. It's Mr Marshall. Less thrusting, more grinding, as if he wants to assert how big he is and stay as deep inside me as he can, as much as he can. And he's fucking deep, feels like he's right up under my ribs. He's pushing hard, forcing my open mouth onto Anna. She's holding my head, grinding against my tongue. I'm struggling to breathe when I feel Anna tense up, grind one more time really hard and come with my mouth pressed on to her cunt. She lets out these raw, moaning shouts. Mr Marshall is still all the way inside me, pushing me hard onto Anna, forcing me to swallow her juices.