Office Staff Ch. 3

And then, incredibly, for days there was nothing. No recognition from James, no contact at all. He would disappear into his office, the door would close and he would only emerge after everyone else had gone home.

Helen and Judith greeted one another in the corridors, finding themselves in an incredible, unforeseen situation: their only contact had been in the most intimate of circumstances. They had barely spoken to one another, but under James gaze (and camera) they had kissed each other, undressed one another, caressed each other's breasts and examined one another's pussies, posed in the most revealing poses imaginable and finally been penetrated – fucked – in turn for his pleasure. Perhaps even more humiliating than knowing this was all filmed, was the realisation that there were moments in that dreamlike experience that had been absolutely erotic.

Judith recognised an essential personal truth in her response, but for Helen it was deeply troubling. She had always considered herself independent, capable, a maverick even. She would never have contemplated taking directions from a man, and the thought of being sexually with a woman seemed so alien as to be beyond comprehension. And yet, when they passed in the passageway her eyes would be drawn to Judith's breasts, remembering the warmth of flesh in her palms. Once Judith was caught momentarily in a doorway and the light shone through her skirt, outlining her legs – and Helen's thoughts flashed back to the moment she had pulled Judith's panties open and looked down, past the curve of her belly, to see naked, almost hairless lips waiting.

Rumours were filtering through the grapevine that James was bidding on a big contract, and an air of expectation settled on the company as always happens in these circumstances. Occasionally, delegations of men disappeared behind the doors, giving rise to speculations. All of this activity was secondary to the two women, for whom this was all just a pause in a disturbing unravelling sequence of events.

Then late one afternoon the e-mail message crossed their desks: you'll be working late tomorrow – dress for a cocktail party. During the course of the next day people wandered in and out, and when James finally called them into his office there were four men sitting around in his lounge and behind his desk. As always, there were tumblers and drinks, and the women had barely entered the office when they were each given a glass laden with whisky.

"Ah!," James said with a flourish. "The ladies have arrived!" He gestured towards them with a sweep of his hand. "Of course you've seen them before, but may I introduce Helen and Judith. Judith is the blonde."

She couldn't be sure, but she thought she heard one of the men murmur "With the big tits…"; and then James turned around, saying "This is Mike, Fred, Keith and Dean," without giving any indication which man belonged to which name. "They represent a company which may be giving us some work. A lot of work." There was some laughter around the room, male in-joke frivolity, "if we are chosen as their suppliers."

The women had moved into the centre of the room now, sitting on the only open seats in the couch where everyone could face them. "Competition is very tight, though, and so we have had to compile an offer which is extremely attractive. We have been obliged to look for a differentiator which nobody else could offer. Luckily we have one. Or rather, two."

As the men laughed again – evidently the whisky had been in attendance for a while already – a chill descended down Helen's back. And James confirmed her fears: "I have been able to market you very effectively through the film we made together. Everyone here applauded your performance."

Again the laughter. Helen wanted to stand up, to run away, but they were surrounded by men – and where would that get her? Nothing had changed. She was still obliged to do as he chose if she wished to retain her freedom. She could not look in the men's eyes, but listened with a heart that beat painfully in her chest.

"Keith has an interest in cards – he suggested that you play some poker with each other for us. Strip poker, of course. And once all your clothes are off we'll have some drinks together. And a nice chat."

There was the slightest tremble in Judith's hands. As she put her glass down it rattled against the table. Her mouth was parched but she wasn't sure whether she could lift the glass to her lips without spilling. She realised that the men were watching, but in place of sympathy was an electric sense of expectation in the air. James was prepared, of course: a pack of cards was thrown on to the table before her and it struck her hand as it came to rest.

"The rules of the house!" James was enjoying this now. She recognised the superior tone in his voice. "Jewellery doesn't count. One item discarded for every hand lost, of course. And no modesty allowed. The game continues until you are both naked. If you lose a hand and you are already naked, you pay a forfeit."

"What kind of forfeit?" snapped Helen.

"Never you mind Helen – you'll know soon enough if it happens. Time to play I think. Who wants to deal first?" At this point he switched on the video camera, as he had before. The moment of truth had arrived.

The offices were very quiet now. The men had fallen into a silent expectation, seated in a semicircle, watching every move with predatory anticipation. When Judith looked up finally, there were smiles across their faces, leers in their eyes. Someone said softly: "No need to be shy – we just want to take a look"; but nobody in the room believed it. She looked into Helen's eyes – the women once again being forced to share a pact of secrecy and submission. Judith gave a half-smile of encouragement, and with the subtlest of nods, Helen leaned forward and opened the pack of cards. A thrill shivered in the air – the audience leaned forward slightly, somebody cleared his throat and another took a swig from the glass.

Helen dealt the hand, the shake still evident in her hand. They turned up the cards, selected carefully, looked into each other's eyes over the deck. Not a word was spoken. After the discards the men looked expectantly to see who the luck had favoured, and as the cards were laid out Helen realised with relief that hers was the better hand.

Judith had to ante up, but she was not going to capitulate that easily: she raised one foot, and the shoe dropped off and fell to the floor. The impudence of the act caused the room to break into laughter: even Helen let out a giggle. The tension in the room dissipated momentarily.

But it returned for the women as the game progressed. It seemed for a while that the luck stayed with the dealer: after another three rounds both women had bare feet, but in the next hand Helen lost on her own deal. The men had become marginally restless, frustrated with the lack of exposure, but they realised that flesh was now going to be put on display, and sat up to attention. She looked around at an array of eyes, intently peering at every inch of her body. Slowly she stood up, reached under her skirt and pulled off her slip, jerking it off her hip in a practised motion. It fell to the floor in a puddle of lace and sheen, and even though no skin had been displayed the men showed evident pleasure at the sight of feminine underclothing. An appreciative murmur could be heard, while Judith said, with a rueful laugh, "Not fair – we didn't all wear a slip today."

Judith picked up the cards, shuffled and dealt. The men knew, now, that some primary article of clothing had to be discarded now, and when Judith lost they could be seen to be smiling amongst themselves. She unbuttoned her blouse with slightly trembling hands, thinking to herself: you'd think I'd be used to this by now. The blouse parted with each button, and her pink brassiere, pushing her breasts upwards into erotic mounds, became incrementally visible. The men could no longer contain their comments – once the first one spoke the others seemed to follow in rapid succession.

"Open up honey, those hills look gorgeous."

"Pink bra, huh? You pink somewhere else baby?"

"Oh yes – don't hide those tits behind your hands. Take – them – a-way!"

As her blouse slid down over her shoulders the men realised how transparent the bra was – her nipples, dark large ovals, could be seen through the diaphanous material and one sighed: "I could suck those all night." She knew she was blushing furiously now, conscious that it she was probably flushed on her chest as well.

For a moment the men admired her in silence,. She felt unsure where to put her hands, but James cut in – "keep them down Judith," and after a long pause said: "time to play cards." Helen almost felt too afraid to pick the pack up to deal, but again felt the relief of reprieve when Judith lost. Judith stood up, watching the men in defiance as she unclipped, then unzipped the skirt and gently lowered it to the floor, raising her feet delicately to remove it and fold it over the chair. She turned as she did so, and so the men saw first the looseness of the material enveloping her pubic bush, and then the drumskin-tight sheen of fabric stretched across her ass as she bent over. Helen noticed, curiously, that one of the men touched the front of his trousers at this sight.

Either Helen's luck failed her, or Judith hit a winning streak, for now Helen began to lose hands in quick succession. Her blouse came off as slowly as Judith's had, and again the comments began:

"Don't worry cutie – small ones are easier to hold."

When her skirt came off somebody whistled: "Man I love a slim ass!'

"Well we can't all wear matching underwear can we?" There were roars of laughter at this point.

Her luck failed again, and so did her courage. She paused, hands behind her back, ready to unclip her bra when she stopped, seemingly unable to carry on. Her turmoil showed in the crease of her eyebrows, the curve of her shoulders, the barely evident tremble of her lips. And then, with a new resolve she drew the clips together and the bra fell open. Her breasts were not evident at first – aside from being smaller than Judith's, she was reluctant to draw the fabric away from her chest. Somebody said: "Take it off sweetie," and resignedly she let her hands fall.

Her breasts and nipples were petite, but it was the first truly naked flesh the men had seen and their response was crude.

"Perky tits perky tits, one two three. Soft and juicy – all for me!"

"I can't wait to see that pussy. I wonder if it's as cute as these hooters."

And then the men cheered again when, impossibly, she lost again. She was going to strip naked for these bastards. "It's not fair!" she snapped at James, tears welling in her eyes.

"Stealing my money wasn't fair, Helen. Life isn't fair. And I don't … care." He clearly enjoyed watching her humiliation. "It's time to refund the accounts payable." He laughed at his own joke, although the other men barely seemed to notice. Their eyes were transfixed on the black triangle of material hiding the last vestiges of her womanhood. "Take the panties off Helen. Do it now." She pouted angrily, looking at the floor in a silent frustration. Fuck him. Fuck him.

And then her thumbs slid under the material and pulled it down and let it fall to the floor. She covered herself briefly, but knew she had to open up – and when she took her hands away the men actually moved forward for a closer gaze at the whispy blonde hair that barely hid her lips.

In a weak attempt at humour, one of the men said leeringly: "Great cunny, honey." As weak as it was it drew laughter. The whisky and the submission of the women were clearly taking their toll. Seeing her stripped of dignity was as erotic as seeing her stripped of clothes.

She sat cautiously, keeping her legs closed, knees turned to one side, hiding herself as much as possible. She could barely think to play now, and thankfully Judith lost. She removed her bra shamefacedly, the weight of her breasts forcing them to fall away from her body. They swayed as she moved, her large nipples like mother's teats. But even though one man smacked his lips in humour it was clear that the game had moved on. They wanted panties disposed and pussies exposed.

And then Helen lost again.

She cursed in frustration, slapping her cards on the table. She thought she knew what James would want, and she was right. "You wanted to know what the forfeit would be. Well that depends on the circumstance. But you were very quick to sit down and be discreet, weren't you Helen? The boys want to see more than pussy fur Helen. Much more. They came here to see pussy lips. For the rest of the game you must open your legs, and keep them apart. Spread your knees so we all get to examine your cunt in detail."

Too ashamed to look up she did as she was told. No modesty was possible now. She sniffed back a tear, letting the words wash over her now.

"Pink pus-sy."

"You feeling wet baby?"

"Oh yes. Oh … yes."

She was beyond concentrating on the game now – losing the next hand seemed inevitable. She turned her face to James, waiting for the axe to fall. Instead, he spoke to Judith: "Helen really shouldn't play cards, should she? Another forfeit for her to pay – but now it's time to help her. You're going to kiss her for us. That shouldn't be too bad – you've done it before. We've all watched." The men laughed, again.

"But I also want you to finger her, and see if you can get her to come for us. Do you think you can do that?"

"You mean…?"

"I mean finger her cute little pussy until she orgasms all over your hand while we watch."

Helen snapped her legs shut. "No way!"

Judith didn't comment, seemed shocked at the idea.

But James seemed unfazed. "I told you before – you do this here, or you do this in jail with women who don't take no for an answer. Your choice."

Judith was nervous. "I can't go to jail Helen. You know I can't."

"I hate you," said Helen. "You're a bastard creep. I'll get you somehow for this. Somehow."

But he just responded: "Judith can't finger you if your legs are closed Helen. And she really wants to finger you, don't you Judith?"

Judith was shaking her head, but she was too afraid to contradict him. "Yes…," she said.

"I hate you," said Helen again. She opened her legs for the men to gaze at her again, then turned her head angrily to face Judith. When the women first kissed, a sigh went through the room and then the men fell silent. Helen felt nothing – she went through the motions numbly.

But then Judith's hand slid across her thigh, and one soft finger parted her lips, finding her clitoris with a flat demanding hardness, rotating slowly, slipping lusciously inside her. It was impossible not to respond to this delicate stroke, and she heard her breath catching, distantly as if it didn't belong to her, felt a wetness that could only come from her, noticed her hips beginning to rotate against Judith's hand.

She gave herself to the kiss, the warmth, the breasts touching hers, the perfumed aura, and against her most ardent desire she found herself lost in the pleasure. She was taken by surprise when a hand cupped the back of her head, and a rigid member slid between her lips and Judith's; although she tried to pull away they were firmly held and she realised that one of the men had slid his cock into their kiss. "Keep on kissing," he said. "Don't stop now." He slipped it into their mouths in turn, filling them as if he were comparing.

The party had changed completely – hands were on her breasts, lips in her neck. Judith's panties were being pulled forcibly off. When Helen tried to pull away, one of the men held her wrists up, so her tits stood erect. A photograph was taken of her in this pose. Then she was pushed to her knees, bent forward, another cock was pressed against her face and then slipped into her mouth. She gagged. Out of the corner of her eyes she saw Judith, panties at her ankles, being bent back across a table while one of the men positioned himself between her thighs; there was a clear view of erect cock facing gaping cunt, and then it was hidden as he plunged into her.

Her heart went cold: a finger was unmistakeably insinuating itself between the cheeks of her bottom. She tried to pull away unsuccessfully, but she was being pinioned in place. "This ass was made for fucking, baby. I reckon you'd best relax." When he pushed into her it felt as if she was being pulled apart. With sadistic slowness he stroked in and out of her, relentlessly filling her, driving her through pain to passion, until she started pressing back against him, arching her back, profanities slipping from her mouth, sweating, eyes closed, pulsing heartbeat, and an orgasmic explosion that left her in an exhausted heap on the floor.

She never counted how many times they were abused that night, for her exhaustion was irrelevant to the men present. They certainly all tried her at least once. When she tried to move away she was held down and bent over for anal sex at least three times. She'd never even been touched there before. She saw Judith in the same situation – on her knees, panties still hanging forlornly off one ankle, being taken between her plumpish buttocks while her head was driven down onto a semi-erect cock before her.

And always, James was there with his camera, taking close-ups, panning across the scene, giving directions. When the men finally fell back exhausted, he still filmed the two women. Lying naked and recovering, as if he hadn't captured enough already.

The men spoke softly amongst themselves now, apparently discarding the women as no longer relevant.

"I didn't think you could deliver on this James. But you lived up to your word."

"Yeah. I don't think anybody else will be able to compare."

"Does that mean I have the contract?"

"Yeah – I guess it does." Some laughter. "I guess it does."

"Excellent." He finally put down the camera, and seemed to notice the women for the first time, trying to pull panties up as if they had any modesty left. "Good work ladies. Take the day off tomorrow if you want to. You certainly deserve it."

And then he turned and poured himself a final whisky.