Oh, Sweeeeeet Revenge!

My name is Michael - family and friends call me Mike. At that time I considered myself an unremarkable 23 year-old, English WASP with a degree in psychology and a post-graduate certificate in education.

I was working through my last summer before starting teaching in a secondary school near my old home town. I was brought up with the 'protestant work ethic' and had always had a job of some description as I went through my further and higher education. Quite simply it meant that while many of my friends and fellow students had a slightly easier life at Uni' they also had student loans they would be unlikely to see the back of until they reached their thirties. Mine was about the price of a new car and I reckoned with some careful saving I'd get shot of it pretty quick.

As a psych' grad I also actually enjoyed working with people. They are wonderful to watch and many of the jobs I'd done had made me invisible; bus boy, barman, sous chef to name but a few.

The last one I'd done had been in my distant University town and had been in the legal firm of 'Fox and Draper' as 'office support'.

The money was better than anything I'd done before and didn't involve me wearing a name badge. I wore a suit and tie, and ran around the place organising typing, copying, filing, ordered stationary, all of those boring office jobs that hardly get noticed but no office can run without. I was there three afternoons a week during term time, and five days a week during holidays. It was great for me AND my CV and the solicitors and legal exec's all seemed to like me, I loved it.

Except for Miss Connery; Sally Connery was office manager, technically my boss and a major BITCH. She was a complete pain in the arse that found joy in other people's mistakes and delight in pointing them out loudly and going over them and all manner of the most improbable knock-on effects they could have resulted in.

I had little to do with her in the early days fortunately. The brief I worked for discovered pretty quick that I had a brain in my head and gave more challenging work. He ribbed me about 'only being a teacher' and that with my brain I could have found a proper job!

But for all that, he kept me away from her as much as he could, until he took a 6 week job on in New York and I was thrown into the pool with all the other unfortunates. Sally realised that I had been saved almost two months of her attitude and opinion and went after me with both barrels. Don't get me wrong, the other office staff I dealt with were pretty good, but totally subjugated by this fucking harridan. I was no dummy but she talked at me and treated me like a fourteen year old straight from school, not a school teacher in waiting.

I pointed this out to her once –

"Oh," she screamed, "Oh, so you're so much cleverer than us mere mortals are you?" she snarled, "It's funny but I don't see Office manager written on your paycheck BOY!" As she shouted at me I saw the flexing of her muscles and her large boobs heaving, I dragged my eyes away from her big tits because I wanted to look this cow in the face; "And until I do, you'll do as you are bloody told, by ME!" she screamed at me, spittle flying from the edges of her mouth, "Me, the silly old Office Manager that ISN'T a school teacher but could think and work you under the bloody table BOY!" Her flushed face was inches from mine; I'd seen her reduce some of the office girls to gibbering crying wrecks in this way and there was no way I'd be giving her the satisfaction. I grinned.

This made her worse.

"That's it BOY," she shrilled, "You are OUT THE DOOR!" She was incandescent with rage.

"What?" I sneered, "based on what?"

"Based on the fact that I'm the bloody office manager, and I DECIDE ON THE IDIOTS I EMPLOY HERE AND NOT YOU!"

I thought she was going to have a heart attack.

"Can I have that in writing?" I asked, "Plus I want a month's wages in lieu of notice." I hadn't totally wasted my time in a law firm!

"GET OUT!" she screamed.

"No," I said quietly, "write me a letter and give me my cheque and you'll never hear from me," I paused and smiled, "or the employment tribunal again. After all, the rest of the staff now know that you think they're idiots. Perhaps they could have a go after me?"

"Emp..." she shook her head in self-righteous disbelief, "tribunal!" she growled.

"Tribunal, Miss Connery, I've handled two of them for Mr Croft," He was the barrister I had looked after, and he was good, "You are kicking me out because I'm not a mousy little spinster that will put up with your hormonal outbursts, so," I put on Mr Croft's best court voice, "Can I suggest that you go away," I waved my hand generally in the direction of her office, "you write me my cheque, cross it and I'll leave you to your... let me see, yes; your idiots." I straightened to my full six foot and looked down on her.

She stormed away from me and slammed the door to her small office growling and snarling all the way, demanding that one of the girls come with her. The poor unfortunate lady had the full blast of venom that should have been mine. I could hear muffled shouts and screams from her small box room of an office.

I put my head round the door of one of the legal exec's and told her what was going on.

"Oh fuck Sally Connery," she said, "the insane bitch thinks she runs the place, word is she used to get it from the old boss and hasn't been the same since he retired." One of the senior partners came in laughing that I'd really put the cat among the pigeons with 'that mad old bag'.

Ten minutes and one coffee later, she was demanding I go into her office. I did so.

"Here's your bloody cheque, get your things and get out of my offices!" she snarled looking at me like something trodden into the carpet.

"Thank you Miss Connery," I smiled. I tore open the envelope and saw that it was for £1,000. More than the one month in lieu I'd asked for. I tucked the cheque into my jacket pocket and dropped the envelope on the floor from my trembling hands. She took it as defiance.

"GET OUT!" she screamed, and I turned my back on her and slowly walked out, turning to smile and wave one final time. I apologised to the other staff on my way out for the hard time they would undoubtedly get because of my dismissal, but that cheque was almost a tenth of my loan.

I paid the cheque into my account on my way back to the house I shared with some mates, two weeks later handed in my dissertation and left that sleepy town that would always have such a place in my heart.

Back home, Mum told me of an opportunity to work in a small hotel she did the books for. It was shift work and due to finish when the summer season finished, a fortnight before I was due to start as a secondary school teacher.

The hotel was small, family run and being my mother's son, I was instantly welcomed. The work was not unpleasant and went from serving breakfasts and cleaning and preparing rooms in the mornings and waiting on table, bar duties, and room service in the evening; occasionally I would be the night steward and would find myself sat at the front desk all night by the phone and computer ready for emergencies, phone calls and finally to get the food and linen deliveries from five o'clock onwards.

I had the option to sleep over if I wanted to and this was improved by meeting the lovely Yvonne, a French girl my age studying at the art college nearby. I wasn't a virgin but hadn't that much experience, but Yvonne was so wonderfully open and passionate that she taught me everything she knew and enjoyed about making love in a few short nights. Being a devotee of the contraceptive pill we dropped the whole condom thing that same week. We shagged almost constantly – her room, my room, unoccupied rooms, the hotel's old and rather dated pool in the basement and once even over the bar as we closed down for the night.

She told me she was going home for her family holiday in the last two weeks in August and asked me to come with her. I didn't really have the money, and the hotel probably wouldn't have let us both go at the same time. It was with some sense of relief; I'd finally get a chance to catch up on my rest.

The hotel was probably the first time I'd been called 'Michael'. To everyone else, including Yvonne, I was Mike, but because the manager already had a silver badge with the hotel's crest on engraved 'Michael', that was who I became.

It was the first dull, boring Saturday of two dull boring Saturdays without Yvonne and I had finished in the bar washing the last of the glasses and putting the room straight and arranging the tables and servery for the breakfasts the next morning.

I walked out to reception, looking forward to a reasonably early night and the rude email or text conversation I was going to have with Yvonne. She had already sent me a rude picture of her in half of her bikini and I was hoping for the full strip tonight.

The manager appeared, a rare thing for this time of night and called me to him.

"Aah, Michael," he grinned, "We have a special request; Mr Reynard, a very old friend of ours has called room service with a special request; he wants Stilton cheese, mixed crackers, some bread and a bottle of Taylors Port. He asked for you especially." He smiled encouragingly.

"Mr Reynard?" I said, "Don't think I've dealt with him but I'll get his order straight away. I'll turn in after if you have nothing else." I finished with a smile, I liked this man.

"That's very kind of you Michael; I'll see you in the morning."

I headed for the kitchen and cut a vast slice of Stilton cheese, and arranged a selection of crackers, biscuits and bread around it, adding a few large lumps of reasonably fresh baguette on the plate next to it. I went back to the bar, grabbed the bottle and two glasses and arranged them on the big tray I was so handy with these days.

Mr Reynard's room was the best in the place, and was actually a suite, and I took the lift to the third floor. At the door I straightened my tie; Mr Reynard was an 'old friend', had this entire suite to himself, could get room service at eleven o'clock at night from the manager so probably tipped well!

I knocked;

"Ah Michael," said the refined voice, "do come in."

I opened the door and stepped into the room which was almost in complete darkness but for one lamp which illuminated an elderly gentleman in a wheelchair. I walked to him with my tray held high.

"Your order Mr Reynard," I said.

"You're... you're not Michael." He said.

"Yes I am sir," I said placing the tray on the folding stand that each room had. He put a hand on my arm as I stood next to him.

"Hold there a moment if you will," he said, and I had to blink back against the bright light he'd switched on against the darkness of the room. "Oh, you are 'A' Michael, but not 'the' Michael I was expecting." It came to me.

When I introduced myself, the manager's wife had said that it was fitting that I was a Michael as they'd just lost an old and valued member of staff by that name. Mum told me that the 'old Michael' was a bit of an old retainer that had been with the hotel since he was a boy, knew all of its secrets, how everything worked and how to fix it if it didn't and was generally the 'go to' guy.

Yvonne told me he'd been a bit of a lothario on the quiet and she confessed that although in his late fifties she'd slept with him a couple of times and he was a great lover; sadly he'd died in his sleep the previous winter from a heart attack. It seemed that Mr Reynard was expecting him.

"I'm sorry sir," I said standing straight, "The other Michael passed away early this year, I..." from the corner of my eye I saw something on the bed move. I turned my head as my glance had been inconclusive. When I looked again I saw it was a person, a woman I guessed from the well filled, black leather bra and the black leather string panties with flaps of skin just visible either side, on their hands and knees, arse in the air.

She was kneeling across the bed, sideways on.

"Open the Port Michael," said Mr Reynard. With trembling fingers I pulled off the foil top and dragged the capped cork from the bottle with a loud pop. The figure on the bed turned her head slightly. I saw that 'she' was wearing some kind of gag, a mask across her eyes and a pair of ear phones connected to an iPod. She was also tied to the bed by her elbows and knees, straps carefully secured to points under the bed edges I must have seen but never thought about. Clever old Michael, I thought, and grinned at the thought of my predecessor and what he must have got up to.

I poured a large measure into the glass for Mr Reynard, and he raised the glass awkwardly as if this kind of thing was hard for him. I guessed but his limited movement and laboured breathing he must have had a stroke or suffered some debilitating illness.

"I have a proposition for you Michael," he said after his first sip of Port, "This is my friend, we shall call her Bee for the purposes of this discussion. Every year she and I come here for a short holiday, part of which always involved Michael and his particular talents." He picked up a piece of Stilton and squeezed it between his fingers and sniffed it. "My friend Bee here has particular fancies and predilections for certain sexual activities – Michael was kind enough to take care of them for her after I suffered a couple of strokes. We always came to this hotel before and Michael had always helped us with our equipment up until that point when he took a more active role." Mr Reynard smiled.

"Well as you see, Bee is all dressed up with nowhere to go, and no Michael. You seem to be a fit young man Michael and I hope that, for this year at least, you might be able to help us out. There was always a substantial sum of money involved, in cash I might add, and I can confirm that that part of the bargain would still stand. Are you interested?"

I was flabbergasted. Here was this strange old man, with his younger woman that had obviously travelled to our town for a 'dirty weekend' and judging by the paddle, and whippy thing on the end of the bed needed a bit of a spanking before she was fucked.

My first thought was obviously the woman, how did I know that she was up for this. I kind of guessed that it was most unlikely the old boy in the wheelchair could have dragged her up to the room and dressed her in the stuff and tied her down. But I asked just the same.

"Well you ask, Michael," said Mr Reynard, "Lift the headphones from her ear for me," he said, and I did so, hearing the gentle tones of light classical music emanating from them, "Bee," he said, we have a bit of a change of plan, we have a younger Michael with us this evening and he wants to assure himself that you are a willing participant in this." She bobbed her head slightly. "OK, Bee you will nod your head just twice in answer to each of my questions; are you here of your own accord?" She nodded twice, "do you wish young Michael to spank you, paddle you and flog you?" She nodded twice, "and after that he may fuck you as he sees fit?" She nodded twice again.

"There," he said, "is that sufficient for you?" he smiled at me cutting as the Stilton with a sharp knife, "one thing I must point out Michael, this shall remain a total secret between you, me and my friend Bee here. I have information relating to the running of this hotel that could cause all sorts of mischief if it got into the wrong hands. I'd hate for you to be the one to explain to your friend the manager why the press are suddenly taking such an interest in his hotel!"

"Err... fine," I said, "that's no problem," still not sure if I wanted to do these things to this so far anonymous woman and her elderly lover.

"Let go of the headphones," he grinned in the half light, "Give her a wee slap there, Michael," said Mr Reynard, "just to get us all in the mood." I turned side on to the woman and her pert shapely bottom pointing up into the room. Raising my hand I slapped her on the right cheek of her arse, and she flinched in shock rather than pain.

"Oh it'll need to be much harder than that for her to really enjoy it," he said, and I smacked her harder. Her whole body moved forward under the impact and I heard a muffled 'urrgh' sound from under the gag. I struck her a third time, then moved onto the other cheek.

"You need to warm her up somewhat Michael," said Mr Reynard, "Once her bottom is lovely and pink you can have a go with the flogger and the paddle – those are her real favourites."

I moved to one side of her and laid my right arm across the small of her back, she wriggled just a bit and I got the impression that this was what she wanted. With my stronger right arm I began a vigorous hand spanking covering as much of her arse as I could. To my left sat Mr Reynard, eating his cheese and drinking his port as if nothing untoward was going on.

"That's very good Michael," he said, "I suggest you try the flogger," I picked it from the bed, it was a weird looking thing that looked like the handle from a dogs lead with a collection of short leather thongs hanging off of it, and I raised it in my hand. "Stroke her with it first Michael," he said, "let her know that she can expect to feel it,"

I did as instructed and stroked all over her shapely pink arse with it and she wriggled; I hadn't noticed what a hard erection I had and I straightened it in my pants; Mr Reynard suggested that I strip off should I so desire, I put down the flogger and said that I would just remove my trousers and shirt, which did leave me much more comfortable.

I also decided that if I was going to fuck this woman eventually then I wanted to see what she had going on. Taking her tiny leather panties at the edges on her hips I gradually removed them, just as I did with the lovely Yvonne when I stripped her each night. The bare arse of Bee came splendidly into view and I thought about how I would look forward to climbing behind her and pushing my hard cock into the hairless flushed and swollen pussy I could see before me. I left the panties at her knees, as far as they could be removed without releasing her from her bonds.

"The flogger Michael," said Mr Reynard, "lay it on young man."

With way to much force, I whipped her across both cheeks with the flogger and I heard her scream against the gag, a sound that for one moment made me stop. Too hard, I thought and proceeded to hit her much more softly with it.

She wriggled obscenely as I whipped her pink arse gently increasing the pressure. Seeing her flushed skin and hearing her pant against her gag, I guessed that she was well on her way to orgasm.

OK, this was rich Mr Reynard, who had some dirt on the hotel, probably the sexy goings-on here over the years, probably most of it arranged by my predecessor. He was going to pay me in cash, and wanted a good show. Perhaps it was time that Bee had an orgasm.

Using my left had to gently flog her buttocks I slipped my well trained (thanks Yvonne!) right hand between her thighs and using her own moisture gently strummed her hard clitoris. She gasped, and rolled back forth as much as her bonds would allow.

"If you think she's taking advantage Michael, you can punish her for it you know."

"I'll take off her headphones Mr Reynard, perhaps we can tell her." I moved forward to her head and removed the small headphones from her, now seeing that under her long hair was a the black nylon eye mask and a red rubber ball gag that she drooled around readily, the large blue non-hotel towel under her face successfully catching her oral discharge.

I put my hands back to her cunt and began to flick her clit slightly harder; moving around slightly more so Mr Reynard could see, I gave up her clit and started to pump my fingers in and out of her pussy, scrubbing at her g-spot. She stopped crying out and moaning instead letting herself get into the pleasure she was receiving and I guessed awaiting her first orgasm from me. It didn't take too long. Following a series of gasped 'oohs' and 'aaaaahs' from under Bee's gag, I saw her tremble all over and flip her head back and for the first time letting me see the mane of bleached blonde hair tied in a ponytail fly back.