Lucy Salisbury - A Study in Shame

‘They’re very keen on efficiency, Miss Salisbury, so I want this to run smoothly. Every detail counts, right down to having the coffee ready next door at precisely eleven o’clock, while …’

He carried on, but again I knew every detail of what had become a familiar routine. I had imagined the job would be challenging, but it was really just a matter of common sense and making sure everybody did what they were supposed to at the right time. A quarter-hour of bustle and polite greetings for the half-dozen Chinese businessmen who were our clients for the day and Mr Scott was firmly in command of proceedings, allowing my imagination to wander once more.

I’d often wondered how business meetings could be spiced up, simply by being a little less stuffy and a little more imaginative. It wouldn’t even be necessary to dispense with the formality we set so much store by, and if it was always good business sense to keep your clients happy, then why not happier still? I could imagine how it would go, two hours of intense discussion as we hammered out the issues of rights to a vast Australian copper mine which no more than two or three people in the room had ever visited, and then Mr Scott would rise to his feet and indicate the door at the far end of the room as he addressed them in his old-fashioned BBC English. ‘And now, gentlemen, if you’d care to come through into the refreshment area, tea and coffee are available, while Miss Salisbury will be very happy to provide oral sex.’

They’d all want a go. In fact, they’d consider it impolite to refuse. So in I’d go, to the discreet little cubicle set aside for the purpose, with a single comfortable chair and a mat on the floor for me to kneel on. They’d come in to me one by one, in strict order of precedence, all very polite and friendly, but without the slightest hesitation for what they were making me do as they pulled out their cocks and balls for the attention of my mouth.

At the beginning I’d be ever so smart, kneeling in my stockings and heels, my perfectly ironed jacket and skirt, my crisp blouse, perhaps with a couple of buttons undone to hint at my expensive underwear, but no more. The Chinese Chairman would be first, and he would ask politely if he could fondle my breasts as I sucked his cock. It would be unthinkable to refuse, and I’d know he meant bare, so my blouse would come open and my bra would come up, to allow him to paw my flesh and rub at my nipples as I gave him his blow job and swallowed what he did in my mouth.

The first of the two Vice-Chairmen would find me shame-faced and flustered, my boobs still out and my hair in disarray, but that would only make him keener. He’d want more as well, to rub his cock between my tits and have me lick his balls, and, again, I’d be too polite to refuse. The next man would be eager and clumsy, dirty too, tugging his cock into my mouth as I sucked, then pulling my head back at the last moment so that he could watch as he did his business in my open mouth before making me swallow.

By then I’d be too turned on to hold back, despite being bitterly ashamed of myself. I’d pull up my skirt and stick my hand down my knickers, fiddling with myself as I waited for the fourth man to come in. He’d take full advantage, not only making me suck his cock but then bending me over the chair to pull down my knickers and enter me from behind. I’d be more than willing, sticking my bottom up like a she-cat on heat and rubbing myself while he fucked me.

I’d come with him inside me, so by the time he’d finished I’d be left slumped over the chair, sticky with spunk and sweat, well used at both ends. That wouldn’t stop the last two men from the Chinese delegation, the first delighted by the state I was in and making full use of my cunt and mouth, the second disgusted and merely tugging his cock off all over my bare bottom. That would leave all six clients entertained, but Mr Scott and the others from our company would take advantage of me, coming in and making me suck their cocks, fucking me, touching me how they pleased, before finishing off in my face or up my cunt. They’d leave me on my back, masturbating, and as the last man closed the door behind him he’d tell me I ought to be ashamed of myself for my behaviour. At that I’d come, just as the catering staff returned to clear up after lunch, so that they found me on the floor with my legs spread wide and my tits out, my face filthy with spunk and my fingers busy with my sticky cunt.

Just thinking about it was making me shake and I was forced to prescribe myself a strong dose of reality in order to calm down, by paying attention to Mr Scott’s presentation for a while. He was my boss, attractive after his fashion, and I do like fantasies of being under male control, but there was something about him that always brought me down to earth. I could never put my finger on it, but, where with most men the jump between fantasy and reality can come with a tugged-down zip, I couldn’t see Mr Scott letting me do the tugging.

Nobody had noticed the state I was in, but I could feel the wet between my thighs and couldn’t help but wonder if they could smell my excitement, which made me feel even more ashamed of myself and even more excited. I was going stir crazy, and I was going to have to do something about it, and soon.

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