A Study in Shame

Table of Contents

‘Morrison, I have a confession to make.’

Morrison didn’t answer, so I carried on. ‘I’d like to suck your cock, Morrison. I’d like to crawl over to you on my hands and knees. I’d like to kiss your big furry balls, and then suck your cock, all the way.’

Still he didn’t answer, but there was definitely something accusing about his stare, accusing and distinctly superior, like a bishop who’s caught a choirboy pissing in the font.

I stuck my tongue out at him, then went on. ‘Yes, of course I ought to be ashamed of myself. I
am
ashamed of myself. That’s half the fun. Wouldn’t it be nice, though, with your big black cock getting longer and thicker in my mouth as I knelt between your fat little legs? Longer and thicker, Morrison, until I couldn’t take in any more. Yes, OK, I’d do it in the nude, if that’s what you wanted, but wouldn’t it be more fun to make me go the way dirty boys like it, with my blouse open and my bra pulled up to show you my tits? I bet you’d like that, and I’d feel so ashamed of myself, sucking your beautiful big cock with my tits out. I wish I could. I wish you had one, a huge one, long and thick and black. I’d suck so well, Morrison.’

I gave a soft moan as I lay back against the pillows. There was just time, if I was quick. My nightie came up under my arms and my hand went down the front of my panties to find the warm wet flesh of my sex. I was still staring into Morrison’s eyes as I began to masturbate, imagining myself on my hands and knees with a really enormous cock in my mouth.

After a while I began to talk to him again, picking up where I’d left off. ‘Oh, if only you had a cock. I promise I’d suck well, and I wouldn’t be a tease. I’d let you do it in my mouth and I’d swallow for you. That would be shameful, so shameful, to have my tummy full of your come while we’re in conference. They think I’m so prim and proper, such a good girl, such a nice girl, and all the time I’d have a bellyful of spunk.’

My eyes were closed and my back had begun to arch. I was going to make it, my fingers now busy in the wet slit of my sex, my mouth wide in a long sigh until I began to talk to him once more, with my fantasy growing ever more dirty as my orgasm grew closer.

‘Wouldn’t that be nice, Morrison, to have me suck you off? I’d pull out my titties and roll up my skirt. I’d pull down my panties and get dirty with myself while I sucked you, and when you’d done it in my mouth I’d swallow what you gave me. Only that wouldn’t be all, would it, you big bad bear? There’d be more, lots more, in my hair and in my face, down my front and all over my tits and … oh, Lucinda, you are such a dirty little tart. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, and I am … oh so ashamed.’

I was, and it was wonderful, as always, the one thing that could be guaranteed to make an orgasm truly worthwhile. It didn’t much matter what I was thinking about while I played with myself, as long as I knew I ought to be ashamed of what I was doing. Thinking about sucking Morrison off was not only shameful, it was also silly, which made it all the more delicious. There was a big smile on my face as I sank into the softness of my bed, my hand still down my panties as I enjoyed the luxury of a few seconds’ more rest before opening my eyes again.

Morrison had fallen off the bed and now lay on the floor, the fixed stare of his beady red eyes directed at the ceiling, more accusing than ever. I picked him up and kissed his nose. Not for the first time I wondered what lunatic Chinese production manager had ordered a line of large, jet-black teddy bears to be fitted with red eyes. He looked demonic, but in a smug, disapproving sort of way, like a minor devil set to look over a group of damned souls guilty of some particularly embarrassing sin. I’d had to buy him.

It was 8.24 a.m. by my bedside clock, which left me fractionally over half-an-hour to shower, dry, dress, do my make-up and get myself down to the conference room looking immaculate. I could do it, just, maybe even snatch a coffee on the run, but breakfast just wasn’t going to happen. Lunch was; that much could be guaranteed, because it said so in my schedule.

When I’d started nearly two years before, it had seemed the perfect job, PA to the CEO of a FTSE company, as it had been described to me. I’d been cherrypicked, straight from university, onto a salary far higher than I had been expecting and into a flat on the third-highest floor of our London headquarters. At the time, several people had gone to the trouble of pointing out that I didn’t deserve the post, and that I’d never have got it if I hadn’t been born with a silver spoon in my mouth. It was true, but that hadn’t stopped me accepting.

I hadn’t realised what I’d be sacrificing. At university I’d had plenty of friends and plenty of freedom. Now I had precious little of either, with barely a moment to spare for my old friends and no new ones. The girls on the main floor called me Posh Bit and I was very firmly not invited to share their social life. Nor was I meant to, as my contract clearly stated that I was to ‘maintain rigorous standards of propriety at all times’ and ‘take scrupulous care not to engage in any activity which might risk bringing the company into disrepute’.

It was a philosophy my boss, Mr Scott, clearly believed in, behaving with Dickensian formality towards me, and if his eyes took a quick tour of my body as I stepped into the lift it was merely to ensure that I had presented myself to a standard appropriate to the company’s standing. He even gave a little proprietorial nod when he’d finished, as if pleased with the quality of an acquisition. I returned a bland smile, hiding my true emotions, which were flickering between disdain and a need to be pushed down to my knees and held by my hair as he fed his cock into my mouth. He merely gave me his usual, very formal greeting.

‘Miss Salisbury.’

‘Mr Scott.’

‘Do you have the presentation ready?’

‘Yes, sir.’

As the lift descended he began to outline his strategy for the meeting, but I knew it already and only pretended to listen while allowing myself a little fantasy. He was big and dark, with a rough edge thinly concealed beneath the veneer of sophistication. Thirty, maybe forty years before, he’d have been the sort of boss who made me sit on his knee and fondled my bottom as I took dictation, maybe even made me go down on him under the desk, or, better still, made me go down on our clients in order to improve our chances of getting a contract. Not that I thought he would ever actually behave like that, and nor did I want him to, but a fantasy is a fantasy and it’s easy to concentrate on the good bits and forget about the drawbacks.

He was still talking as we entered the conference room. A couple of the girls were laying out pens and paper on the table, a near-obsolete practice when everybody seemed to come loaded with gadgetry, but we were very traditional. Both hurried to finish and one, Stacey Atkinson, even apologised as she left, but the look she gave me was anything but contrite, more venomous. I gave her what I hoped was a sympathetic smile, although I knew it was hopeless. As far as they were concerned, I was the enemy, and there didn’t seem to be anything I could do about it. Mr Scott didn’t even notice, as he walked briskly to the head of the table and picked up the control for the huge screen at the far end of the room.

‘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.