Before you read this, it isn't a stroke story as such. A story with sex in it yes, but not a quick fire wham bam. Thought it best to let you know.
Stella was a bitch, pure and simple, a statement of irrefutable fact. Somehow, in her twelve years working at the small Accountancy practice, she had charmed, or perhaps bullied the senior partner into making her the Office Manager.
She was the archetype of the Office Manageress. Quite tall, at around six foot, as slender as a rake handle, with hair pulled savagely back into a bun at the back of her head that you would swear was pulling her face out of shape and taking out the wrinkles. Her clothes hide any female form she might have had except that it was obvious her tits were small and high on her chest. Even the voluminous blouses she wore could not hide that fact.
Religiously, she wore a two piece suit to work, comprising of a pencil thin skirt with a short slit at the back and tailored jacket that looked as if it had been cinched in to her narrow waist. A blouse of pastel colour was under the jacket, usually with some kind of ruff or flounce at the throat.
She wore little by way of make-up. What she did wear was understated and muted. Transparent, colourless lipstick and eye shadow that hardly registered. Her shoes were the sensible pump type, flat heeled and characterless.
Her private life was something of a mystery. None of the girls in the office knew if she was married, had a boy friend, or, as mostly was supposed, a girlfriend, tucked away and dominated by this dragon into sexual submission. The popular fantasy involved rubber and whips with lashings of baby oil and possibly a dungeon.
She never once spoke of her private life, never mentioned children or family or any activity outside of the office. Conjecture was that she simply rolled into the broom closet at the end of the corridor over night, ready for the next days work.
Stella wore no jewellery, not even a watch adorned her bony wrist. No necklace hung around her neck, no ear rings, nothing. She was without charm, totally, completely and just as bereft of sexual allure too.
Most everyone was ... well ... scared of her. Even the Partners thought twice before bringing her in on a meeting or making any demands on her time. The frosty stare and steady eye she looked at them with was enough to freeze the words right on the tip of a tongue.
Names like anti-Christ and Ice Queen were regularly used instead of her name. She was aloof, self assured and blithely travelled from day to day with complete aplomb, unruffled or flustered.
But, and this is where the myth of an enigma can be built. Away from the office, Stella was anything but prim and proper as the new boy was to find out.
James, or Jimmy, as he preferred to be called, was a nervous wreck. His first day in the office as a junior clerk had been a nightmare. He was only eighteen, fresh out of college and thrown into the melting pot of an office, surrounded by a gang of ten women of various ages, but who exuded a united front when they stripped him bare of any self respect. Mercilessly, they teased him, both overtly and subtly. Making comments about his suit, lack of a girlfriend (was he gay), not quite tying his tie straight or worse, flashing a leg or slightly more, just so that he would blush, instantly, as his gaze inadvertently caught sight of a thigh or more of a cleavage than he really wanted to see.
The distractions meant that he often didn't quite get his work completed or was inaccurate. That brought him to the attention of Stella and a verbal lashing that also had him blushing with humiliation and frustration.
It was wicked, but served as entertainment to the ten women and broke the monotony of office drudge. The worst thing they did to him in his first week was to goad the youngest of them into inviting him out to the cinema while giving him an eyeful of her tits. The poor boy stammered his acceptance only to hear her say she would have to ask her boyfriend first. They took bets on the length of time it would take before he left, before they drove him out. It was heartless and, as it turned out, pointless too.
Jimmy had only just moved to London. His childhood had been spent in a small village in Kent. Appledore, quaint and old world, slept in the lowlands of the county with a flint build church and spire the biggest thing about the place apart from the orchards that gave the place its name.
Everyone knew each other, knew their family and pretty much all of their business as well. Village life is very close knit. Secrets have no part in the community. It means that you can call on anyone for help, but it also means you behaved and didn't get involved in things you shouldn't because you could be certain, someone would see you and your parents would hear about it before you got home. It meant that the promiscuity of larger towns would not happen there. If you were out with a girl, you had better be sure you were thinking of marriage.
Jimmy was unworldly. His upbringing meant that his experiences were stilted in comparison to most young men in the city. It meant he was disadvantaged in the defence of himself when faced with the united efforts of the ten, street-wise colleagues he found himself in the midst of. He had no natural resilience or wherewithal to play the game. Somehow, he managed to make it to his first pay check, a month's money which covered his peppercorn rent of a flat owned by a relative, food, travel to and from work and enough to allow him some leisure funds.
At the stage entrance:
Soho was like a magnet. Jimmy had heard of the sordid clubs and video parlours where it was possible to view models simulating sex acts. Where sex was sold on the street, in shops and hotels, only a stones throw away.
The flashing lights, advertising the many different services, vices, toys and visual delights, fairly spun his head. This was a side of London he had heard about, but was only now finding. Girls in negligees or basques stood in shadowy doorways, outrageously made up and beckoning to passing foot traffic to step inside and sample the delights on offer.
Jimmy blushed furiously while turning just such an offer down. He wanted to see what Soho was about, but wasn't quite ready to plunge headfirst into the first place he saw.
The pavements were heaving with people, jostling and barging their way through. He knew of pickpockets, so clutched his wallet tightly in his hand. A sudden push from the crush of people had him stumbling into a doorway. The door was open with some coloured strips of plastic hanging down as a method to stop gawkers leering in. Jimmy, when he regained his balance, found himself in a sex shop with rows of leather and rubber clothing hanging off of a high level rail. Under this was a glass counter, brightly lit, with all kinds of rings, butt plugs and body jewellery in various metals shining expectantly and mysteriously up at him.
Jimmy spun on his heel, ready for flight, only to be confronted by a wall of vibrators of wildly differing sizes, shapes and colours, massage oils, cock rings and more items of sexual attire, in rubber and plastic. Standing next to a display of outsized dildos was a lanky youth with bright pink, spiked hair, a fluorescent yellow spike through his nose and another through his eyebrow. He also sported a large silver ring through his lower lip. The young man wore a short leather jacket with no sleeves, a royal tartan kilt and knee high boots with buckles all the way up and soles about three inches thick. Jimmy was certain he had never seen anything quite so bizarre.
He bolted for the door, but not before he noticed the speculative lift of a spiked eyebrow and the effeminate bye, directed at his retreating back. The crowds outside had not diminished at all. He joined the milling people, hoping that he would not get lost.
A flashing neon sign caught his eye. "MINX" flashed on and of in lurid red. Under it, but not flashing was the word Cocktails. Jimmy needed a drink, was on the point of panic at this alien place he had landed in. Cocktails weren't exactly what he needed, but perhaps they sold a decent beer.
He passed under the flashing sign, into a dark doorway and then down a stair that took him to basement level. At the foot of the shadowy stairs were a tall counter and a checkout girl who was eyeing him with curiosity. She chewed gum and waited to see what would come next.
"Drink" Jimmy gasped. "Need a drink."
"Yeah!" She replied, sounding bored. "Frew there." She nodded her head towards yet another door, covered by a draped curtain. "That'll be five pounds mate." She continued to chew noisily and held her hand out for the money. "You 'aft a be a member innit? We do tempry memberships for special guests innit? Five pounds."
"Um ... Oh, 'course." He fumbled out a five pound note and handed it to her noticing that she had a Basque on that was at least one size too big for her.
She looked at the note in her hand, then expectantly at Jimmy, waiting for the usual gratuity. It was a fruitless expectancy. She sighed theatrically and indicated that he should go through the curtain, pointing the way with her chin.
Beyond the curtain was a large room, dimly lit with booths around the walls offering even dimmer spaces to sit. A few tables and chairs were arranged in semi circles in front of a raised, felt covered dais that had a pole sticking up from the middle. The colour scheme was dark burgundy and black. He was aware that the room had several people in it, mostly shadowy figures, cloistered in the cubicles. Jimmy found a seat at one of the tables in front of the dais and waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness and a waitress to get his order.
Eventually, another basque wearing young lady approached him carrying a tray. Jimmy blushed and hoped that the dim light would hide his embarrassment of seeing her virtually naked. Her breasts were pushed up by the tight costume and looked likely to pop out of the top at any time. He noticed a pair of dice tattooed on her left breast. Both were showing a six.
"Hello, I'm Gwen and I will be serving you. What would you like?" Her welsh accent was completely false, an affectation to go with the name.
"Beer please?" Jimmy tried not to talk to her tits, but they were insistent and filled his visual field.
"We only do champagne love."
"It said cocktails outside."
"We only do champagne." She repeated as if talking to a something beneath her foot. "It's champagne of nuffink." The Welsh accent suddenly got dropped as her distain increased.
"Okay ... champagne it is then."
"Will that be cash or credit?" Her hip went sideways as her head bent in the opposite direction.
"Er ... cash." Jimmy fished for his wallet.
"That'll be forty pounds Sir." She blinked and waited for the money.
"Wha ... Okay." Two twenty pound notes landed reluctantly on the tray. Gwen spun on her impossibly high heels and presented her arse towards him as she wobbled across the floor towards the bar.
Two glasses of warm champagne later, Jimmy was ready to call it a night and go home. So far, the evening had stripped him of more than he could really afford, but had taught him a lesson. Be careful what you let yourself in for. Or in other words, a naïve county boy and his money are soon parted.
Suddenly, a spot light flashed on, centred on the Dais, making the steel pole shine. A nameless tune blared out of unseen speakers, something with a heavy base line, timed with the beat of a heart at rest. Most of the booths emptied, the occupants formed a semi-circle behind Jimmy.
Out of the corner of his eye, Jimmy caught a flurry of movement. To the ripple of applause from the patrons, a woman was making her entrance doing acrobatic walk overs. Bending at the waist, placing her hands on the floor in front of her then flipping her legs over so that her body arched until her feet hit the floor, ready to start the gymnastic display all over again.
She had something gauzy on over her underwear. Jimmy could see her bra and a pair of short pant type knickers with red sequins stitched on. Fluidly, she flipped her way to the dais and became upright, right next to the pole as if she had measured the distance to get it perfectly.
Lithely, she bent at the waist, her legs straight and grabbed the pole at its base, the back of her neck and shoulders flattened against the steel post. In a show of amazing muscle control and agility, she lifted her legs off the ground until she was inverted vertically. He legs locked around the pole and she then proceeded to remove the flimsy top, allowing it to flutter to the floor. Upside down, her tits followed gravity. Jimmy thought they might strangle her.
Through several dextrous twists and displays of friction between skin and metal, the performer righted her self and gyrated around the pole. The pants came of to reveal a sparkling thong underneath and some impressively muscular buttocks.
Jimmy heard himself braying along with the other spectators as she, with an exaggerated theatrical flourish, unclipped her bra and gave them all a full frontal of her smallish breasts with her aureoles rouged with something like lipstick. They cheered as her lovely orbs fell into view.
He was transfixed. Not more than six feet away was this lithe creature performing acrobatics with a steel pole and showing rather more skin that Jimmy had seen before. His own pole was making insistent nudges to the inside of his trousers.
She knelt, legs wide apart, her back to the pole and directly in his eye line. He stared at the thin line of gusset that was between her fanny and the rest of the world. Suddenly, it was the centre of his universe. His imagination had him going head first into her hidden depths to be lost forever.
The music became slightly more intense, as if written specifically for her act, rather than the other way around. The thong came off in a fluid, single yank while she sat on the floor. Slowly, once the pants were off, from a position of being on her back with her legs straight up in the air, knees together, she spread them, wide apart and showed the audience, her sex, in all its naked glory. A huge cheer went up in appreciation. Jimmy just goggled in stunned silence, his first glimpse of a woman's sex since his birth and only a few feet away.
Her finale was a finger slowly slipping between her hairless lips and into her hole. Poor Jimmy almost lost his load there and then.
The music finished with a flourish, the dancer picked up her discarded clothing and walked from the dais with a blown kiss as she passed through the curtaining behind her.
Jimmy sat down, not realising he had stood to clap her performance as if it had been delivered by a world class actress. His throat was raw from screaming along with the rest of the audience, in encouragement of her act.
The champagne hadn't chilled any, but went some way to refresh and revive him.
The audience returned to anonymity in their booths and a quiet susurration of voices and cigarette smoke.
The dancer came into the room from another hidden entrance carrying an empty beer glass. She passed around the room, thrusting the glass under noses and saying a pretty thank you as notes of various values were stuffed into it in appreciation of her act. Eventually, she got to Jimmy and did the same, proffering the glass for his token of appreciation.
Jimmy fished a tenner out of his dwindling wallet and was pushing it into the glass when he made eye contact. It was one of those moments when the impossible collides with reality and both sides register a shock that hits their cores.
Even through the heavily caked stage make up, Jimmy recognised Stella instantly. In truth, it was the first time he had looked at her face all night. Other parts of her anatomy had been rather more appealing up till now.
Two O's of surprise echoed each other. It was Stella who recovered first.
"Jimmy ... What are you doing here?"
He noticed, again, for the first time that night that her hair was just below shoulder length and really quite brown and not held in a face changing bun at the back of her head.
"I er ... I er ... got lost." He grinned sheepishly. And then, with a little more back bone and very little fore thought, said. "I guess you did too."
At that, she laughed, throwing her head back, showing a beautiful throat while she howled. Eventually, she calmed down enough to reply. "Yeah, I guess I did at that. C'mon with me."
She grabbed his hand and semi-dragged him across the floor in front of the dais, towards the hidden entrance she had come through. An open dressing room was behind the curtain, buzzing with six or seven women in various conditions of undress, sitting in front of a long mirror with lights around it. Make up littered a long dressing table. Bits of costume were strewn all over the place and all seemed complete uproar.
Jimmy blushed and desperately wanted to bolt from the room, but the women took no notice of him and carried on applying the theatrical paint to their faces or adjusted their costumes as if he wasn't there.
Did they have no shame? He thought to himself as his eyes took in the scene of chaos, darting here and there. They were almost naked and seemingly nonplussed by a strange man in their midst?