Chapter 3

Someone once told me, 'To succeed in business, choose competent subordinates and let them get on with the job. Then drop in with random inspections to keep them honest.' Now I reckon there's more – much more – to it than that, but there's certainly an element of truth in it. I don't – usually – interfere in departmental matters, but I do make sure I know what's going on, and also that everyone concerned knows that I know. Thus it was, about three months after Miss Sharpe began to work for us, I was visiting the accounts department.

Gerry Marsden, our chief accountant, saw me enter; smiled and waved, knowing I would talk to him after I'd had a wander round and a chat to some of his people. Which I did. Melissa Sharpe was intently absorbed in whatever she was doing. I could hear music – classical music, in fact the 'Pearl Fishers' duet' – emanating from the tinny speakers of her workstation. When she realised there was someone in her pod, she squeaked, looked round, and started to stand when she saw it was me.

"Don't get up. I'm just popping in to see how you're getting on."

Awkwardly, she adjusted herself back in her seat. "Oh. Um. Er ... I'm fine. Thank you. Er ... Mister Carpenter. Sir."

I asked her to tell me what she was doing, and she did so. She did so in such a way that I actually understood, and in the process her manner changed to one of confident competence. When she finished, I thanked her for such a clear exposition. She blushed, and I smiled and left.

"I want to promote her," Gerry told me when we got round to her. "She's that good. Within a month of her starting, other staff were taking queries and problems to her if I was tied up. So far, I've nothing but admiration for her."

"Good enough, Gerry. I think it may be a little too early to make things formal, though. I think she's still recovering from the shock of her starting salary."

"Well ... okay. But seriously, I've never had or wanted a deputy, but she's de facto my deputy right now."

"Look, Gerry, I don't have a problem with rewarding competence, you know that. Let's leave it for now. Set up for a six-month review and offer her ninety-five K, and tell her we're creating a post to recognise her contribution to the company. If you like, offer her a car, if you think that's appropriate."

"Yeah. That'd be good. I'd like to let her loose off site, and a car would help. Something small, I think."

"Sounds good. Anything I need to know about off site?"

"Nothing I can pin down. Just that I've got a feeling. Melissa might be able to spot something I've missed."

"Okay. Keep me in the loop?"

"Of course."

And that was it for, oh, a couple of months I suppose. Not that the time lacked interest. Not at all. In the past I'd had one girlfriend at a time. Okay, I could probably have catted around, but I never liked to do that. After my night with Charlie, though, things changed. I was a little worried when I walked into Stacey's domain the following Monday morning.

"Morning, Boss," she greeted me with a wide, knowing, smile. "Good time Saturday?"

"Why, yes ... yes, I did, thank you."

"Excellent. So long as you save some for me, from time to time."

"Oh? You want to come ride one of my bikes?"

She shook her head. "Oh, no. No, no, no. Not my scene at all. As I think you know."

I did know. One of the elements that ensured my relationships did not endure, was the non-congruence of our interests. Charlie at least liked motorbikes, but was into heavy metal – a genre I can enjoy occasionally, but not as a regular diet. Stacey ... well, let's just say the only points of contact were food and sex. Of course the sex was very good...

After my day with Charlie, she and Stacey had some sort of agreement going. Saturdays were Charlie's; we'd take a couple of my bikes and ride all day if we didn't take in a rally. I like a big single, so I was usually on the Velo, or my International Norton. Charlie usually went for the Black Shadow. On the odd occasion I wanted that one, she took the Rapide. But we'd ride. We entered rallies, and when there weren't rallies, we took in museums. I mean, really. Museums like the Imperial War Museum Duxford, or the Shuttleworth Collection. We preferred the ones where the exhibits actually worked. Often, we were asked to park the bikes in the display, rather than in the normal parking. Charlie got used to the 'Pudding Basin' helmet and Mark VIII goggles which I have to confess are not as comfortable as modern helmets.

Stacey, well, we got together one evening a week for food and sex.

My birthday came round. The day before, Stacey asked if she could arrange for food at my apartment and several of my senior employees to come for a party. That seemed like a good idea, and it was. We all had a good time; I made everyone use a taxi, so we could drink and not worry. You know 'in vino veritas'? Apparently Universities use cocktail parties to find out what potential staff are really like. It's a good idea. Some of my people said things they'd never dare say without the effects of alcohol. It wasn't a problem, though, and I found out things I wouldn't have known about otherwise; mainly that everyone was happy if sometimes jealous of my relationships with Stacey and Charlie.

Gerry brought Melissa Sharpe, who was a little wide-eyed and quiet throughout the evening. When I greeted her and our hands met I swear I got an electric shock. Judging by her expression, she did too.

As I say, the evening went well. In due course, around midnight, everyone went home. Everyone, that is, except Charlie and Stacey.

They each took a hand and, surprising me, their free hands linked. "We couldn't agree," Stacey smirked, "which of us should have you tonight. But we thought you could probably cope with a threesome..."

"Er ... intriguing."

"Why don't we take a shower?" was Charlie's contribution.

I have a large shower. Of course. And I like showering with my bedmates. Three in the shower, though? It was just a little crowded. However, being soaped up by two sexy women, using their bodies, rather than their hands, to apply the gel? I could get used to that. By the time we were done, I was so hard it was uncomfortable. Having dried each other, the girls giggled and raced into the bedroom ahead of me.

I followed them ... of course. When I got there, Charlie was on her back, legs spread, with Stacey eating her out. My view was of Stacey's delectable rear waggling in invitation, her vulva swollen in arousal and glistening with her juices. Somehow, they'd contrived that Stacey's pussy was exactly at the right height for me to enter her without any contortions, and I did so, groaning with pleasure at the resulting sensation.

It really was a most erotic situation. Stacey's pussy was doing interesting things to my cock, and Charlie's vocal response to Stacey's lips and tongue had me on the edge almost immediately. I held off as long as I could; that might have been measured in minutes, but I doubt it.

Despite what Stacey's vaginal muscles were doing, despite the vista in front of me, I shrank and slipped out of her. That resulted in a remarkable piece of choreography. I watched it, but I'm not at all sure I saw exactly how they did it. The result was Stacey's pussy at Charlie's mouth, where Charlie slurped out what I'd put in, plus, of course Stacey's own juices ... but they'd shifted down the bed and Stacey was propped on Charlie's knees to put her mouth at just the right height again.

"Cock," she said, "mouth."

So my limp noodle was sucked between her lips, and didn't stay limp for long. Once Stacey had me back to how she wanted me, she peered up at me under her eyebrows and just said, "On the bed."

Nothing loth, I did as I was told. Very quickly, I had Charlie impaling herself on my pole, but before I could get to enjoy that sight, Stacey was straddling my face. Sensory overload.

I mean, seriously – overload. I was aware of the tight, slippery, velvety glove enclosing my cock, silky skin touching my thighs and chest, the overwhelming scent of woman in my nostrils, her slippery moistness on my cheeks, lips and tongue. There was the taste of her, the texture of her labia, the hardness of her clit and the sound of two passionate women heading inexorably towards orgasm.