Over the Hills and Faraway, Book 5. Paying the Piper
Chapter 13: Cock Ups and Cocktails
Copyright© 2015 by Jack Green
Drama Sex Story: Chapter 13: Cock Ups and Cocktails - Dewey Desmond knew the transition from military to civilian life would be a challenge, but was unprepared for the shocks, surprises ... and some successes ... encountered as he made his way through the turbulent first ten years of the new Millennium, his path strewn with tragedies, triumphs, disasters and delights ... the latter female of course. Follow him to the conclusion of Over the Hills and Faraway; the journey of a life.
Caution: This Drama Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Ma/ft Mult Consensual Drunk/Drugged Heterosexual Cheating Revenge Rough Group Sex Black Female Oral Sex Anal Sex Tit-Fucking Analingus Violent
Ms. Suzannah Weston and I crossed swords again a little over a month after I joined MilSys. Progress of new starters was monitored by their respective Project Leader, so one morning, when John Rudry told me to report to Ms. Suzannah Weston, and knowing my file had been sent to her office, I assumed she wanted to check my work. I could face scrutiny from my Project Leader with quiet confidence; John was impressed with my work, having two of the test programs completed, and being well into the third and final program.
Ms. Suzannah Weston kept me waiting outside her office, where I chatted to her PA, a well preserved woman in her 50's by the name of Vera. Eventually I was summoned into 'The Presence'. She didn't glance up or acknowledge my entrance but continued reading a document on her desk.
"Good morning, Miz Weston. Shall I come back when you are not so busy?"
I can be sarky when it suits.
She flushed, probably with anger rather than with embarrassment.
"Mister Desmond, I'm afraid your work is not up to standard, and if you can't complete these introductory programming tests on time I will be forced to terminate your contract."
Her outburst puzzled me. Surely John would let me know if my work wasn't up to scratch.
"What exactly are the faults in my programs?" I asked.
"Programs?" she said incredulously. " You've not even completed the first one."
She flung a file, with my name on the cover, across the desk. I opened the file, which contained a single sheet of coding. I turned the sheet over and found Samantha Lawson's name written at the bottom of the page. Problem solved. Samantha's test paper was in my file, presumably mine were in Samantha's file.
I turned around and walked towards the door.
"Where are you going?" Ms. Suzannah Weston's voice rose several decibels, and octave, with her question.
"I'm going to get the author of this coding so you can tell her what you told me. If you examine this sheet of paper closely you will find Samantha Lawson's name." Then I stuck the boot in. "You were so keen to get rid of me you didn't bother to check who actually wrote it."
I slid the file back across the desk at her and left the room, winking at Vera as I passed her desk.
That night in The Grapes I recounted my contretemps with Ms. Weston to the gang of Shona, Rebecca, Tommy and Maureen.
"She's one arrogant bitch," Shona said, "and you should make an official complaint and demand an apology."
"Mistakes do happen" I said, "and I don't want to start a new job by complaining about my boss."
"Don't let them take advantage of you," Rebecca said.
"Hasn't anyone ever taken advantage of you?" I enquired.
"Only those who I want to," she said, with a wicked little grin on her face, which caused me to examine her more closely.
I estimated Rebecca's age to be somewhere near 25, and although not particularly pretty she was attractive in the way of all young women. She stood about 5 feet 4 inches tall, being a little overweight for her height, and possessed a pleasant voice and smile. The maxi coat she habitually wore she kept on, even in the The Grapes, but would undo enough buttons to reveal an oversized baggy sweater worn beneath, making it impossible to gauge what sort of figure she had.
The girl was definitely coming on to me, and as nothing had yet developed with Shona the thought of available young female flesh presenting itself gave me a pleasurable glow in my balls.
Next morning when I got into the office there was an envelope on my desk, containing a handwritten letter from Ms Suzannah Weston.
Dear Mr Desmond
Please accept my apologies for my behaviour of yesterday. You were right to point out my failure to examine the paper in detail, and I did jump to the wrong conclusion. Let me assure you I hold no vendetta towards ex-military personnel in general or to you in particular. However, my experience is that ex-servicemen do not always reach the standard required by Military Systems PLC.
That no way excuses my lack of professionalism or courtesy towards you, and I hope you will accept this apology in the spirit it is given.
Well, what could I do? I went up to her office, where Vera told me Ms. Suzannah Weston was at an all-day meeting at MoD.
"Goodness knows what time she left the envelope on my desk this morning." Vera said. "She had to be at MoD by eight, and to call in here before driving into London would mean her leaving her flat about five."
I showed Vera the letter, and she explained. "An ex-serviceman on her team let her down badly at a presentation, and she received a severe reprimand in consequence. I reckon she lost her trust in servicemen then."
I wrote a quick note accepting the apology and left it with Vera. Even Military Systems PLC can make cock ups. No more need to be said.
That evening Maureen was missing from the group when I made my usual visit to The Grapes. "She's gone to Watford for a couple of nights to baby sit for our daughter. There's some big dinner dance she and her husband are attending." Tommy didn't seem too bothered his wife had left him for a couple of days as he recounted the reason for her absence.
It was Pub Quiz night, and with Maureen missing I took her place on the team. I sat between Shona and Rebecca, and at various times during the evening a hand from each would land on my knee. I even received a kiss from Shona when I answered a particularly difficult question correctly. Unfortunately, Shona was divorced with an 8 year old son, and had to leave when the quiz finished as her babysitter wouldn't stay past 9.30 p.m.
Soon after her departure Tommy finished his pint and declared, "I'm off to the chippy for me supper."
That left me and Rebecca sitting thigh to thigh on the bench seat. I asked what she would like to drink, and I was gobsmacked when she replied, "I'd like a long slow comfortable screw up against a wall."
She giggled at my amazed expression and explained. "It's a cocktail; perhaps I'll get one later, meanwhile a white wine would be lovely."
I went up to the bar thinking on what she said. All the signs pointed to shag in prospect, and I was well up for that.
We left arm in arm at closing time. Rebecca lived near the canal, and we walked along with her prattling on about the quiz. Turning a corner we entered a dark back alley, with a long, high, rough stone wall on one side and the backs of factory units on the other.
"Here's the wall" Rebecca said, "so what about my long slow comfortable screw?"
With that she put her arms round my neck and thrust her tongue down my throat. Before I could reciprocate she pulled away from me, fully unbuttoned her coat revealing a baggy sweater and, incongruously, a short, flouncy raa-raa skirt underneath. She was bare legged. Rebecca backed up against the wall, drawing me onto her, and as our groins met and my prick swelled into life, she jumped up, wrapping her legs around my waist.
We kissed, our tongues tango tangling. After five minutes of intensive, invasive, French kissing she pulled her mouth away from mine to whisper, "push up my skirt and pull down my panties."
No sooner said than done, and her pair of cheapo Primark knickers soon dangled from one of her ankles, both of which were locked firmly around my back.
I am not at my best with a knee trembler, especially with my weakened leg, but she found a slight ledge on the wall which took most of her weight. With her skirt well up around her waist I had free and easy acess to her cunt. I like to prime a female with tongue and finger before insertion, but Rebecca was in too much of a hurry to have a length of hot throbbing dick inside her for any foreplay. She had me unzipped in a trice, and her hand quickly led my prick into her honey pot, lubricated or not.
I eased slowly into her tight, dry, cunt, with Rebecca assisting me gain deeper entry by lifting her body up and sliding down on my rapidly hardening prick.
I penetrated further, thrusting up as she bore down. We started moving in unison, gasping together as hard prick invaded soft twat.
I felt moisture as her juices began to flow, oiling my piston, which gradually built up speed as I plunged deeper into her.
Rebecca had been moaning and whimpering with pleasure for some time — hearing a woman making those sounds of sex always turns me on — now she started whispering in my ear: "Yes, yes, that's it, right there. Oh yes, oh yes, aahh."
This encouragement made me redouble my efforts, and I drove in fast and furious, grunting loudly as I delved further into her clutching cunt.
She groaned louder; her climax building as I rammed into her — and then it all went pear shaped.
"Oh yes, Daddy. Fuck me harder, Daddy. I love it when you fuck me hard."
I froze in mid thrust — Daddy? What the fuck was that all about?
Rebecca, realising I had stopped in shock, pretended it was my name she called out. "Desi, don't stop. Do it harder, Des, I'm coming, Des ... Oh, Oh Oh."
She kept thrusting against my diminishing prick, and had such a head of steam my lack of wood was no barrier to her reaching her orgasm.
She came with a shudder and a final shriek.
She kissed me, climbed off my now flaccid and shrunken prick, and pulled her skirt down. "You can keep my panties as a souvenir," She said, and handed them to me. I was so flabbergasted at what had occurred I took them, put them in my pocket and thanked her. We continued walking towards her place, with her still prattling on about the quiz and other inconsequential topics.
I remained in a shocked silence, never having experienced anything like that before.
"I'm sorry you can't come in, but my flat mate will be asleep. Thank you for a lovely evening," Rebecca said when we arrived outside her house. She raised herself up on tiptoes and gave me a long hard kiss before going in, waving as she shut the door.
I walked home in a daze, and a state of sexual frustration.
One of the drawbacks to Mrs Jackson's B+B was having to go out for an evening meal. The next day I went to The Grapes for some pub grub straight from work. "I can recommend the hot pot," Tommy said, also having to fend for himself with Maureen away. I joined him at his table, and ordered two pints while waiting for my grub.
"Did Rebecca give you the 'long slow comfortable screw up against a wall' performance last night?" He asked. He grinned at the surprise showing on my face and continued, "She's lived around here for about six years, and has shagged every male from the age of sixteen to sixty five in West Drayton using that act, me included." He took a long swig of his pint. "I would be grateful if you kept that last piece of information to yourself."
I nodded my agreement. "Did she call out 'Daddy' with you?"
"She carries out the same routine, and says the same things each time; even uses the same place on the wall." He laughed. "It must cost her a fortune in knickers."
"Being called 'Daddy' put me right off my stroke." I said, supping deep at my pint. "I didn't get to shoot my load, and went home with lover's bollock."
"I was lucky," he said. "I'd been tipped off about the Daddy bit, so I kept on shagging. I never missed a beat, and fired both barrels into her." He finished his pint. "Want another, Des?" he asked. I declined, as I was about to tuck into my food.
"Anyway," I said with a mouthful of hotpot, "now I know what to expect I'll be OK next time Rebecca asks for a long slow comfortable screw up against a wall."
"That's the trouble," Tommy said sadly," she never shags the same bloke twice. She is one weird girl to be a social worker. They are supposed to sort out people with hang ups. She must have a whole heap of sexual problems."
"Just my bloody luck. Oh well, I will need to redouble my efforts with Shona."
Tommy shook his head. "Shona is in a heavy relationship with a married bloke on site. Guthrie has been shagging Shona for about three years, ever since she took the job in the post room. He is well married, and there is no way he will leave his wife. Her family are posh and wealthy, and Guthrie lifted himself a long way up the social ladder by marryong into that family. He was as rough as a bear's arse before he married."
"Is that Alan Guthrie, the Site Director?"
"That's the bloke. He lived in digs here for several months before buying his big place near the river." Tommy went on. "He used to take Shona on trips abroad, but he doesn't do that as often now as he has a new piece of stuff in tow; his PA is his latest bit of spare. I feel really sorry for Shona. She knows what a shit Guthrie is, but still drops everything, including her knickers, when he calls."
Tommy finished up his pint. "Well, Des, I'm off. I'll probably see you tomorrow." As he turned to leave he stopped and faced me.
"Now I recall, it was Guthrie who told me Rebecca calls out Daddy when she's being shagged. He and Shona were shagging on a regular basis at the time, but he couldn't resist a bit of extra cunt from Rebecca. What a gobshite."
I watched Tommy leave the pub, and the old saying of the pot calling the kettle black came to mind.
Since the bizarre encounter with Rebecca, I had been as celibate as a monk, although I still saw her and the rest of the gang in 'The Grapes' from time to time. She acted if nothing had happened between us, and never mentioned that night, and to be fair I think she had forgotten the whole event minutes after it concluded.
It was probably just as well I had no romantic entanglements for, although I was coping OK with the programming, I had to do a lot of reading to get abreast of SSR, besides having day release at Brunel University in Uxbridge, hoping to gain qualifications applicable to IT and computing. I found it hard going, and if it wasn't for John Rudry I think I would have sunk under all the information I was trying to assimilate. He spent hours tutoring, encouraging, and getting my thick skull to understand the rather abstract concepts involved.
I had finished all my test programs, and had no further run ins with Ms. Suzannah Weston. In fact, she sometimes favoured me with a slight smile of recognition when we both attended meetings – very keen on meetings was MilSys. My level of lust for her had not abated, rather the opposite.
I was now writing 'real' programs, which would be incorporated in the finished suite of programs for which my team was responsible. This was something of a two edged sword as I also had to provide the documentation for the program I had written. This had to include the logic behind the program, the expected logic path through the program, and an explanation of what the program did couched in terms so any one following on from me could make amendments or adjustments to the program, depending on 'the exigencies of the service'. I found this technical writing extremely difficult.
One morning, before I left Mrs Jackson's B+B for work, my mobile rang and Alf Tupper of The Crown was on the other end. After first moving to West Drayton I would often pop back to see him and Maggie, but as my work load increased my visits diminished. He and Maggie had finally got their flight date to Oz, and next week there would be a farewell party at The Crown. I was to be there, no ifs, no buts, no excuses. Of course I would be.