A Study in Shame. Lucy Salisbury

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      Chapter Four

      ‘I am a dirty little bitch, aren’t I, Morrison?’

      He answered with his usual accusing, superior stare, which made me feel even dirtier. I pushed down the sheets and spread my legs, enjoying my nudity and exposure as I thought of what I’d done the night before. It hadn’t been what I’d planned at all, but it had been extremely good. There was a tiny, niggling voice in the back of my head, telling me in a slightly despairing tone that I’d ended up having sex with another woman, again, but otherwise I was blissfully happy.

      Charlie had handled me perfectly, not only taking control but humiliating me without even thinking about what she was doing. Then there had been the gloriously shame-filled moment of having to stay in position, with the dildo jammed up me as deep as it would go and the vibrator on full speed while she finished herself off by rubbing her cunt on the base. She’d been nice about it afterwards as well, which is always important, giving me a hug and a kiss before she opened up the shop again. Even the trip back to my flat had been exciting, with my guilty purchases concealed in a large plain bag, the full system, because after what she’d done to me I could hardly have gone for less.

      Unfortunately, there was no time to bring myself to a leisurely climax over the memories of the night before. I’d just stripped off my nightie and knickers in anticipation of some fun when Mr Scott had called up to tell me I was to be in his office for a meeting at half-past eight. That barely left me enough time to dress, so I contented myself with a long moment with my thighs wide open and my back arched as I played with my breasts, wondering what he’d say if I came down in the nude, then got up.

      At precisely eight thirty I knocked on his door.

      ‘Come. Good morning, Miss Salisbury.’

      ‘Good morning, Mr Scott.’

      He had looked up as I spoke, and gave me a slightly quizzical look, as if there was something unusual about my appearance. As I had actually dressed, and made-up with my usual care, I knew there wasn’t, but couldn’t help but wonder if there was some sort of afterglow to good sex that showed. He adjusted the papers on his desk and turned to his computer, frowning at the screen as he spoke once more.

      ‘This weekend is a team-building exercise, Miss Salisbury, as I’m sure you know?’

      ‘Yes, sir. Bayford Woods. Rendezvous eleven o’clock in the main lobby.’

      ‘That’s right. As you also know, it’s organised by Confidence. They’ve completed their analysis of staff-interaction patterns within the office and they have two recommendations. First, that we build respect for the authority structure by appointing team leaders with military ranks. Second, that we encourage internal competition and individual aspiration by playing a male team against a female team. This seems like a good idea to me.’

      It seemed like a load of nonsense to me, but I knew better than to argue.

      ‘Yes, sir, an excellent idea.’

      ‘Good, because you’ll be leading the women’s team, with the rank of lieutenant.’

      ‘I–I’m flattered that you should pick me, sir, but surely somebody more senior?’

      I wasn’t flattered. I was horrified. They all thought I was a stuck-up little bitch as it was, and trying to order them around during a paintball battle we were sure to lose really wasn’t going to help. Then there was the mud, and the inevitable bruising, and at least thirty over-competitive young men for whom I was sure to be the prime target.

      Mr Scott was shaking his head. ‘Miss Phillips is in Antigua, Mrs Ryan’s on maternity leave and Mrs Grierson feels such activities are incommensurate with her position as Chair. Look on it as an opportunity to show your authority and leadership skills.’

      I was entirely in sympathy with Mrs Grierson and would cheerfully have swapped places with Miss Phillips, or even Mrs Ryan, but there was a hard edge to Mr Scott’s voice and I knew full well that he felt I didn’t make enough effort to be part of the team.

      ‘Thank you, sir. I’ll do my best.’

      ‘One hundred and ten per cent, Miss Salisbury.’

      I managed a smile.

      That was only the start. I was not only expected to lead my colleagues on the coming Saturday, but also had to assemble my team, appoint sergeants and corporals, then outline our tactics, all on top of my usual workload. The only constructive thing I could think of was a remark my great-uncle Cyril had made about officer training during the Second World War. When asked how he would go about assembling a piece of complicated equipment in the field, he had replied, ‘Sergeant, assemble the equipment’, which was apparently the right answer. I decided to work on similar lines, by appointing the pushiest girls in the office as my NCOs and letting them get on with it while I stayed safely out of the way.

      The obvious choice was Stacey Atkinson, a big dark-haired girl who was СКАЧАТЬ