Assisting the Queen Bitch

It was a normal boring Wednesday in the office. Dean was running some new cabling, Fred was talking some fool through a simple Excel macro, and Jane was up to her elbows in a server, waving screwdrivers and reaching round for the new boards she was installing.

The Super poked his head out of his office. "Dillon", he called to me. "Get your ass in here."

"Ah shit man, what have you done this time?" Jane said.

"Fucked if I know," I replied, and headed over to the supervisor's cubicle. I knocked twice on the wall beside the doorway - no doors on this floor, us techies didn't warrant privacy - and stepped in. "S'up?"

"Ms Danielle Beech has requested, nay demanded, the pleasure of your company up on 17," he said. Oh fuck, I thought. Jane was right... What had I done?

"Any idea why?"

"She didn't say. Just get your ass upstairs," he said. "You don't want another write-up on your file."

"Man, you and I both know that was bullshit."

"Don't make me deal with HR again, that's all I'm saying. Whatever she wants, you do it, and keep that smart mouth of yours shut. Am I clear?"

"Yessir!" I saluted, and walked out to the sound of the Super chuckling to himself.

"Well?" Jane asked as I came back onto the floor.

"Gotta go see Queen Bitch," I said, picking up a few likely spares and popping them in my carry-all.

"Ah fuck man," Jane said. She walked over, hand out for a shake. "Well, it was nice working with you." I took her hand, shook it, and we both grinned.

"See ya, loser!" called Dean, from his rats-nest of CAT-5.

I love my team. We're a tight-knit little band in tech support, handling everything from help desk through installations and upgrades, and doing the occasional bit of scripting. We're the dogsbodies, the gophers, but we don't give a shit. We get to play with the big toys, we have a great time together, and the overtime bonuses are outrageous.

I didn't get much call to go up to 17, the sales exec floor. That was mostly Fred's gig, helping them out with Office software issues. As I rode the lift, I remembered back to when Fred gave me the tour of the building. He'd described the 17th as 'the ice palace', 'cos he always got such a cold reception from all the 'frigid bitches' up there. I reckon he's just got no game. Ask me, the floor was hot as hell. There wasn't an ugly woman there, and boy was it pussy central, every one at least a nine. It's like they had a specific hiring policy to only take on ex-models. I get it, sex appeal sells. There were a few guys, all three-piece thousand-dollar suits - queers, Dean insisted, so Jane countered that he should know; but I'd kind-of agreed. The men were very pretty, extremely well-dressed, and there was so much oestrogen in the air here that as a red-blooded male I certainly wouldn't have been able to concentrate.

I had to walk the length of the floor to get to Ms Beech's office. I tried to keep my eyes fixed firmly on the prize, but I ain't no saint. Everyone impeccably made up and professionally dressed, each one with an outfit designed and cut to emphasise their assets, just this side of inappropriate for an office setting. Tight wool jumpers clinging to improbable tits; skirts like clingwrap that surely they couldn't sit down in let alone bend over, trousers more like tights, scoop necks so deep they'd trip over them.

"Be careful up there," Dean had told me. "Those foxes will eat you alive." Sure, I worked out, and I was in pretty fine trim, but I knew these girls were way out of my league. How did they keep those figures, I wondered? Reckoned half the tits must be surgically enhanced, because you didn't get stacked like that without matching hips and ass. But to stay so thin... I liked food too much.

Jane kept it real. "No way man, I couldn't live without chocolate and pizza. You won't catch me on the skinny bitch diet. Chardonnay and semen, that's all they live off," she reckoned.

My head was getting dizzy from the perfume and hormone undertones. Truth was, I was a little worried. Earlier in the week I'd been catching a break in the cafeteria, daydreaming, when I heard a shrill voice call over to me. "You wanna picture?", it asked, and I realised I'd been staring at one of the hot junior sales execs as she was bending over to grab a diet soda from the fridge.

"Sorry, I..."

"Fuck you, asshole," she said, and strode out of the room. Maybe this was what Ms Beech wanted me for - to drag my ass over the coals for 'assaulting' one of her staff, or some such bullshit. Just smile and nod, I thought. Work probation will be over soon, just a few more weeks and then I'm safe. Safer, anyway.

Danielle Beech had the corner office, of course. Queen, because she was the boss in charge of all these worker bees out on the floor; and Bitch, because she had a reputation for not suffering fools and for insisting everything was done her way, right now. As I approached the office, one of the worker bees fled, dabbing a tissue under one eye. I heard the Queen shout after her "Fucks sake Tina, it's very simple. Bring it back, done right, in an hour." Great, I thought. She's already pissed.

I stepped into the office. Ms Beech was standing at the window, looking out, talking to someone on her phone. I caught sight of her in profile. Damn, she was a fine woman to look at. Mid-thirties, quite short, around five foot. Long chestnut hair pinned and clipped up. Bright red suit, skirt to mid-thigh and matching heels; the jacket hung by the door. She probably didn't realise the backlight of the window rendered her blouse semi-translucent; the swell of her full breast in the white patterned lace caught my attention. Fortunately, I realised I was staring and looked away before she turned and gestured to a sofa near her desk. I eased into it and made myself relax.

She looked at me, and made a "blah blah blah" gesture with her hands. Covering the mouthpiece with her hand, she called over to me "You got a passport?" I nodded, but with a frown. She turned away again. I waited, and then waited a bit longer.

"Listen sugar, I'm gonna have to call you back," I heard. She hung up. "What a bitch," she commented to nobody in particular, dropped her phone onto her desk, then leant against it and addressed me directly. "You got plans for next week?"

"Err..."

"Cancel them. Clear the whole week. I need tech support at the BizTek conference, and apparently you're it."

She started going off on what the conference was about, how important it was to the firm, and so on. I tuned out a bit, I must admit. It didn't help that, given the way she was perched on the corner of her desk, and that the sofa was quite comfy and low down, she was showing me rather more thigh than was appropriate for a business meeting. In fact, the only thing I clearly remember her saying was how she needed to 'suck a lot of cock with those industry leaders', and I'm not sure who that says more about.

"Tina, get your fat ass back in here," she shouted over my head. The admin assistant shuffled back in. Fat? If she turned sideways, she'd have disappeared. Women can be so bitchy to each other. "This is Dillon, he's accompanying me to the conference next week. Arrange it."

"Yes, Ms Beech."

Danielle had already turned away and was back on the phone. With a wave, I realised I was dismissed. I followed Tina out to her own desk, provided my contact information and promised to bring my passport in the following day.

"Where exactly is the conference?" I asked. A detail that either Ms Beech hadn't shared, or I'd been too distracted to take in.

"It's in Hawaii," she replied.

"Nice," I said.

As I walked away, I'm sure I heard her mutter "Lucky bastard" under her breath. But maybe I imagined it.

I strode, cocky, back onto the tech floor. "So, you still work here then," noted Fred.

"For now, yeah. But I've got a little trip next week." I gave them the beef.

"Trapped on an island for a week with the Bitch Queen?" said Fred. "I'm well off out of that!"

"Well, shit," said the Super. "She asked who I had that was expendable for a week. If I knew it was a free holiday, I'd've put myself forward. Fuck."

"See you later, losers," I said - and clocked off for the day. I needed to get myself some gear.

///

Sunday morning, the car pulled up outside my apartment building. The chauffeur collected my suitcase and bags and insisted on carrying them to the sleek black Mercedes and stowed them for me. He held the door, and I climbed in and made myself comfortable. There were bottles of mineral water, and some wine and beers, but I passed on those - I didn't want to be stuck in the car needing a piss on the way to the airport. I settled back into the soft leather and enjoyed the ride.

This is the life, I thought to myself. I didn't have to spend my own money getting a cab, or dragging my case on and off the train, like I would for a normal tech conference. This weekend, I was travelling executive style, alongside Danielle. No way would she ever carry her own case.

The journey to the airport was uneventful, and I arrived with plenty of time. There was a whole bank of Business Class check-in desks, all staffed, but with no customers. They checked my bags - no concern with the weight or size of them or my hand luggage, nothing was a problem - and directed me towards the express security lines. I was scanned and cleared through within minutes of being dropped at the kerb, and found myself with a few hours to spare air-side. I fought my way through the duty-free towards the proper shops, and had a browse. There were a few bits I wanted to pick up tax-free. Then I thought it was time for a hearty breakfast, settled myself into the bar, and treated myself to a Full English courtesy of the company credit card I'd been issued for the trip, washed down with a couple of coffees and, still with time to spare, a couple of beer chasers.

Boarding was as effortless as security had been, and I was directed to the executive bridge, and once on the aircraft was guided upstairs to the Business Class by a hot stewardess. She was made up to within an inch of her life, and the uniform was so tight on her anorexic frame I was amazed she could even breathe let alone bid me welcome to the flight.

My seat - cabin? - was awesome. I'd not flown first class before, and even having seen it on TV didn't really prepare me for the reality. I'm a pretty big guy, so flying is usually a miserable experience for me, but there was plenty of room in this seat even for me. Oddly it was set at an angle, facing out to the window. I noticed a few other pods were occupied, but none near me. And even if they were, with my arms outstretched I still wouldn't have been able to reach them.

"Is there anything I can get you, Mr Robertson?" asked the stewardess.

A blowjob would be nice, I thought, looking at her ruby-red lips and cheeky smile. Since I'd dumped my girlfriend a few weeks before, I'd not seen as much action as usual, and all the female company I'd enjoyed recently had been rented by the hour. So, I was on the lookout. But it wasn't my dollar paying for the trip, so I thought I had better behave myself. "I'll have a coffee, please," I said.

"The hell he will," came a voice from behind me. Ms Beech was striding down the aisle, dragging her carry-on behind her and passing it to the stewardess without a second thought, who stowed it overhead. "We'll both be having the champagne. In fact, just leave the bottle here, it'll save you keep coming back." She looked every bit the seasoned traveller, in loose cream trousers and a flowing, if somewhat low cut, top. Still rifling through her handbag, she gave me a glare. "And where the fuck were you? I've been in the lounge waiting for your sorry ass to show up!" She found her MacBook Air in her voluminous bag and placed it, and some noise-cancelling headphones, on the desk beside her.

Shit, the business class lounge, of course. I'd completely forgotten. "Sorry, Ms Beech."

"None of that Ms Beech shit now, we're on personal time. It's Danielle." She sat, took our glasses, and we clinked them and had a sip. Well, I had a sip; she drained hers and started pouring the next. "But to be clear, this isn't a holiday or a junket. These are serious people we are going to see this week, and we need to do everything - anything - to land these deals for the sake of the Company, or we're all out. So I need you with me at all times, in case I need assistance. Is that understood?" I nodded. "Good boy, we should get on fabulously. The most important thing to remember is that on this trip you are representing the Company, and so the Company wants you to be at your best, which means you make sure you take full advantage of all the facilities available." She topped up our flutes as she spoke.

"Danielle and Dillon it is then," I said. Followed, to my everlasting shame, by "Double D!". Even knowing how awkward it sounded, my traitorous eyes darted to her cleavage. At least, they said. At least.

The flight was comfortable and uneventful. I caught a movie, during which we were served dinner - real food on real china plates, although understandably the knives were a bit of a joke. I'd gone for the fish and salad, but noted with a little envy that Danielle was having the beef, tender and juicy so it fell apart without needing the knife - just how I loved it. One to remember for the return journey. She had her laptop open and was tapping away as she ate, clearly finishing off some presentation or other.

After dinner, the cabin lights dimmed. A bit odd, I thought, since it was afternoon, although I guess it was still early morning in Hawaii. I tried to have a doze - one thing I'd learned in event support was to grab sleep whenever you can. Later, not sure how long, I woke. The cabin was dark, and no-one was moving about. The odd screen flickered further down the aircraft. I glanced over at Danielle's pod. She was watching something on her laptop; I couldn't see what from here. She did seem to be fidgeting rather a lot. Then I realised that the glow from her screen was distinctly flesh-coloured. Was she... watching porn on the flight?

It didn't seem like something I should try to confirm, so I closed my eyes and tried to catch a few more winks.

///

The hotel complex was very impressive. I was expecting a tall building with balconies facing the sea. But what we arrived at was a resort, a combination of low-rise buildings with maybe twenty rooms apiece, and others more like villas. All set in lush parkland, surrounded by palm trees, grass and shrubbery shaped to unreal perfection. Art sculptures and ornate fountains were dotted through the landscape. The whole set-up seemed to shout "we're so wealthy we don't have to care about water conservation".

The decor of the lobby was impressive, heavy on the marble and light wood trim. Danielle and I checked in separately, and after making clear that I was on my own time until the morning, she swanned over to the bar while entrusting her belongings to the bellboys. Meanwhile I wanted to get to my room - my lenses were killing me after the flight had dried out my eyes. I wanted a bit of "me time" in the gym. A good hour on the cardio equipment soon cleared out all the creases that a day on the plane had put in me, and I worked up a good sweat while catching some tunes and people-watching. There were few others using the facilities. Somehow, I thought most people would be in or around the outdoor pools; after all, they had swim-up bars.

I headed to the steam room, a particular favourite of mine. The steam was thick and billowy, so thick you couldn't really see from one side of the room to the other, and the damp air was just this side of too hot. Perfection. I'd thought I was alone, but as I sat down on one side of the room, I noticed a body laying face-down on the marble on the other side. A very attractive female body. I couldn't see the face, which was turned away to the wall, and the steam and my short-sightedness stole away much of the detail. But there was no mistaking the tautness of those legs, the pert round ass, and the breasts pillowing out from under the chest. The beauty was covered, barely, by a snow-leopard print tie-up bikini.

I sat in silence and took in the view. Dim coloured lights in the ceiling rippled and cast a changing light over the woman before me. I could feel myself getting hard while watching the sweat and steam bead on her skin and run in rivulets across her back and down into places unseen. I was glad of the part-frozen ice bottle I'd brought in, as my mouth felt very dry. Damn, that was one fine woman. But it was a personal rule not to hit on women in the gym; it was private time for me and I'm sure for them too (although afterwards in the cafe was generally fair game).

The door opened and a young couple entered, giggling. He was in teeny speedos - urgh - and she in a pink bikini. They headed for the back of the room, in the corner opposite me. I was so busy watching them enter that I didn't notice the snow-leopard lady leave; I just caught a rear view of her incredible ass disappear round the closing door. The guy sat against the corner of the room with his beau in front, leaning back on him. As she laid her head back, he leant forward for a kiss. Honeymooners, I wondered? His hands were all over her, stroking her arms, her perky tits, her toned stomach. Without even coming up for air, I watched as he slid his hand into her bikini bottoms, and started to stroke and finger her pussy.

They didn't seem to care that I was there. I'm no prude, and appreciate a good show as much as the next guy. But I was already pretty overheated from the workout and from dreaming about snow-leopard lady; this display was just making me feel a bit sick. I excused myself just as she knelt in front of him and started pulling at those speedos. Ah, young love. Would that I had the opportunity.

I had a quick cold shower - to wash off the sweat, more than to cool the passion - and decided a few laps of the pool would do me good. 20 minutes and 50 lengths later I'd had enough, and towelled off before heading back to my room.

The room was nice; tastefully decorated. A huge bed, easily room for at least three people my size; I often wondered (but not really) why hotel rooms had such vast beds. A good walk-in shower in the bathroom. A balcony overlooking the garden space behind. And there was another door beside the TV, locked from the inside. Curious I opened it; there was another just behind it that wouldn't open. Connecting rooms, I realised, for large families staying in the resort. Must be nice for parents to be able to get some grown-up time in a separate room during their time away with the kids.

I peeled off my kit and threw it into a laundry bag for the porters to deal with, then laid naked on the bed. The day had taken it out of me, and tomorrow was looking busy - first day of the conference. And Danielle had a presentation to deliver. I needed to be on top form. I ordered in some room service and settled in for the evening in front of the enormous TV. Comedies, a few films, and the pay-per-view channels... Ordering porn on the Company's credit card didn't seem appropriate, and anyway all the good stuff is free online. A bit of "me time" would end the day just nicely, and I fell asleep on top of the covers, tissues scattered around me.

///

I woke to a knocking sound. At first, I thought it was coming from the door, then I realised it was the wall opposite. The sound of a headboard slamming against a wall. Now, I like a hotel fuck as much as the next guy, but shit me if it wasn't three am.

I tried to ignore it and get back to sleep. I'd nearly succeeded, when I heard a woman scream "Fuck yeah that's it, deep in my ass!" Which was followed by another woman's voice. "Shit shit shit!" Then a slamming, smashing noise. And finally, the second woman again, "Fuck no! Shit! Oh, fucking hell!"