Works Night Out

He's a bit of a pervert, on the sly. He likes looking at his colleagues -- he's lucky, as he's one of the only men working with a group of younger women. There's Sarah, slim and blonde and icy-eyed; the playfully mean Suzy; and Rachel, all brown eyes and curves and soft brunette hair. He thinks he's subtle when he watches them walk across the department, watches them bend to pick up a discarded file, watches them lift the hair from their necks on a hot day. He's a good colleague, respectful and professional, but he watches them. He's been warned that it's not really on, but he can't help himself. They're just too close, too gorgeous, too tempting.

They're on a night out. Some colleague is leaving, so they're all out at a bar in town. It's a warm evening, and he's surrounded by people and skin. Short floaty dresses and low-cut tops, sandals with straps that snake suggestively up slim ankles. There's the scent of bodies in the air, and it makes him hungry for contact.

At the bar, Rachel leans forward to place her order. "Gin and tonic, please." He's behind her, and -- oh dear -- he's pushing up against her, and only then really realises that the warmth and the smells and the suggestions of flesh mean that his cock is hardening, and he's pushing it against the smooth curve of Rachel's bottom.

She turns, and fixes his eyes with a steady gaze. Deliberately lowers her eyes to his crotch, and back to his face again.

"You think you're subtle, don't you, Steve?"

Shocked, he steps backwards quickly, laughing. "What? Ha, um... what?" For a moment, he thinks she knows -- all his secret fantasies about her, and the others. He's blushing, and laughing, and confused. But she just rolls her eyes and walks away, carrying a condensation-covered gin and tonic in each hand. She's heading over to Sarah, so he turns back to the bar, thirsty and a bit shaken, ready for a drink now.

He's waiting to be served. The bar is busy, but even so it seems to be taking a long time to get noticed. He's aware, suddenly, of a body pressing up hard behind him, and then laughter right by his ear, a little too loud and a tiny bit drunk. Then whoever it is starts grinding hard into him, and clearly finding it hilarious. Throat dry with embarrassment, he looks over his shoulder just as Sarah grabs his collar and starts dry-humping him theatrically, while Rachel stands at a little distance, gin in hand, eyes glittering and grinning hugely.

"How do you like it, huh, Steve?!"

"Jesus, Sarah, stop it! I'm sorry! I've had a drink, that's all..."

People are starting to look, now. Strangers, and colleagues -- senior managers and junior assistants, all lowering their conversation and starting to watch the strange goings-on at the bar.

"We're all

drinking

, Steve. It doesn't mean you can just start rubbing your pathetic cock on women's arses, though, does it?!"

Rachel laughs at Sarah's words, and he sees her turn to the man standing next to her, seemingly confirming that he had just in fact done this to her. His embarrassment soars.

"Sarah, no, I'm

so

sorry. I get it. I'm sorry."

"But Steve. We've had a chat like this before, haven't we? And you said you were sorry then. But you never seem to stop acting like a little bitch on heat, do you? Staring and drooling and rubbing yourself up against nice tight arses at every opportunity. I think it's time we taught you an actual lesson."

He's sweating now, nervous.

"Um, what? What do you mean? Lesson...?"

Her face sets, and she spits an order. "Kneel."

He laughs; he doesn't believe what he's hearing. "... What?!"

"Kneel. Back against the bar, then kneel."

"No. You can't mean it. I'm sorry..." He looks about the room, as if someone will help. Sarah laughs, and looks over at Rachel. The room is pretty quiet now, with just a murmur of conversation in the background. No one moves.

"Awww, look, Rach! He doesn't get it."

Rachel walks over, picking up Sarah's drink on the way. The two stand in front of him, drinks in hand, eyes shining with amusement; gorgeous and a bit flushed and a little tipsy, a little edgy.

Sarah's voice hardens again. "Seriously, Steve. Get on your knees. Now."

He realises he has no choice, and sinks down, knees landing in the sticky remains of spilt drinks and shoe dirt.

"

There's

a good boy. See? You

can

be a good boy. I knew you had it in you." Rachel snorts back laughter at this. He can't believe how callous they are being, how hard.

Sarah leans over him to the bar, placing her drink down carefully. He can smell her, suddenly -- so close. Then without warning, she grabs his hair and pulls his head back hard. He gasps in pain, and then she steps closer, right up to him, pulls him forward and grinds his face hard into her crotch.

"That's what you really want, isn't it? Isn't it?!"

He moans, "Noooo..."

"Oh, yes. I think it is. You rub your little cock up against our arses, but this is what you reaaally want, isn't it."

She's grinding and grinding his face between her legs, gyrating against his face, and he can smell her scent -- sharp and sweet -- and he suddenly knows how turned on she is, and his cock twitches involuntarily. He lets out a low groan, deep and desperate. The world has shrunk to the smell of her cunt, and her hand gripping his hair; the people around him forgotten in the haze of sensation. All he wants is to lick her, lick that smell, drink it in.

"There we go," she says. "That's what you want. You're just a dirty little animal, aren't you? Admit it. Dirty."

And he finds himself agreeing. He hears himself say, "Yesss. Mmmmmm -- yes, dirty..." It sounds like it's someone else saying it, a long way away. All he cares about is that this doesn't stop, he'll do anything to keep this moment going.

But then, the hand in his hair tightens, and his face is suddenly removed from the warmth and that glorious scent. He's being forced to look up, into the women's faces. Rachel looks a bit bored, and she says, "Come on, Sarah. Let's

really

punish him. He's enjoying that way too much." Sarah's hand pulls, hard, and she almost barks at him, "Up! Stand up, turn round, lean on the bar. Now!"

He obeys, immediately. He's just desperate to please them, to have their attention on him. He leans forward onto the bar, and Rachel says, "Good! He's getting the idea. Stick that backside out for us."

He's now not sure who's standing where behind him; all he knows is that a hand trails lazily over his arse, and he pushes out and presents it for all he's worth, hoping his buttocks look tight for these amazing girls. The hand squeezes, thumb digging in a little between his cheeks, and that tiny movement fills him with another wave of desire.

"OK, trousers down." Sarah's voice is somewhere behind him, and he fumbles with the button on his jeans and pushes them down round his ankles. The air's cooler on his thighs, and the hand sweeps over his bottom again, then yanks on the waistband of his underpants. "And whatever frilly little knickers you're wearing. Down, now."

He can't move quickly enough for her. As he pushes his pants down, he's aware of his erection springing forward. There's a titter of laughter somewhere in the room, but it barely reaches him, and he doesn't care anyway. He knows what his function is here.

Sarah's disembodied voice is almost impressed. "Good boy! You really are becoming much more obedient. Now, then. About that lesson..."

Her cool, smooth hand strokes his arse. It almost feels like she is appraising it, sizing it up, assessing what it might take. And then,

thwack!

-- she strikes him hard with her hand. A stinging spank, and then another, and another. He grips the bar tight, and with each stroke feels the blood surge up to the surface of his skin, and down to his swollen dick.

Thwack!

She places each blow carefully -- she has done this before. She spreads them out, and then lands a few directly on top of each other. He is yelping, moaning, jumping forward.

"So! (

thwack!

) Steve. This (

thwack!

) is to teach you not to go around perving and groping and generally being a nasty little pervert. And I

know

you're enjoying it (

thwack!

), but keep that hand

off

that pathetic penis. You don't touch without permission, and for now that includes yourself, you foul little excuse for a man. Do you understand?"

"Yes! Yes...! Sarah, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

There's laughter again, and then Rachel is next to him, turning his face towards her. She says, "Poor Steve! Trousers round his ankles in public, getting a spanking for being a naughty boy. But

we

know how you really feel..." and, suddenly, blissfully, her hand is on his cock, gripping and stroking. She turns back to Sarah, and says, "He really is enjoying this too much. We need to, um, drive the message home a little more..."

Her hand is gone, and his erection is painful, solid, wonderful. He looks down, and sees pre-cum trailing towards the dirty floor, and he feels like he might just come there and then. The pain and the humiliation and the attention all seem centred in the throb of his cock, but his mind is drawn immediately elsewhere. There are hands spreading his arse cheeks, and a finger, warm with spit and slippery in a latex glove, pushing against his tight opening.

He is, suddenly, back in the room. He remembers where he is, and who else is there, and as the finger slips inside him he lets out a miserable moan, knowing that his debasement is, and will be, total. The finger feels

so

good, though. He allows himself to push back onto it, feeling the slight stretch of his anus and knowing he wants more. Rachel says, "Stay still, Steve. Maybe this way you'll finally get the message." He knows again that he'll do anything for them, anything now and anything always, as long as this doesn't stop. As the finger pulls back and another one is inserted alongside, he feels himself being stretched open, and the knowledge of what's happening makes him lightheaded.

"Such a filthy bitch, aren't you!" Sarah is scathing. "You're

loving

being punished in front of everyone,

loving

being owned by us! So pathetic. You're ours now, though. You understand? You don't so much as look at us without permission from now on."

Her fingers are pumping inside him now, curling to stroke his prostate, stretching apart to open him up. He's hers, theirs; he's not his own. He's just holes, and an erection which is drooling onto the floor now.

"We know how hard it's making you!" Rachel's voice is gleeful. "We can see it! Do you want to have a little stroke in front of everyone? Show us all what a desperate little fuck you are?"

He wants so much for one of them to touch his cock. He knows he'll do anything, and he knows he'll come almost instantly. He moans, "Pleeeease..."

"What? Please what?"

"Please, Rach, please touch it..."

"Hahaaa! You want

me

to stroke it for you? I don't

think

so, darling. If you want something done about that throbby little dick you're going to have to do it yourself I'm afraid..."

"Oh, pleeeease, please stroke it, pleeease..."

Sarah's not impressed. "Go on, Steve, have a little wank. No one will mind."

Rachel sighs. "Steve, just sort yourself out, for fuck's sake. Get on with it."

The fingers plunge into his arsehole again -- they're Sarah's, they must be -- and he can't take much more. He steadies himself on the bar with one hand, and moves the other down, gripping and stroking and using the trails of pre-cum as lube. Her fingers are pounding into his arse, and he realises the room is practically silent around him. His colleagues are watching him like he's some kind of floorshow, trousers round his ankles and cock on show.

Sarah says, "Are you going to come for us, Steve? Hmmm? So very humiliating in front of everyone, but it can't really be helped now..." His hand is working his cock hard, fast, and as she spits and slips yet another finger into his greedy arsehole, he groans, "Oh god. Oh fuuuuuck..."

Rachel is up against his ear, saying, "Yes? How's that? Such a dirty boy. Next time remember not to rub your cock up against women who don't ask for it, otherwise you end up having all sort of things done to you that you didn't ask for. Now, hurry up and have your little orgasm, so we can get back to our gin..."

He's breathing hard, pushing back against Sarah's fingers, and she's plunging in and out, going deep and hard. And Rachel again says, 'Come for us, Steve", and this time it's enough. He judders and makes a guttural cry as he comes hard, shooting onto the dirty bar floor. Sarah's hand seems to fill his arse, and he clenches around it again and again as waves of pleasure and shame flow over him.

Her hand slows, and pulls out, and he feels bereft, needy, used. Rachel's hand is in his hair, kindly this time, and he looks up at her, cock still in hand. Glancing down at him, however, a sudden expression of distaste crosses her face.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Steve, you've come on my shoe."

"What...?" He's spent, shameful; his awareness of his surroundings is coming back once again.

"Clean it up, then you can go."

He doesn't understand. It doesn't compute. What does she mean? This is

nice

Rachel, after all. She likes him...? Behind him, Sarah laughs quietly, and realisation dawns.

"You don't mean... I can't..." This feels like the final straw. Tears spring to his eyes.

"Lick it off, and

then

you can pull your panties up. You can stay for another drink if you like, or you can just go home. But not until you've cleaned my shoe."

So he does. He lowers himself again to his knees, amongst the spilt drinks and the shoe dirt and his own cold cum, and licks the spatter off her shoe. And when he stands up and pulls up his trousers, he knows that from now on he'll do anything they ask of him, anything at all and, actually, you know, he likes it. Because he is a bit of a pervert, on the sly.