Tall and blonde, beautiful Cherie Daventry, the youngest secretary with the Intercorp business group this week, was getting to know her way around the big house after being there for twenty-four hours, learning to find the cosy room they had given her overlooking the swimming pool that was built in the atrium of the house, getting to know the twisting and turning of the halls that led to the many rooms where the executives and the secretaries were staying during this most important business week of the year, trying to establish a friendly relationship with her colleagues, most of whom she had known only very superficially, if at all, a few days before.
This was the week that the executives of the powerful Intercorp Trading Company got together in the seclusion of the San Bernardino Mountains and brainstormed on methods to improve business in the coming year. The men brought the best stenographers from the secretarial pool and met daily around the great mahogany table in the large, warm, and comfortable conference room downstairs to make suggestions, air complaints, and generally toss around ideas that could make trading more efficient and profitable. The secretaries were always on hand with stenography books and were lodged in an adjoining, but separate, wing of the house. Not that the men and women were that rigidly separated. The way the girls were given their own section was more to make them feel comfortable than to create a wall. Cherie was sure there was at least some mixing going on when it suited two people, though they must generally be discreet meetings that occurred, for the young nineteen-year-old had only noticed one definite romance.
That was last night when she had looked out her window over the pool. She had been asleep when some noise, the voices of a man and a woman, had awakened her. The young girl had crept to the window and observed while Diane Layne, one of her colleagues in secretarial, had howled out her orgasm as Cleophas Powell, the massively built black man who was supervisor of marketing, had humped and pounded between the brunette's uplifted white thighs until she had shrieked in hedonistic joy. Cherie had peeked ashamedly, repelled and excited at the same time by the sight of the black man with the white woman, as she observed the sex act for the first time in her life. She had had no idea what it would be like to watch – or could be like to actually participate in – for Cherie was a virgin.
She had watched the provocative sight, hoping that there was no one in the other rooms across the atrium who might see her from behind those dark windows, for there was one room whose window, always wide open, was perpendicular to hers, and just a few feet away. She had wondered if there was anyone occupying that room, but decided that it was not being used this week because she had seen no light or movement in it.
And so with wide-eyed wonder she had watched the animal display below her while the summer breeze wafted through the folds of her diaphanous nightgown and the heat of vicarious excitement had burned between her tender and untouched thighs.
Cherie had only been working for Intercorp for a few months when the excellence of her work had brought her to the attention of the higher-ups. Her shorthand was superb and her typing, at ninety words a minute, was very accurate. She was meticulous in what she did and her mind was sharp and alert. A brief session taking dictation for her boss, Herb Melville, had shown her potential and so he had personally invited her on the working week in the mountains.
Herb Melville was a big and powerful man with a handsome, ruggedly-lined face, thinning hair, a generous businessman's paunch, and a striking, hawklike nose. His eyes were warm but sharp and Cherie knew that she would have to watch herself this week to make sure she didn't spoil her chance of a raise and a higher position. She didn't need a very sharp mind to know how much she needed this job, what with her mother so deathly ill and the doctor's bills that needed paying. No, this job was more important to her than just a career move – though that could be in the offing now that medical school seemed such a difficult attainment – it was a matter of life and death necessity, when she thought about it.
Pressures were severe at home. Mother, usually so loving, had attacks of irritability – due to her dangerous illness – that were often directed at Cherie herself. And that sweet, devoted woman had been reluctant to let her teenage daughter go away for these two weekends and the five days in between, leaving her to shift for herself. Mother had complained that Cherie would not be going to church as always, way up there in the mountains. Cherie had promised in turn to bring her Bible – but she had forgotten it at the last minute.
Cherie opened the door to her room and walked in to begin immediately getting ready for bed. It had been a long day, full of work. She had taken more shorthand, transcribed more cassette tapes, and typed more letters than she cared to think about. They had spent most of the day sitting around the huge conference table in a large room on the first floor of the house, she and two other secretaries taking orders from the eight male – and one female, Allison Cooper – executives.
Cherie had been lucky to be able to come along this time and have the opportunity to show the execs what she could do. She could easily have had to wait years to get this chance, so when the usual girl for the junket – a stunning, slender redhead named Sally – had come to her and asked her to take her place for the nine-day stint, Cherie readily accepted. When Cherie asked why Sally did not want to go, the older secretary was vague as she expressed her distaste, stating that she had already been on three of them and that it just wasn't her kind of the thing, now that she was engaged to be married to a lawyer. Cherie had no idea why her engagement should get in the way of work, but she had no intention of protesting the opportunity that had just been laid in her lap.
So Herb Melville had called her in for an interview, remarked with a smile that she was very, very pretty, and then filled her in on the details of what she would be doing up there in the mountains with the most important men in the company. And so here she was.
When she drove with Herb through the gate of the house, she gasped. Here, set in the midst of the forest, high in the mountains, with the noon sun of June filtering through the leaves of the trees, was a beautiful house with four wings, three stories, and a wide veranda flanked by stone columns. Cherie got out of the Mercedes and mounted the stairs while a man in work clothes carried in her suitcases. And then, as she walked through the front door, with Melville behind her, she ran full into the hard masculine chest of the handsomest young man she had ever seen. Tall and blue-eyed, with smooth skin, classically chiselled features, and light brown hair, his eyes sparkled when he saw her. Their eyes met, deeply, and she caught her breath.
"Hi," he said. "I'm Ron Wolter."
Cherie had seen him before, at the office, as he hurried by in the performance of his duties, and she had often wished he would notice her and speak to her when she broke out in a blush of excitement and that spot between her legs began to burn. The truth was that she had harbored a crush for this handsomest of men and now she found herself in the same house with him – at last – and for a whole week, it appeared.
She paused, trying to find words, then said lamely, and simply, "I'm Cherie Daventry."
They stared at each other a long time before they noticed that Herb Melville was standing behind her, waiting patiently to pass.
"Well, hurry up," Melville said, in mock irritation, "and ask her to dance."
Ron chuckled and turned to lead the way into the house, which happened to belong to Melville himself and was opulently furnished and decorated. It was a house that befit a man of Melville's stature and importance as chief stockholder and head of a corporation like Intercorp. Cherie was shown to her room and given a while to rest and freshen up before the start of her duties at what was to be a daily meeting of minds of the heads of the productive head of the corporation.
Their day began at three that afternoon when the entire party of nine executives and three secretaries sat at the giant conference table to plan the next four months of business operations at Intercorp. The work was concentrated and sweaty for her, but Cherie still found time to glance up often at Ron Wolter, and many times she found him looking at her with soft eyes. And she smiled back. When the meeting broke up at seven-thirty, Cherie was exhausted, still reluctant to leave Ron Wolter's exciting presence to go to her room to retire for the evening.
Dinner was brought to her and after a quick bite, she showered, dressed in her sheer blue nightgown, and went to bed. And that was when she was awakened by the activity down by the pool, below her window. The sound of movement and the voices of a man and woman attracted her from her bed in curiosity. She crept quietly to her window and peered out, seeking the source of the sounds that had roused her from a troubled sleep. It didn't take her long to find Diane Layne and Cleophas Powell, for they were down on the pool deck on a thick blanket entwined in a lustful embrace.
At first, Cherie had recoiled from the sight. She knew people did those things, that married people made love, and that sometimes even people who weren't married did those things, but she had had no idea that it had looked like that. Cleophas' strong, black buttocks were rising and falling, driving his huge, glistening ebony penis into Diane between her wide-spread, uplifted legs. The girl's pretty features were contorted with lust and passion and unrestrained grunts, groans, and sighs were rushing out between her wet lips as Cleophas moved upon, and inside of, her.
Cherie looked around to see if anyone else was watching from the other open windows – perhaps she wanted to see if there anyone could see her watching those down below – and when she concluded that she was alone in her curious voyeurism, she kneeled on the soft, wide couch that backed up to her window, and settled down to watch. She knew it was wrong to be so curious, so interested in this illicit act, but in her innocence and inexperience she was so strongly attracted to what was going on, perhaps because of her unhealthy interest in Ron Wolter, that she couldn't help herself. She began to fantasize that she was doing this very thing with the handsome young man and her fingers strayed across the chiffon covering her belly to her smooth, warm thighs and thence to the tender, damp spot between them where she found the center of her own pleasure, just as she had on several other occasions when the heat in her own healthy body became too much to bear. She really couldn't imagine herself doing the thing that Diane was doing down there, not with any man before marriage, and especially not with a black man, which she found repellent, but she could fantasize as long as it was someone else down there.
So when her body had shaken in one of her rare self-induced orgasms and the juices had flowed from her tingling, pink pussy down her fingers, Cherie had burned with shame before lying back on her bed and finished the night with a deep and well-deserved sleep.
The next day was more of the same in the conference room, with Diane Layne sitting nowhere near Cleophas nor acknowledging any kind of attachment to him as indicated by their activities of the night before. It seemed incredible to Cherie that two people could do what they had done and act so cold and aloof the next day. She supposed it had something to do with protocol and decorum. Of course they had made love and there were no house rules or company rules against that. Cherie had heard the girls in the office talking about it, about the things they did with men, so even though she had been shocked and could not imagine herself doing such a thing willingly – at least, not before marriage – she knew that many girls did it with their boyfriends and men at the office. She had even heard one of the girls, Candy Holmes, talking about having had sex with the boss, Mr. Melville. While Cherie had stood at the coffee machine, pretending not to listen while Candy spilled the story to another typist, the naughty girl had talked excitedly about Mr. Melville's big, heavy body and his huge penis. Cherie had felt a frisson of fearful excitement shoot up her spine at the thought of the massive penis ramming into Candy's vagina, and, vicariously, into her own. Cherie had felt a dampness develop between her legs and she had had a hard time keeping her mind on her work the rest of the day.
Work had gone on that second day at the big house in the mountains with the same businesslike intensity as the previous day, but as they broke for lunch, Cherie's sharp eyes caught a furtive glance that passed between Sue Midori, a lovely Oriental girl and Vic Torres, the forty-ish man of Mexican descent who handled the company's business for Latin America. Curious, Cherie hung back, rearranging her note-pads while everyone filed out for a rest and a meal in their respective rooms.
Vic and Sue didn't see Cherie walking behind them when they ducked into the storage room in the hall outside the conference room. The door didn't close properly and the two conspirators didn't seem to care as they disappeared. Curious, suspicious, Cherie stopped and looked through the crack between the door and the jamb. It was a linen closet, with sheets stacked neatly on shelves and dinner settings on others but it was what Sue and Vic were doing on the bottom shelf that captured Cherie's attention.
Sue's blouse was already open and her small, round breasts were naked and being fondled and sucked by the ravenous Vic.
"I've wanted to get you like this for months," Vic groaned, his hands beneath her skirt pulling her panties down. Sue wriggled her thighs until the under-garment dropped around her ankles and then she stepped free of it. Vic pushed her skirt up above her waist and Cherie could see the wad of soft, black hair at the top of her thighs.
Vic cupped his hands under the girl's buttocks and hoisted her up on a cabinet. Cherie gasped as she saw Sue immediately part and raise her knees, revealing the wet, red slit of her pussy to Cherie's startled eyes. Vic was dragging out his penis – not nearly as large as that of Cleophas, but big nonetheless, swinging beneath the bulge of his round belly – and he lost no time in fitting the swollen, purple tip of the brown shaft into the young Oriental girl's waiting nook.
Cherie chewed her lip in growing excitement as she saw Vic's great member disappear into Sue's pussy with a wet slurp and his heavy balls swing solidly into the warm cup of her twitching anus beneath. So this is what it looks like when two people do it, Cherie thought. His thing in her vagina. And that's what I would look like if I did it with someone.
Cherie resolved again then and there that when she made love with her husband, she would do it in the dark so that she wouldn't look so funny. Then she smiled at herself. No one would be watching anyway, would they?
Cherie slipped away, already feeling the wetness between her legs. There was no need to get herself needlessly aroused. But wasn't it strange here, that there was so much sex going on and no one seemed to know? Everybody was doing it! And no one seemed to care. It was a bit frightening to think that possibly all the women here – except for Cherie herself – were doing it with one of the men. Cherie hurried on to her room for a shower.
In her room, she undressed and stood before the mirror, intending to shower and nap a bit before the afternoon marathon of business. She surveyed herself before the full-length mirror. Her body was superb, though a bit plump lately, she now saw. Must be those pastries I've been eating at the office, she thought. She was built a couple of inches taller than average with long legs and flaring hips. Her breasts were large, very large, and round with pink nipples riding on wide, rosy aureolae, very firm without a hint of sag. Now she thought they appeared larger than usual, because of the few extra pounds she had put on, and she noticed her bottom had swelled a bit as well for the same reason. Turning sideways, she looked at her plump, heart-shaped derriere with the tender dimples, one surmounting each creamy white buttock at the base of her spine. Yes, she would definitely have to cut back on the junk food before her clothes started getting too tight.
Cherie turned back to the mirror and her eyes dropped to that sacred honey-blond bush nestled in the junction of her long, slender thighs.
Ron Wolter let himself into the dark room that he knew was empty where he could watch Cherie. It was the window just perpendicular to and just a few feet away from hers. As long as he left the light out and made no sound, she would not know he was there. Last night he had watched her for a long time and he watched her now with growing affection.
Ron was rapidly falling in love with the sweet-faced, beautiful young virgin, and he was sure she felt a strong attraction to him as well. Normally he would have made a move to get to know her better, but he was a bit uncertain as to her attachments and inclinations. He had seen her arrive with Herb Melville, and though that could possibly mean absolutely nothing – Herb did not always fuck his secretaries on these week-long stays in the mountains – there was a chance that the boss had reserved her for himself, and Ron was reluctant to tread on the powerful man's toes. Not that Ron was afraid of losing his job over her; that was no problem, since Melville had told them all long ago that any unmarried secretary was fair game for any of the men at any time both in the office and on the mountain junkets. No, Ron was not afraid for himself. He was afraid of what might happen to the girl if she overstepped any lines Melville had drawn around her. It was the girl who could lose her job. Or perhaps worse. Melville usually had no mercy with women who displeased him or acted faithlessly, and all the blame for infidelity fell on the women themselves, never on the men. What Wolter was not certain of was whether she was here as Melville's sex toy or just as secretary. Perhaps she was both, but the truth had to be known before Ron could do anything more than just smile at her across the conference table.
Ron stopped and caught his breath. She was standing stark naked in front of the mirror looking at her gorgeous body, posing in a way that she would do only if she thought that no one was watching. Her tits! Her ass! Her legs! So perfect. And the soft, downy hair of her pussy. She was rubbing it now, just as she had last night when Diane and Cleophas were fucking downstairs by the pool.
Cherie had kneeled over the back of the love seat and fingered her pussy while the two horny exhibitionists did something Ron had never seen occur at this house before. There in plain sight they had done it and the young man could think of no reason they might breach house etiquette in that way unless Melville himself had told them it was all right. No, not all right. Unless, maybe, Melville had told them to do it for some reason. But why, unless for the entertainment of those whose windows gave onto the pool area? It had sure excited young Cherie the night before.
Ron watched her stroking her body, watched the dew of arousal gather in the fine tendrils of her pussy hair, there at the pink line that marked her untouched vagina. It was obviously a naturally very wet pussy that peeped out between the puffy and sparsely-furred lips. He watched her as she closed her eyes and and slid a trembling middle finger into the slit. Wolter felt sorry for her, here in the mountains amid all this power and wealth, virginal yet wanting, excited yet afraid. Diane's and Cleophas' exhibition last night had stirred her in a way she had probably never been stirred before.
He saw Cherie give her shoulders a shake and the perfect grapefruits of her huge breasts jiggled with the motion as she drew her naughty finger from her needing, pink cunt. She gave out with a sigh that was more of a sob and turned and flopped down on the bed. From the stand at the side she took a large volume of the plays of Shakespeare and, propping herself up on her elbow, began to read. Wolter knew something of her history. She had passed up a full scholarship at a good university to go straight to work to take care of her sick mother. He knew she had graduated top of her high school class and showed great potential for success as a medical student, if she ever got there. But her mother was constantly hovering on the verge of death and the doctor bills had to be paid, which a scholarship would not do.
So the beautiful, intelligent, unselfish – add to that naive – young beauty had had to go to work. And again she had shown her worth. Her typing was flawless, the shorthand fluent, her computer skills beyond those of the other girls in the pool. She was not vain, nor did she need to be. No rouge was needed on cheeks that retained the rosy flush of health and her pink lips would have been defiled with red lipstick if she had ever used it.
Ron Wolter watched her until she fell asleep on her side by the big book. Thirty minutes later her alarm clock woke her and she dressed again to go down for the afternoon's work.
After work the business group congregated in the dining room to eat and it was nearly nine by the time the dinner party began to break up. Herb Melville, big and dignified with his thinning hair and expensive suit, looked around at his minions and smiled.
"We've done very well today, gentlemen, and ladies," he said, and reached to his left to gave Cherie's hand a warm squeeze where it rested on the table. The girl smiled and closed her eyes with pleasure at the attention of such a powerful and, yes, an admirable and likeable man. She felt happy and warm that she had pleased him, that he noticed her, perhaps as a woman, beyond the requirements of his business and her function in it. Her eyes met his and she found them warm and affectionate and his hand stayed a while longer on hers.
Ron Wolter saw this gesture as the first sign of interest the head of the corporation had shown in Cherie, and the younger man bit back his jealousy. It appeared that Melville had finally singled her out for himself, and Ron grit his teeth at the thought of Cherie lying on her back with the big, paunchy man fucking and heaving between her perfect, white thighs. Grit his teeth and shook off the thought. Perhaps it would not happen. Perhaps Melville would not make the move. Perhaps the girl would not acquiesce, would resist as she had been taught all her life to do. Her ideals were cause for wonderment around the office and Ron had heard from the good-time girls that worked there that she was a confirmed virgin. So she would probably resist. Well, maybe. But Ron knew such a decision would be hard for the girl, for she needed the job and showed no little fascination with the company she was keeping this week.
As they all departed for their rooms, Ron thought Melville's hand lingered a trifle too long on Cherie's waist as the boss escorted her out of the dining room. Ron looked away and saw Sue Midori sitting alone at the table. He went over to talk to her.
"How's things, Sue?" Ron asked. "You look unhappy."
The Japanese girl shook her head. "Just pissed off with Vic. He's hot and cold, and it looks like tonight he's cold, so I'm probably going to feel cold too."
Ron smiled. "A lovely girl like you doesn't have to be cold as long as there's a single man around."