The Office Girl Read online

  The Office Girl

  The Office Girl

  Midpoint

  The Office Girl

  By T.H.Sandal

  Published by T.H. Sandal

  Copyright 2012 T.H. Sandal

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  The Office Girl

  I knew a pornographer once. A man who made porn films. He liked to think of them as art, and in a sense they were. He was good you understand, had a way with the camera, knew about lighting and such like, had an eye for the right line or profile. And that's important in a porn film. Almost as important as the tenor of the girl's moan.

  It's like women's tennis. A bit like that.

  We'll call him Trevor, Trev for short, though you understand that this wasn't his name at all and as it happens, he'd probably like me to use his real name because it sounds so much more impressive than Trevor or even Trev. But that's they way it will be. For all the Trevs reading this who haven't featured in stories about sex and erotica – this is for you.

  Now naturally, Trev had a load of equipment – cameras, lighting mostly – but what he didn't have was a studio. If he'd been a photographer, and as I understand it, he'd done some of that as well, but if he'd done that for a living, he might have based himself in a studio, but being a pornographer, being, to all intents, a film-maker, he liked to work on location. Which meant, depending on the finances, a borrowed flat, a dingy hotel room, or, if the cash flow was at all healthy, a hired residence.

  Those last were the best, preferably something with a bunch of rooms because, again depending on the cash flow, he'd make a point of filming a few scenes in one or two days and in an effort not to repeat a particular setting, he'd make use of the various rooms available.

  Now it has to be said that not everyone renting their pad out for the weekend likes to think that it would used in the making of a porn film. Some, I know for certain, were not best pleased at all, but that didn't run across the board and there was always the old adage to consider: only a limited percentage of posh types with residences to rent out ever watch porn film and, more to the point, would admit it if they did.

  Likewise, for those acquaintances who did watch porn and did manage to recognise the location as the wonderful London maisonette owned by the Howards, well how likely was it that they'd actually pluck up the courage to tell Sophie and Jeremy Howard that there, right there on that deep, plush sofa on which they were drinking their G&T's, yes, right there had been a freshly made-up actress, her legs all akimbo, getting power-fucked by some well-built hunk with a huge prick.

  Of course there were always some who would blurt it out, probably between courses at one of the Howards' special dinner parties, but it was unlikely, even with straight porn. Naturally, lesbian porn would have been acceptable, but not, definitely not, gay porn. Everyone has their peccadillos.

  And where do I fit in? You might just as well asked me where did mine fit in?

  You'll know, if you've read my other stories, that I possess something of an unusual appendage, and in this context, as you might read in a later story, I was known to play a part in the some of the more wild scenes that Trev put together. In fact, I could list out for you all the scenes in which I, or at least parts of me, appear, but these were never starring parts. Though that's not to say that parts of me never starred.

  Without further mucking about then, let's take a trip to Brighton. Been there? For those half way round the globe and wondering about the spelling, Brighton sits on the coast some few miles south of London. It's a seaside resort for the most part but its also a student town that also incorporates a fair quota of office workers.

  Apart from other aspects, Trev likes to go there because the property is full of character; a lot of Georgian-style terracing that was established in the early nineteenth century when the Prince Regent was building his rather salubrious palace. So imagine big bay windows letting in loads of light, tall ceilings, elaborate plaster work, old-style wooden panel doors and, in those residences where they've spent the money, furnishings to match.

  The place he'd rented was a maisonette taking up the bottom three stories of a terraced house on Brunswick Square. You can check out pictures of the type of property via google if it takes your fancy, otherwise just imagine a house with a huge bay front, immense windows on the first floor easily twice your height overlooking an wide street with plush cut grass in the middle and, to the left, a view out to sea.

  It was a beautiful late Summer day, the sun shining down onto the Brunswick Square and creeping round to reach the huge bay windows. We'd positioned ourselves in large bedroom at the front of the house, more of a sitting room in fact, with appropriate comfortable furniture towards the window and the bed against the back wall.

  Trev thought the light might get a bit intense, but he'd taken a liking to a particular chaise long – an ornate antique, newly covered in an expensive looking fabric – which he'd moved towards the centre of the room. It was an open style chaise, without the side panel, but with a back rest on one end.

  The other furniture had been moved aside; enough to create some space around the chaise, but not so much to make the scene look false and the chaise was backed to one side by the bay window and to the other by the fireplace above which was a huge fancy mirror, expensive enough to be without imperfection, and spotlessly clean.

  Knowing how Trev worked, I was sure that he'd be moving his cameras around the two opposing sides, though with an effort to avoid stupid reflections in the mirror. His main camera, an expensive video with all the trimmings, was positioned on a tripod facing the window and looking straight down the length of the chaise. Apart from raising and lowering the tripod, he liked to keep that camera stationary.

  Apart from a boom mike and its necessary sound recording equipment, the playback screen from the stationary camera and a lap-top to upload video from the portables, and a couple of serious looking studio lights and their attendant tripods, apart from all that, the bedroom also contained Trev, his two cameramen, the sound man. And me. Lounging on the bed.

  The first to arrive who wasn't going to be behind any of this equipment was the male actor for this first session. To save his embarrassment, and to give him a sense of the exotic, we'll call him Felix. He'd probably like that better than his real name, which, to be honest, is a little boring and doesn't at all match his persona which can be summarised as threatening.

  By which I mean that he wasn't, in his appearance, obviously a nice bloke. With his hair short, cut to a close grade, a sharp angular face and close-set eyes, he didn't look like the kind of bloke a young lady might want to meet socially. He was also fit. Wearing fashionable jeans and a fairly tight t-shirt, there was no mistaking the fact that he worked out and while there wasn't, to a cursory inspection, much or any fat to speak of, there was plenty of muscle on show.

  His nick-name amongst those in the trade was two-stroke. Which should suffice.

  The female actor, much to Trev's consternation, was a bit late and was announced not by her appearance at the door, but by the irritating ring tone of Trev's mobile. He seemed to know it was her because he immediately talked by name – Alice will do – but rather than go through with the conversation in earshot, he took himself and his phone through the door.

  Some minutes passed before he returned. In place of the phone, but attached to the sam
e hand, was Alice. The office girl. I call her that simply because of how she looked, rather than any personal knowledge that she was, in fact, employed in an office. But if she wasn't, she should have been.

  Maybe in her mid-twenties, perhaps a little older, from feet up, she was wearing black court shoes without heels, black sheer stockings, a tight, well-fitted skirt that finished perhaps three or four inches above the knee, a plain white blouse, tucked into the skirt, over which she had a black jacket. Her hair, also black and particularly fine, was held up in a tight bun.

  She was certainly pretty. Not ostentatiously so, she clearly wasn't flaunting it, but it was obvious that while she was wearing make up, it had been effortlessly applied. Her eyes – large and dark – were accentuated only with what was necessary, a hint of eye-liner that did as much to highlight eye brows that had not been over plucked into some thin line but retained a measure of expressiveness. Wonderful cheekbones had been shown off with a hint of blusher and likewise, her lips, which were full, showed just a hint of colour – a delicate pink.

  All that was enough to know that something was amiss and her demeanour on entering the room and seeing the set up only served to confirm it. While I, along with others on the set – especially Felix – didn't hide our examination of what kind of body was hidden beneath that smart attire, she was looking around with a certain amount of trepidation.

  Fortunately, Trev was professional enough to notice and, for want of anywhere else to go, shepherded her over to the chaise, sat her down, and started talking quietly. The discussion was punctuated with a number concerned head shakes from her and a similar amount of re-assuring nods from Trev, and gradually it seemed that professionalism – or more likely money – was winning over.

  While it was still in the balance, Felix sidled over to where I was sitting.

  “She's never done this has she,” he said in a flat whisper. He had a noticeably Mancunian accent.

  “Doesn't look like it,” I replied.

  “You think she will?” At this point, half listening to Felix, half running my eyes up the line of her legs – they did look particularly well shaped – I noticed Trev retrieving his wallet from his back pocket.

  “Looks like it,” I said to Felix. “You'd better go easy on her I suppose.”

  He gave me a crafty smile. “I dunno. Not like she'd know the difference.”

  If there was any more to say, it had to wait because Trev motioned to Felix to go over. I saw a quick exchange of notes – they went into Alice's jacket pocket – then she was being introduced to Felix, standing up from the chaise to see it done. Satisfied that he'd done the business, Trev stepped away and positioned himself behind the stationary camera while both hand-helds were retrieved and switched on.

  There followed a prelude of sorts, occasioned by an amusing handshake that Felix held on to and used to offer her seat on the chaise, sitting down next to her once she'd assumed her place. It was immediately noticeable to what extent Felix dominated her; in stature of course, he was perhaps half a head taller sitting down, but also in the way she was shrinking back from him. I had the sure sense, much like my first impression, that she found him intimidating.

  Felix talked to her quietly. I couldn't hear what he was saying, but since Trev gave no direction for him to speak up, I assumed that it was being picked up on the microphone boom. Whatever he was saying – leaning in until he was close to her right ear – wasn't designed to make Alice feel any more comfortable; though not quite shuffling away from him, she wasn't exactly engaging with the process.

  And as he talked, Felix started touching her; a casual contact with the back of his hand against her arm, absent mindedly moving a few strand of hair from the side of her face, emphasising a comment with a gentle pat of her thigh. Odd, simple touches that Alice seemed either to ignore or else to take in her stride. She didn't react to them, but neither did she try to get closer. Felix was doing enough for both of them.

  After a couple of minutes he was close enough to her right ear to be touching it with his lips and whether he was talking or just breathing, Alice did nothing to push him away. Perhaps taking that as his cue, Felix placed his right hand on her left thigh, reaching across her lap to do so and sliding his fingers down the side of her leg before stroking it firmly along her skirt but not below it. Alice brought her own hand down, perhaps thinking to pull him off, but instead, or perhaps intentionally, took hold of his wrist.

  I chose this moment to leave my position on the bed and move round the room until I was against the wall facing the fireplace and the mirror. Once there, mindful of what might be seen in reflection, I sat down on the floor and found myself in a good position to see Felix start to lay subtle kisses on Alice's left ear and then down onto her neck. With his right hand still stroking her left thigh, his left hand appeared on the other side of her neck, his fingers make careful contact but also easing her towards his kisses.

  If Alice was still feeling intimidated, it wasn't showing. Her eyes closed, her lips parted of their own accord and I got the impression she was concentrating on what Felix was doing with his lips. Not much apparently, just soft kisses on the side of her neck or lower, his left hand easing her jacket collar away just enough so he could dip down towards the join of her shoulder.

  Despite clearly appreciating what Felix was doing, Alice was making no positive moves of her own. Her left hand held fast to his wrist as his hand slowly caressed her thigh, while her right hand rested primly on her other. And all the while, she sat there as though she were up for an interview, her knees and feet held firmly together while adopting a cute little angle below the knee.

  One reason I'd sat down by the wall was to get a better look at her legs but she was acting as though she knew my reasons exactly. On a couple of occasions, I caught her eye and I almost had the impression she was admonishing me. Still, I tried not to smile. I had a good idea what was going to happen, even if I couldn't exactly work out whether she did.

  Presently, Felix turned her face towards him, perhaps hoping to kiss her properly, but this time she did pull back, clearly not keen on the idea. Hardly perturbed, Felix gave her a quick smile then got to his feet suddenly, pulling her up by the hand. With soft hands on her shoulders, he turned her ninety degrees so she was facing Trev's stationary camera. I snatched a look to see Trev working hard to zoom-out and get the new composition right and by then Felix was behind her easing her jacket over her shoulders and along her arms before dropping it casually behind him on the floor.

  I think it was at this point that any pretence was lost. Felix allowed his hands to smooth down her flanks and across her hips to come up again, creeping around onto her stomach and up, pulling the fabric of her blouse with him so it came partly loose from under her skirt. When his hands made contact with her breasts – through at least two layers of fabric – Alice brought her own hands up, perhaps to forestall his progress, but if she did make any difference it was to increase the pressure rather than reduce it.

  Gradually, over a couple of minutes, Alice's blouse came fully loose from her skirt and Felix wasted little time in getting his hands underneath it. Even though I was looking at the scene from side on at that stage, I couldn't get much of an idea about her figure, but there was little need for patience in the matter because Felix suddenly took it on himself to start pulling her blouse up completely. It wasn't exactly the required process given there were buttons to undo, but Alice didn't seem particularly troubled by it and was happy to lift her arms to make the transition possible.

  With the blouse removed – and casually discarded with the jacket – in the process serving to unloose a good few strands of hair from their bonds, I could see that she had a remarkably flat stomach. It wasn't defined – she didn't have a six-pack of any sort – but neither was she displaying a rib cage.

  This seemed well matched by breasts that were not notable in their size. She was wearing a sports bra of sorts – the kind of bra that would never get used by Trev's usual arr
ay of talent – so they were probably constrained somewhat, but you can tell these things. Again though, there was no need to wait before finding out because Felix wasted no time in unhooking the bra from the back and in little time the straps were over her shoulders and the garment joined the small pile of clothes on the floor.

  It would have been nice to have looked her breasts over, but Felix had other ideas, sitting himself down on the chaise and pulling Alice round so that she was positioned, still standing, between his parted legs. I guessed then, because I couldn't actually see, that he busied himself applying his mouth to her breasts. I could have moved round the room, but it seemed pointless so the only evidence I had was Alice holding onto his shoulders, perhaps pulling him onto her, and the way her head fell back.

  What I could see was a wonderfully shaped rear. Encased in her tight skirt, you could discern each buttock and the way the fabric was stretched between them, while also framing the swell from her legs. If she'd been wearing the kind of smart trousers you'd get in an office, you could well imagine them creeping between her buttocks.

  But there was something else as well. Those few strands of hair that had come loose from their ties were hanging down her back. Hanging all the way down her back and extending well passed the waistline of her skirt. This wasn't the time to say anything – the cameras were rolling and the mic was most likely picking up the smallest of sounds – so I could only hope that such a detail would be noticed either by Trev or possibly by Felix.

  Understandably, it was the strands of hair that Felix found first. With his mouth still applying itself to Alice's breasts in some way I couldn't see, his hands slid round her hips to attach themselves firmly, one on each buttock. That he liked what he found didn't seem to be in question because it took him a couple of minutes to progress to what was obvious enough, dipping his hand down her legs, taking hold of the hem and lifting it remorselessly up and up until it was gathered in an untidy bundle round her waist.