His Lordships Daughter

by de'Ville, Brian A

  “Well put one of your people in and get the place cleaned up.” The MD retorted, peevishly, turning to go, but the supervisor stopped him. “I have no-one I can spare, Sir.”

  Steven sighed. Monday morning was not his favourite time zone. “O.K., I’ll see to it.” Crossing to a wall telephone, spoke to June, his secretary. “Get onto the employment agency, immediately.” He instructed. “Remind them what century we are in and tell them we need a cleaner, soonest. O.K?” taking his jacket off, he rolled up his sleeves and started straightening up the section. Working solidly for well over an hour he was stooping to lift a heavy bale of paper, when a small neat paid of brogue shoes walked into his vision and stayed there. Slowly looking up, his gaze took in expensive jeans and the cashmere sweater and into the nicest smile he had ever seen. He was so startled he staggered slightly and lunging forward in an effort to stay on his feet inadvertently grabbed the visitor’s waist. Quickly he released his hold.

  “Forgive me. You took me by surprise.” Steven apologised, his eyes till firmly fixed on her face.

  Phyllipa looked at him almost carefully. She had a soft spot for six feet something men. Especially if they were handsome. “I didn’t mean to. I’m looking for Steven Grant.”

  “You’ve found him.”

  “The Employment Agency sent me.” Phyllipa explained. “I believe you have a vacancy?”

  “For what?”

  She looked at the paper in her hand. “One cleaner.” She read “S.G Packaging.”

  Steven shook his head and looked her up and down again. “I don’t quite think it is the sort of thing that would suit you.”

  His visitor looked around her “Perhaps you will let me be the best judge of that.” She retorted.

  “O.K,” Steven waved his hand in the air, indicating the section. “It’s all about keeping this place clean. This is where everything that we produce goes out. The position is yours if you want it?”

  She smiled again and stuck out her hand in greeting. “You’ve got yourself a cleaner. My name is Phyllipa Gore.”

  Steven looked at her, astonished. Something was going on that he didn’t quite understand, but he did need a cleaner. He took the offered hand. “Welcome aboard! What do we call you?” Phyllipa looked straight into his eyes. “Ms Gore!”

  The Managing Director rolled his sleeves and put his jacket back on. “I’ll leave you now to get on with things. Wander around and get the feel of the place. You may actually like working here. Now and then it gets a bit hectic and I occasionally get bad tempered, but by and large we’re a friendly crowd.”

  Phyllipa’s eyes were still on his face. “Why do you get bad tempered?” she asked, innocently.

  The Managing Director tried holding her gaze but losing it after about two seconds, looked around as if seeking assistance. “It was just a metaphor.” He explained, looking a trifle confused.

  “You seemed pretty definite.” Phyllipa insisted.

  Steven massaged his chin with his hand and his eyes narrowed slightly. “ok. So, I shall try my hardest not to get angry. Will that suit you?”

  Phyllipa smiled. “Admirably. Thank you.”

  Walking back to his office the Managing Director was deep in thought about his latest employee. He wasn’t quite sure if he had done the right thing in employing her. “She doesn’t belong here.” He kept telling himself. “She just doesn’t belong here!” sitting at his desk; he pressed the intercom button and spoke to his secretary. “Did Ms Gore pass through your office on her way to Despatch?”

  “She did.” June answered, “But don’t ask me who she is because I don’t know, what I do know is that is not a cleaner.”

  “Thank you, June.” Her boss shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, flicked the intercom off, and then started reading the morning mail.

  Chapter 4

  Phyllipa and her father were just finishing dinner in the dining room of their large mansion. “Roselands!” large and imposing it nested in fifteen hundred acres of prime agricultural land. It was really too big but habits die hard and Phyllipa enjoyed their space.

  “How did your week go?” Henry Inchcape-Gore asked his daughter.

  Phyllipa sipped her wine and watched Bradford, the butler, carrying the coffee and brandy to the table.

  “Alright.”

  “Just Alright?”

  Phyllipa replaced her wine glass on the table. “It was a bit strange at first. But then, first impressions of something new, generally are, aren’t they?”

  “I wouldn’t know.” Her father replied “As I have told you before, what you are doing is not a family trait.”

  “We print cartoons and things like that. It’s very colourful and I love the smell of the varnish.”

  “Are you enjoying it?” he asked, sipping his brandy.

  “Not at the moment, Father. But, I will.” A slow smile eased across her face. “Oh yes, I will.”

  “I’m glad. I don’t like to think of you doing anything if your heart is not in it.”

  Phyllipa put down her napkin. “I’ve had a busy day and I’m rather tired. Will you excuse me, Father?”

  Her father nodded. “Of course, but don’t overdo things, Phyllipa. Not even for a bet.”

  She nodded, kissed him goodnight, and walked through the house to her own suite. Situated in the west wing of the building it was rather remote, but this is how she liked it. Quiet and undisturbed. She had hardly got through the door when two strong hands encircled her breasts from behind pulling her body into a hard muscular male contour. Turning, she kissed the dark haired man, then dropping her hand, fingered his testicles through the cloth of his striped business suit. “You are early, tonight, David.” She said, ecstatic that his penis was growing stiffer under her knowledgeable handling. David nodded. “I couldn’t wait to see you.” He explained, rapidly stripping off his clothes, eagerly watched by Phyllipa, who then stood quite still whilst her friend removed her own clothing, layer by layer. Not that there was much of it, because there wasn’t.

  Phyllipa didn’t believe in excess dress of any sort, but however much there was, David was a slow time artist in stripping and revealing a bit of her at one time. Finally, she stood naked, assuming her usual provocative stance. Head high, legs wide apart with her well-shaped breasts jutting out like little pink sentries whilst the heat between her thighs wandered incessantly, enveloping the whole of her voracious body. Squealing with delight, she grasped David’s thickening erection in her hand, pulling him through to her private room. Although beautifully furnished it also housed something Phyllipa had dreamed up when researching erotica some years previous. She called it her “New Yorker”. Made from black wrought iron, covered in thick purple velvet, it resembled a large extendable capital “A”, which could be adjusted to suit different sized people. The aperture under the apex was designed to take the head of the victim whilst the metal handcuffs attached to the frame at shoulder and ankle height were there to keep them prisoner.

  Spreading her legs against the metal uprights, resting her chin on the crossbar, she eased her tingling body sensuously against the frame while David imprisoned her hands and feet.

  Phyllipa never questioned her rampant sexuality, her eroticism or the carnality of her bodily appetites. Everything which came along was accepted by her as a down payment of nature’s gifts. Hungrily uninhibited, she had no intentions of seeking the bottom line on her desires. Her ambition being to take that which was hers, put it to finest use, under her creed of enjoy!

  The buckling up of her body by David was complete and Phyllipa pulled tightly on her wrist shackles until they cut into her wrists, almost causing her to cry out. From a collection of whips, canes and wooden sticks, David carefully chose a springy twig. “This is ash.” He said, “I cut it down by the river this morning.” With a vicious swipe he bought it down on Phyllipa’s naked buttocks. She knew what was coming, she knew what agony she would have to endure, but she met each stroke with a smile as she greedily leaned herself
as far backwards as possible to meet the punishment. Suddenly the pain became more intense, causing the first orgasmic ripple to invade her loins but still she didn’t cry out. Her body squirmed with pleasure at the exquisite feeling of delight as she dropped herself slightly enabling the edge of the metal cuffs to cut into the softness of her wrists once more as a wave upon wave of tingling delight whispered through her swollen nipples. The ash twig came down again, almost as fast as a drum roll on the unprotected flesh turning the orgasmic ripple to become a torrent of desire. Suddenly, Phyllipa’s resolve snapped, “Now!” she screamed at the top of her voice. David was quick, still fully rampant; he tossed the twig aside, presented himself at the rear of her, plunging his engorged phallus into her open flesh causing her to utter fresh squeals of delight. Pumping his body slowly but extremely accurately, in spite of Phyllipa’s demand for more speed, he pressed a small lever on either side of the machines uprights causing the top half to shutter down into the bottom half forcing her weight into a near foetal position. Hanging by her wrists only, the pain was more exquisite but it was also highly dangerous owing to the sharp metal cutting deeper into her flesh.

  “Take my weight.” She begged her lover, who readily obliged. Pumping his loins faster, he grasped the frame with his muscled arms, forcing his pelvis against her reddened buttocks, roughly pulled himself further into her, exploring, probing, savaging her very being, causing Phyllipa to gasp happily with every thrust as the pull on her wrists subsided. Abruptly, the tempo increased as David with one huge lunge flooded her with his tribute. Phyllipa threw back her head, opened her mouth and shrieked with intense excitement as her own orgasmic cloud burst, soaking the pair of them.

  Removing his now rapidly softening penis, David quickly unbuckled the handcuffs, catching the exhausted Phyllipa as she fell from the frame. Carrying her to the bedroom he gently laid her on the four poster. Wearily, she opened her eyes, gave him a tired smile, yawned and fell fast asleep.

  Later, still in bed, her head resting on David’s chest, she looked up at him. “As from next week, I shall only be here at weekends.”

  “Trouble?”

  She shook her head “Of course not! I have some business in town which is keeping me busy for a few months. So, I shall be staying in the family apartment.

  He sighed. “Well, I would be lying if I said I wasn’t going to miss you, because I will.” He kissed her face. “But, if you need me, I’ll be in the village. You’ve been absolutely marvellous.”

  “Hey! This is not goodbye. It’s just that I won’t be coming back here every night.” She told him, smiling at the compliment. She and David had met at a village party, sponsored by her father and over a drink discovered they had one thing in common where pleasures of the flesh were concerned. It was number one is their corporal calendars! “But, I’ll be back as often as possible.” She continued. “I don’t like to leave my father to long on his own. He’s all I’ve got and I’m all he has. So, from now on I’ll telephone when I need you. Now let’s have one for the road, eh?”

  Chapter 5

  Settling herself comfortably in her leather armchair, Phyllipa took a huge bite from the bacon sandwich. It was elevenses at SG Packaging and she was having a late breakfast. Turning to the back page of the “Times” Newspaper, studying the daily crossword, she pencilled in a few of the obvious answers, then suddenly lifting her head, found her Boss looking at her, rather whimsically. “Good morning.” He pointed to the armchair. “What’s that?”

  She waved her hand at him. “Hi!” Pushing deeper into the luxurious cushions. “It’s an armchair.”

  “I’m well aware that it is an armchair, Ms Gore.” Steven retorted, a little peevishly. “But, what is it for?”

  “Sitting in.” she pencilled an answer into the crossword.

  The Managing Director bit his bottom lip. He wasn’t that happy getting into questions and answer conversations with his employees. “O.K., Ms Gore.” He said deciding to humour her. “We know what it is and what it’s for. Now, where the hell did it come from?”

  Phyllipa taking another huge bite from her sandwich pushed one towards her employer. “Have one.” She offered, but her boss shook his head. “Thank you, but no. But, perhaps you could find time to answer my question.”

  “What was it?”

  Steven signed and sat on a wooden box. “You don’t mind if I join you?”

  Phyllipa shook her head. “Of course not. Help yourself.” She looked at her crossword again, then gazed at Steven. “Cheat playing sentry? Six and six!”

  “Twelve!” Steven hazarded.

  Phyllipa frowned as she put the remainder of the sandwich in her mouth. “I can see you are not crossword orientated.”

  “I don’t get a lot of time.” He protested.

  “Everyone should find time for word games. They exercise the brain and stretch the mind.” Looking at the Rolex on her wrist, she got to her feet and Steven stood up with her.

  “Look! I didn’t come here to interrupt your break, but when I see a brand new five hundred pound piece of furniture in my Despatch section I like to know where it comes from?” he looked at her, hopefully.

  “I had it sent in.” she admitted.

  “We have a rest room.” The M.D. explained, “And we have a canteen and they both have chairs, not quite as luxurious as yours, Ms Gore, but they are to be used.”

  Her ladyship shrugged her shoulders. She wasn’t going to tell him that she found sitting on cheap chairs a little difficult at the moment owing to the love of her hobby. “I like my comfort. It is very important to me.” She explained.

  For a few moments, Steven stood looking at her, then glanced around the Section. Everything was ship shape, clean and tidy. “You’re different, aren’t you?” he finally said, his eyes narrowing slightly, “So, O.K., I like my employees to be happy at their work. Keep the chair!”

  “Of course I will.” She retorted. “I paid for it. It is my property.”

  he frowned again. “I do realise that.”

  “I know you do.” She nodded happily. “That is why I told you I paid for it.”

  The M.D suddenly got the impression that he was being wound up and it had to stop. Let her get away with it once and he could end up like a puppet on a string. “Well! As I said I didn’t come to interrupt your breakfast or discuss armchairs…”

  “It was you making the enquiry.” She insisted, softly.

  “I know that!” he shouted. “But the subject has now gone. It’s history! Let it rest.”

  Phyllipa smiled and nodded her head in acquiescence. “You’re the boss!”

  Steven’s head jerked up. Am I, for a moment I did wonder !” he retorted, sarcastically, rubbing his hand over his chin. “Now, where was I? Oh, yes! I wanted to talk to you.”

  “Is anything wrong?” alarm flooded her face.

  “of course not.” He looked round him. “You keep this place very tidy; but quite frankly, I think you are wasted here. Come to my office.”

  Phyllipa walked through the works with him until suddenly they were in his office, sitting facing one another. Shifting a pile of engineering drawings, he propped his elbows on his desk, dropped his face in his hands, and looked steadily at her. “Please don’t misunderstand these questions which I am about to put to you, Ms Gore, but the law does require some statistics about employees.”

  She smiled. “O.K., I understand. Fire away.”

  “We don’t seem to have your home address?” he sat back and waited for her to answer, but she just looked at him. Her boss cleared his throat and had another go. “And you haven’t been collecting your salary?” he waited again, wishing she would say something but Phyllipa just sat there.

  “Is that it?” She suddenly asked

  “And you keep nicking my parking space.” He continued, looking into her eyes. “Also, I would like you to move up within the company. I am looking for a Trouble-Shooter and I think the position would suit you extremely well.

 
“Trouble-Shooter?” she queried a serious look on her face. “What does that entail?”

  “Someone who liaises between the drawing office, production and the client. Someone who sorts out their needs and ensures they get them. A Progress-Chaser. Someone who can handle….”

  “A gopher.” Phyllipa interrupted. “A sort of dogsbody! Someone to do the running about?”

  The Managing Director frowned “We all run about in business, . That’s the name of the game. So what do you think?”

  Phyllipa nodded her head. “Yes. It sounds interesting. Is it classed as a promotion?”

  He nodded “Yes it is.” He affirmed

  “Good! Then I expect an increase in my salary.” It sounded more like an order than an enquiry.

  Steven gazed at her in astonishment. She had been with the company for almost six weeks and her salary cheques were lying in the wages office untouched, yet here she was asking for a raise. He sighed. “O.K., you will get your increase.”

  A slow smile crept over Phyllipa’s face. “You will not regret that you have put me on this promotional ladder, Mister Grant….”

  “Call me Steven.” Her boss interrupted, quickly.

  “…because I intend to climb as quickly as possible.” She went on getting to her feet. “But, I would like to point out that whilst your job is not in jeopardy, I regard everybody else’s within the company as fair game.”

  He sat back in his chair and chewed his lip in irritation at his inability to understand his latest employee. In the end he settled for a shake of his head. “I’m glad you have told me that, Ms Gore. I shall sleep easier knowing that my position within the company which I own is safe from predators.” His eyes twinkled with a silent laughter, but Phyllipa frowned. “It wasn’t meant as a joke . Within this company I intend to get to the top as quickly as possible.” Her voice was earnest. “That is permissible, isn’t it?”

  The M.D nodded. “Absolutely. The company always encourages its employees. Have a word with June, my secretary. She’ll explain all about our clients and the people to chase. There is an empty office at the back of the canteen which you can use. OK?”