When you are out of work you will take any job and put up most things just to keep it. I do not like snobs, people who think they are a cut above everyone else and look down their noses at people they believe are of a lesser order than themselves. These people are usually shits, first class shits and the Chief Executive of the bank was typical of this kind of animal but he wanted a chauffeur and I wanted a job.
"I expect you to be at work on time, I want you there when I want you, when you are taking me anywhere make sure the car is spotlessly clean, inside and out. You always refer to me as Sir, there will be no familiarity. You always wear the uniform during working hours, keep it clean and smart and without exception you polish your shoes until you can see your face in them, have you any questions?"
"No Sir." Well as I said I needed the job.
Sir Alistair Mitchell, was used to being the boss, he expected people to jump when he entered a room and usually they did.
I would pick him up about 7.30am to drive him to the office. The one pleasure I got out of it was driving his Bentley, well apart from the other benefits and perks. I would park the Bentley in the underground car park and after making sure it remained spotlessly clean I would go into the little office, about as big as a broom cupboard, where there was a telephone, in case the boss wanted me, there was also a kettle so I could at least make myself a cup of tea.
Rogers was my name, never Stuart.
"Rogers, I need you to drive me to St. Albans, Rogers, bring the car around to the front entrance, Rogers, Rogers, Rogers. He never sat in the front seat, that would have been far beneath him and he might have felt obliged to talk to me.
Sometimes when he was going abroad I would drive him to Heathrow, help him with his baggage and once the plane had taken off I would drive back to the garage and until he got back I could do much as I liked, and I did. If I used the Bentley I would have to make sure I didn't over use the petrol but there was latitude. What he didn't know about was the fucking that took place on the backseat of his precious Bentley. Chloe, the young office assistant, lost her virginity on the backseat right where he would sit, issuing orders on his phone. Chloe was to be a constant supply of cunt for me, and believe me she had a little corker.
It was a wonder he never asked me what I was doing with a broad smirk on my face as he sat on the very spot where young Chloe's hymen had been popped. I think Chloe had told her friend, Kathleen, who was Mitchell's secretary, and whenever I had to pick up papers from the offices to deliver them somewhere, I always got a wry knowing smile from Kathleen. I tried, on a few occasions, to chat her up but to no avail. Kathleen was married, very attractive redhead, always smartly dressed, she was class. Not class in the Alistair Mitchell sense of the word, she was just class in every sense of the word. She dressed class; she looked class, she walked class, she had to be class to hold down a job as Mitchell's secretary. She had the loveliest tits, but not a hint of nipple through her blouse, the cheeks of her arse moved rhythmically in her tight, black skirt as she floated effortlessly around the offices and the clickety click of her high heels made all the male heads turn. The seam of her black stockings seemed to point the way to delights the very thought of which made me drool and have mouth-watering thoughts.
One thing I had going for me that Mitchell, with all his wealth and undoubted ability, will never have is the simple fact that women are attracted to me. Why I don't really know but they see something and I am not going to try to analyse it. I have never gone short of pussy and unlike lots of other men I don't do the chasing. That's what annoyed me about Kathleen, she wasn't interested in me and it made me want her all the more and I had to resist the impulse to chase her pussy, a sure way to make sure I never got it. She was a challenge no red-blooded male could resist.
Another of my duties was to drive the CEO and his family to their retreat, a log cabin hidden away in the woods and leafy glades of the Cotswolds. I had the keys and it was my job to go there a few days in advance and make sure it was clean and tidy, well stocked with food and wine and chopped-wood for the log fire. Sometimes, once the log fire was blazing, I would sit on the sofa and imagine I had Kathleen on the white sheepskin rug stretched in front of the hearth. As I visualized Kathleen with her knees wide apart I would unzip my fly and flip out my cock. It didn't take long to fill my handkerchief.
On such occasions I would return to pick up Mitchell and his wife, Janet, at their London home, in Bayswater and sometimes his daughter, Lucinda would come along when she wasn't at college. Janet seemed rather reserved, certainly in the presence of her husband, but Lucinda was a giggly, effervescent, fun-loving young woman about 19 years of age, but actually looked younger, they all referred to me as Rogers though. No change there. All three sat in the back as well.
When the Mitchell's went on a family holiday to Tuscany I talked Chloe into spending an evening at their house. We got in the Bentley and drove to the Bayswater mansion. We spent the night in the king-size marital bed, with her virginity long gone Chloe fucked like a veteran, totally uninhibited. Her long, flowing, blond hair spayed out over the soft, satin pillows, her legs stretched across the luxurious bedsheets while I drilled her for two solid hours. The little vixen had three orgasms for me -- absolutely lovely. The next day I took her to the nearest chemist shop for the morning-after pill before driving on to work, then returned to take the heavily soiled bedsheets to the laundrette and then replaced them on the bed. Chloe was a good girl.
While at the mansion I couldn't help taking a look around the house, before leaving. I stumbled across Lucinda's knicker-drawer and buried beneath a rich variety of thongs and panties of various colours I found two vibrators, no wonder she is an effervescent fun-loving young girl, probably too late to get her virginity, that flower will have been picked already I thought.
I drove Chloe back to work, parked the car and spent a few hours cleaning the Bentley then wondered into the offices. Kathleen gave me that all-knowing look, what had Chloe been saying?
"Where have you been all day?" She asked.
"I think you already know the answer to that." I replied. She laughed.
"It could be you, you know, all you have to do is loosen up a little." I continued half laughing, half serious.
"You wish."
"I certainly do, you'll never know how I wish."
"Oh, I can imagine."
"You should know what I get to imagining. You'd be surprised."
"In your dreams."
She was right there; she was the most fuckable bit of crackling in the Home Counties as far as I was concerned.
Kathleen was married to Arnold who ran and operated his own courier business, they were, on the face of it, a happy couple but she had always wanted her independence and to pursue her own career. She was one of those very efficient secretaries with unswerving loyalty to Mitchell. Unfortunately for me she demonstrated the same loyalty to her husband.
A few weeks later I was sat in the little pokey office I had in the underground car park when the phone rang, it was Kathleen.
