Rachel's Rump

Alan struggled up the single flight of stairs to his flat, unlocked the door, went inside and slumped in a chair. Just getting to his flat was made difficult by the plaster cast on his leg, his painful arm and his lack of fitness, having lain in bed in the hospital for 4 or 5 days. He still looked a sight - the bruising on his face was coming out, but the doctor had said that in a couple of weeks everything would be fine, apart from the broken leg which would take a bit longer to heal.

Alan relaxed, looked around the flat, knowing his parents would drop by later to get him something to eat. He noticed the bit of paper on the floor where it had probably fallen just 5 days ago. The paper represented the beginning of his problems, the problems which had left him beaten up, leg broken and job-less.

5 days ago he had been at work, the day no different from normal. Working at the computer, dealing with phone calls, chatting to colleagues - and the brief meeting in the foyer. Someone trying to sell stationary, stationary they didn't want. It took 20 minutes to get rid of him.

Alan had returned to the office, only to be summoned to see the boss. He handed him the piece of paper, and asked what he made of that. He read:

She walked on ahead of me

And then her glory I could see

Emphasised as her legs moved free

The movement of a queen.

Her skirt was wrapped around

The most beautiful ass I've found

So full and curved and round

The wonder of my day.

She walked, it rolled, my gaze

Is held as her ass sways

My mind fixed in a haze

Of watching Rachel's orbs.

I dream of spreading her wide,

To the privacy all women hide

To kiss the rose denied

To all but a favoured few.

I dream of entering her ass

In the hole too tight to pass

With my weapon, hard of mass

To take her virgin rectum.

I'll Bugger the slut!

Slide my cock in her butt!

Put my seed in her gut!

And hope she screams for more.

Rachel - one day I will fuck your face,

And one day fuck your cunt with my mace

Then, Rachel, my cock will win the race

To own your asshole as well.

Alan frowned. His boss explained: "this, um, poem, was found on your computer screen, when Rachel went to use it. You are accused of writing this, and this sort of thing means instant dismissal."

The problem was - Rachel was a member of staff. Alan pictured her: she was tall, and when younger would have been shapely. Now in her late forties, she had filled out, but in all the right places. And yes -particularly her ass. It was full, curved, the sexiest ass he could picture. Rachel herself was sweet and friendly, married to Brian who worked in a factory, or something. The office didn't mix socially particularly, but she was part of a friendly group at work.

As Alan left the office, he had thought more about Rachel. Yes, she did have a great ass, and yes, the poem was exactly what he wanted to say. The office knew she was a virgin. Not a "no sex" virgin, rather it was clear the "alternative hole" had never been entered! It had come out of a conversation at work, when three men were getting a bit coarse, a conversation which Rachel was on the edge of. Alan didn't know how the conversation had got to that point, but one of the men said : "I bet every man dreams of buggery..........."

There was tutting, he was soundly told off by the male "boss," but Rachel's comment had simply been that her Brian would never dream of a thing like that. It was an obvious pointer to her "rectal virginity!"

Maybe it was that which added to the thought that she had, without doubt, a magnificent ass, and may have inspired the doggerel on the computer.

Just as Alan reached the door of his flat a man's voice rang out - someone had been waiting for him. "Hey, Alan, what's the meaning of this?"

The man looked familiar as he waved a sheet of paper in Alan's face.

"How dare you write this stuff..........." Alan could just make out the heading on the paper - "Rachel's Rump." He had just enough time to think it wasn't the best ever title, before he felt the punch.

"Don't you ever do anything like this to my wife again, or it will be worse..........."

The second punch to Alan's stomach bent him double, the third dropped him to the floor. Then the kicks, to head, body - in seconds Alan was hurting, bleeding, passing out.........

A neighbour found Alan, so a nurse told him, 20 minutes later and called the ambulance. He woke up on a couch in the emergency room, with a couple of nurses watching, and a policeman in the background.

The policeman asked "Can I speak to him now?" The nurses refused, they considered he wasn't ready to talk yet.

Alan was grateful for the pause. Should he say who it was? Who he thought it was? Could he face the questioning, the court case, the possible aggravation, for something quite frankly he would have done, if it had been his wife who had been insulted.

Alan said nothing of significance, and the police presence disappeared. Five days of treatment, and he was ready to go home.

But there was one problem that had made him say nothing, and left him confused. He hadn't written the poem.

Someone had written the poem and it had appeared on his computer. The five days in hospital had been a jumble of confused thoughts - perhaps it was the confusion which stopped him shopping Brian. Who had written it? Why? Who had put it on the computer? Why? Was it some poem off the internet, or was it written specially? Had it been done for a joke? Or to get him into trouble? Who had access to his computer?

Perhaps he should check it out on google........................... It was too late, his parents had arrived, and were chatting away as his mother made him something to eat, and generally fussed over him. Alan quickly hid the paper with the poem - he hadn't even told them he had been sacked.

After his parents fussing and chatter, Alan could only face sleep - he took himself to bed, and slept solidly. It wasn't until next morning he could turn his computer on.

Turn on computer, wait for the desktop, click on the web-browser, get up the google panel......... Alan was confused. What should he try in google? Perhaps the first line of the poem - Alan typed the words in. There were 26 million entries! Put speech marks around. Four entries - but nothing relevant.

Try the second line. Less replies this time - only 22 million! Speech marks - no entries at all!

For the next ten minutes Alan tried different things, but could find nothing.

Perhaps he should try something different. Alan put the name "Rachel" into the search box and clicked. 80 million entries! Rachel and Buggery. 19,000 entries!

At that moment Alan's phone went: he turned to pick it up. It was his mother just making sure he was okay. But as he turned he clicked the mouse accidentally, and a new panel came up. Google news. The search words were still "Rachel" and "Buggery" but this time there were only three entries. The third one was dated 2004. It caught Alan's eye. He opened the article.

"...............Mark Standing's appeal against wrongful dismissal was dismissed following a complaint from colleague Rachel Foulkes that he had written obscene poetry about her and left it on his computer. It was considered that the severity of the offence was such that instant dismissal was considered the appropriate action of the employer................"

Alan paused. It was a Rachel, but the wrong name - he worked with Rachel McMurdo. He read on............

"Rachel Foulkes' fiancée, acting as her spokesman, said he was glad Mark Standing had been dismissed. Brian McMurdo said that the awful things said about his Fiancée deserved far more than just dismissal. Standing should be put away in prison for this sort of thing............"

Alan paused, then quickly put names into google - several other sites reported the case, adding little to the story. There was just one story which hinted at "unnatural sexual practices", and one which gave a line of the poem: "I dream of spreading Jenny wide........" It was the same, but the wording was slightly different - the name Jenny instead of Rachel.

For a few moments he pondered, then put the name "Jenny" into the first line, and put that into google. He found the poem on a "submit your erotic poetry" site - but written about a "Jenny". The name had been changed to Rachel in the version on Alan's computer...........

It took Alan a few minutes to work out what happened. He looked up the company mentioned in the articles where Mark Standing had worked. He phoned them up.

"Hello, I was wondering if your company could help me - last time you did a guy called Mark Standing was really helpful. Could I speak to him?"

"I'm sorry sir, but Mark left some years ago. Perhaps his successor could help you."

"Okay, what's his name?"

"Brian McMurdo.........."

Alan simply put the phone down. Brian McMurdo.........

Put Brian McMurdo into google. A number of hits - sales representative for an office equipment company. Report of his wedding to Rachel Foulkes........

Alan started putting it together. They had used the same trick 5 years before - they had got someone the sack with the obscene poem, probably to get Brian the job. But why did they want Alan sacked?

It was the piece of the puzzle which was missing. Rachel was already higher in the company than he was, so why get him the sack? Brian's present job was a far better one than he had, it couldn't be about getting Alan's job. Alan pondered all the way through lunch - what was it all about..........?

After lunch he sat at his computer again. Perhaps it was worth a try............

Alan clicked into his company's website. His ex-company's website - he had to get it right. Surely they would have cancelled his access into the company's intranet............ but they hadn't. Typical - IT had always been lazy. Time to explore............... What was new since he had been on last...............

It was on an E.mail to him, which had arrived the day after he had been sacked. The company were about to place an order for the complete re-placement and refurbishment of the computer system. The specification had been written up, and it would have been Alan's job to send them out and collect in the tenders. Alan thought - it would have been Rachel's responsibility if Alan wasn't there.............

Somehow he had been copied into the quotes received, although he had left already. 4 quotes, all in the region of several million pounds - all rather higher than Alan would have guessed, but Rachel McMurdo recommending the quote from "Intratech Ltd".

The name rang a bell - he checked - Brian McMurdo was head of sales at "Intratech Ltd".

Alan dug a bit further - the other companies who were alleged to have bid were not mentioned on the internet, suggesting they didn't even exist.

Alan reflected - some people were stupid - there were E.mail addresses, and web-addresses to the Intratech website of their quote. He followed those, found Intratech's Accounts for the quotation - including an "agency fee" for £500,000. Alan wasn't stupid - Agency fee always meant a sweetener.

It was obvious. Rachel had received a load of money to make sure Intratech's inflated quote had been accepted, and forged other quotes to help. And as well as half a million, her husband was sure to get a good bonus for that sort of contract as well Alan had to go because he would have been managing the process - not Rachel, and he would have seen what was happening; he would not have allowed that to happen. He would also have had the contract cost far less. And no bribes. And Intratech probably wouldn't have got the contract. But what to do.....................?

Chapter 2.

Rachel approached the hotel for her business meeting, walking cheerfully and confidently towards the main entrance. Just 24 hours and she would be rich. Brian would be getting his huge bonus for getting the computer contract for Intratech. She would be getting the "agency fee" for making it happen. Overnight they would be millionaires. There was to be a great reception organised by Intratech, and contracts would be exchanged. Yes, it had meant getting rid of Alan, but he wasn't a big cog in the organisation and would soon find work elsewhere. She smiled - she hated the poem - couldn't imagine doing anything like the poem suggested, but it had worked twice now. She had heard that Alan had been beaten up, but she was sure it wasn't too bad, and it probably didn't have anything to do with this contract either - probably just a mugger.

However, that was tomorrow. Today was different - she had been asked to meet a special client in suite 46, with the hint that there could be a big bonus in this job if it worked out well. She just knew it was a Mr Holland, from a company called Holland associates. A few more jobs like these and she could probably retire to her dream Caribbean Island!

The receptionist took Rachel's details, and sent her to the room. She knocked. A man opened the door - dressed in a suit, tie, every inch the business man. The man introduced himself as Charles Holland and invited her in. Showed her to a soft chair - there were three chairs around a coffee table.

Charles Holland smiled: "I think you know Alan Gregory, my associate."

There was suddenly a hint of uncertainty - she did know Alan Gregory - the same Alan who she had got fired for the pornographic poem.

The three of them sat around the coffee table. Charles Holland continued.

"We are a private financial investigation organisation, and we are invited by companies to investigate fraud, and other financial mismanagement. Alan here is now a member of our staff."

The world had turned upside down for Rachel; the cheerfulness she had arrived with had completely dissipated, replaced by a sense of confusion and foreboding.

"We have been asked by the company you work for to investigate the contract for the purchase of the new computer system........." Charles Holland continued. "We have found flaws in the tendering system," he paused, "as well as the acceptance of a tender, with some associated fees, which is highly suspicious."

Rachel's heart seemed to be drumming in her chest. "No, there can't be......"

Charles Holland continued. "We have sufficient evidence to show that a member of staff at each company has behaved fraudulently, and with the evidence we have, both would be convicted and face a prison term of upwards of 5 years, probably 10."

Rachel slumped, and sighed, "please, no.........it was all his idea......."

Charles Holland continued. "Our client has considered this fully, and has been in discussion with Intratech. We could go to the courts, or we could come to some sort of agreement." He paused.

Rachel grasped at the straw. "Agreement, what sort of agreement?" The thought of prison terrified her.

"Well," said Charles Holland. "On the one hand we could go to the police, and Intratech will be closed, you and your husband would go to prison, for a very long time;" again he paused. "Or there is a second way. A proposal which is acceptable to Intratech, your company and everyone involved. Your company will simply take over Intratech for a nominal fee, preserving their jobs and business. You and your husband will simply disappear, move somewhere else. But of course, Alan Gregory here will have to be compensated in some way."

Rachel grasped at any straws. "Yes, please, what sort of compensation?"

"Well, you agree to, um, sex, with him, he would like you to spend 2 hours with him."

Rachel turned bright red, but said nothing. Alan wasn't her type, but he was nice enough. But her husband, Brian. Yet the thought of prison, for both of them.

Rachel turned it over for a couple of minutes, but there was no alternative. Her body slumped.

Charles Holland spoke to her again: "I think you see our point of view. You will need to sign two contracts" - he handed her two sheets of paper. Her hand was shaking as she signed them and was handed her copies of the contracts.

Within seconds, Charles Holland was gone, and Rachel was sat with Alan. With Charles Holland gone she suddenly refound her courage. "Come on, let's get on with it." she snapped at Alan.

Alan stood up and led Rachel to the bedroom of the suite. Rachel spoke in a sour voice again. "Suppose I had just better get my clothes off," and started to remove her jacket.

Alan allowed her to remove her jacket, then suddenly pushed her forwards onto the bed, sat across her lap as she struggled to escape. Rachel beat her legs and tried to grab with her hands, but there was no escaping, until at last her energy to fight ran out.

At last Alan whispered to her: "We have two hours, and it is not what you want, but what I want." Alan reached into his pocket and pulled out his first pair of cuffs, grabbed one of her arms - the one nearest the bedhead and snapped the cuffs on her wrist. He quickly stretched out her arm, and snapped the other end of the cuff to a bar on the head of the bed.

It took Rachel a moment to realise what was happening and she began to fight again, but there was no escape. Her struggles allowed Alan to snap the cuff on her other wrist, then cuff her wrist to the other side of the bed. Rachel lay face down on the bed, her arms cuffed to the bed above her head. Somehow the fight had left her for a few moments, and she said in a little girl voice "please let me go".

Alan, smiled. He had been waiting for this bit for weeks since leaving hospital. The poem had triggered a fantasy in his mind........

Alan collected the round cushion from the sofa, lifted Rachel and put it under her, so her ass was lifted high off the bed. Although she struggled, he quickly had her ankles cuffed to the bottom of the bed, so she was spread eagled on the high cushion. Alan stood back and admired for a moment - she really did have a full magnificent ass.

It was only a moment: Alan got out the video cameras he had brought along - one he placed at the top of the bed so Rachel's face was being filmed all the time, the other he set up for a more general picture.

"You can't do that, please" pleaded Rachel.

Alan smiled "sometimes it pays to read the small print," he said sarcastically. "You see, one of the contracts you signed was to take part in a pornographic film, with me having the sole distributor rights. Called "Rachel's Rump. It's quite an idea, don't you think - if you complain to anyone after we just show them the contract, that you agreed to this!"

Rachel's heart slumped - not only was she tied, but she couldn't do anything afterwards. Alan turned on the cameras to film everything.

Alan moved to the bed and whispered again to Rachel. "You got me the sack with a poem all about fucking ass. I know you've never done anal before: well, now you are going to have two hours of beautiful painful anal torture. So many things I want to try."

Alan reached down, and undid the button at the top of Rachel's skirt. Catching the two ends he ripped the skirt open down the back, and pulled it from under Rachel. Her ass was full, round, smooth - everything Alan had dreamt. Alan quickly removed Rachel's panties, cutting the sides and pulling them away.

This time Rachel tensed as Alan let his hands rest on the cheeks of her ass - her asshole looked more beautiful than he imagined it could.

Rachel tensed, knowing that she was about to be entered, but suddenly felt something tickling her asshole as light as a feather - a moment and she knew it was a tongue - Alan's tongue was caressing her asshole. At first she was repulsed by the idea, but, but it felt okay. No - it felt good. She felt his tongue pressing into her ring - and still it felt good. After a couple of minutes Rachel found herself relaxing, even enjoying the soft caressing of the tongue against her asshole.