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There was a knock on his office door and, once Henry had realised that whoever was outside was waiting to be invited in, a young woman entered. Kerren Kerrish had been as good as his word and based on his first sight of her Henry thought she would be very suitable indeed.
She was, he supposed, about twenty one or twenty two years old and wore a curious combination of western and what he assumed was traditional Kushtian dress. On her head she wore a pill box hat from which draped a scarf that hung across the lower half of her face veiling all of her features apart from a pair of sparkling, dark brown eyes fringed with long lashes. If her headwear was traditional, Kushtian and modest, the rest of her outfit was anything but. She wore a white blouse that fitted tightly across her breasts and her skirt while straight and tailored was slit so that with each step Henry was afforded an excellent view of her legs. He waved her into the office. To his delight Henry realised that the girl was wearing stockings and, from the way she strode across the room, her skirt dividing at each step, she didn't mind that he knew it.
“Mr Kerrish said I should see to anything at all that you needed,” she said. Henry thought her tone distinctly flirtatious. She was carrying a set of files. As she leant forward to place the files on his desk, Henry had an excellent view of her cleavage. He felt it hadn't been accidental.
“Well, Miss ..” he began.
“Anchari Astana,” the woman said. “I am called Anchari. But my friends call me Anch, please.”
“Well Anch,” Henry went on. “I hope you will be able to help me. This is all very new to me.”
“I'm sure I can help,” she sat herself on the desk beside him, crossing her nylon sheathed legs. “Mr Kerrish was very keen for me to do all I can. Oh, excuse me.” Henry realised that the top button of her blouse had given up the unequal battle to keep her blouse closed and had become unfastened. Anch refastened it without embarrassment and then turned her attention back to Henry. “So what should I do first of all?”
“Well, why don't you take off that veil,” Henry said, “I'm sure you don't need it in here.”
Anch leapt to her feet, startling Henry and shouting. “What do you take me for? Mr Kerrish said I should be nice to you but you treat me like some common huna! I am no huna!” She stormed out of the room, practically knocking over Kerren Kerrish as she pushed passed him in the doorway.
Henry was on his feet calling her to come back but she ignored him. Kerren Kerrish looked at Henry. “What ever has upset Miss Astana? She is one of our most experienced staff. She seemed very distressed.”
“I don't understand,” Henry said. “She seemed - well - very friendly.”
Kerrish smiled. “Kushtian girls are all very friendly,” he said, “you will have no difficulty finding companionship for your relaxations in the afternoons. Miss Astana would be very suitable. Yes?”
“Well I hadn't thought of that but yes.” Henry was surprised by Kerrish's casual suggestion that his secretary would be happy to provide sexual favours. “But I have obviously upset her.”
“I am surprised, good friend. Of course the appetites of the Cleggs are legendary but even so I cannot imagine what you could have said that would have scandalised Miss Astana so.”
“But I made no improper suggestion, I simply suggested that she take off her veil and ....”
“Ah!” Kerrish threw up his hands. “Ah! I understanding. Such a thing is not nice here in Kushtia. For a girl to show her face before her marriage. No! Only the poorest of women in Kushtia would dream of going without a veil. You will find that Kushtian girls are most accommodating in every other respect but they would find such a thing deeply insulting.”
“She said I was treating her like a common – what was the word – huna?”
“Oh yes. A girl dog.”
“Bitch?”
“Yes, bitch. It is an insult to call a woman so in English? Even though you love your dogs?”
“Yes. Look can I apologise to her?”
“No. No. That is not the way.” Kerren's face had a look of astonished disbelief. “No man can apologise to a Kushtian girl. That would bring great loss of face. Please let me explain to her your misunderstanding. She may forgive you. I will do what I can. This is what friends are for. Leave this to your friend. See.” Kerren excused himself and left the office.
A few minutes later the girl reappeared, knocking politely at the door to the office. Henry beckoned her in. Before he could say anything she spoke. “Mr Kerrish has explained that you do not know our ways and traditions. I should have explained how things are here. Please forgive me.” She lowered her eyes to the floor.
Henry was grateful for the opportunity to repair things. “That is quite all right,” he said. “I have much to learn. I am sure you will be able to help me.”
“So, you would like me to stay?”
“Yes, yes indeed.”
“Oh, thank you. Thank you,” Anch said. “I was afraid that you did not like me and that your words were intended to make me go.”
“Not in the least. Now perhaps you could explain these files. I suppose that I should try to understand them.”
“First some coffee though? You would like?”
“I would like very much. Thank you, Anch. What is 'thank you' in Kushtian?”
“Thaknarish.”
“Thaknarish,” Henry imitated.
“Very good,” Anch clapped her hands delightedly. “I will get coffee.”
She returned moments later with a large brass jug and two tiny porcelain cups and poured them each some of the thick, black liquid. Henry took a sip. The coffee was warm rather than hot and extremely sweet and strong. “Thaknarish,” said Henry, raising his cup to Anch.
She lifted hers in response, “You say 'cheers' in English?”
“That's right. You speak very good English.”
“Thank you,” said Anch. “We learn at school. It is a difficult language. Much harder than Kushtian. So many words.”
Henry was enjoying the discussion. Anch was an attractive girl. Even if her face was veiled, the rest of her physical attributes more than made up for that. His eyes were drawn to the swell of her breasts and then, as he looked up, he saw that she had noticed his stare and her eyes told him that she was smiling behind her veil. “Ah, err, yes,” Henry stuttered.
“Do not be embarrassed Mr Clegg,” Anch said. “All Kushtian men admire the woman. They all like the breasts. Do you think mine are nice? Sometimes I think they are too small. Perhaps one day I will go to America or London and get new, big breasts.”
“They are lovely, Anch. I don't think they need to be any bigger.”
“I'm not sure,” she started to unbutton her blouse, obviously anxious for some further reassurance.
Henry was more concerned not to get thrown out of his job on his first morning and was anxious to encourage her to put them away without offending her again. “Err, your medallion,” he said pointing to the disk that hung from a cord around her neck. “That's very attractive. Is that gold?”
His question distracted Anch from inspecting her breasts although she did nothing to fasten her blouse. She lifted up the bright disk and nodded. “Yes,” she said. “It is my properta. All Kushtian women wear them. I am lucky to have this in gold.”
“Properta? Like the English word 'property'?”
“Yes that is right. It shows the household that I belong to. Luckily my household is wealthy so my properta is made of gold. With the properta anyone can tell from which household a woman is belonging to. The household is very important in Kushtia. It is the centre of our lives. To wear the properta of a wealthy household is to have high status. I am very lucky. Now please come and tell me what you think of my breasts.”
“Ah, well, surely not here in the office.”
“Of course. This is why we have cubicon.”
“Cubicon?”
Anch gestured to a curtain against one wall. She took Henry by the hand and led him towards it. Pulling back the curtain, she revealed a small recess with a couch littered with large cushions. “Here,” she said leading him to the couch and encouraging him to lie down. “Cubicon is very important for senior managers. Too much stress is very bad for you. Here you can have your stress relieved. Part of my job is to ensure that your stress is least. I feel you are tense and need to have less stress.” Henry gulped. He had to admit feeling stressed but he wasn't prepared to tell Ann that she was the cause rather than the cure. “All Kushtian men like breasts. Are English men the same?” she said, kneeling astride him, pulling off her blouse and reaching behind her back to unfasten her bra. Her full, dark breasts spilled forward towards him.
“Ah,” said Henry appreciatively. “Yes, ah, yes, English men do like breasts, generally. And these are very nice indeed, err, very nice.”
“But they should be bigger? Yes?”
“No, not at all Anch,” Henry was thinking that if these were any bigger he would be in serious danger if one or other of them hit him. “I don't think they need to be any bigger. No, not at all.”
“You English men are so polite. It is very nice. I shall play your piscalo.”
“Piscalo?”
“Oh, in Kushtian, it is a musical instrument. Like a – what? – flute. But it also means...” She pointed down to his crotch and in response to his “Oh!” dived for the zip of his trousers and, pushing her veil aside, quickly had her tongue around his prick. Henry decided that he was in no position to argue with Kushtian traditions and leant back to enjoy it.
Anch didn't pause when Kerren Kerrish put his head around the cubicon curtain. “Ah! Good! You are falling into our ways. That is excellent. Miss Astana is very capable as a secretary is she not?”
“Indeed. Ah!” Henry gasped in between Anch's enthusiastic sucking and licking. He found it difficult to hold up his part of the conversation while his other end was being kept up so effectively by his secretary.
“Well. Shortly in my office please join me. No needing to hurry. Just when Miss Astana has finished her present tasks.”
Henry nodded and Kerrish left. Anch continued. She was apparently undisturbed by Kerren's arrival but skilfully and swiftly brought Henry to orgasm, licking him clean of his jism with enthusiasm. She reached down beside the couch and pulled out a small silken cloth with which she wiped and dried Henry’s member. The gentle touch of the cloth, so carefully used, seemed to encourage Henry’s prick back into life. “There,” she said. “Now you will feel much more relaxed. Ready for your meeting with Mr Kerren.”
Henry had to admit that he was feeling significantly improved by his encounter with Anch. He got up from the couch, zipped his fly and headed off towards the office of Kerren Kerrish.
© Freddie Clegg 2009
All rights reserved. Not to be reproduced or reposted without permission.
All characters fictitious
E-mail: freddie_clegg@yahoo.com
Web Group: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/freddies_tales/
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