A New Vocation

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The early bird catches the worm. All is fair in Love, War and Business. These were the mantras, the rules and codes by which Gerald lived. And these rules had made him very, very successful. Okay, so he had only been at the job for six months, but he was well on his way to reaching his first half-yearly sales target. In another year’s time he would be a Sales Manager. This, felt Gerald, was the per­fect barometer for his success. After all, he had known nothing about farming when he came into the job, yet he had picked the jargon and knowledge up so easily. A born salesman. His life’s vocation, his passport to riches.
As he roared his old, worn Ford through the countryside to his first appointment of the day, Gerald ruminated on his meteoric, rising success. It had been a stroke of luck that his predecessor had suddenly walked out on the job after only a couple of weeks. This was destiny, without any doubt. His friends at the local pub were not enthusiastic about his work selling farm animal feed, but it had its perks. Like today. A day driving around the countryside, enjoying the fresh air and (occasional!) sun­shine, as opposed to sitting in a sweltering office right through summer, breathing in everyone else’s stale body odours and recycled air…. No, it wasn’t the best job in the world, but there were plenty worse.
Plus, there was that thrill of beating the com­petition, namely Taylor’s, the old, ‘family’ run business who felt that, just because they had worked with the local farming community for generations, no-one else should move in on their patch. Bollocks to that.
Gerald and his company hadn’t so much moved in as trampled, Gestapo-like, over their rival’s business links. Like the rules stated, all is fair….
As he turned a sharp corner, Gerald came across a rakish sports car pulled up on the side of the narrow country lane. Its bonnet was up, the driver, an attractive female in a smart suit, was leaning against the front wing, patently waiting for help. She signalled unnecessarily to Gerald, who had already decided to pull over and offer assistance.
As he climbed from his dusty car, he quickly registered her shapely legs and fabulous figure. A perfect damsel in distress. “Hi there, anything wrong?” asked Gerald, walking over to the female and her stranded car.
The woman smiled sarcastically, as if to say ‘What do you think?’ “What’s the problem?” he enquired, glancing into the engine bay. “I just turned the corner,” explained the girl, “and there was an awful sound from the engine. It sounded like some­thing had come loose, like a spanner had dropped into the bloody engine. Do you know anything about cars?” she asked, pleading. Gerald eyed her curvy form, then held her gaze suggestively. “Well, I can have a look. Going any­where special that you need to be in a hurry? I could give you a lift.” “I’m going into the town, if it’s on your way, but I really need to get the car sorted,” she replied. ‘Town’ was the opposite way to Gerald’s farm appointment. He checked his watch. There was no time to be offering help as a taxi service. “I’ll have a look for you,” he said smiling at her. “Got any tools?” “Yes, in the back of the car,” she answered, stepping around to the rear of the car.
Gerald lent into the engine bay, searching for anything obvious before he had a go at starting the car. Years of keeping old, tired cars on the road on a min­imal budget had taught him a thing or two about engines. He heard the sound of the girl approaching, her high heels clipping on the hot tarmac. There seemed to be nothing wrong visually with the engine. Everything seemed in order, and all the nuts and bolts appeared to be tight. “I’d better have a go at starting it,” he began explaining as the girl stepped up alongside him.
As he began to turn to face the girl, he felt her hand grabbing his shirt collar. He briefly saw her free hand flashing down, something black, heavy and metal­lic in her fist, then an explosion of showering stars, descending into black eter­nity….
The first thing Gerald’s mind registered was the hard pin-pricks of coarse grass and straw on his naked back. For a few seconds he was disorientated, half in a dream, yet the breeze on his body and the rough textured grass he was laying on felt all too real. He opened his eyes, glancing into the bright midday sky. A shadow loomed threateningly into view. He was acutely aware of the pain in his head and of a bruised swelling on the back of his neck.
He closed his eyes to the brightness and pain, but the darkness of his clenched eyes offered no respite from the pain that rumbled and thundered in his head.
He glanced up again, preparing for the sun-bleached light to burn his eyes again. The shadow was still standing over him. He focused on the figure and realised it was the girl with the broken-down car. In a second he felt wide awake and aware of his surroundings and situation. “Not quite the ending the Good Samaritan was after, is it?” the girl said. Gerald tried to recall the events that had brought him here, to give him some clue as to what was going on. He looked up at the girl standing astride him. His eyes were magnetically drawn to the valley of her thighs. He could see her stocking tops and the slightest hint of brief panties pulled tight into her crotch. He realised he was naked and that she must have stripped him! It began to dawn on Gerald what this girl was after…He felt himself becoming aroused, despite the pain in his head, and per­ceived that this really was going to be his lucky day…He didn’t even register the crop she held in her hand until she swung it with venom across his face. The bite of the whip halted Gerald’s thoughts immediately. He stared up, shocked and pained, at the towering figure before him. The crop swung again, and again it stung his cheek, a sharp red welt blossoming as testament to the strength and accuracy of the blows. It took a few seconds for Gerald to acknowledge that there was something seriously wrong with this scenario. “What the fuck are you doing?” he shouted at the powerful figure above him. He felt his cheek where the crop had struck, and winced at the stinging pain his touch brought to the wound. “Teaching you some respect and manners in the only way you’d understand,” she replied. Her words meant nothing to Gerald, but he reacted without thinking when he saw that she was raising the crop again. He held out his hands to stop the blow as she brought the whip flying down. It cut across his fingers, cutting into the skin like a knife. Gerald wailed and balled his fist to stem the flow of pain. As he did so she struck his unguarded face again with the crop, almost taking his eye out. He cried out again, plead­ing with her to stop the beating.
“Who are you?” he asked, “what do you want?” The girl stopped striking him. She lifted her foot and planted a delicate, shiny high heel into his stomach and smiled down at her victim. “I’m just a member of this little farming community, and I’m here, like I said, to teach you a thing or two about manners. You see, we have certain traditions and etiquette out here in the country, and you have ignored them all. That simply isn’t good enough. So be grateful that I am taking time to teach you the error of your ways.” As she talked she leaned more heavily on the foot that was supported by Gerald’s chest. The heel dug sharply into his flesh, pushing the breath out of him.
Gerald tried to think back at what he had done wring. Didn’t he try and help her with the car? “But I stopped to help you…what’s wrong with that?” he asked, confused and slightly breathless. “My word, you do have rather a lot to learn,” she replied, obviously enjoying his discomfort. She stepped up onto his chest, both heels now digging into his straining muscles, all of her weight forcing downwards. Gerald pulled his muscles taut against the girl’s weight as he struggled to breathe. “I think that you’ve over-stepped the mark a little,” said the girl in reply to Gerald’s laboured breathing. “You really don’t know what you’re up against,” said the girl. “You think that you can come out here and start stepping on other people and everything they’ve worked for. Well, who’s getting stood on now?” she asked sarcastically. Gerald couldn’t answer because of the pres­sure on his chest. The girl’s weight seemed to be gradually increasing, but Gerald knew that it was his muscles getting tired. He concentrated hard on keeping them flexed where the girl’s heels were penetrating into his skin.
“Get off me, you’re breaking my ribs,” cried Gerald, clenching his teeth as his stomach muscles gave way. The girl didn’t move from her position, and as Gerald’s muscles gave in her heels sunk deep into his abdomen. Gerald began to feel faint due to the lack of oxygen that his lungs had managed to take in. “Feeling a little…constricted…are we? It’s not nice, is it?” remarked the girl. “Sometimes, people in certain walks of life also feel constricted by other busi­ness’ actions.” With one last push she stepped off his chest, pushing the last air from Gerald’s lungs.
He lay gasping like a landed fish in the grass as she stalked around him. “Do you know what else is really annoying?” she asked. Gerald was in no fit state to reply, but he still dreaded finding out the answer. “The fact is,” she continued, “you and your multi-national company tried to buy out the firm of Taylor’s a year or so ago and failed. So, having failed with that plan, they then start sending scum like you into the area, undercutting everyone else’s prices. This is in the hope that you will drive all your competitors out of business, then you have the monop­oly yourself and can charge whatever you like. It really gets up my nose. A bit like this…”
Suddenly Gerald felt the heel of the girl’s shoe gouging into his nose. He could smell grass, mud, dirt and grime and, yes, cow-shit, on her shoe as he cried out in agony at the heel tearing into his nostril, She pulled her foot away from Gerald’s face, almost tearing part of his nose off. It was a lesson too far for Gerald. He turned onto his stomach and tried crawling away from the assailant. He heard the girl’s footsteps come closer, then the whine of the whip just before it lashed him across the head. “Learning any lessons yet?” asked the girl as Gerald wailed again. “Stop, stop,” he screamed. “What’s are you doing this for? What have I done to you?” The girl laughed, but there was a sim­mering anger in the tone. “You’ve done plenty to me,” she replied. “Don’t for­get, I’m part of this community that you want to control and profit from. A part of this community that you’ve done nothing for. That’s why you need to learn about our ways. Understand?”
Gerald didn’t. “Look, if you’re from a farming family think of the benefits we can offer. We’re trying to help the community, not kill it.” The girl stepped up and planted her stiletto heel on his back, standing over him like a safari-hunter with a trophy kill. “Is that so?” she enquired. “So what about Taylor’s? What’s the game plan there?” She squatted down on his back, her short, tight skirt rid­ing up over her curved thighs. He felt her skin contact with his, and despite his situation he was aware of the electric charge passing where their naked flesh contacted. He was even aware of getting slightly aroused by her touch. “Well?” she said, waiting for his reply. “Taylor’s?” said Gerald. “Yes,” said the girl exasperatedly. Gerald thought for an answer. His mind was partly on the girl squatting on his naked back. He could feel the sheen of her stockings on his skin, smell her dusky perfume.
“You’re right about Taylor’s,” he admitted. “I was told to undercut anything they offered. My company doesn’t mind losing profits as long as Taylor’s go out of business. Anyway, that old ‘tradition’ stuff is out-dated now. If they can’t compete with the market forces, then they go under. All’s fair in love, war and business, isn’t it?” “So your role is…?” probed the girl. “To deliver the knockout punch, I suppose,” answered Gerald. The girl smiled at him. Gerald realised that if he twisted round he would be nicely nestled between her stock­ing-clad thighs…She reached down to the side of his face, a movement almost looking like the first tender touch since their meeting. Perhaps she had finally realised that his actions were well-meaning, thought Gerald. She touched his ear, and Gerald felt himself becoming seriously aroused. that pain was maybe worth it…
He felt the girl’s fingers close sharply around his ear, then her nails clawed into his delicate ear lobe, twisting his head round. Gerald screamed at the pain. “Well, here’s my knockout punch,” said the girl. Her fist contacted with Gerald’s jaw, sending stars and fireworks blossoming and blooming in his eyes. He rolled onto his back, dazed, as the girl stood up.
For what seemed like hours Gerald lay and looked up into the summer sky, try­ing to unscramble his head. The girl came and stood over him again.
Gerald looked up into the hidden shadows of her skirt. Once again he caught a glimpse of her stocking tops, naked inner thighs, and the cleft of her buttocks. The girl lifted her foot and stuck her heel back onto Gerald’s bruised chest. Her thighs slightly parted, giving him a better view up into the shadows of her skirt where her small, lacy panties caressed her most secret depths.
“Well, well,” she hissed, “it looks like the stallions getting ready for some fun…” Gerald didn’t understand what she meant, until she raised the riding crop and lashed down at his engorged penis. Gerald screamed as the whip scored his foreskin. “Down boy!” she commanded, slashing him again. Despite the pain Gerald remained aroused. “You’re not supposed to be enjoying this,” she snarled. Gerald was just about to say that he wasn’t when she lifted her high- heeled clad foot and stomped down on his manhood. Her stiletto heel harpooned his testicles, and Gerald wailed in agony as the explosion of pain fire-balled in his stomach.
“There,” laughed the girl, “that soon got rid of your enjoyment, didn’t it?” Gerald said nothing, panting heavily. He rolled into a protective ball, clutching at his balls. He felt her shoe nudge his shoulder as she rolled him once again onto his back. “Oh dear, that must have hurt,” she said patronisingly, raising the whip again. Gerald lifted his hands against the coming blow, but it never came. Instead she stamped down again on his testicles. He saw the look of pure pleasure in her face as she ground her heel into his balls, cutting his skin with the lethal stiletto heel.
Instinct took over and Gerald twisted and began to crawl away, looking for his discarded clothes. He didn’t even register that the girl had walked up behind him. “I’ll tell you what…you’ve got some ball to come out here and behave like you have. In fact, I can see them… just there!” Gerald was turning as she talked. just in time to see her swing her foot back then send it crashing into his groin. The pointed toe of her shiny, patent-leather shoe caught him completely in the balls again, sending him sprawling in the mud and grass. It was too much. Gerald curled into a ball, feeling sick to the pit of his stomach as the world spun and turned around him.
He heard the girl’s heels beat their threatening rhythm as she circled his pros­trate form. “Ever wondered why the last salesman from your company quit in such a hurry? Did no one ever tell you?” she asked. Gerald remained silent as he remained curled up in the slurry-covered grass, pain wracking his body. “I gather this is new information, then.
Well, your pathetic predecessor happened to come across me one day too. With the same, inevitable consequences. If I ever see you around this area again you will really suffer severely. Do you understand?” Gerald glanced up at his dominator but couldn’t say anything. “Do you understand?” she repeated more forcefully, raising the whip again. Gerald instinctively shied away from the raised crop, nodding earnestly to sig­nify that he was in agreement with her. “What I suggest you do is this….Go back to your office and either demand a new sales area or hand in your notice. If you come out here again it won’t be just me that you have to deal with. Do you understand?” Gerald weakly nodded again.
The girl smiled at him. “In that case we have an agreement, and my business is finished here. Thank you for your help, by the way. I have taken the liberty of procuring your briefcase and notes from your car to help my own work. Good bye, and I won’t see you around.” She turned and began to walk off. Gerald painfully sat up, his head still spinning and the aching in his body stopping him from getting up. The girl turned again to face Gerald. “Oh,” she said, “I near­ly forgot. My business card.” She dropped a small rectangle of white card onto his pile of clothes and walked away.
Gerald sat unmoving, collecting himself. He heard the roar of the girl’s car engine, then a squeal of tyres as it pulled away. He crawled over to his clothes and picked up the card. “Deborah Taylor” he read aloud, “of Taylor’s Farm Services Limited. Managing Directors Deborah Taylor, Samantha Taylor, Lucinda Taylor.” Suddenly the jigsaw was completed. Not only that, but next time there might be more than one of the girl’s waiting. As he dressed, Gerald contemplated on what would be the easiest course of action. Ignore the warn­ing, find a legitimate excuse to move to a new area, or look for a new job. His boss certainly wouldn’t be impressed with an area transfer request. As he stag­gered back to his car Gerald recalled that today was Wednesday. The day the new job vacancies were listed in the paper. If he was quick to get a copy he could work an escape plan pretty quickly…