FELICITY DOES FETISH

Chapter one.

It was day six of my fall into delicious depravity. I was in the spectacular boardroom of one of the world’s most successful cosmetic companies. And, I was, well, spectacularly bored, but oddly, sexually excited too.  I shouldn't really have been this disinterested. After all, I’m a senior marketing executive at an advertising agency, heading up the team who were trying to win a piece of this lucrative business. However, I had something else on my mind, although to be geographically accurate the sensation was actually located at the opposite end of my body. The business, Laboratoire L’Plancare, is an extremely famous Swiss brand whose products are claimed to wipe out our wrinkles, sand off our cellulite and generally nuke the knobbly bits on our hips, thighs and bums. They spend millions on persuading us that this is true and we’d like a share of this so I should be absolutely focussed on the words of L’Plancare’s Global CEO Dr Louis Reginalde and his Powerpointless presentation - a detailed and, exhaustive, no, very, very exhaustive profile of the company, its history and its products. We hadn’t expected this. I stupidly asked a question and off he went but no one here was going to stop the top man. He was slowly creeping along the 1980’s and his voice was totally soporific.

‘ …and zo in nineteen eighty foive…we luurrrnch Ultimate Cellugone, a radical new zolution to ze burmps on ze ladies’ derrieres…’

     At this he stopped and surveyed his mostly female audience suggestively over his half-moon glasses, he probably was once quite attractive. He narrowed his eyes and smirked, no doubt imagining the effect his zexy frannnnch accent might have on our knickers. But that afternoon it was just our eyelids that were in danger of dropping.  When he finished, no, when's the wrong word, if he ever finished and we hadn’t ripped the skin from our bodies and hung ourselves from it, I had to stand up and open our marketing and creative pitch.

I’m pretty good at this shit but I was a touch nervous because winning this really mattered. So to stay alert I checked out the L’Plancare team. Sitting next to the empty seat of the Marcel Proust of continental cosmetic marketing was Gavin Cracknell, the UK Marketing Director. We’d met earlier and whereas I’d been correctly creepy he’d virtually blanked me. You expect clients to play it cool at pitches but he’d been -0 degrees. He was still glaring back at me, but it was hard to tell if his expression was caused by furious concentration or just plain contempt. Next to him was Rachel, his no. 2, a black woman in her late 20’s, who’d have been very attractive if she hadn’t looked like she was sucking on a lemon-flavoured wasp. They were the ones that mattered, the rest were the brand team, women in black clothes with blank faces.

They made Dr Reginalde in his dull grey suit, light blue shirt and a bluey/grey tie seem extravagantly colourful.  Stick some feathers up his arse and he could have been a Rio carnival dancer compared to his team. They had obviously heard their boss's epic monologue many times and were using the time to check us out. Their eyes darted up and down, taking in our hair, our faces, our make-up, our tits and, of course, what we're wearing. The personal details women use to help form an instant opinion of a stranger.

So what did they make of us?  First, they couldn't miss Jennifer; she was obviously our boss. She demonstrated this by nodding furiously at the CEO's drone, and taking copious notes as if he's imparting the meaning of life or, even better, if Jennifer was concerned, a new recipe for pickled pork belly.  40 may be the new 30 but for Jennifer that still wasn’t low enough. She’s got the kind of natural youthful beauty only an unnatural amount of money can buy. Jennifer uses Botox like the rest of us use bath soap.  Her hair is streaked and stroked almost daily by men whose charges are a lot stiffer than their wrists and her body is shaped and toned by cruel twice weekly workouts and pampering pots of expensive goo. In fairness, her brain is pretty well toned too. It would be after several years at Oxford with a top-up at Harvard Business School.  However her presence at this meeting is even more invaluable because she can listen to this stuff with extraordinary interest and incredible understanding. Jennifer left the English language far behind when she was transported to the world of jargon. She now speaks it fluently, which is vital when communicating with senior clients. If the Botox weren’t preventing it her brow would be knitted with concentration as Monsieur ‘pain-en-le derriere’ meandered into the 1990’s. You have to admire that but first you have to admire the wardrobe. Jennifer does Prada like the rest of us do Primark. You need to know her well to spot the differences between the 10 or 12 outfits she wears. They’re deceptively simple, all black except for her summer selection that are, shock upon shock, white. That’s right, white pantsuits, which give you some idea of the privileged, ungrubby, no brat’s world in which my boss moves. And under these neat Prada suits she wears neat Prada underwear or if she’s feeling really slutty, something from Armani. How do I know this? Well our agency has an account at a really cool gym and in the changing room Jennifer never misses an opportunity to display just how fit she looks for a 40 year old.

It’s whilst changing that I’ve seen Polly’s pants too.  I expect they’re from M&S because Polly is definitely Middleclass & Safe. Nice with an unshowy hairstyle, husband and house. She’s the media expert on our team and although she was wearing the black uniform I guess her entire outfit cost considerably less than one of Jennifer’s bra cups. Polly might not look cool but she was a lot less sweaty than me because her bit comes when I sit down and as it’s all figures and charts the clients will have orgasms over it. But, wow, talking of climaxes, the Swiss alternative to Valium had hit the Noughties when the launch of L’Plancare’s revolutionary body care range, INFINITY Crème took place.

 ‘…zis is ze product zat our company’s futyeer depenz on.‘

I leant forward in my seat feeling a little tense. It was as if I was gripped by something unexpected and, that day, I really was.  It wasn’t the prospect of my presentation. It wasn’t how I looked. I was in black, of course, from top to bottom, Karen Millen, do you know her stuff? What were gripping me were my pants because they were made of latex and very, very, sexy they felt too. I don’t know what Karen Millen would have thought about me matching thin shiny rubber trollies with her tasteful tailoring. I imagine Karen’s a bit conservative but I’m sure Vivian Westwood would approve, and I can’t believe Jean Paul Gaultier hasn’t tried it at some time or other. And as for some of the other famous designers I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re into rubber knickers whenever they get the chance. I can’t believe it took me this long to latch on to latex. It feels, well indescribable. But I’ll try, it’s like your lover’s hands sensually squeezing your bare bum and as that tight silkiness slips up between your thighs, well…

‘I em coming,’ Le Grande Bore neatly interrupted my thoughts  ‘to ze reason why we are ere terday -– L’Plancare is zee glooobal nurmer wurn brind and we are didicated to remain in zat place. But, INFINITY eez now a nurmber two product so ow will we change zat, Zank you?

Oh God, I was on. But first Jennifer spoke, her toned vowels immediately winning respect from the other side of the table.

‘ And thank you too Doctor Reginalde, that was absolutely fascinating. Your history of your great company was so illuminating,’

Jennifer does bullshitting like the rest of us do breathing.

‘You have world-beating brands and a brilliant product strategy and we are delighted to pitch for the exciting opportunity to put INFINITY back where it belongs, at number one…we believe we have the consumer-led strategic thinking and a very creative 360 promotional programme to drive equity for INFINITY Crème. And now I’d like to hand you over to your brand guardian, the person who will be masterminding the campaign…’

She flashed me her totally terrifying ‘don’t screw up sweetie’ smile.

‘…Felicity!’

I was about to stand up when Gavin Cracknell shattered the expectant silence.

‘Urrr…before you begin I’d like to remind you that this presentation was restricted to an hour and a half…we, of course, have other agencies to review today...right?’

His tone was sarcastic and accusing, as if it was our fault and not his meandering master’s.

‘So, by my calculation…’

He made a huge showy gesture of looking at his huge showy watch then continued.

‘…it needs to end in precisely 39 minutes, so we can have questions…I’m sure that’s enough time to…wow us… ok?’

He looked straight at me raising his eyebrows whilst lowering his mouth into a nasty smile. 39 minutes…oh no, my bit lasted at least 45 minutes and covered my carefully researched strategy, the programme highlights and most importantly the creative work…and that would take at least 20 minutes to present! I stared back in panic. And like the sorry idiot I was my first words were....

‘Ermmm, sorry…but…sorry.’

Cracknell triumphantly grinned back then he interrupted again.

‘It’s 37 minutes now…urrr’

He made another great gesture of seeking out my name on his notes, even though we’d been introduced and Jennifer had mentioned me several times.

‘…urrr Fel-icity’

The sarcasm in his voice as he pronounced my name caused several of the black-clad client harpies to giggle. I was still half out of the chair and I tried to begin.

‘Sorry but I…sorry…’

I sat back with the entire presentation scrambling in my head. I heard Jennifer’s voice hissing next to me

‘Flic…get on with it,’

I felt both totally defeated and oddly, totally turned on. Because attached to my latex knickers was a ribbed rubber dildo and as I sank back in the seat so it slipped sensuously up…and up…and up into my cunt.