“This weekend is going to be so much fun,” Janet said as we parked in front of a two-story beach house in North Bay.  It was a nice spring morning with a blue sky, miles from civilization. 

“How did you get such a great place?” I asked, for all of the homes on this stretch of coastline were very exclusive.

“My cousin works for a real estate company,” Janet explained.  “This house has been on the market since last winter.  They let people stay here from time to time, and now it’s our turn.”

“When are Cissy and Debra expected?” I inquired, for I hadn’t seen them since our meeting in the office on Wednesday.

“They’ll be here this afternoon with the food and sleeping bags,” Janet said.

“Sleeping bags?” I wondered.

“The house is empty.  I brought wine and snacks.  They’ll bring the rest, including our project notes.”

“The project notes?” I questioned, thinking this was a vacation.  

“Our team needs to file the forecasts on Dobson Acquisitions.  Mr. Kemper says the company needs this contract bad.  We can’t afford any mistakes.”

“I know all that.  I’ve been on Dobson since project development transferred me from Portland,” I assured her.

“Yes, you’ve done great work,” Janet agreed.

We got out of her car, leaving it at the curb so Cissy and Debra could use the driveway, having an ice chest to move.  I had my overnight bag and a big towel, but not much else.  Janet didn’t have much more other than a tote from Trader Joe’s with the wine.

“I’ll get the key.  It’s in a box outside the service porch,” Janet said, rushing off.  A few minutes later, she opened the front door.

My name is Wendy Topper, twenty-five years old at the time, with light brown hair down to my shoulders, dark brown eyes, a nice figure, and a bit on the thin side, only being 5’3 and 110 pounds.  I had been a financial analyst with Kemper & Sons since graduating college four years before, first in San Diego, then Portland, and now in Santa Cruz.  We specialized in laying the groundwork for large construction projects, confirming the rights to the land, securing permits, and arranging contracts.  Mr. Kemper had assigned me to Janet’s team when they got bogged down in red tape, but that was getting fixed now.

The large house was beautiful.  Polished oak floors, a high ceiling, a new kitchen off to the left, and a great view of the beach through sliding glass doors.  To my right was a large bathroom and a private office.  The Pacific Ocean was about fifty yards away.  A staircase led to bedrooms on the second floor.

“We should be comfortable here,” Janet said, setting her wine tote on the kitchen counter.  I saw a long couch, several easy chairs, and a glass coffee table, with the dining area off to the side.  All very sparse, however.  It appeared the house had been empty for several months.

“I should think so,” I agreed, putting my bag next to hers.  “What should we do first?”

“No work for now.  I left my laptop in the car,” she answered.  “Let’s go down to the water.”

We found a stack of beach chairs on the back patio that Janet washed off with a garden hose and then trekked fifty yards across the sand down to the surf.  The closest houses were some distance to the south.  I didn’t see any houses to the north, where a tall cliff blocked that end of the beach.  There were sail boats and cargo ships off in the distance.  There weren’t any other beachgoers or surfers.  We saw seagulls.  Janet and I settled in and opened the wine.  She was in a black one-piece bathing suit and sandals.  I was barefoot, wearing my favorite polka dot bikini. 

“Nice boobs, dear,” Janet observed.

“Not so nice as yours,” I complimented.  She was tall and elegant at 5’8 with carefully coifed gold hair and dark eyes.  She tended to use her charm more than her intelligence to get by, and with those large breasts, the men gave her plenty of attention.  My B-cups were plump but not prominent.  And quite frankly, it had been a while since anyone noticed.  I hadn’t even dated in a year.

After two glasses each, it was time for a swim.  The water wasn’t too cold for late spring, though I preferred the summer.  Not that I’d had much leisure time lately, spending countless hours on research and crunching numbers.  We frolicked and I body surfed.  Janet found her phone, taking selfies of us.  It was the first time Janet and I had ever spent time together outside of work.

“I’m ready for snacks and a shower.  What do you think?” Janet asked.

“Sounds good,” I agreed, going back to the house and pausing on the porch.

“Our suits are full of sand.  We can’t track it in the house,” she advised.  She rinsed off with the garden hose, jumping from the cold water, and then hosed me down as well.  I hooted as the spray washed over me.

“A hot shower is going to feel great after this,” she said.  “Let’s leave these sandy towels outside.  You can use the shower upstairs; I’ll get clean towels from the car.”

As Janet headed for the front door, I went up the wooden stairs to the second floor still wearing my damp bikini.  Each room had a bed and dressers, but no sheets or blankets.  The first bathroom on my right was also bare, with no towels and only a little bit of toilet paper left.  I wondered if Janet had thought to bring any. 

Just as Janet predicted, the shower felt wonderful.  In a big fancy house like this, I didn’t need to worry about running out of hot water.  I soon felt clean and relaxed.  I wondered where Janet was with the clean towels.

I looked out from the shower stall, hoping to see a towel waiting for me on the sink, and thinking I should have brought my overnight bag up.  I did not see a towel.  I also did not see my bikini.

“Janet?” I called out.  “Janet, I need the towel.”

There was no answer.  Where had she gone?

This was going to be so embarrassing, creeping down the stairs buck-naked, though I didn’t see any other choice.  I was sorry now to have shaved my pussy, wishing for the protection my pubic hair had provided, but I hadn’t wanted wild hairs sticking out from under my bathing suit.  I used my hands to cup my breasts.

“Janet, I need the towel,” I requested.  “Janet?  Janet?”

I reached the bottom of the stairs, emerging into the living room.  Janet wasn’t there.  Either was my overnight bag or the Trader Joe’s tote bag.  Everything was missing.

“Janet, this isn’t funny,” I said, searching the ground floor.  There were only empty rooms.  With a sudden sense of foreboding, I rushed to the front door and looked outside.  Janet’s car wasn’t there.

Oh, god.  What is this? I questioned in panic.  What’s happening? 

I retreated into the house, locking the door, and saw a business card on the dining room table.  It was Janet’s handwriting on the back, reading, “Hey, bitch, you shouldn’t have tried to take credit for my work.  P.S., don’t get arrested.”

What the fuck?  I hadn’t stolen any of her work.  If anything, she had been stealing mine!  I put in the long hours.  I had stacks of reports.  My calculations had pushed Dobson forward when her team had stalled.  All Janet ever did was flirt with the managers.

This was bad.  I realized now Janet had probably broken into the house.  I was trespassing.  In wealthy areas like this, they probably had enhanced security.  What could I do?  How could I get home?  My purse was in my overnight bag along with my wallet and phone.  And I was stranded.  Naked.

The first thing to do was explore the house.  Find something to cover myself with, but Janet had planned for that.  There was nothing, not even scraps.  I didn’t even find paper towels.  Come to think of it, there hadn’t even been a bathmat upstairs.  I had seen videos where naked women locked outside of their houses had used doormats to cover themselves.  I looked outside on the front porch.  No doormat.

Then I heard a car.  Was Janet coming back?  Had this just been a cruel joke?  Or maybe Cissy and Debra had finally arrived with the food and sleeping bags.  I kept the door mostly closed, looking out.  It was a silver van pulling into the driveway.  Two young men and two young women about my age.  I didn’t recognize them.

Oh, fuck!

I considered running out the back door, but then what?  Naked on a deserted beach?  Maybe pervert neighbors?  Or cops?  I needed time to think, dashing upstairs as I heard them enter.  Curious, I paused on the landing, peeking down.  I could see half of the kitchen and most of the living room.

“Bring enough booze?” one of the guys asked, a thick fellow with slick black hair and Popeye arms.

“Don’t worry, Jimmy.  Enough to last the week,” his tall, handsome friend said, with shaggy blond hair and deep blue eyes.  He looked like a classic surfer type.  The girls were pretty, too.  Medium height wearing expensive designer clothes and dragging suitcases.  The taller was a redhead, slender with big tits.  Her friend was a bit thicker, her golden-brown hair tied back in a ponytail.  By the large suitcases, I realized they had come to stay for a while.

“Jeff, get the other ice chest,” the taller woman said.  “And the box with our sheets and blankets.  Susie and I will make the beds while you stock the refrigerator.”

“Sounds like a plan, Mindy,” Jeff acknowledged, going back out with Jimmy.

There was a lot of noise and rustling about.  I edged against the wall, not wanting to be seen, trying to come up with a plan.  The guys returned loaded down with all kinds of stuff.  The girls grabbed a large bag, dumping the contents on the couch.

“Enough for three beds,” Melinda announced.  “Susie and I will take the master suite.  Jeff, take your old room overlooking the beach.  Jimmy can have the guest room, though Susie and I may let him visit us.”

“You gay girls are so weird,” Jeff laughed.  “If you like pussy so much, why let a guy in your bed?”

“A little variety never hurts,” Susie answered.

“I like pussy,” Jeff mentioned.

“You’re too straight, Jeffie,” Melinda replied.  “Besides, if your father caught you in bed with two lesbians, he’d disinherit you.”

“I have $10,000,000 in my trust fund.  I don’t need Dad’s charity,” Jeff defended.

“But $500,000,000 would be better, wouldn’t it?” Susie pressed.

“Dad’s in great shape.  He’s not going anywhere,” Jeff insisted.

The girls gathered the bedding and started up the stairs.  Oh, shit!  What was I supposed to do?  I’d seen the upstairs.  There were four bedrooms, and they were only using three.  I couldn’t hide in the master suite, or the one watching the beach.  That left two smaller rooms, one with its own bath, the other without.  Jimmy would want a bathroom.  I snuck into the other, hiding in the closet.

The girls chatted away.  They were rich, graduates of Vasser, and only worked to stay busy, assistants in the Admonson Art Gallery in downtown San Jose.  Melissa was an art historian.  Susie a photographer.  Jeff worked for his father, though I didn’t catch the name.  Jimmy was in real estate and doing quite well.  The girls spoke of his sexual abilities as if very familiar with them.  They didn’t say much about Jeff.  He seemed a bit more conservative, not inclined to a swinger lifestyle.  I held my breath, hoping not to be discovered.  But in my fear, I bumped the closet door.  I heard Melinda stop.

“Did you hear that?” she said.

“Hear what?” Susie asked.

“There was a noise.  Jesus, I think there’s someone in the house!” Melinda shouted.  In seconds they were running down the stairs.  “Jeff!  Jeff!  There’s a man upstairs!”

“Hold on,” Jeff said.  “I’ll get my gun from the car.”

There was more commotion.  I grew frantic.  Was there a way out?  Not that I could think of.  Maybe rush into the far bedroom, open the window, and jump out on the sand.  And then run.  Run where?  I was so scared.

“Okay you, come out of there,” I heard Jeff say.  I pushed the closet door open a crack.  Jeff had a gun.  Jimmy was holding handcuffs.

“Please don’t hurt me,” I whimpered, standing up.

“It’s a girl,” Jimmy said.

“A trespasser.  Probably trying to rob the house,” Jeff responded.  I pushed the door open.

“Goddamn, she’s naked!” Jimmy exclaimed, jumping back.

“Maybe on drugs.  Handcuff her while I keep her covered,” Jeff instructed.

I was pulled out, turned around, and felt my hands handcuffed behind my back.  It was humiliating.  Jimmy turned me to face them, unable to hide myself.

“Pretty,” Jimmy observed.  “Shaved, too.  That’s a nice twat.”

“She must be psycho, hiding in my Dad’s house like this,” Jeff concluded.

“I’m not crazy,” I protested.  “A co-worker tricked me.  She said her cousin arranged for us to stay here.”

“Where is this friend?” Jeff asked.

“She drove away and stole my clothes,” I replied.

“A likely story.  Let’s go downstairs and call the security office,” Jeff said, taking me by the arm.  I was dragged down and posed in front of Melinda and Susie.  They were astonished.  And then they started to snicker.

“You’ve really caught one, big guy,” Melinda said.  “What are you going to do with her?”

“Give her to the cops,” Jeff answered, taking out his phone.

“Oh, let’s not be rash,” Melinda cautioned.  “Honey, do you want to be turned over to the beach cops?  Perp walked naked to their headquarters?  It might be hours before they give you any clothes.  Not until after your mug shots.”

“No, I don’t want that,” I confirmed, trying not to cry.

“What are you suggesting?” Jeff asked.

“Maybe this naked slut can render more luscious services?” Melinda answered.

“Luscious services?” Jimmy said, starting to come onboard.

“I see what you mean,” Susie cooed, getting close and stroking my bare shoulder.  “Let me ask, slut.  Do you like sucking cock?  How about pussy?  Do you lick pussy?”

“I’ve sucked a little cock,” I confessed.  “And a little pussy, during a drunken night in college at my dorm.  That was a long time ago.”

“How about a good hard fuck?” Jimmy asked.

“I’m still a virgin,” I answered, looking down.  They were stunned, probably disbelieving, but the way I shuddered brought them around.  They laughed.

“Okay, here’s the deal,” Melinda announced.  “You’ll be our servant for the weekend.  Cook, clean, suck cock, lick pussy, and do whatever we tell you to do.  In exchange, we won’t have you arrested, and the guys won’t fuck you.  What do you say?”

“Before you answer, let’s be clear,” Susie added.  “You can say no.  If you’d rather deal with the cops instead, that’s your right.  No one is going to force you.”

What was there to say?  Did I have a choice?

“Okay,” I softly agreed.

“This can’t really work, can it?” Jimmy questioned.

“I think it can,” Melinda decided, giving me a careful study.  “What do you say, Jeffie?”

Jeff had a strange look on his face, as if he couldn’t believe this was happening.  And not entirely as enthusiastic as his friends.

“We can give it a try, but let’s not tell my Dad,” Jeff reluctantly allowed.  “And as for you, you little slut, don’t try anything or you’ll be back in these cuffs faster than you can say Jack Robinson.”

“Jack who?” I asked.

“Never mind,” he answered.  He went behind me.  I felt the cuffs come off and rubbed my wrists.

“Can I have something to wear?” I requested.

“That’s not part of the deal, dearie.  You stay naked,” Melinda declared, getting high-fives.  “Now get in the kitchen and put our food away.”

For the next two hours, I made beds, used a feather duster to clean the house, and scrubbed the kitchen.  Sometimes on my hands and knees.  Everyone was looking at my tits and pussy, and though I tried to ignore them, it was flattering in a mortifying sort of way.  Everyone had their phones out, taking photos.

“I need to be serviced before dinner,” Jimmy suddenly required.  I looked up in dread, only seeing smiles.  He took me by the arm, grabbed a folding chair off the back porch, and walked me down to the waterfront.

“Time to pay your dues,” he said, opening his pants and sitting down.  I reluctantly knelt before him, contemplating.  It was an okay dick, not real big or too small.  Snaky with a round head.

“How do you want this?” I asked.

“What do you mean?” he said.

“I’ve only done this a few times, to please guys that weren’t worth the effort.  The truth is, I’m too driven by my job.  Men always want more than I can give them.”

“Just do your best,” he urged.  “And if you don’t want to do this, use your safety word.”

“Safety word?”

“Yeah.  Say, ‘Call the cops.”

That was mean.  I bent over, using my hands to start, and slowly lowered my lips as he grew hard.  It wasn’t so bad.  He didn’t yank my hair or get rough, as I feared.  After a time, he leaned back and let me go at my own pace.  When he came, I used my hands to complete the job.  I wasn’t swallowing anything and he seemed to get that.

“How was she?” Melinda asked when we reentered the house.

“She tried her best,” Jimmy replied.  Not a ringing endorsement.

“My turn,” Melinda decided.  She took my hand, led me upstairs, and took off her clothes, lying on the bed.  And then she spread her legs.

I hadn’t seen a woman’s pussy in years, and didn’t have much of a memory of it, having been drunk at the time.  I crawled on the bed, put my head between her thighs, and slowly tasted the folds of her vagina.  They were smooth.  Compact.  The clit popped out from under the hood.  Melinda was actually a very attractive woman.  Athletic.  Good muscle tone.  But it wasn’t easy...