The Assistant (9)

In the middle of the night, she woke.  There was no feeling of disorientation, she knew exactly where she was, and who she was with. His warmth enveloped her, the solid presence of him-his thigh tucked between her legs, his arm around her waist – were very physical reminders of the sudden transformation her life had taken.

She ached in wonderful places.

He had used her thoroughly, in ways she had read about, but never dreamed would experience. Sore, tired, yet the waves of joy rolling through her would not let her sleep. Snuggling deeper against him, she let the events of the past day roll through her mind.  So many new things! Sure, she had a story to tell, but not all of it was for her paper. She would need to start a diary, just to capture all of this. She never wanted to forget the start of her journey, no matter how it evolved.

She wriggled a bit, trying to get comfortable. It wasn’t easy, learning to sleep with someone, when she was used to solitude. Her tee-shirt was stuck under his side. For a moment, his fingers tightened around her belly, tugging her closer still. Taking the hint, she settled in place, accepting that sometimes she wouldn’t be comfortable. Somehow, that was alright.

Smiling in the darkness, she remembered how incredibly gross it had felt to put on the tee-shirt. She’d mopped up her own cum and droll with it, after all. How he had smiled after she’d donned it, frowning down at all the wet spots. She realized then that she’d crossed over into this world, she was no longer a passive looker, staring in the window, but a participant.

A willing, and rather horny one at that, she mused.

Refusing to let her sit in a chair, since she was such a mess, he had called her to come and sit under his desk. Not beside him, as she had imagined.

She’d looked at the small-ish space and wondered if she’d even fit. She wasn’t young and flexible, and with generous curves. Yet, she had shoehorned herself into the space. Far from being claustrophobic, it was comforting. His words had come from far above, it seemed. She had a flash of the gray-bearded God on high, speaking to the masses, and had to cover her mouth with her hand to stifle the giggles.

Then his words took root in her mind.

“Reach up. Open my pants. Take out my cock. Suck me until I’m hard.”

Each word sent a hot stab of lust straight to her pussy. Her nipples pressed hard against the wet tee. It was as if he was the puppeteer and she his marionette. Her hands rose, working at his belt, his zipper, releasing him. His cock was semi-hard by the time her hand fisted around him. Warm, his flesh was so warm. And velvety. Her fingers explored the length of him, as she shifted under the desk. His legs were spread, and she angled her head up enough to clear the seat of his chair and take the head of his rod between her lips.

She made it last. Long kisses on the top knob, gentle licks around the base where it joined his thick shaft. Soft sucking over the tiny slit, as her fingers gently massaged his balls. Her lips kissed down his hardening cock, her tongue darting out to lap at the sensitive underside of the shaft. Pressing her head against his belly, she managed to lick at his balls.

The zipper of his fly scratched her chin, but she was beyond caring, beyond feeling it other than to note it. Her entire being was focused on pleasing him, on making him hard. The image of this thick rod plowing deep between her wet thighs came to her, making her moan against him.

His hand tugged her up by her hair, bringing her mouth to the top of his cock. She tasted the salty sweet tang of precum, as she opened her mouth to take him in.

“Enough teasing” he growled, before pressing her head down. He didn’t release her to work at her own pace, grabbing at her head with both hands and fucking her mouth on his tumescent cock. Fully buried, she felt the thick head of him hitting the back of her throat; she gagged around it, making him moan and whisper, “good, good”. Then she was up to the top again, and sucking. No tender loving here, but hard sucks with her mouth wrapped tightly around the bulbous tip of his cock, until he forced her head down to swallow his shaft again. It was like being a sword-swallower, she imagined, as she gagged yet again.

He would not let her suck him dry. Instead, he pulled out of her mouth, and shot strings of hot cum onto her tee-shirt,  wiping himself dry on her cheeks. Deliberately, he rubbed the cum into her shirt, keeping eye contact with her as he did.

“There will be time enough for swallowing, slut. For now, you will wear my marks, and proudly.”

Without a by-your-leave, he’d pressed her back under the desk. In seconds she had heard the clacking of his keyboard. Time froze. It was warm, dark, and almost cozy under the desk.

Until she had to pee.

What was the protocol for this, she wondered. Should she ask? Tug his pants? Tap his cock? Kiss his shoes?

“There’s an awful lot of fidgeting going on down there.” There was that god-voice again.

“Sir, I really need to ….” She trailed off. She’d never asked for permission to go to the bathroom. Not since high school, for Pete’s sake.  It was undeniable that the idea of it was turning her on.


She knew then, that he knew. Knew exactly what she needed. And was going to make her say it. She fought the idea for all of 5 seconds, before the pressing need made her beg. He’d laughed, and pulled her out from under the desk by her nose.

Laying in his bed, she smiled again in the darkness. Her life had certainly been transformed. She’d moved from “assistant” to “His” in the short span of a day.

That  it was only the start of things yet to come was a given. Each new day would bring new challenges, new adventures. She could hardly wait! She fell asleep while looking  for the dawn, snuggled tightly in his embrace.

*** fini ***